Unnatural

by Michael Griffo

  Some of the boys chuckled nervously and although Michael had no idea what a kettle boy was, he knew by Blakeley’s derogatory tone that it wasn’t something he wanted to become. How quickly his confidence disappeared. He felt as inferior as he did in the hallways at Two W. He couldn’t shake the feeling until Ronan came up behind him and whispered in his ear, “I wouldn’t mind if you were my personal kettle boy.” Suddenly the prospect of being a kettle boy didn’t seem quite so bad.

  Michael playfully tossed his towel over Ronan’s head. Just one look at Ronan’s face, open and smiling, his hair tousled as if he couldn’t be bothered to run a comb through it, and Michael couldn’t remember why he had felt anxious only a few seconds earlier. Then Blakeley started shouting again, and he was reminded. “Eaves, Ulrich, Poltke, and Howard, in the pool.”

  Michael felt his stomach somersault and then heard it growl. He had never tried out for a school sport before and now he was going to do so in front of his boyfriend and an antagonistic coach. He felt queasy from the pressure. “C’mon, Ameri-can,” Ronan teased, slapping his backside with the towel. “Show us what you got.” When Michael took his place at the edge of the pool, he still felt a bit disoriented, but for a completely different reason.

  “Swim two laps! As fast as you can! You’re being timed!” Just before Blakeley shot his starter gun, he shouted again. “Hold on!” Instantly the four boys broke their starting positions and relaxed, not knowing what to expect next. Ciaran’s position was so low and angled he almost fell into the pool before regaining his balance and straightening up. “Poltke!”

  “Yes,” Penry said.

  “Didn’t you pass out the other day?”

  “Flat on his back,” Ulrich replied for him. “After getting Imogene flat on hers.”

  Despite feeling grand amid the approving cheers of his classmates, Penry knew he had to defend his girlfriend’s honor. “Don’t be a git, Fritz.”

  “Did MacCleery say it was okay for you to try out?”

  “Yes, sir. He said he couldn’t find a thing wrong with me and there was no reason why I couldn’t try out for the swim team,” Penry said, then quickly added, “He also said that he was quite sure I’d make the starting team.”

  Blakeley, like Mrs. Radcliff, had honed a special skill over the years and could tell when a student was telling the truth. Penry was. Even the last bit about the doctor’s guarantee. But Blakeley had an image to uphold and he couldn’t make it appear as if he were swayed by anyone else’s opinion, even a doctor’s. “Yeah, well, you might have fooled MacCleery, but you still have to convince me.”

  With no further warning, Blakeley raised his hand, shouted, “Ready, set, go,” and pulled the trigger. Even though the gym was large, the blast was earsplitting and Michael could hear it echo from underneath the water after he dove in. The sound rippled over him until it was carried away by the current, and then just for a second, there was silence. Michael lay suspended, not moving, just letting the momentum propel him forward, not hearing anything except his own heartbeat and feeling it vibrate throughout his body. He always liked to swim, but here at Double A he felt that the water was beginning to change him, somehow make him even feel more alive. It was weird, but it was a feeling he was starting to love.

  When his head emerged to take a breath, he heard Ronan and the others shouting, urging them to swim faster, faster, faster, and so he did. Kicking his legs vigorously, he used strength in his arms that he didn’t know he had. He had no idea what position he was in, he couldn’t see anything clearly, but he felt movement all around him and so he decided to do what he thought was best and focus on himself and not on the others. It was a good strategy because if he had heard what Nakano was saying to Ronan, it would have shattered his concentration.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

  Ronan didn’t take his eyes off of Michael. “My life is no longer your business.”

  “Well, if you’re not concerned about yourself,” Nakano sneered, “think about Michael.”

  “He’s all I can think about.”

  Not the response Nakano wanted to hear. “Then I suggest you be careful, for both your sakes.”

  It’s not that Ronan didn’t hear the threat; he just knew that it existed even before Nakano spoke the words. No matter how Ronan responded, he wasn’t going to change anything; as long as Ronan was with someone other than Nakano, his ex-boyfriend wasn’t going to be happy. But the only way Ronan was going to be happy was with Michael. So he would just have to do everything in his power to keep them both safe. And of course remind Nakano that he wasn’t dealing with a novice. “You might want to take your own advice.”

  Nakano didn’t like Ronan’s condescending tone. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  When Ronan spoke again, it was in such a hushed, low voice that no one around him except Nakano could hear, no one looking at him would even suspect that he was moving his lips. “I’m talking about Penry, you idiot. What the hell were you thinking?”

  “I was hungry.”

  “So what? You know the rules.”

  How dare he scold me, Nakano thought. My life is none of his business and he’s no better than I am. “You were about to feast on him yourself! You didn’t stop because of the rules, you stopped because you heard me and thought it was your precious Michael. You didn’t want him to see you with your mouth on another guy.”

  Ronan knew Nakano was right, but he would keep that thought to himself. “It doesn’t matter why I stopped; it just matters that I did.”

  “I made a mistake, Ronan; we’ve all made them before.”

  For the first time, Ronan looked directly at Nakano. “Some of us having been making a lot more mistakes than others.”

  “Sorry, chum, I forgot I was talking to Mr. Perfect,” Nakano replied, finding it very hard to control his voice so no one other than Ronan could hear. “You and your people think you’re so much better than everybody else.”

  Because we are, Ronan thought. “Whatever you say, Kano,” Ronan said. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to watch my boyfriend win this race.”

  Contracting into a tight ball, Michael flipped and touched the end of the pool with his feet. He bent his knees and pushed off, twisting his body at the same time so he could resume swimming. When he lifted his head again to breathe, he took a split second to see where he was in relation to the other swimmers. On his right he saw Penry about two arm lengths behind, one lane over and it looked like he was even with Ciaran. On his next breath, he looked to the left and saw that Fritz was about a stroke behind him, but since Fritz was taller, he could probably overtake him in fewer strokes. It was a tight race and Michael wouldn’t be satisfied coming in anything other than first.

  Surprisingly, his satisfaction grew when Blakeley announced that he tied for first with Fritz. Being knowledgeable in such matters, Michael realized Fritz was less likely to torment him if they were equals. Ciaran, who came in a very close second, realized he was definitely not Michael’s equal when he saw Ronan extend his hand to Michael to help pull him out of the pool.

  “I knew you’d win.”

  “A shared victory,” Michael corrected, allowing his wet hand to hold on to Ronan’s dry one longer than necessary.

  “You touched down first,” Ronan said. “Trust me, my eyes are much better than Blakeley’s.”

  Michael couldn’t tell if he was lying or not, but it didn’t matter. He loved the fact that he was saying something to make him feel good. It was his turn to do the same. “Great race, Ciaran.”

  Oh, how magnanimous is the champion, Ciaran thought. “Thanks. You too.”

  “Penry!” Blakeley shouted. “How do you feel?”

  “Fine, sir,” Penry answered honestly. “Only a stroke or two behind.”

  “Yeah, but you still came in last,” Blakeley reminded him.

  Undeterred, Penry shrugged his shoulders. “Somebody had to.”

  The next heat was about to
begin. The late morning sun glistened through the windows, making Ronan look even more majestic as he stood, bent forward, shoulders bulging as his arms stretched behind him. Michael didn’t think he looked like a swimmer; his muscles were much curvier and not long and lean, his body built more for manual labor than gliding through water. In fact, if he hadn’t seen Ronan race previously, he would have thought Nakano would easily win, but he knew better. And he was right.

  From the very first stroke, Ronan commanded the lead and never once faltered. Nakano couldn’t even hope to surpass him. Of course he had an unfair advantage—even without webbed hands and feet—he was a vampire who had just fed, the perfect combination of life and death, almost invulnerable and definitely unbeatable. But he didn’t let any of that spoil his win. He achieved what he wanted to achieve, seeing Michael look at him with an awed expression. “You were incredible.”

  “Thank you, Michael.”

  “I guess that’s why you’re the captain.”

  Ronan wasn’t sure how, but he contained himself and didn’t kiss Michael right there in front of everyone. Instead he quipped, “One of many reasons.”

  “Listen up,” Blakeley ordered. “For the second year in a row, Ronan is your team captain.” The loud cheers drowned out Fritz’s snide comment. “The starting team is Ronan, of course, Nakano, Fritz, and Michael.”

  He did it; that’s all Michael could think of. He actually attempted something and succeeded. Some of the kids, including Penry, patted Michael on his back, but all he could feel was Ronan’s hand gripping his neck, rubbing up and down a bit until finally he mischievously slapped him on top of the head. Michael let out a shocked laugh. “I can do whatever I want,” Ronan said. “I’m your captain.”

  Michael whispered back, “I’ll keep that in mind later tonight.” No one else heard his comment, but Michael didn’t even care. He checked off a goal; he had made the swim team. But then he realized that Ciaran didn’t.

  “Team B,” Blakeley announced. “Not as good as Team A, but better than most everybody else, is led by Ciaran, Niles, Alexei, and despite MacCleery’s prediction, Penry.”

  Ronan patted Ciaran on the shoulder and teased his brother. “Congrats, mate, you’re better than most everybody else.” Ciaran forced a smile. It was only placement on a team; it wasn’t like it really meant anything. Except that he wouldn’t be practicing alongside Ronan, who was his flesh and blood. He had to once again relinquish that position to Michael. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it was time to accept his role as second fiddle. Or maybe it was time to take some action.

  “Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”

  Michael wasn’t sure what Ciaran was asking him. “I know I’ve never been on a swim team before, but if I keep practicing, I’ll only get better.”

  “I’m not talking about the swim team,” Ciaran said. “I’m talking about Ronan.”

  If someone had asked Michael something so personal a few weeks ago, he would have found a way to avoid answering. He would have changed the subject or just remained silent, lived inside his head instead of in the real world. But now, he knew he couldn’t run from such questions, and the best way to answer them was directly. “I really like Ronan,” Michael said. “And he feels the same way about me.”

  “So you think that you should act upon those feelings so soon?” Ciaran asked. “I mean you hardly know each other.”

  “That’s why we’re going out on a date tonight, to get to know one another. And hopefully after a bunch of dates we’ll know each other really, really well.”

  There was so much Ciaran wanted to say, but he knew there was no way to begin. “Just be careful, Michael, that’s all I ask.”

  * * *

  Why was this so difficult for him to accept? Michael thought. “And all I ask, Ciaran, is that you give us a chance.”

  * * *

  But what chance could Michael possibly have if he wore the wrong outfit? He looked at himself in the mirror, hated what he saw, and wondered if Ronan was having an equally difficult time trying to figure out what to wear. He doubted it. Ronan always had that relaxed air about him that made it look as if he just reached into his closet and put on the first thing that his hands grabbed. And no matter what he wore, he looked sensational. Michael was desperate to look just as perfect. He hadn’t yet realized that Ronan didn’t care what he wore and probably wouldn’t notice anyway. He was much more interested in looking into Michael’s eyes and watching the way his mouth moved when he talked.

  “This might work.” The emerald green V-neck sweater really did accentuate his eyes, and the white T-shirt peeking out underneath made it look more casual and not so formal. His jeans fit well, not too tight and not too loose, and his new black loafers were a better choice than his muddy sneakers. His skin was, thankfully, blemish-free and his hair was simple and loose, the way he thought Ronan liked it. But maybe he should put some gel in it just to give it a lift? No, because if it doesn’t look good, then it’ll be harder to get it back to normal. Michael sighed at his indecision and realized he was thinking way too hard. He sighed even louder when he realized that Ronan had probably been ready an hour ago. He was wrong.

  The second after he put the pomade in his hair, Ronan regretted his decision. He rarely used hair-grooming products, partly because he thought his hair looked fine without cosmetic help, but mainly because he felt inadequate applying the stuff. However, he had wanted to do something special tonight for Michael. He quickly realized he’d made a mistake. Or wait, maybe it was just nerves talking.

  He ran his fingers through his hair, then pushed down some unruly strands that were sticking up at the sides and then stopped touching his hair altogether. It actually looked good. His hair, pushed back off his face instead of flopping on his forehead, made him look a bit older, kind of collegiate and studious. He liked it. He also liked the way his thin, light blue sweater fell over his muscles, showing off enough but not too much. And his jeans, well, they were just jeans, which meant they were comfortable, which helped him feel a bit more comfortable. Just as he started wondering what Michael would look like, there was a knock at the door, and he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer.

  When Ronan opened the door, Michael couldn’t believe his eyes. He actually gets better-looking every time I see him. “Wow, love your hair,” Michael said, cringing at how girly he just sounded.

  “Really? I wasn’t sure about it.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. It really, um, looks great. So do you.” Michael tried to stop speaking but couldn’t. “I mean, you know, you, uh, you look great.” And now he sounded like a girl with a speech impediment.

  He’s just as nervous as I am, Ronan thought. That’s good. “Thank you.” Just as Ronan was going to invite Michael to come in, he noticed his backpack. “Planning on getting some studying in tonight?”

  “Oh no … this contains the contents of our date,” Michael said proudly.

  Ronan was intrigued. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the door. “In that little bag of yours?”

  “Well, laddie, you might call it my li’l bag o’ tricks.”

  Ronan laughed and Michael, recognizing a bad pun even when it came out of his mouth, joined in. They only stopped when Ronan gave him a kiss. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since tryouts.”

  “Me too.” Flustered, Michael desperately tried to think of something to say. “Still can’t believe I made the first team.”

  “Why not? You swam a great race.”

  “Just hope I can keep up.”

  “Don’t let Fritz make you question yourself,” Ronan advised. “Or Ciaran.”

  “Ciaran? He hasn’t said a word,” Michael half lied.

  “Exactly. When my brother gets pissy, he shuts down. Keeps it all to himself, he does, ’til he explodes.”

  “I can’t picture Ciaran exploding. He’s too, I don’t know … too Jane Austen for that.”

  “Give him time. He can cause a scene that would m
ake Ms. Austen roll over in her grave,” Ronan said knowingly. “Now, enough about him. Where are you taking me on our first date?”

  “I like the sound of that,” Michael said. “Our first date.”

  Ronan reached up to hold the top of the doorjamb and leaned into Michael, his biceps bulging a bit more underneath the soft material of his sweater. “Then I’ll say it again,” he said, his lips barely touching Michael’s. “Where are you taking me on our first date?”

  Ronan had the ability to scare and exhilarate Michael at the same time, but Michael wanted to stand his ground in Ronan’s presence, so oddly it helped him find his own courage. When Michael spoke, he didn’t pull his lips away but let them rest on Ronan’s. “You’ll have to follow me to find out.”

  When they got to The Forest of No Return near where Ronan had found Michael a few days earlier, Michael stopped. “Here.”

  “Here?” Ronan asked, intrigued, but concerned.

  Michael knelt down and began to unzip his backpack. “The weather’s a bit like what we Ameri-cans call Indian summer, so I thought it might be fun to have a moonlight picnic before it gets too cold to do much of anything outside.” So Michael was a romantic, Ronan thought. “You don’t think it’s stupid, do you?”

  “Not at all; it’s sweet.”

  “I was actually going for sophisticated, but I’ll take sweet.” Michael pulled out a bedsheet that would double as their tablecloth. “Don’t worry, I washed it first.” Ronan grabbed the other side of the sheet and together they laid it out on the grass. Next Michael pulled out two napkins that he had swiped from St. Martha’s, some glasses, and a bottle of grape soda. “I couldn’t find any grape juice—you know, underage wine—so I thought this would be the next best thing.”