Exiled to Iowa. Send Help. And Couture

by Chris O'Guinn

  “I’ll tell her you apologized,” I informed him. “But that’s all. I’m not going to try and sell her on you. She wouldn’t buy it anyway.”

  Appeased, Billy let me go. “Fine.”

  I made my escape, my heart fluttering in my chest like a panicked bird. It was dreadful to be in the position he had put me in. I basically had to sell out Becca to save myself. Even though I had just met her, the idea of doing anything to help Billy get his ill-intentioned hands on her made me sick. I would have to talk to her and soon and make sure she knew to be careful. Billy was not the sort to be trusted.

  Austin did not acknowledge me in any way during classes, which on top of kind of hurting also suggested that maybe he had reconsidered his overture of friendship. There was no good explanation for why I was so disappointed. It wasn't like we were soul mates or anything. I guess it was just that I felt honored to be the first person he had apparently chosen to talk to in forever and having that honor taken away from me stung a bit.

  I'm full of contradictions. Sometimes, I even baffle myself.

  I passed by him at lunch, on my way to Keith and Nick's table, and barely even got a glance from him. I was a bit confused, but decided it was probably for the best. I was on a mission to prove what a fine son, brother and student I could be. Austin was almost definitely trouble. There was certainly an air of danger about him that clashed with my plans to untarnish my image.

  I settled across from my new friends, clearly distracted. Even Keith noticed.

  “Forget something?” he asked as he smushed his corn dog into a vat of mustard.

  “Hmm? Oh, no… I just....” No, there was no point in discussing my encounter with Austin. If he wanted to pretend it didn't happen, I should too.

  “Hey, Collin, you suppose you could hook me up with some fashion advice?” Nick asked suddenly. I gave him a look of blatant disbelief. “The girls are starting to notice Keith more than me, and that’s just not right.”

  “They always did, Nick, you just didn’t realize it,” Keith told him.

  “Oh, it’s like that is it? Is this a black thing?” he asked with a wide smile.

  Keith rolled his eyes. “That stopped being funny in middle school, you know.”

  Nick chuckled and turned back to me. “So, what do you think, C? Care to hook a brother up?”

  “Um … sure. That would be fun.” I was flattered that he had asked me. “This weekend?”

  “Sounds good,” Nick agreed.

  I sank into the warm, fuzzy feeling of new friendship. There really is nothing like knowing you have a place in the world.

  “So, I'm starting a Drama Club, want to join?” I asked.

  “You're what now?” Nick eyed me in confusion. “A Drama Club? Seriously?”

  “Yes. It's part of my twelve-step program that will help to cure me of my evil ways. Kretchmer suggested it.”

  “For serious?” Nick could not have looked more stunned if he had put actual effort into it. “Why?”

  “Because I miss having Drama class, so this was sort of a compromise between that and suspension. I like to think I'm a reasonable sort of person.”

  “Sounds cool,” Keith approved distractedly. He was already eyeing his latest Sudoku book, which meant we had lost most of his attention for the hour.

  “Cool? I dunno, sounds kind of gay to me,” Nick disagreed.

  I masked my injury at his slight with practiced ease. Sure, he was insulting my passion, and using my orientation to do it, but there was no reason to take it personally. Or if there was, I was going to ignore it. I needed friends and I had to do my best not to get all dramatic anytime something hurt my feelings.

  “Well, it's not the army. I'm not going to draft you. But I'm doing it. And hey, you don't have to act, either. There's lighting, sound and prop-making. “

  Keith actually looked up from his puzzle, his eyes fixed on Nick in an unusually challenging way. “We'll be there.”

  Nick's protests ended at that. He shrugged and went back to his food. I wasn't sure what that was all about, but I judged that it wasn't any of my business. There was a history between my two new friends that I could not even guess at. I was still learning the ropes of their dynamic, and then there was a giant question of where I fit into everything. I wasn't going to stir things up if I didn’t have to. I certainly didn't need to go borrowing trouble.

  Trouble, however—as a casual observer might notice—had no hesitation about seeking me out.

  I was sitting on the bleachers sketching out ideas for the poster for my Drama Club (not too understated, but not so garish it blinded people) when Austin plopped down next to me, startling me so much I dropped my pen and nearly ruined a perfectly good pair of pants.

  “Geez! I'm going to put a bell on you, I swear,” I growled peevishly.

  “What are you working on?” he asked conversationally.

  It was right around that time that I realized Loner Boy was actually sitting right there next to me. It was the closest we had been ever and as near as I could tell, it was well within his demilitarized zone. I was completely flummoxed, which may well have been the little devil’s fiendish scheme. He seemed to take some sort of sick joy in shocking and unsettling me. I was not even sure yet if that annoyed me or if I thought it was sort of cute.

  “A … flier … for the Drama Club,” I informed him with all the eloquence of a fourth grader.

  “We have a Drama Club?” Austin asked.

  “Not … no … not yet. I'm starting one.” I fished around in my backpack in search of another pen, since mine was now in the bowels of the bleachers.

  “Really?”

  “No, not really. I just like making fliers.”

  I was a little tired of people asking if I was serious. I gave him a sidelong look, a bit bothered by the fact that I could see so little of him with that great big hoodie on. A narrow chin … good cheekbones, maybe, but the rest was a mystery. His eyes simply would not be captured, and instead kept looking everywhere but at me.

  “I'm.... Well, about lunch....” I wasn't sure what to say, but something had to be said. I didn't want him thinking I was embarrassed to know him or anything. That's a crappy way to feel. I know that one first-hand.

  “What about it?” he asked, sounding guarded and maybe even a little defensive.

  “I just…. I would have said ‘hi’ or something, but I wasn't sure.... You seemed kind of in your own little world.”

  “Oh, don't worry about that.” He shook his hoodied-head and shrugged. “You're new here. No need for you to get dicked over because people see us talking. And I like to read at lunch anyway.”

  I glanced at the players on the court. Boys weren't as prone to gossip as girls, so yes, it was likely a good bet that we could talk here safely. But I didn't want him to think I wasn't willing to have people know we talked. Then again, since he seemed happy with it, and it did make my life easier....

  Sometimes, I am weaker than I want to be.

  “All right … if that's … if that's how you want it,” I conceded.

  He nodded in affirmation. I was not at all sure if he was really okay with the arrangement, but I chose to believe him. Again, not one of my proudest moments, but it was the easier road and I needed a little easy in my life.

  “So … how are things at the Sith Academy?”

  Austin frowned at me. “Huh?”

  “The hood. I know they're all the rage among Sith Lords and dead 'South Park' kids, but … seriously, that can't be comfortable.”

  Austin hunched over a little bit and watched the practice for a moment, apparently disliking the attention I brought to his favorite article of clothing. He bristled from being made the subject of the conversation, which made his truckload of issues even more obvious.

  I was about to make a very awkward change of topic when he suddenly reached up and tossed the hood back. I was, again, startled into speechlessness. Not just because he had done something that he was clearly miserable doing j
ust because I had asked … but also because of the lamentable fact that he was drop-dead cute.

  Short-cropped blond hair sat atop his head like a disgruntled hedgehog. He did indeed have a nice set of cheekbones, made more obvious by the fact that his face was a little thin. A perfectly narrow nose protruded from between two soft brown eyes, giving him almost a waifish appearance. Even the small blackheads apparent at his temple and chin (we're teenagers, these tragedies happen) did not take away from his cuteness. I wasn't too fond of the stubble shadowing his jawline, but it did sort of seem to fit in with his theme of “I don't care what I look like.”

  A part of me really hates guys who look that good without even trying.

  At some point, Dignity tapped me on the shoulder and suggested I stop gawking at him. I could only hope it wasn't too obvious that I had been memorizing every detail of his face. It wasn't fair, after all. He had sprung the big reveal on me with no warning. I could not be held responsible for gaping just a little bit.

  “Er…. Yeah, that's better. I guess I lose the bet. I was sure half your face had been burned off with acid.” It wasn't much, but with luck, it would make up for my slip and my cover would not be blown.

  Austin was very uncomfortable with the hood off, but he endured it bravely for no reason I could rightly understand. Why he had chosen me to befriend made no sense at all. I certainly wasn't doing a very good job of rewarding his efforts. I may be an effervescent fountain of urbane wit, but that hardly seemed the sort of thing that would make him want to come out of his shell.

  “'There’s an advance screening of HSM3 playing in Fordham, the next town over. You free on Friday?”

  Now that I had a response to. “Is the Pope Catholic?” I asked, trying so very hard not to sound like I would donate an organ for the chance.

  Austin gave me one of those rare smiles. He asked for my number, and we quickly programmed each other's cells with our digits. Then he helped me design my flier for the club, even adding a few doodles here and there. I was really impressed with the results. It would look even better with a few tablespoons of glitter sprinkled over it.

  “You want to run it over to the copy place?” Austin asked me when we were both satisfied.

  “Yeah, that would be awesome.”

  I absolutely forbade my inner romantic from thinking any of the things I wanted to think about him. It would only lead to disaster and drama. Austin needed a friend, and I needed to accept that was all it was. With that much logic behind me, I felt secure in letting the friendship grow unattended.

  I made my way over to where Shawn was warming the bench with a justifiably irritated look on his face. “Hey, I'm going to run to the copy store and get my fliers printed. See you at home?”

  Yes, I omitted the fact that I was going with Austin, but, really, what good would that information have done him?

  “Fine,” Shawn agreed without even looking at me.

  Hoisting my backpack over one of my narrow shoulders, I escaped the gym and met up with Austin out front. His hood had magically reappeared over his head, but I think the look I gave him expressed my disapproval far better than any words might have, so I didn't scold him for it. I wasn't even sure if we were at a stage where I could scold him safely, if I were honest with myself. He was the hardest person to figure out I had ever met, which was saying something. I knew girls, after all....

  I noticed a strange thing as we made our escape from Hoover High. With every step we took away from the place, Austin seemed to relax a little bit more. His posture straightened like a weight was being lifted off him and he lifted his head up. He even tossed the hood off again—once we were well clear of anyone resembling a student.

  “You really hate it there, huh?” I asked.

  He nodded slowly. “I hate the way everyone looks at me, like I'm just about to pull out a machine gun and go Columbine on them.”

  “Well … the easy fix would be to let them know why you really left your old school,” I suggested with a pointed look.

  Austin shook his head, raking fingers through his haystack of hair. “No. That would only make it worse.”

  “Why? What did you do? Slay vampires?”

  That got me a brief smile, and I was rapidly becoming far too eager to find ways to earn those rare flashes of good humor. “No. Just…. Trust me, dude. It would make things worse. Besides, you know high school. Once you're on the bottom of the social ladder, you don't get back up again.”

  “Again? Ah hah, the plot thickens. You were popular before.”

  “Yeah, Sherlock, I was. I was even on the baseball team at my old school. I was the worst second baseman in the history of the game, but I was on the team.”

  “Now you're teasing me. There's no way you played baseball. How could you even see the ball with that giant hood on?”

  I got an actual chuckle for that, which had me flying. I still had no idea why I had been chosen to be his (apparently) only friend, but it seemed like an honor and I am really a giant sponge when it comes to people's approval. I can never get enough.

  “You? What were you into back in the L.A.?” he asked.

  I busted up, which earned a kicked-puppy look from him. “Sorry, it's just called L.A. Orange County was always just 'O.C' until the show and then it became 'the O.C.', but Los Angeles dodged that bullet.”

  “Oh, I didn't know you people over there were so sensitive about your acronyms.”

  “It’s how we separate the in-crowd from the posers,” I told him loftily. “But, as for what I did back in the land of sunshine, well, I was really into our drama department. I also spent a lot of time at museums, because nothing says hip like trendy expressionist art....”

  “That's cool you're into art,” Austin told me, letting me off the hook on that one.

  “I have to be. It's all part of this pretentious mystique I'm working on.”

  “You're not pretentious … just a little snooty,” Austin allowed cautiously, eyeing me to see if he had offended.

  “Snooty?” I scoffed. “Sir, I have worked for years on this attitude of mine. I think I qualify at least as 'snobby.' I passed 'snooty' ages ago.”

  “You're certifiable, you do know that, yes?” Austin commented with a strange look.

  “Well, coming from the school's resident sociopath, I take that as high praise.”

  “Don’t make me get my pipe bombs.”

  Oh God, he was actually joking with me. I was in. In where, I had no idea, but I was definitely in somewhere. And he was smiling— a real, non-adverb-laced smile. And damn he had dimples.

  I was doomed. So doomed.

  Chapter 7

  THINGS WERE FINALLY CALMING DOWN, at least enough so that I didn’t feel like I had to be on the alert for any more landmines. Billy was going to behave—for selfish reasons, but those can sometimes be the best kind. Since he was doing it for his own benefit, it was more likely that he would stick to it. I had successfully avoided expulsion and I had an advisor for the Drama Club. Best of all, I had plans to see “HSM3” a month before it hit theaters in wide release, which made me ridiculously happy.

  I was plastering the walls of my school with the posters for the new club—always with an eye for maximum visibility balanced with decorative appeal—when Derek decided to remind me why I hate him. He ripped off one of the posters and laughed out loud.

  “Oh God, really? Why don’t you just call it ‘Loser Club’?”

  I was outraged but smart enough to not show it. Billy was nowhere to be found, but there were still enough of them to make his absence unimportant if they decided to attack. I bit down on all of the wise-ass remarks that leaped to mind and waited for them to finish mocking me so I could get on with my life.

  “Well, since he and his loser buds can’t get dates, it gives them something to do,” one of Derek’s little goons joked.

  They got a big laugh out of that. Derek yanked the posters out of my hands and gave me a look that just dared me to say something. He was goin
g to trash them and I would have to start over again. I wished so much right then for the strength to beat them all to pieces. That wish didn’t come true, of course, so all I could do was stand there and let them bully me.

  Salvation appeared around a corner. Shawn approached me, his expression all smiles but his eyes telling me he knew just what was going on. Just as he had a dozen times before, he was coming to save me.

  “Hey, bro, you get some help putting up your fliers?” he asked me.

  I was grateful for the save, but I always hate the reminder that I can’t stand up to the bullies on my own. I glanced silently at Derek, letting him decide if he wanted to attack my much larger and much stronger brother.

  With the odds much more even, the thug decided to call it a day. He tossed the posters on the ground and walked off, laughing and joking with his friends. I glared hatefully at them, feeling violated and put upon and just angry at the world.

  Shawn knelt and gathered up the posters. “You okay?”

  “Peachy,” I grated. “Just another day in paradise.”

  Shawn handed me the posters and gave me a serious look. He knew by now that I loved having him as a protector but still resented the feeling of patheticness that always follows after he steps in. He didn’t try to make it better, because he knew that would only make it worse.

  I returned to my task of putting up the fliers, trying to force the memory of my latest encounter from my mind. I had almost succeeded when Becca approached me. I was surprised to see she was now wearing a touch of makeup here and there. Apparently, she was taking the whole girl thing seriously. She was definitely much prettier with girl stuff on.

  “Drama Club, huh?” she asked.

  “You can’t be surprised,” I replied with a smile.

  “I suppose not.” She took one of my fliers and read it over. “Wow, that’s a lot of glitter.”

  “It’s eye-catching,” I objected mildly.