Separate Schools

by Morrison, KT

  “Stop it, Harrison,” Taylor pleaded.

  “Look at your face,” he said. “You look so guilty. I saw you out there, jacking him off and making out with him.”

  Colt laughed and thumped his knee. “I got a hand job, too?” He whooped with excitement and pumped his fist. “I’m on fire tonight,” he said as a comical aside. That got Taylor laughing a little. “Hey,” he said now, getting serious again. He rested his hands on his knees and leaned forward to make sure that Harrison was looking at him.

  “What?”

  “You saw that hand job?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You saw your girlfriend giving me a hand job, and you did what? Nothing? You watched?”

  His mouth moved around, but he said nothing. A draggy croak emanated from his throat.

  Colt said, “You’re not too sure, are you? You didn’t see shit.”

  Harrison still said nothing.

  Pulling back now, Colt turned to face Taylor again. He took her wrist, parted his legs, and laid her long, thin hand over the bulge between his legs. He kissed her dryly again. The two of them making fun of him, giving dry kisses. But she really had her hand on his bulge. She didn’t move it away. He could see her grip curl against the cotton lump of his large genitals and give it a squeeze. She ran her thumb over its shape. They broke their silent kiss and her hand finally lifted away.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said.

  She smirked a little, then that same hand that had just gripped another man’s manhood swiped at her lips. She said, “Harrison, come on …”

  He whispered grimly, “I saw you in the boathouse.”

  “Don’t ...”

  “Yeah, you can’t keep your hands off him. What is wrong with you?”

  “What is wrong with you? I wasn’t in the boathouse with Colt so leave me alone.”

  “This is fucking great. Why don’t you just fuck him, then?”

  Colt laughed. “You hear that?”

  To Harrison, Taylor whispered, “Stop being such a problem.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’re kissing him and giving him a hand job and I’m a problem? That’s where your mind goes?—to me? I’m not a problem, you’re a slut.”

  “Oh no, dude,” Colt hissed, knowing that was bad.

  Taylor uttered a soughing sound of hurt, a horrible moan that slid out on an exhale of air forced out from her wounded heart. She whispered, “I’m just kidding around. I don’t want to hurt anybody ... I can’t even …”

  Harrison blurted, “I’m sorry ...”

  Taylor avoided all of them, tucked her head down and hid her face in her hair as she slipped forward and slid off the back of the tailgate to set her feet down on the gravel of the driveway. Colt put his hand out supportively but didn’t touch her. When Harrison made a move to put his hand on her she darted out of his grasp and then she kept moving. He watched as she folded her arms around herself and trotted away, heading not to the lake or into the house but disappearing off the side of the driveway and stumbling into the dense copse of black woods.

  “Taylor,” he called after her weakly but knew it couldn’t be enough to get her to return.

  Her footsteps cracked through the woods in the blackness.

  Colt said, “Way to go, Romeo.”

  “I really fucked up,” he whispered to himself and put his hands in his pockets, still watching the black trees and listening for her.

  Colt said, “That wasn’t me and her in the boathouse, dude. You’re being a real asshole, for sure. But I am going to fuck her tonight.” He swigged his beer.

  “What?”

  Colt clarified: “I’m going to fuck your girlfriend tonight.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Watch me, bro.”

  Colt stared directly at him now with no humor, only malice. A menacing look he remembered from when he was in Grade Nine. He was hunched up, leaning toward him, staring down from the tailgate, big traps and shoulders, muscles flexing in his jaw, a high overhead light from the room above the garages tracing the gold in his curls. This look used to signify that he was on the verge of getting pounded if he didn’t watch himself. But Colt clearly said it would be Taylor getting pounded tonight. Taylor would have to be willing, and a chill worked through him realizing Taylor was willing. He huffed through his nose, held Colt’s gaze and said the obligatory, “Whatever,” before turning and heading into the dark patch of woods between the Brooks’ house and the neighbor’s. It was where Taylor had gone, and he had to find her, had to set things right.

  43

  From the black thicket, Harrison could see into the windows of the neighboring cottage. Making his way through the woods with his hands out in front of him, touching tree trunks and stepping carefully over crackling deadfall, he could see middle-aged couples with glasses of wine moving around in amber light, warm silent, square windows set in a nighttime blue summertime home much like Taylor’s big place. Crickets whirred in his ears, but the sound of Mikey’s guitar was faint in the air.

  “Taylor? ...”

  He’d been calling her name softly, and she hadn’t been answering. He didn’t expect her to. He’d just called the human being he loved a slut. All on supposition. Even if what he supposed were fact, she didn’t deserve such harshness from him. He couldn’t believe the word came out of his mouth, but seeing her with Colt slipped a red gauze of rage over his vision.

  “Taylor? ...”

  It was Colt’s fault he called her a slut. The blame was his own for saying it, he accepted that, but he wasn’t mad at Taylor—he was mad at Colt. And he lashed out at Taylor because he was too afraid to lash out at Colt. What would Taylor ever do in retribution to her Harrison? She’d been nothing but his eternal best friend. Colt on the other hand would definitely have hopped off the tailgate and humiliated him in front of his girlfriend, punched him out or whatever meanness he felt like conjuring. So what does jerk Harrison do? Lashes out at the person he cares about. Because he was a coward.

  “Taylor? ...”

  In the deep black of the woods now he could see a ghostly set of thin legs and above it the threaded white lines in Colt’s plaid shirt.

  “Taylor,” he said quietly and with care. He could tell she had her back to him and her arms were still folded. Her head was tipped forward, hair hanging down lankly, and as he got closer, she looked like a little girl in a horror movie, one that would wait till he was about to put his hand on her shoulder then would whip around and lunge to bite his face with paranormal speed. And were they not fighting right now, Taylor would probably do that, too. Hunch forward, play mute, lure him close so she could jump around and scare him. One time—only one time!—she’d done something similar to him and provoked a brief but girlish shriek from him, and now she universally proclaimed to their friends that he screamed like a girl. It was one time. She’d got him good. But it was one time.

  Just a few feet away from her now, he said, “Taylor, I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  His eyes focused on the paler shape of her and grew adjusted enough to make out that she was nodding her head. His heart opened in his chest like a blooming flower. He said, “Baby, I really am. I can’t tell you how sorry I am I said that.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” she whispered.

  Now he was standing right behind her with his arms at his sides and afraid to touch her. He asked her: “Can I hold you?”

  She nodded again. He put his arms around her and held her. Her hands came up and stroked at his forearm and his thumb. He said, “I didn’t mean it. I’m mad at Colt. I really hate that guy. He makes me so ... mad. I don’t know why I lashed out at you ...”

  She didn’t answer and he could feel her shaking.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No,” she said unconvincingly.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said and held her a little tighter.

  “I’m sorry, too, Harrison. I don’t know why I did that.”

  The boathouse? “Did what?”<
br />
  “On the tailgate. With Colt. I’m so sorry.”

  “You kissed him,” he said.

  “Not really.”

  “You had your hand on his crotch.”

  “He did that.”

  “You did it, too, Taylor.”

  “It was just ...” She trailed off and sighed heavily.

  “What—a joke, Taylor? Teasing me?”

  “Yeah, I guess,” she whispered weakly.

  “You’re not teasing me,” he said, seeing it so obvious now. “You just wanted to touch him. You wanted to kiss him and you wanted to put your hand on him.”

  The right thing for her to do would’ve been to protest. The best thing for their relationship would be for her to be further infuriated with him, stomp her foot, rip from his grasp, and flee deeper into the woods and make him chase her. But she said nothing, and it stabbed him in the heart.

  The silence told him everything, but he hated not hearing her voice. If she was silent, they were disconnected. He said, “I’m right.”

  The silhouette of her cocked its head to the side, and he could imagine her rolling her eyes up in the dark. The hands she’d rested on his arm pried his clutch away and she stepped from him, hand pressed to her forehead now, running it up to her hairline. She shook her hair out and sighed.

  He said, “Just tell me.”

  “Maybe,” she said, her voice quiet, almost hidden beneath the sound of the night bugs.

  This was where he should’ve stormed off deeper into the woods. She just told him she was interested in another guy. It was over between them. But he just stood there and listened to both of them breathe.

  Now it was his turn to speak quietly. “You want to fuck him?”

  No answer, she just held her arms around herself, head turned away. Her body shifted uncomfortably, and he heard her ankle make a small click.

  “Was it you and Colt? Did I see you making out with him in the boathouse?”

  “Would you be mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “That’s not an answer. You can’t frame your answer like a lie and expect it to go away.”

  “Whatever,” she sighed and he could see her shoulders slump.

  “Whatever ...? Oh my God. Do you even care about me? Care about our relationship? This is such fucking bullshit.” Both his palms came up, and he exhaled with exasperation, but it was lost on her because she still looked away—his best friend couldn’t even look at him right now.

  He said, “I don’t even know you,” and those upright palms closed to fists—he hiked to the left and marched through the woods, aiming for the fire pit. Over top of his own feet cracking branches he heard the quick but soft patter of her feet through brush coming from behind. Before he could even turn, Taylor had flung herself on his back and wrapped her arms around him.

  “Don’t, please don’t,” she panted in his ear.

  “Get off me, Taylor,” he said, but held her arms.

  “Don’t go, Harrison, don’t—of course I care about our relationship.”

  “No, you don’t, you fucking made out with that guy behind my back. Probably fucking jerked him off down there, too.”

  “I didn’t, Harrison, I swear I didn’t ...”

  “But you kissed him?”

  “Unh-unh,” she whispered in his ear, and he felt her head vigorously shaking no.

  “What the fuck, Taylor? Was that you and Colt or not?”

  “It wasn’t, Harrison. I swear it wasn’t,” she said. “But ...”

  “That wasn’t you down there?”

  “No.”

  He said, “Why didn’t you say that?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, then made a muffled sound of pain. “Because ...”

  “Because ...? What the fuck is going on here? What are you not telling me?

  “I just want you to be okay, baby,” she whispered before reaching to stroke his cheek. He stopped her, putting his hand on her wrist and trying to look in her eyes. She avoided him, cast her gaze downward.

  Wrist let go, he stepped back. Taylor folded her arms around herself, body slumped as though she was hurting, looking away and crying; Taylor’s perennial posture when she wished to be held but didn’t want to ask. He turned and fled.

  44

  It was obvious she was going to break up with him; he was the only one who hadn’t seen it coming. Kelsey Kay had pretty much told him exactly that sitting down on the dock today and he told Kay to fuck off. Taylor was going to a different school on purpose. Wanted to be away from him. Her school selection was eight months ago. She knew she was going to dump him that long ago. Just stringing him along. Letting his heart get more and more entwined with hers. But hers was cold. A lying heart. Tangling over his like vines with thorns. Going on the pill before she goes to college. Offering him her real virginity. Why?—because she was about to have sex with other guys and she knew it. This, their final weekend of the summer, was their final weekend together.

  As he emerged from the sliver of woods, stomping across the hard pack and then into the Brooks’ grass, the tears came. It wasn’t just the betrayal, not just the realization of all the things she said coming together in a straight line and showing him the path where it had been and where it was—it was the bright, beautiful flowers scattered around that path growing hazy in the fog of where they’d been. Dots and flashes of happy memories. Not even them as a couple—they’d been best friends before they first kissed. Best friends who spent every day together. Amusement parks, school, summer vacations, haunted houses, late night movies, long talks till dawn on their phones, heart-to-hearts ... He was losing his best friend, too.

  Through warbled, teary vision, he found the steps, saw the ring of fiery friend’s faces and heard Mikey’s guitar. He hiked right and stomped up the stairs and in between the barbecues, pounding through the basement doors and then up the steps. He went directly to Taylor’s room, still crying and sniffling, choking back real sobs he would save for the ride home. He gathered up his few things, his phone on the dresser, grabbed up his knapsack and stuffed errant items into it. He threw it over his shoulder, cleared his eyes with the back of his hand, and went down the steps.

  At the front door, following the same path where fifteen minutes before he’d expected to find them kissing, he didn’t even care if Colt was still there sitting on his tailgate. He made a growling noise, used anger to push away the tears. He wiped at his eyes again, stomped around the corner and headed to the Soob. Colt wasn’t there. Not sitting on the tailgate of his truck at least.

  But the Soob was boxed in. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  The disappointment tugged at the anger and allowed the tears to come back. He blinked them away, slumped and leaned against the side door of the Soob. He got the fob out of his pocket and unlocked it. With the back door open he shoved his bag in ahead of him, climbed in on his hands and knees and closed the door behind him. Knapsack as a pillow, he curled up on the back bench seat. Pale light flooded the windows of his car from the Brooks’ outdoor lanterns. He stared around at the empty cabin, not knowing what he would do.

  Why didn’t she just break up with him? Why didn’t she just tell him it was over? Why did she have to be like this? Drag them all the way out and do it in front of their friends ... They all saw it coming. Mikey with his suspicious questions up in the bedroom, Kelsey Kay trying to be Taylor’s proxy, leak a little warning to her friend, trying to reduce the sting. He clenched his hands and punched his thighs. She was such a bitch.

  Only she wasn’t. He loved her so much. They were best friends. She didn’t tell him it was over. She said it wasn’t her in the boathouse. And he didn’t know if it was. He’d convinced himself it was, but that didn’t make it so. He embarrassed himself. Embarrassed her. Chased after her when she wanted to be alone and confronted her. She still didn’t break up with him.

  Eyes opened again, he blinked, turning on his side and looked out the front window of the
Soob at the painted Brooks’ garage door lit up by the porch lights. Was there a chance? Or was she just the biggest chicken he’d ever met? If there was a chance, was it worth it? The answer to that was a definitive yes. He loved her desperately and deeply. He would do anything for her. She was his best friend and the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Yes, yes, yes a thousand times over. But what if she was just a chicken? Was he making it harder for her?

  He exhaled all the badness, tried to settle. His head and heart pounded in unison. A steady thrumming beat overtop the quiet strains of Mikey’s guitar from around behind the house. Occasionally there was a bright bit of laughter from his friends outside. In time, despite the sadness and the hurt, he drifted to sleep.

  The car door clunking open woke him with a jolt. He jumped, raised his knees up, preparing to kick with his heels to defend himself. It was Colt and his buddies come to take him, drag him out of his car and beat him up. Wasn’t the first time he’d been underneath three or four dudes kicking and punching.

  But it wasn’t. It was Taylor. She had pleading eyes, climbing in the Soob’s cabin now with her feet still on the driveway. She said, “What are you doing?”

  “I’m fucking sleeping,” he said, still mad even though his heart was telling him to do anything she wanted if it would keep them together.

  “Were you trying to leave?”

  “These guys fucking blocked me in,” he said, using that anger trick to keep the sobbing cries out of his voice. The truth in the statement was evident: he was too chicken to go and ask them to move their truck even as mad as he was. Instead he would take it out on her.