Exiled to Iowa. Send Help. And Couture

by Chris O'Guinn

  People only see what they want to see, though.

  I called my parents and told them of the latest development with possible employment. My father made a very uncharitable remark about asking me for my social security number to verify I really was their son. They told me it was okay, but we would need to work out the details when I got home.

  There was also a small amount of paperwork that had to be done, but all that could wait. I bid my new friends goodbye and then got to work. I had spent enough time in clothing stores and around couture that I really didn’t need any training, so I worked the floor while Jack stayed close to the register; that was something I would need to learn.

  I got home around seven, tired but so excited I could not sit still. My parents and I hammered out what seemed like a reasonable amount of hours I could work. They didn’t want me getting burned out or so tired I couldn’t focus on school. My sudden headfirst dive into responsibility clearly had them nonplussed. They should have known, though, that when I do something, I go full out. Half-measures are for wusses.

  Chapter 8

  ONE MIGHT EXPECT TO HEAR that Shawna, Jackie, Franci and Becca all joined our little lunch circle, but that isn’t what happened. They had their own friends and they were comfortable with them and that was fine. There was no reason to upset the social order of Hoover High. We could and would bond more during club time and after school.

  I was noticing signs of my little fashion revolution all over now. Funny how quick a trend can spread in a little community like high school. I felt incredibly smug about it. Granted, some of those with the proper couture did not have enough fashion sense to fill a thimble and the resulting outfits were mildly eye-searing, but my evil influence was spreading.

  There was no practice on Fridays, so I had to talk to Austin in order to firm things up. Emboldened by my nigh-popularity, I went over to him as lunch was ending. I was only a little worried about what might be said about me being seen talking to “that guy.” Sure, rumors would fly around the sun-drenched quad, questions would be asked in the recessed alcoves of the science lab, and furtive glances would be exchanged before homeroom, but I was certain nothing serious would materialize from it.

  I didn’t feel too good about even giving those worries a moment to play around in my head, so I stuffed them in their cages and trotted to catch up with the brooding shadow named Austin. He looked flatly astonished that I was falling into step with him, which unfortunately I deserved.

  “We’re still on for HSM3, yes?” I asked hopefully.

  Austin looked around in confusion. “We don’t have to, if you have plans,” he said uneasily. “I can tell you’ve gotten busier.”

  Plans? Was he insane? “Are you kidding, I’ve been looking forward to this all week!” I told him sincerely.

  “Really?” he asked, looking cautiously hopeful.

  That surprised me. Why was he so surprised I still wanting to go to the movie with him? Sure, we’d had that little thing about lunch, but he had made it clear he was cool with our arrangement. I then became acutely aware of the odd looks we were getting, but I made myself ignore them.

  Doubt gnawed at me for a moment before I punted it to the side.

  “Since we don’t have to attend practice today, why don’t we make a day of it? We can go to the mall where the theater is, shop, eat and then watch Zac and his wacky pals.”

  Austin gave me the barest hint of a smile. “Okay…. I’ll need to go home and change.”

  “Yes, you want to put on the formal hoodie if you want to be seen in public with me,” I teased him.

  Austin shrugged a little. “Actually, I’ll be glad to have it off. It’s really hot under this thing,” he admitted.

  I did not ask the obvious question. I, who wore long sleeves no matter how hot it became, understood that sometimes one’s comfort took a backseat to one’s need to feel shielded. One time I collapsed from heat stroke on a particularly hot day. Since then, I have learned to hydrate better. We Irish aren’t built for the heat.

  “So, how do we work this? I can bus it to your house and we can ride the rest of the way together,” I told him. God, I hated not being able to drive.

  “Or, I could pick you up and drive us there.”

  “That plan works too,” I told him, hiding my jealousy. Sometimes it seemed like I was the only teenager in the world who didn’t drive.

  I gave him my address, which felt very strange, even though it totally shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like he was picking me up for a date. It was dinner and a movie between two friends and that was all it could possibly be and no matter how many “buts” and “maybes” that Optimism tried to foist upon me, I held firmly onto the truth that sometimes dinner and a movie is just dinner and a movie.

  I would never, ever again make the same mistake I made with Mike.

  That did not, however, keep me from stressing absurdly over what I would wear. It might be accurate to say I pay more attention than most to how I dress. This was going to be my first real purely social encounter with Austin, though, and what I wore would send signals to him that had to be very carefully edited.

  For instance, anything too flamboyant would crudely announce, “Hi, I’m gay and everyone watching us will think this is a date” and that would not start things off too well. I also could not just wear the same sort of thing I wore to school every day, because that would tell him that I really didn’t think it was any big deal to hang with him.

  No one understands the hardships that those of us who are slaves to fashion endure.

  I almost picked up the phone to call Jackie, which would have been a very big mistake. It would not have been possible to convince her that this was not a date, and by Monday, HHH would be abuzz with the gossip that Austin and I were involved. As that would cause me to lose his friendship and die of complete mortification at the same time, I abstained from that call.

  I did the next best thing. I put on the outfit that she had dragooned me into trying on. Dark jeans (I know, denim, what is the world coming to?) and a maroon tee with a maroon and white pinstriped button-up shirt thrown over. That last gave me problems. I did not wear shirts like that. I tried buttoning the bottom few buttons and tucking the ends into my jeans, but that looked ridiculous. I undid that and rolled up the sleeves like she had said I should and then unrolled them and then re-rolled them.

  “Collin, Austin’s here for you,” my mom called.

  Crap. Out of time. I hadn’t even done my hair yet. I gave it a little muss, spritzed it with hairspray and then bounded down to meet Austin before my parents had the chance to do something that would embarrass me—like talk to him. They were so happy I was developing new friends that in their enthusiasm they might forget that teenagers are far too cool to hang with parental folk.

  “…during basketball practice.”

  “You play?” my dad asked.

  “No, sir, I’m way too short. Baseball is more my speed.”

  “Really? I played in school myself….”

  Oh God!

  My dad was about to launch into tales of his youth. Austin needed rescue, stat. I was halfway down the stairs when I was collared by Shawn and dragged into his room. It was much smaller than mine, and he had barely decorated it. I had not been in there before, but I didn’t have leisure to take in the sights. Dad had Austin trapped and Mom was probably baking him cookies or something and I did not have time right now for a little sibling chat.

  Shawn gave me a very hard look. “Why are you hanging with this kid? I thought you were trying to stay out of trouble.”

  “I am,” I insisted. “Austin’s a really cool guy.”

  “He’s weird, is what he is. Stalks around all day with that hoodie on, never talks to anyone. I heard he tried to kill one of his teachers.”

  I glowered at him. “Shawn, I promise to fight with you about this later. Right now, I have to get down there before they bring out my baby book.”

  I pushed past him and scrambled downst
airs. Shawn could be so stubborn sometimes. Even if he was trying to protect me, couldn’t he find a more convenient time for it? I missed the last step in my haste, stumbled, careened wildly into a wall and then righted myself. I sheepishly straightened my clothes and attempted to find some way to make it look like that had been on purpose.

  I am as smooth as silk, sometimes.

  My worst fears were realized as my dad was showing Austin his trophy case. My mom came out with a soda for Austin, smiling warmly. When she caught my eyes, I swore I saw the briefest of knowing looks from her, but then she was moving over to Austin and pressing his refreshment into his hand.

  “So, you’re going to have dinner at the mall?” she asked. “You could eat here,” she suggested.

  The gleam in her eyes told me she was being deliberately evil to me. I may have forgotten to mention that far from trying to avoid my displays of suffering, she will often go out of her way to be the cause of them. It’s a sick form of love.

  “Hey, Austin, we’d better go if we want to avoid all the traf—”

  He turned around and gave me a full view of him and I was struck stupid. I had expected the same cute guy I had briefly seen the other day, just without a hoodie. Instead, he had treacherously turned into an entirely different (and painfully cuter) person. His jeans were decoratively ripped in places — the sort of torn jeans that will cost you two hundred dollars. He had on some black high tops that were much cleaner than the grubby sneakers he usually wore. (Yes, I noticed, get over it.)

  His tee shirt was far from the gray and drab tones he normally wore. It was yellow with a blue and silver stripe running across it. It was also tight enough to show off his muscle definition, which was quite unfair of him and had I any way to express my despair at his dirty tactics without revealing why they had such an effect on me, I would have.

  His blond hair had been corralled into a faux-hawk, though it seemed to be struggling against the product he had put in it. My inner-stylist whined and begged to be allowed to go at it with a comb, but I heartlessly denied him. Besides, the look sort of worked on him. His face was also now shaved clean.

  “—ic,” I finished, quite certain I was gaping like an idiot; a very gay idiot too.

  If there was any way he could see my staring as anything but blatant attraction, I couldn’t think of it. There was no way to save the day this time. All I could do was hope he was willing to forget about my little lapse and be friends anyway. Straight boys like to know they’re attractive, right? Even if it’s by people they don’t want actually want appreciating them? I hoped that was true.

  “The mall’s in Fordham?” my dad asked. I nodded. He smiled, joining in the game of driving me crazy. “There won’t be any traffic.”

  “You never know, there could be a ten-car pile-up,” I told him sharply.

  “Let’s let the guys get on their way. It’s a long drive and Collin has to be back by nine,” my mom told Dad.

  My eyes went huge in indignation. “Nine? On a Friday?” I shook my head. “Eleven.”

  My mom laughed. “Shoot for ten and call if you are going to be later.”

  Happily I had enough credit with them to get that much leeway. Of course, that leeway would vanish in a hot second if I tried to push it past eleven. I thanked her, took the money she discreetly slipped to me and then yanked Austin out of the quicksand before they invented some new way to embarrass me.

  Austin was driving an old truck. I got in and breathed a sigh of relief that we had made our escape. He gave me a look that told me he understood and then started the engine. The truck thrummed as its monster engine woke up; the whole chassis seemed to vibrate with the power of it.

  “Cool outfit,” he commented. “I’m guessing you’ve been to see Jack.”

  Austin knew about The Grab Bag? Of course he did. Those jeans of his didn’t come from Wal-Mart, after all. I nodded slowly, smiling afresh. Apparently, we had more in common than I had thought, and that was very interesting.

  “Yeah…. I was wondering why you didn’t look like a Gap commercial,” I commented.

  “I love that store,” Austin told me as he turned the truck around and sped off towards Fordham.

  “I’m working there now,” I told him.

  “No way,” he objected. “He doesn’t have enough customers to even pay his rent.”

  “Oh, you haven’t been in there lately. Apparently, I’ve made it the hottest spot in all of Buford. He can’t keep up with all the business I brought in.”

  That amused Austin. “I did notice that people at school were wearing stuff that looked like it was from there. Wow. Look at you. You come into town, and you turn everything on its ear. People are dressing cooler, the school has a drama club—”

  “People are seeing you without your hoodie,” I interjected, smiling.

  “Dude, you have a serious hate for my hoodies.”

  I came dangerously close to saying something like, “Dude, a guy as cute as you should not be covering himself up.” My faithful watchdog, Self-Preservation, jumped on that impulse and every thought relating to it and buried them in the backyard of my brain.

  “Well, you said yourself, they’re uncomfortable,” I hedged. God, I hated having to do the mental hokey pokey just to put a sentence together.

  “It helps me not feel like everyone is staring at me,” he told me.

  I did not point out the obvious. It was not like he could be unaware that just wearing the hoodies guaranteed being stared at. Again, I knew how important it was to feel shielded, protected from the judgmental gazes of one’s peers.

  “So, you missed the first club meeting,” I pointed out.

  “I’m not much of a joiner.”

  “Says the baseball star.”

  Austin threw me a look that I took to mean, “bitch!” but he did not say it. He just shrugged and turned us onto the highway. “I don’t know. I don’t think anyone would be comfortable with my being there.”

  I was starting to get the clue that someone at some point had really hurt Austin. I had no idea who or what the hurt was, but there was a definite sense that he felt no one could be trusted. That put a rather terrifying amount of responsibility on my shoulders. I was not someone who could really be relied upon that much, and I knew it.

  “They’re good people,” I told him finally. “I think it might be okay.”

  “You’re determined to drag me out of my isolation, aren’t you?”

  “Hey, I think you’re cool. I want other people to see how cool you are,” I told him, dancing awkwardly around things that would just upset him.

  Austin thought it over. “Well, I guess we’ll see. I don’t know.”

  That was good enough for me. The offer had been made impetuously, without thought of what might happen if he actually showed up at a meeting. I was playing Russian roulette with my tenuous social standing, but I couldn’t just drop him because I was worried people would talk. Of course, all those pros and cons meant nothing when put up against the immutable fact that I liked him.

  We arrived at the mall, which was not much of a mall at all. It had two department stores at either end, neither of which were on my list of acceptable couture-sources. It didn’t matter much, of course, since I had The Grab Bag, but a boy likes to have options. We parked and trooped our way inside. It looked fairly modern, which was promising. There is nothing more depressing than a mall on its last legs. It seemed to have all the usual suspects as far as stores went.

  “Your parents seem cool,” Austin ventured.

  “Yes, but please don’t ever tell them that,” I told him with a wry smile. “They’ll start insisting you come over after school for milk and cookies. I love my parents, but sometimes they’re a bit too welcoming to my friends.”

  Austin nodded, apparently amused by this. “You did seem to want us out of there as fast as possible.”

  “It was a rescue mission,” I assured him. “My parents have slide shows. I am so not kidding.”

 
; That got me the tiniest little chuckle. “My dad would probably ask you if you played any sports and when he found out you didn’t, he’d just turn on the TV.”

  Austin did not appear bitter about this. He was just presenting facts as he saw them.

  “So, where did you move here from? I don’t think you ever told me.”

  “Springfield,” Austin replied. “The one in Illinois.”

  For some reason, I had assumed he would have been more local. “You had the chance to move anywhere, and your dad picked Buford? Is he a sadist?”

  Austin smiled at me. “No, he just likes quiet places. It was this or Alaska, I think. I voted for Buford.”

  I shuddered. “Wow, what a ch- Oh my God, I need that shirt!” I exclaimed, pointing at a display in a very trendy store I won’t name, but “A” and “F” feature prominently in its logo. I like the store for extremely shallow reasons. They seem to be very fond of putting up pictures of hot men wearing almost nothing, which was an oddly effective way to sell clothes. Very little of their stock ever worked for me, unfortunately, but I did like to linger outside drinking in the artwork.

  The button-up shirt was very classy, with burgundy and white mixed coloring that had me drooling. Of course, there was no price. They wanted you to go inside for that. I was turning to Austin to ask if we could go in, but he was already doing so. Beaming, I bouncily followed him into the store.

  We came out about two seconds later, coughing and gagging. “Dude,” Austin wheezed.

  I nodded, struggling to breathe. “Seriously....”

  “Cologne’s fine and all....”

  “But oxygen is better for breathing?”

  Austin really and truly smiled at me. “Exactly. God, are they pumping it through the air conditioning?”

  I giggled—and yes, it was a giggle, which was not very studly of me and I was very embarrassed by the sound, but what can you do? “They need to issue gas masks to people who want to shop there.”

  Austin nodded, still smiling. What a change there was in him. Away from school and all the people he hated (or thought hated him, I wasn’t sure) and all that stress, he had made a complete transformation. He even seemed younger, somehow, without the weight of the world bearing down on him. I marveled at that, then told myself to stop marveling and started looking around for a food court.