Salvation's Song

by Pearl Love

  Jeremy was wondering where the blond had learned such a big word when he caught sight of something pink and white. One of the other guys grabbed his arms from behind, and Jeremy realized he was in real trouble. The blond brought his hands up toward Jeremy’s face, and he closed his eyes in anticipation of being punched. Instead, something tight but soft was pulled over his face. When he opened his eyes, he noticed that his eyes were unobstructed, but that breathing was difficult since the fabric was covering his nose.

  “Oh look, Tommy, he’s simply gorgeous!” one of the dark-haired players crooned.

  The blond—Tommy, Jeremy presumed—and the other guys began to howl.

  Jeremy began to suspect that what was happening was even more awful than he imagined. He struggled, but large hands pulled at his hair for a brief moment before letting him go. As soon as he was free, Jeremy reached up and felt that his hair had been bunched into a loose ponytail through whatever was on his head. He ripped at the material Tommy had yanked over his face, but the football player’s bout of hilarity had already begun to spread through the room.

  “Jeremy?”

  Patricia’s tremulous voice was the last thing Jeremy heard before he finally managed to remove the foreign object. He inhaled deeply once his nose was exposed, but his breath caught in his throat when he saw what he’d yanked off his head.

  “Wouldn’t want you to forget your undies, faggot.”

  Part of him wondered if these Neanderthals knew any homosexual slur other than “faggot” and “cocksucker.” The rest of him wanted to vanish into thin air. He curled his hand around the pink and white polka dotted panties until the delicate material was crushed in his fist.

  Jeremy looked up as his tormentors parted to allow him to see everyone else or, more likely, to allow them all to see him. He was blind to everything, a sense of profound mortification shutting down all of his senses. He didn’t know where Patricia had gotten to, nor did he care. Only two things penetrated his fog of shame. The first was the front door, which he barreled toward with a single-minded focus. The other, unfortunately though perhaps inevitably, was Tyrell.

  Jeremy wasn’t sure what he’d been hoping to see on his ex-friend’s face, if they had in fact ever been friends. Dismay at the least. Anger at the outside. But the unreadable blankness of Tyrell’s expression was the last straw. The last remnants of hope Jeremy had foolishly harbored in his heart burned to ash.

  Idiot! You’re a damned, lovesick idiot!

  “Jeremy, wait!”

  Patricia’s voice only just reached him through the shouts of his rational mind railing at him. Even Chris’s death hadn’t caused him this much anguish, because he’d at least been confident his brother had loved him. The only thing Tyrell plainly felt for him was disgust if not outright hatred.

  He should have known better. He should have listened to his mother and never bothered trying to fit in at yet another school. The only safe place for him was at home, locked in his room away from everything that might seek to do him harm. Away from anything that made him feel.

  Jeremy burst out through the front door and ran for his car. It wasn’t until he was searching his pocket for his keys that he realized he was still holding on to the underwear. He hurled the wadded up cotton to the ground like it was on fire. Only through sheer luck did he manage to get the keys in the car door without dropping them, his hands were shaking so badly. The car engine started with a fitful roar, and he peeled out of his parking spot, wiping tears from his face in an effort to see. Not that he cared whether or not he crashed. His head was pounding relentlessly. This time there was no music, not even the ugly notes he’d heard before. There was only the shrill clamor of misery.

  Chapter TWENTY-TWO

  TYRELL STOOD staring at the front door of Nicole’s house for a full minute before he remembered to breathe. The sudden intake of oxygen made his head feel light, and he swayed a bit before regaining his balance. He shifted his attention to the refreshment table where Dunce and his goons were still laughing hysterically at their practical joke. The sound of giggling coming from directly beside his shoulder is what finally brought his thought processes completely back online. He stared in disbelief at Shaunteé as she and a couple other girls from the dance squad emitted high-pitched squeals of hilarity.

  Shaunteé’s laughter became a startled gasp when Tyrell grabbed her arm and yanked her away from her friends. “What is your problem?” she asked indignantly.

  Tyrell thought his teeth might crack from the force with which he clenched his jaw. “Did you know about this? You and Nicole and those losers?” He jabbed a finger toward the huddle of football players. “Holy fuck, did you all plan this right from the start?”

  Shaunteé shot him a look of annoyance before jerking her arm out of his grip. “What are you talking about? That’s ridiculous.” She flipped several of her braids off her shoulder with an imperious swipe of her hand.

  “Bullshit.” Tyrell glared down at her when she stared at him in surprise. “If you hadn’t known this was going to happen, you’d be as shocked as nearly everyone else is right now.” A brief glance around the room revealed a few expressions of mean amusement, but most of the faces he saw reflected profound unease with what had just occurred.

  Shaunteé exhaled sharply and raised one shoulder in a supreme gesture of nonchalance. “Oh please, Tyrell.” She glanced over to her friends as though searching for support. “Who cares about some little queer boy anyway?”

  “Not that it matters,” Tyrell growled, “but why do you even think that? It’s not like he’s gone around the school groping guys in the hall, for the love of Christ!”

  “I heard it from Kimberly,” Shaunteé replied, jabbing her thumb toward the girl standing next to Nicole.

  “Kimberly?” Tyrell scrunched his face in confusion. “How would she know?”

  “Well, she said she heard it from Javette, whose boyfriend told her he heard Jeremy checked some guy’s ass out in the locker room after PE.”

  “And when she told us, I told Jeff.” Nicole gazed at Tyrell defiantly. “One of his friends has gym with Jeremy, so it was only right that he knew.”

  Tyrell closed his eyes against the sudden headache prompted by his attempt to unravel their tangled knot of logic. “That’s completely ridiculous. I see Jeremy nearly every day, and it’s not like he’s ever done anything—”

  He broke off as he was flooded with memories of the times Jeremy had blushed when they were talking. The times Jeremy had seemed to stare at him just a little too long. The complete devastation Jeremy hadn’t been able to hide when Tyrell had effectively thrown him to the wolves. He realized the truth had been staring him in the face for weeks, but he’d been too dense to see it.

  “What you guys did is inexcusable,” Tyrell continued when he recovered his voice. “How could you treat another student like that? Winton Yowell is a family. Isn’t that our school motto?”

  Shaunteé folded her arms and looked up at him haughtily. “It’s not our motto to condone sin, Tyrell. I go to Bible study every week, and Leviticus is pretty clear on the subject.”

  He couldn’t even be amazed that she’d actually resorted to the Bible. How many people did he see at church every Sunday that would have applauded her reasoning? Too damn many. It wasn’t even really her fault. Shaunteé was a product of her upbringing, just like he would have been if his mother had her way. But the whole “hate the sin” thing had never sat right with him because he’d never seen anyone turn around and “love the sinner” at the same time.

  Tyrell understood at that moment that he didn’t love Shaunteé. He didn’t even really like her. Oh his hormones appreciated the hell out of her, but that’s about as far as it went. She was a stuck-up diva, secure in her position as the queen of Winton Yowell, or as close as she could manage it seeing as she was still only a junior. Next year, he was certain she’d be a complete tyrant, and he wanted no part of it.

  “I’m leaving,” he said simply befor
e turning and walking away. He didn’t even feel disappointed when she made no move to stop him.

  “Hey, man, you going already?”

  Tyrell paused to glare at Ryan, who had materialized at his side. “Tell me you weren’t involved in this, or I swear to God—”

  “You mean what happened to Jeremy?” Ryan shook his head emphatically. “Hell, no! That was really fucked-up. Jeremy’s kind of a dweeb, but he’s cool. He didn’t deserve that.” He scowled at his teammates, who were still celebrating their hollow victory. “Those guys are shitheads.” Ryan folded his arms. “Don’t think I won’t be mentioning what happened to Coach on Monday. We have a pretty deep bench this year, so no one will miss them even if Coach makes them sit out the rest of the season.”

  Tyrell felt a sense of profound relief that he hadn’t misjudged his friend. He and Ryan had known each other for a long time, and he didn’t know if he would have recovered from learning his best friend wasn’t who Tyrell thought he was all these years. He clapped Ryan on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

  “Did you see the way he ran outta here? Whoo whee! Maybe we should make him a running back.”

  “Except he’ll be running after your ass.”

  Ryan grimaced at the nonsense his teammates were spewing, clearly not yet ready to get over their amusement. “Enough is enough already.” He moved in their direction, but Tyrell stopped him.

  “I got this.”

  Dunce saw Tyrell first, and the nasty grin that split his face grew even broader. “Hey, man. No need to thank us. Your and Ryan’s virtue is safe from Cynthia’s little charity case.”

  Tyrell pulled his lips back from his teeth in a snarl. “What the actual fuck, Dunce? What did he ever do to you?”

  Dunce smirked. “Nothin’ I guess. I just don’t like his faggot face.”

  “Stop calling him that.” Tyrell curled his hands into fists at his side. “Or, perhaps, the lady doth protest too much, methinks.” He knew the claim was baseless, but he also knew that Dunce wouldn’t know what in the hell he was saying. Even though he was older than everyone else in their class, his age hadn’t granted him any additional wisdom, let alone knowledge of Shakespeare.

  Dunce frowned, clearly uncertain as to whether or not he’d just been insulted. “What?”

  Unfortunately, Jeff wasn’t as stupid as his teammate. “Really, Hughes? Who’s the one doing the protesting?” He chuckled darkly. “Yeah, maybe you’re a fag too.”

  Tyrell didn’t take time to think before he hauled off and punched Jeff dead in the face. The other football players stared at Jeff then at Tyrell before quickly shaking off their shock. They rose together and formed a defensive line, which should have scared Tyrell shitless, except he was way too pissed off to care. Although he’d never taken to the sport himself, he had no doubt that he could take at least two of them out before they overwhelmed him. To his credit, Ryan rushed to stand beside him, but Tyrell didn’t back down. He ignored the rest of the players and glared at Jeff. Perhaps a fraction of the rage he felt showed on his face, because Jeff looked away first, his nose dripping copious amounts of blood all over his shirt. Secure in his psychological victory, Tyrell spun on his heel and stalked toward the front door.

  Right before he reached it, Tyrell looked around to see if Patricia was still there or whether she’d taken off after Jeremy. She was nowhere to be found, and the thought of her offering Jeremy comfort filled Tyrell with a surge of jealousy the likes of which he’d never experienced. He ripped the door open and slammed it closed behind him, just barely resisting the urge to punch a hole through it as he went.

  Tyrell muttered to himself the entire time as he walked to the bus stop a few blocks from Nicole’s house. How could he have been so stupid? He should have known Shaunteé’s story about inviting Jeremy to the party out of goodwill was nothing but a lie. Cynthia had tried to tell him that Shaunteé was a bitch, but he hadn’t listened. Or rather, he’d been listening with the wrong head. Now that he could see her clearly for what she was, he could barely remember what he’d ever found so attractive about her.

  Shaunteé’s hazel eyes had been so cold when she’d defended her inexcusable behavior, spouting that religious nonsense like she had some right to judge. Tyrell had always thought her eyes pretty, but now, all he could see were the shining emerald of Jeremy’s as he struggled and failed to hold back his tears.

  The bus was sitting at the stop when Tyrell reached it, and he ran to catch it. It was after 10:00 p.m., and there was no telling when another one would come at that time of night on a Saturday. As it was, it would take him nearly an hour to get home, which gave him plenty of time to reflect on his own part in this fiasco.

  He dropped into a seat toward the back of the nearly empty bus and slumped his head against the window. He should never have waited this long to do something to help Jeremy. He should have spoken up the very first time he’d seen Jeremy getting harassed by those creeps. How long had it been going on before he’d found out about it? He didn’t even want to think of how much Jeremy had been suffering in silence. He banged his hand against the thick Plexiglas. The resulting sting wasn’t nearly punishment enough. The driver frowned at him in the bus’s huge rearview mirror, but he looked away before the man could decide whether he wanted to chastise him.

  He didn’t know how he was going to face Cynthia on Monday. She would certainly have heard about what happened by then. Knowing her, she wouldn’t even rub how right she had been in his face. Instead, she’d just give him that disappointed look that made him feel almost as bad as when Big Momma was mad at him. Lord forbid his grandmother ever learn about how he’d failed to defend someone he’d at least briefly considered a friend. It didn’t matter she sometimes could barely remember her own name—she’d tan his hide but good.

  Tyrell got off the bus at the Dan Ryan Expressway stop for his transfer to the train. He walked to the gate and slapped his pass on the card reader. The Red Line ran frequently enough that he wasn’t worried despite the late hour. Once he reached the platform, he ignored the empty benches. The more he thought about what had occurred at the party, the antsier he got. Pacing back and forth, Tyrell considered his options.

  First and foremost, he needed to apologize to Jeremy. That took priority over everything else. Even if Jeremy never forgave him, Tyrell needed him to know that he was profoundly sorry and would have his back if anything else like this ever happened again. When, more likely. Tyrell didn’t fool himself that Dunce and his crew of idiots would be so easily reformed. He was more than willing to take each of them down one at a time if that’s what it took for them to back off.

  The train rumbled into the station, and he walked blindly through the closest doors when they opened. He claimed the nearest seat and slid his phone out of his pocket. Monday was too far away. He needed to talk to Jeremy now. Pulling up his contacts, he found the number Jeremy had given him. He took a deep breath and pressed the screen to connect the call. He had no clue what he was going to say, but for once, he was willing to let go, let God control his mouth, and pray for the best.

  Hi, this is Jeremy. Please leave a message.

  Tyrell closed his eyes and groaned as he slouched in his seat. Of course it had gone directly to voice mail. Jeremy had probably turned his phone off as soon as he realized it was still on. It’s what he would have done if he wanted to hide away from the world. So much for Plan A.

  Tyrell disconnected the call without leaving a message. This was one apology he couldn’t simply leave in a recording. He glanced up at the display illustrating all of the stops along the Red Line route. He could always just go to Jeremy’s house and demand that Jeremy accept his groveling. In the next instant, he abandoned the idea as impossible. Jeremy had given him his phone number, not his address. He couldn’t very well wander around the North Side hoping he might accidentally stumble across Jeremy’s apartment.

  “Fuck.” He closed his eyes when the old man sitting a few seats away glared at him in disappr
oval.

  As much as he didn’t want to, he’d simply have to wait until he was at school to talk to Jeremy. That was less than thirty-four hours from now. Surely he could be patient until then, especially since he had no other choice.

  Tyrell felt drained when the train finally pulled into the station at 55th Street. He had to catch one more bus, but all he wanted to do was fall into his bed and sleep until it was time to go to class. He wondered if there was some way he could convince his mother he was too sick to go to church tomorrow. Then again, asking for divine assistance might not be a bad idea. Teetering or not, this wasn’t the time to start questioning his faith or lack thereof, not when he needed all the help he could get.

  Maybe the heavens were smiling on him after all, because the eastbound bus arrived at the stop at the same time he did. Tyrell dragged himself aboard and sprawled into the first seat he came to.

  “You okay, honey?”

  Tyrell opened his eyelids a crack and saw the bus driver glancing over at him with a concerned expression on her face.

  “Yes, ma’am. Just tired,” he replied.

  She nodded and turned to watch the road. Tyrell sighed and closed his eyes again, hoping his doze wouldn’t slip into full-blown sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was miss his stop and have to backtrack. He heard the driver chuckle, her voice low and pleasant.

  “Where are you getting off? I don’t want you napping on my bus all the way to South Shore.”

  He smiled weakly. “Dorchester. Thanks.” Confident that the driver would tell him when he needed to get off the bus, he allowed himself to rest. His attempt might even have succeeded but for the fact that every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were Jeremy’s sad eyes filled with tears.

  The loud squeal of the bus’s brakes roused Tyrell from his fitful snooze a moment before he heard the driver announce his stop. He mumbled his gratitude and loped down the stairs. The bus pulled off behind him as he turned south on Dorchester and continued on the final leg of his interminable journey.