Date: Thu, 8 Dec 2005 21:09:47 -0800 (PST) From: Robin Eagleson Subject: Luckiest Summer Part 12 The Luckiest Summer Robin Eagleson robineagleson@yahoo.com Part Twelve And then, after what felt like a second later, summer was over. School started the next Monday, and Mom still hadn't sold the house, so I was back at my old stomping grounds, at least for now. I sat with Nadia and a bunch of her friends at lunch, and we shared our science class together at the end of the day with Robbie, which meant I got to sit in between them and listen to them bicker back and forth the whole time. I didn't mind too much, though. I was surprisingly popular at school this year. Being seen with Nadia had gotten me a lot of publicity, but all my old friends were paying me a lot of attention too because they knew I might be moving soon. The first weekend of the year one of the well known eighth grade boys that Nadia was friends with was having a big get-together at his house, and I got invited to go. I hadn't ever recalled being invited to a party before, not counting birthday parties. I wondered what kinds of things happened at parties. I found out that I rode the bus home with Tyler, too. It made sense, seeing as that he would be on the same route as I was, but he told me when he stayed with his Mom she came and picked him up so he'd only be riding the bus half the time. I sat by him on the first day, but after that he sat with his friends, and I sat with mine. He seemed to revert back to his old self in school settings. He was arrogant and obnoxious around his friends, so I stopped saying hi to him when I saw him after school. The first week was easy; it always was. Nothing felt routine yet, and none of the teachers had really gotten down to talking about anything important. As strange as it always felt those first few days back, you had to admit it was nice not really covering anything in class. School was basically nothing but a social opportunity that first week. I was in a good mood on Friday afternoon. Nadia and her mom were coming to pick me up around six to take me to Blake's house, where the supposed party was going to take place. After science every day I would walk out of class to my locker holding hands with Nadia, and it never got old. I didn't know if that many people really noticed, but I liked to think all eyes were on us. I rode the bus home next to another kid named Zach who had become my friend this year. He was one of the cool kids who would be at the party tonight, and it was all he talked about the whole ride. I mostly ignored him and looked out the window, enjoying the wind blowing my hair around. It wasn't nearly as long as it had been, but it was getting longer, and I was starting to like it again. The day was so nice that I felt like hitting tennis balls off the garage. I would have much preferred the real act of playing tennis, but since Brad didn't appear to be home, the garage would have to suffice. I hadn't done it in a long time because it bored me these days, but I was more interested in just being outside and enjoying the day. I worked up a light sweat and then went inside and showered. After I dried off I put on my white Nike shorts, opened the windows in my room, and laid on my bed listening to Ben Folds. I had decided my favorite track was number five, the one about Fred Jones. There was a line I loved about life being a runaway train where the passengers change without changing anything at all, and you getting off just means someone else can get on. I still listened to The Luckiest a lot, but the meaning had changed a lot for me now. On cue, I heard a sharp squeal of tires coming from near the front yard, and my heart raced in my chest. I jumped out of bed and ran to the driveway, the screen door slamming shut behind me. I caught Brad just as he was pulling into his garage. He was in his work clothes, and had a large pizza in his hands. "Hey, man," he said. "I took a going away present from work. Today was my last day." He opened the box and showed it to me. "Want some?" he asked. I wrinkled my nose. "You put black olives on it." "Sausage and black olives," he nodded. "You really need to learn to appreciate vegetables more." "Why?" I shot back defiantly. "So you don't stay this size forever," he teased, prodding my naked chest with his strong index finger. I guess I shouldn't have left myself open for that. I grinned and shrugged, rubbing the spot he'd poked because it seriously hurt a little. He had a knack for finding pressure points, and I didn't think it was an accident. "What are you doing tonight?" I asked him cheerfully, following him inside his house even though he hadn't invited me in. "Probably hanging out with Sara?" "I doubt it," he chuckled. "We broke up a week ago." "Why?" "I'm never going to see her again," he said simply, kicking his shoes off and settling in on the couch. "I'm going back to Dallas tomorrow afternoon. It's not like I wanted to marry her." "What if she wanted to marry you?" I asked him, settling in the recliner and watching as he took out his first slice and inhaled it. "Damn, I'm going to miss this pizza," he said, pretending to be in great pain over the loss. "I almost think she did want to get married," he sighed, no longer sounding to be in pain. "I hate it when girls get attached." "So you broke up with her?" I asked. "Mutual break-up," he mumbled while he chomped on the crust. "The difference is I don't care, and I think she did." "What do you care about?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a penetrating gaze. "Baseball," he shrugged. "Pizza. Tennis." "Those are all things." "For Christ's sake, Zach, you sound like my mom. I'm only eighteen. I have the rest of my life to find a girl I want to settle down with. Quit trying to make me feel guilty." "Did you like her?" I pressed on anyway. He picked up another slice of pizza and chewed on it thoughtfully. "Yeah," he nodded finally. "Actually, I did." He seemed to trail off and lose himself in thought for a second. "But it doesn't matter," he added quickly, snapping out of his brief reverie. "Because I'm going back to Dallas and I'll forget all about her." "And me," I said quietly. "You?" he laughed. "I don't remember people very well, but somehow I really don't think I'm going to forget you." "How do you know you have the rest of your life to meet someone else?" I asked him softly, ignoring his last statement. "What if that person really is the best you'll ever find, and you can look for the rest of your life and never find a better one?" "I guess I'm screwed," he shrugged, not sounding very concerned. "Can we talk about something else? You're depressing me," he smiled. I was depressing myself, too. "Maybe I'm the one who's screwed," I whispered, looking at my feet as I swung them back and forth. "Oh," he said, finally understanding the nature of my questions; that it was me I was talking about all along. "You're a good kid," he began awkwardly, trailing off towards the end and looking at as much of a loss for words as I'd ever seen him. "I don't think you're screwed at all. I think you'll meet someone." "Who?" "Could be anyone," he said. He had stopped eating for this philosophical part of our discussion. "It could be someone you haven't met yet. Someone who's never even seen you before. There are a lot of people that are going to end up being important to you that you don't even know exist. Or maybe you already know someone, and you just don't realize they're special yet." He had found words again. He was back in his element. I wanted to believe him so badly, but even worse I just wanted that someone to be him, and it still hurt to know he wasn't that person for me. "So," he said when I hadn't responded. "What are you doing tonight?" "There's this party," I explained, not feeling quite as excited about it anymore. "I got invited to it at school." Brad raised an eyebrow. "Nice," he commented approvingly. "Parties are good. I didn't even start going to parties until I was a sophomore." "I don't think it's that kind of a party," I said shyly. "Still, it's a good start. Do you think you guys are going to have to move soon?" "Probably," I shrugged. "Mom said we wouldn't be able to stay at the house without Dad's income, and since they don't seem to be getting back together," I said, not needing to finish the thought. "I got you something," he said, a welcome change of the subject, as he stood up and retreated back to his room. I watched his figure disappear in the hallway and frowned in confusion. I wondered what he could have possibly gotten me. When he came back in the living room he was carrying a tennis racket inside of a protective cover, and I wondered no longer. "Is this mine?" I asked, even though he was holding it out to me as I asked it. "Don't misunderstand me," he deadpanned. "I'm just really fucking tired of watching you play with that ancient piece of shit. This one might take you all the way to the US Open. Granted, I'll be waiting for you there to crush your dreams." "Whatever," I giggled, taking the racket from him and unzipping the cover. It was a Prince, like his, and almost as nice. I was thrilled. "By then I'll be good enough to beat you." "You have to win a set first before you beat me, tool," he chided me, seeming pleased that I was entranced with my new toy. I ran my fingers across the netting, looked up at him as he stood in front of me and towered above me, and it hit me that this wasn't just a random gift out of kindness. This was his going away present to me, because I would never see him again. He was leaving tomorrow, forever. I didn't want to cry, but there were already a few rebellious tears trickling down my cheek anyway. "For Christ's sake, Zach," he sighed. Then he hugged me. The next week, right before school let out for the day, I told Nadia I didn't think we fit together very well as boyfriend and girlfriend. She hugged me and said we were still going to have to hang out just as much. "You're the only boyfriend I've ever had that I didn't want to neuter after a week," she told me, which I guess was a compliment of sorts. She made breaking up easy, but I had been incredibly nervous right before I did it. She could just as easily have freaked out about it and stabbed me in the groin with a pair of scissors. I wondered how Brad had been through it so many times; just planning on doing it had kept me up almost the entire night before. I was quiet on the bus ride home after school. I'd been even more reflective than usual since Brad had gone back to Dallas. I had his cell phone number in case I ever wanted to talk to him, but I didn't see myself calling it. He wasn't going to be in the area ever again, and hearing his voice would just make it harder to get on with my life. It took me a few extra seconds to realize the bus had pulled up to my stop. I was at the front of the bus, where I almost never sat, in a seat by myself, and I was zoned out and staring out the window. I probably would have missed my stop altogether if it hadn't been for Tyler, because there was a substitute bus driver today and he didn't know anything about the kids that were riding and where they were supposed to get off. "Zach," Tyler's squeaky voice came from directly beside me in the aisle. I turned, blankly, to look at him. "Aren't you getting off?" he asked, giving me a curious look that made him look like Brad for a second. "Yeah," I mumbled, sliding out of my seat and following him down the aisle and out the door. "How come you never talk to me at school?" Tyler asked as we started walking side by side down the street. The stop was close to our respective houses, and it involved only a very brief walk. "I only see you on the bus," I said defensively. "And you're always with your friends on the bus." "You could at least say hi," he shrugged. "And you never come over anymore." I stopped just short of responding simply that Brad was gone, but I decided that would be too rude. "I've been kind of busy," I lied. I don't think I had ever been any less busy. "Oh," he said, sounding doubtful. "Well, I'm going to have to come over and swim sometime pretty soon. Summer will be over in just a few weeks." "Yeah," I said softly, bored out of my mind with our conversation. There was no way I was going to put up with talking about the weather. "I'll be home alone this Saturday," he continued. "It's my Dad's weekend to get me and he's got some convention thing he's going to at work. You should come over then. I'll be really bored all day," he finished, and I gave him a noncommittal shrug that could have been interpreted as anything ranging from mild interest to mild disinterest. We had turned onto our street now, and neither of us spoke until our houses were in front of us. "I'll see you," I said to Tyler, even though I was tempted to invite him in. It wasn't like sitting inside alone was going to be any better. At least if he came in we could play video games together or something. The problem was Tyler's company just didn't compare to Brad's, and I held that against him for some reason; maybe because he was related to Brad and should have acted more like him. "Yeah, later," he said, and we parted ways at the foot of his driveway. He readjusted his backpack on his thin shoulders and slowly made his way up the drive, turning back to look at me when he had to unlock his front door. It seemed he gave me an especially long stare, but then he was gone inside his house and I was alone. I found a note inside warning me that our realtor would be showing our house to another prospective buyer sometime between three and four, and I groaned loudly. I didn't care if we moved just so long as I had to stop putting up with people I didn't know wandering around our house and inspecting it as if it were a crime scene. I went into my room, put in Ben Folds, and flopped on my bed. This was becoming an after school ritual. Sometimes I would listen to the whole album before I got up, and sometimes I would just listen to a few select songs. Every last one of them reminded me of Brad. My favorite song now was Gone, because it was a sad ballad with a great line that mentioned how the days go by and the lights go off and on, and nothing really matters when you're gone. I pretended that Ben Folds was describing my feelings to Brad when he sang that line. Now it was the song that related to me the most instead of The Luckiest. Today I was in an especially introspective mood, and I was planning on making it all the way through the album. It was on track nine (Not the Same) when my door opened and the couple looking at the house appeared in my doorway. I stared at them defiantly, and they stared right back, regarding me as if I were a piece of furniture that went along with the house. After what seemed like five minutes (in reality it was maybe five seconds), they decided they'd seen all they needed to see and they shut the door again. Annoyed, I wondered what kind of people didn't realize you weren't supposed to just come barging into a thirteen-year-old boy's room. To let them know they had pissed me off, I turned up the next song, an angry track that discussed the problems with being male, middle class, and white, to full volume and scowled at my door. That night Dad came by and picked me up. It wasn't awkward anymore when he came to the door. He usually came in for a little bit and sat with me and Mom, and the three of us managed to resemble the family we'd used to be during those times long ago. Mom and Dad had grown increasingly civil to each other over time, but I had stopped looking for every possible sign of them getting back together. These days there wasn't a whole lot that reminded me of Dad around the house anymore. He'd finally taken most of the little things with him, and once when I'd looked in their closet, I noticed he'd cleaned it out altogether. He hadn't even left the seasonal clothes that it didn't make any sense to have right now. If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn that he'd never lived with us in the first place. So we'd sit and talk for a few minutes every time he came to get me, and they'd even laugh when they talked sometimes. Then we would get up to leave, Mom would make me hug her, and I'd follow Dad out the door. I took my backpack with me tonight because I had some homework to do, and Dad wanted to help me with it. We drove the few miles over to his apartment and went inside, and I threw my stuff on his cluttered dining table. His apartment was always in pretty good condition, but you could tell a teenager lived there with him. "Is Jesse home?" I asked, throwing myself down on his second rate sofa and glancing at what he had on TV. Dad was slightly more liberal than Mom was about the TV, but since it was on a music channel, it looked like Jesse had been watching it last and failed to turn it off. "She left a little while ago," he said distractedly. "Why don't we get your homework out of the way before relaxing?" "I'm hungry," I argued. "I won't be able to concentrate on homework with an empty stomach." "How much concentration could your project take?" he asked, referring to the collage I had been assigned in my social studies class. "We just need to print out a few pictures and glue them to cardboard." "Exactly," I said evenly. "So why do we have to start right now?" "I guess we can wait," he shrugged. "You know, you didn't used to be this difficult." "I'm not being difficult," I responded softly. "I'm just hungry." "I'm not just talking about today," he cut me off. "Lately you've just been really hard to get along with, and I don't understand it. I hardly ever see you anymore, Zach. I hate to spend the whole time arguing with you." "I'm not arguing!" I protested, trying not to sound as irritated as I was but failing. But he just stood there, staring at me like I had let him down somehow, a small frown on his face. "Is it true you told your mother you hated living with her?" "That was a long time ago," I said, surprised he had heard that story. I wondered if Mom had told him what she'd done after I said that. "You haven't been making things very easy for her, you know," he sighed, and it sounded to me like we'd had this discussion before. I had taken to staring at the TV screen now even though I couldn't have told you what I was seeing on it. "And she tells me you don't pick up after yourself, even when people come by to see the house, so it's always a mess when they come in. It's no wonder she's having trouble selling it." "Why don't we start on my project?" I interjected, desperate to put an end to this lecture before it got worse. I also failed to see how clutter from the current occupants of the house affected the people that would perhaps one day live there. The trash didn't come with the house. "I thought you were too hungry to concentrate," he said. "I'd rather be hungry and do homework than get yelled at," I mumbled. "Who's yelling?" Dad asked me, spreading his arms apart and holding his palms up to the ceiling in a gesture of surprise. "I'm not raising my voice. We're just having a discussion." "I have enough discussions with Mom." "Well, maybe you and I should be having these discussions, too. It's obvious you aren't handling all this very well, and I understand that, but your Mom and I are both trying the best we can. I promise you we didn't get into this situation just to make everybody miserable." "I'm fine!" I snapped suddenly, and now one of us really was yelling. "I'm just sick and tired of everyone always bothering me about not being happy! I'm doing the best I can, too, and maybe it's not perfect, but it's a lot better than your best." Sometimes, even if it was by pure accident, I managed to find just the right words for how I was feeling, and I could tell my last sentence had done the job. Dad slumped slightly from his standing position. He'd never looked less like my father in all of my life. It's a funny thing, when you finally get old enough to hurt your parents with words. You spend your whole childhood never being able to come up with anything better than "I hate you", and when you finally think up the right combination, you wish you hadn't. "I'll start dinner," he said, his voice soft but steady. He turned away from me and walked into the kitchen without another word, leaving me to stare at the TV screen by myself. Several minutes later, I still couldn't have told you what was on it. I just knew that I'd aged another billion years today. At this rate I'd be dead tomorrow. But I lived to see the end of the week. It was a warm September afternoon; nearly as warm as any summer day had been. I had just gotten home from school a few minutes before when the doorbell rang. I went and opened it and saw Tyler on the porch. I must have beat him on the walk home by a considerable margin, because he still had his backpack on. "Hi," he said. "Do you care if I come in until my dad gets home? I think I lost the key to my house." "Sure," I shrugged, letting him in and doing my traditional height estimate when he stepped into the foyer. The freak was still growing at an alarming rate, and we were seriously the exact same height now. "I don't have my swimming trunks with me because they're in my house," he said, "but it's really nice today. We should go swimming." "Yeah, okay," I said mechanically. "Let me go get changed." I went back to my room and stepped out of my shorts and boxers. Outside in the living room I could hear him whistling a tune and opening the refrigerator to hunt for a soda. I hurried up and threw on my swim shorts quickly so he wouldn't have time to drink the rest of the Cream Soda. There weren't many left, and it was my favorite drink. "Ready?" he asked, a can of Cream Soda freshly opened and at the front of his lips. I resisted the urge to snatch it out of his hands. There was at least one more left. He followed me outside, slurping and chatting away. I listened, but didn't offer much of my own commentary. He climbed up to the level of the pool and wiggled out of his t-shirt, throwing it down by a lawn chair and taking another deep sip of soda. I had already gotten in and was taking a lap around the pool. "You're a lot different when you're not around my brother," he observed, and right when I looked up he slid out of his shorts. For a split second I thought he was going to shuck his boxers, too, and join me completely naked, but instead he just threw back the rest of his soda and jumped in. "What do you mean?" I asked him curiously, because he hadn't elaborated any on his statement. "You're just really quiet," he shrugged. "Unless Brad's around, anyway. You talk a lot more around him." "I don't know you as well," I responded lamely. It was true, but there was a real reason why I talked around Brad more than anyone else, and I didn't want to get into it. "Yeah," he agreed. "I was gone most of the summer." And I hated you until you got back from camp, I thought to myself. I had made it back to the shallow end, and just as I turned around to swim another lap, Tyler leapt on my back. "What are you doing?" I asked him in surprise. "Bothering you," he giggled. "See if you can swim with me on your back." "You weigh more than I do," I muttered. "You think so?" he asked. He climbed off me and pushed me a little shallower, to where the water only came up to my ankles. "Let me see if I can lift you." With that warning, he stuck his hands into my armpits and tried to pick me up off the ground. I didn't budge. "Try me," he suggested. I held back a sigh and did as he asked, finding that I was no more capable of lifting him than he was me. "We're about the same," I observed. "How much do you weigh?" he asked. "I'm up to ninety-five pounds now," he bragged, thumping his chest proudly. "I don't know," I shrugged. "I'm maybe a hundred, I guess." "Wow, you're fat," he laughed. "See if you can swim faster than me, fatty," he challenged, lunging into the water and kicking his feet frantically for the far end. If there was one thing I took pride in, it was swimming, so I narrowed my eyes and took off after him, submerging my body under the water and going as hard as I was capable of to the far end. I beat him easily. "Race you back," I said smugly, starting to swim back to the other end before he'd even reached me. "Not fair!" he called, struggling mightily to catch me. He was only halfway through when I was at the shallow end. "How are you so much faster?" "You're dog paddling," I told him. "It doesn't matter how hard you kick your feet if you swim like that." "What do you mean?" he asked. "Can you teach me?" "It's not that hard. You just have to not be a retard," I teased, hearing Brad's good-natured ribbing come out of me perfectly, as if he were somewhere inside me. "Shut up, asshole," Tyler laughed. "What am I doing wrong?" "Everything," I giggled. "You have to keep your body straighter, for one thing," I suggested, and Tyler stretched out next to me, trying to follow my instructions. "Don't look ahead of you," I told him. "Try looking straight down, and stop kicking so hard. It's supposed to be a controlled movement." He was hopeless. Whenever he would go in motion his body would automatically revert to his former position. "You're not staying parallel to the water," I reminded him, walking alongside him placing a hand underneath him to guide him. He got better for a second, and then as soon as I took my hand back, his form regressed, and as soon as he got into the deep end he started kicking with all his might again, splashing a lot of water and slowing himself down simultaneously. "Did I do it?" he grinned as soon as he swam back to me. I shook my head. "Watch," I said, kicking off and beginning my demonstration. "See my head? I'm not holding it up; I'm pressing it into the water and looking down. Watch," I repeated, briefly submerging my head in the water to show what it should look like. "See? You can't hold your head higher than your hips if you want to swim fast, because then you won't get as much power from your legs." I started again, only to feel a grip on my feet just as I started kicking. "Tyler," I complained. "I can't show you if you won't let go of my feet." "Swimming properly is boring," he declared, not letting go of my feet. I kicked free of him and swam gracefully to the end of the pool. Awkwardly, he paddled out to meet me in the deep end and cornered me, a mischievous grin on his face. I thought I could be quick enough to elude him, but he caught me around my waist as I attempted to swim by him. "You'll drown us both," I warned him. "You're dead weight." "I'm stronger than you," he countered, noting that I couldn't fight my way out of his grip. I slowly steered us to the middle so he wouldn't make us both sink to the bottom, and then he started tickling me. "Quit," I protested, trying not to give him any indication that I was ticklish. It was embarrassing being physically dominated by a kid two grades younger than me. He could sense that I was struggling to keep from laughing, so he intensified his efforts, and soon I was kicking at him frantically and giggling loudly, trying desperately to pull myself away. His hands were all over my torso, trying new locations to see if there was an especially sensitive spot. I thought I felt a slight twinge between my legs, but that was pretty normal. I always got like that when I was wrestling with someone. Then, without warning, he reached down and squeezed me there, not gently, but more of an honest squeeze, and I yelped and pulled away. He only grinned at me widely, as if it was all a big game, and that roughly grabbing that area was no big deal. "That hurt!" I complained, and before I knew what I was doing I pinched him back, eliciting a similar squeal out of him. "Now we're even," I said, trying to call a truce. I could tell by the look in his eyes he didn't think we were, though, so I tried quickly to swim away from him back to the deep end. He was on my back in an instant, flailing about wildly and trying to wrestle me underneath the water. I shook him off and he disappeared under the surface, and seconds later he popped back up and blinded me with an enormous splash of water. He really was stronger than me. He pushed me all the way to the side of the pool and pinned himself against me, trying unsuccessfully to duck my head under water. I fought off his attack, but wasn't able to get him off me. My eyes still burned from the chlorine, and I could barely see anything. He continued to exploit my weakness by tickling me, much more enthusiastically now that I was helpless to stop it. Then his hand found its way back to my crotch again, which was considerably more excited than it had been when he had squeezed it. He wasn't squeezing it this time, though, but rather rubbing it gently. Shocked, I sat perfectly still, frozen as he pinned me against the side of the pool and fondled me, until he quit and gave me another face full of water, laughing insanely. Then he swam away, daring me to come after him. As soon as I shook the water out of my eyes, I did. He was heading for the shallow end at a slow motion trot, and I caught him quickly, pulling him around the neck ever so slightly back to where our feet barely touched. I held him firmly against me, his back pressing into my chest, and waited for him to put up a fight. But he had become docile now, and he was merely standing against me motionlessly. He finally turned and looked back at me, smiling serenely. I read his eyes and returned his grope, following his lead and rubbing his crotch gently. I could feel it clearly underneath the water through the thin fabric of his boxers, and he let out a small groan. My heart began to pound and I got a little excited, trying to slip a hand into the waistband. He giggled as soon as my fingertips crossed the line and pulled away from me, again trying to lure me after him. I didn't chase this time. Instead I watched him patiently as he climbed up the ladder and out of the pool, his wet boxers clinging to him so tightly it was impossible not to notice the tent in them. He made no attempt to hide it, instead walking deliberately around the edge of the pool towards the diving board. Then, with a tremendous splash, he was back in, and we were wrestling again in no time. It seemed like I had won the last round in our game because I had made him come back in instead of chasing him out like he had been intending. There was no pretense now. Neither of us said a word, but our wrestling was considerably less innocent now. We pressed hard into each other and ground our crotches together, pulling apart only to do it again. Each time I got hold of his body after letting it go made me want it more, and my head was reeling out of control. The only other occasion my hormones had taken over this much was that brief time that I had my hand inside Brad's boxers and he actually started to get aroused before he woke up. In the middle of the pool, Tyler had his arms hooked around my neck as he grinded against me. His face was inches from mine, but I didn't feel the urge to kiss him just now. We just stared at each other with an intensity that might have passed for hatred to an unknowing third party. We spun in circles, not moving from the middle of the pool, grabbing each other tightly but each refusing to be the one to make the next move. Finally he broke apart from me. "Let's go back in," he said. "I've drunk enough chlorine for the day." I still hadn't found my voice since our actions had taken on that strange turn, but I climbed out of the pool and followed him nonetheless. Inside, I tossed him a towel and watched as he vigorously scrubbed his curly locks back into their usual unkempt state. He got another Cream Soda out of the refrigerator, the last one, but I didn't care anymore. He set his towel on the couch and sat on it, a mere couple of inches away from me. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye but didn't dare to speak. I could still feel sexual tension in the air, and I didn't think I could manage to sound casual. "Are you just gonna leave it on the news?" he asked me, cutting into my thoughts. The TV was still on CNN from the last time Mom watched it. He leaned over me to grab the remote off the coffee table, letting his body press into mine while he did it, and I drew in a sharp breath. Clearly what happened outside hadn't been an isolated incident. I immediately started to feel the blood rush between my legs again, but I didn't even bother covering up because he wasn't, either. He had the can of Cream Soda resting in his lap, and I eyed it thirstily. He caught my gaze and relaxed his body posture slightly, indicating without speaking that I was free to help myself. I smiled and pulled the can from his thighs and took a sip, the sweetness of the soda invigorating my taste buds. He watched me curiously as I drank, lightly touching his left foot against my right foot. The contact sent a jolt through me just as the coldness of the drink ran through my body. I shuddered noticeably and held the drink back out to him. He took it, drank from it, and then settled it back firmly between his thighs. We pretended to watch TV while stealing glances at each other out of the corners of our eyes. Our contact had been minimal for several minutes, and I found myself rubbing my foot against his, resuming the activity he'd initiated earlier. He sighed and pressed back, leaning softly into me. "I have a secret to tell you," he whispered into my ear, an act that quickly became the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me. Chills went through my body everywhere. "I think I already know it," I shuddered in return, afraid to turn and face him. His hand had slowly found its way onto my leg, where it rested innocently, the same place that Mom patted me so often, only Mom had never meant it like this. I wondered how long he'd been holding in this secret. I shuddered again, and finally summoned up the courage to look at him. I looked in his eyes and saw Brad. I had never looked at Tyler this close. His features were a lot more like Brad's than I thought, or maybe he just seemed to be taking them all on because I had never looked at him in the same way I had looked at Brad, and I was now. Then, right as I stared into his eyes, his breath tickling my face, I felt that familiar tingle in my belly, and suddenly Tyler had become someone special to me. I wanted to gasp; the realization hit me so hard and so fast that I was momentarily dizzy. Then the garage door opened and I did gasp. We jumped apart so violently that the Cream Soda fell sideways and poured onto his lap and the couch. He hissed at the cold liquid making contact with his still wet skin, leapt up and searched wildly for his clothes. It didn't matter to him that he had only stripped down in the first place to go swimming. He just knew that now, far less innocent activities had transpired, and he didn't want to get caught. He finally found his jeans and shirt and went racing back to the bathroom, where he shut the door behind him just as Mom opened the door. "Hi, honey," she said, glancing at me for a second before spotting the tipped over Cream Soda on the couch. "How about cleaning that up?" she asked, pointing a finger at it. "Tyler had an accident," I stammered. "Sorry." I must have looked genuinely sorry, because Mom laughed, and she usually took spills on her furniture quite seriously. "It's okay," she said. "But it'd probably be a good idea to clean it up." I got my feet to work, finally, and jumped up to grab a rag from the kitchen. As I was soaking up the soda on the couch, Tyler came back in, fully dressed now. "Hello, Tyler," Mom greeted him warmly even though she'd only met him once a long time ago. "Did you spill soda on my couch?" "Yes ma'am," Tyler squeaked awkwardly. Mom started laughing again. "Don't look so scared," she said. "Honestly, you boys act like you burned the house down. It's just a spill." We tried not to look at each other, Tyler and I, but I know we were both thinking the same thing, that if we had really been caught, it might have been better if the house had been burning. "Do you want to stay and join us for dinner?" she asked a still very fidgety Tyler. "I should probably get home," Tyler said quietly, shooting me a look. "You don't have your key," I reminded him. For a minute he looked confused. "My dad is probably home by now," he said, scooping up his backpack and settling it on his shoulders. "I'll see you later, Zach," he waved, disappearing out the front door. "Nice boy," Mom said when he'd left. "A little weird, though." I stayed up half the night worrying about my experience with Tyler. He was a sixth grader. He was only eleven years old. Something didn't feel right about it. But then, he didn't really look eleven. Or maybe he did, and he just looked older to me because I was the one who didn't look my age. Over and over again, I replayed what had happened in the pool. It had seemed innocent enough until he touched me the second time, and made it clear he wasn't playing around. I thought of everything, from the time I had first felt the tingle in my belly after wrestling with Brad in the pool to the surge of electricity that had gone through me when Tyler had whispered in my ear. I thought of the way it had felt to hold Brad's hand inside Minute Maid Park, and the way it felt when Tyler pressed his foot up against mine while we sat on the couch. I thought of how Brad had told me, the last time we talked, that I would meet someone special, whether I already knew them or not. I thought of how much Tyler looked like Brad up close, and how it had hit me full force that I felt the same way for Tyler I had felt for Brad. I thought of Tyler leaning over to me, the sweetness of the Cream Soda lingering in my mouth, and telling me, in a throaty whisper that made the hairs on my neck stand up on end, that he had a secret. I sat bolt upright in my bed, more awake now than ever before. I glanced at my alarm clock, saw it was just after two, and then threw the covers off and raced down the hall to the kitchen, flipping on the light switch and finding the phone. I brought it back with me to my room, rooted through my nightstand, and found the piece of paper I was looking for. Then I dialed the number. "Hello?" Brad's voice came out muffled on the other end. He had been asleep. "How did you know?" I demanded, not stopping for a greeting. "Zach?" he asked after a brief pause. "What the hell are you talking about, man? It's the middle of the night." "When I talked to you last Friday, you said I'd meet someone. You said there were a lot of people out there that would end up being important to me that I hadn't met yet." "Yeah," he said. "So what?" "And then you said maybe I already knew someone and I hadn't figured out they were special yet." "It's two in the morning, Zach. Can we talk later?" "Did you set me up with Tyler?" There was complete silence on the other end for so long that I thought he had hung up. "Hello?" I asked doubtfully. "What would make you think a thing like that?" Brad finally said. "You set me up," I repeated firmly. There was another several second pause. This time I waited patiently for him to respond. "You're a smart one, Zach," he finally said, sounding awake now. He gave a small chuckle. "I should have given you more credit." "Why'd you do it?" I asked him. "Because I thought it might work," Brad replied, just as direct as ever. "He's always been up front with me, and he told me some things that went on at camp. Things, you know, that I didn't want to hear. Things, that as his older brother, kind of bothered me a little." "So why'd you have to tell him about me? You didn't tell him about the hotel did you?" I asked, getting embarrassed all over again. "Of course not," he said. "I just told him you'd made a confession similar to his. I told Tyler I didn't know if you'd be interested in him, and not to get too upset if you didn't go for it, but that it was worth a try." He paused, and sighed. "See, Zach, I don't really care if you're gay, or if Tyler's gay. You guys are practically infants as far as I'm concerned, and I think you're both crazy, but what better way to figure out who you really are than to figure it out together? At least then I don't have to worry about either of you." "Worry?" I asked, frowning. "What's to worry about?" "People take advantage of people," he said carefully. "Older people take advantage of younger people, especially," he added. "Whatever, I'm not getting into all that with you right now. I just hoped you guys could watch over each other." "When did he tell you all this?" I asked. "I didn't know anything about it until he came back from camp," he answered quickly. "Then he wanted to talk about it. I told him to be careful because he's only eleven. He's not like you, Zach. He's clueless and reckless. You're not, and you can help him." "I don't think I can help anyone," I disagreed. "Just look at it this way," Brad reasoned. "Remember what you said? That crap about never knowing when someone you come across might be the best fit you'll ever find? Well, it's a load of shit, but if it helps, look at it that way. What if Tyler is that person? Shouldn't you try and find out?" "I guess," I muttered. "I still can't believe you set me up." "Good night, Zach." He hung up on me, and when he did I realized out of nowhere that I had never paid him back for all the money he'd spent on me. I decided, then, that I would give it a shot with Tyler, even though it felt weird, if for nothing else, than for Brad.