Love in the Garden of Deceit -04

Love in the Garden of Deceit. The following story may contain scenes of sexual activity between males and members of different generations. If you may find this offensive or if you feel it may be illegal for you to read this in your jurisdiction, I ask that you don't. This is fiction; it did not happen. Please send any comments to christopher.macintosh @ gmail.com. Also, I invite you to visit my BLOG. Thank you!

“You listen to me, you little shit! I’m sick and tired of you slamming the door whenever your little feelings get hurt! If you don’t start showing a little respect around here, I’ll…”

Christian’s mother was following him as he silently walked his bike across the yard to the gate. She froze as soon as she saw Jamie sitting in the driveway waiting. His face was burning red and he was biting his lip as his eyes met hers. They held for a few seconds before she turned back to Christian.

“We’ll talk about this with your father tonight,” she concluded with an icy voice. Quickly, she spun on the heel of her house slipper and flip-flopped back inside.

Christian’s face was red with shame that Jamie had seen such a display of his mother’s emotions and fury that she should humiliate him in such a way. He said nothing as he mounted his bike. Jamie was silent as well. However, a block away, he finally broke the silence.

“Maybe, after school,” he said as he rode up beside Christian, “you can come over to my place for awhile.”

He remained silent until they were a couple of blocks from school, when Jamie said, “My mother can be pretty hateful some times. That’s one of the reasons why my parents got a divorce.”

“Yeah, wwwell. If mmmy… parents got a d-d-divorce, nnneither of them would wwwant me. I d-d-don’t know where I’d g-g-go. They b-b-both hate me.”

Christian pulled over to the curb in front an old brick apartment building. There were tears in his eyes and he sniffed. Jamie pulled along side him.

“Yes. They d-d-do. Ever sssince they learned that I ssstutter. They hate mmme because I’m re…t-t-tarded. They hate me.”

Jamie glanced to his left as a couple of ninth graders rode past on their bikes, giving Christian looks of disgust. He started to reply, but held his tongue. He sat for a moment as Christian silently wept and then put a hand on his shoulder.

“Come on. Let’s go. You’ll come over after school and I promise we’ll have a good time. You’re my friend, even if your parents do know dick all about being parents.”

Christian sniffed and attempted a smile. He wiped the tears from his face and sniffed one more time before nodding and pushing off from the curb.

The rest of the ride was uneventful. They locked their bikes and carried their materials inside, but as they stopped at their lockers outside Mrs. Nelson’s Math class, Christian’s heart froze as Craig Stinson and several of his buddies from the football team stopped beside Jamie, surrounding him as he stood at his open locker. Jamie didn’t appear frightened; in fact, he looked a bit curiously at them.

“You are dead. You’ll never know when. You’ll never know where. But, you are dead.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he replied as the other toughs moved closer. “I appreciate it.”

“Mr. Stinson,” said a sardonic voice from the classroom doorway. “You wouldn’t be asking James out on a date, now, would you?”

Craig looked sharply over at Mrs. Nelson watching the proceedings with arms crossed and narrow eyes.

Craig stood still, as did his teammates, just long enough to be insubordinate, before finally giving Jamie one last withering look of contempt and walking on into the classroom. Jamie looked at his Math teacher and started to thank her, but the look of contempt on her face was just as withering as Craig’s. She turned without another word and disappeared in the classroom.

“Well,” he commented to Christian, whose wide-eyed look of shock and fear had not dissipated yet. “That was entertaining.”

After that, First Hour went by without further incident. The only development during Second Hour Orchestra was that Mr. Fields announced curtly that because they now had a pianist, he was handing out a new arrangement of the Romeo and Juliet.

Unfortunately for the hapless, Leroy, he was overheard by the teacher and sent out in the hallway for ten minutes as punishment.

As the class drew to a close, however, Christian became increasingly nervous and as he and Jamie walked to Third Hour Gym, it became so obvious that something was on his mind that Jamie felt compelled to ask.

“It’s nothing,” Christian replied rather defensively. However, it was something, indeed. He had struggled to keep out of his mind the thought that he would see Jamie in Gym class, Jamie changing his clothes, Jamie in gym shorts, Jamie naked in the shower. The inevitable was bound to happen and Christian couldn’t think of a way to avoid it. Jamie noticed that his friend wasn’t looking at him and a vaguely satisfied smile came over his face as they entered the locker room.

Fortunately for Christian, the locker assigned to Jamie the day before was on the other side of the room and out of view. Without the visual stimulation of the Most Beautiful Boy in the World, he might have a chance to change clothes without completely humiliating himself.

He was already on the way to getting a hard-on as he slipped his loafers off and unbuttoned his shirt. Quickly, he slipped the shirt off and replaced it with his gym shirt. He slipped his green plaid nerd-pants off and his underwear, revealing a semi, but was able to hide it by leaning over and letting his gym shirt fall over it. However, his penis had risen the rest of the way by the time he had tied his sneakers. Carefully, he slipped it under the elastic band of his gym shorts and let the shirt hang over it. Unless someone looked carefully, it wouldn’t be obvious he was sporting a boner.

Jamie joined him as he walked to the gym. Jamie was somewhat stocky and his generous arms and legs, graced by the long blond hair falling over his face, looked beautiful to Christian. He jerked his hair aside and grinned at Christian, who glanced away quickly, feeling his face burning.

Even with a jock strap under the shorts, Christian could see that Jamie was on the way to becoming engorged as well. Now, he had two people to worry about. What if someone such as Craig decided to give Jamie grief about a boner, which wasn’t outside the realm of possibility. They stood on the periphery of the crowd of milling, chattering boys in the gym and awaited Coach to order them into line.

“All right, miscreants! Line-up! Move it, Stinson or you get to meet my paddle again, unless you’re one of those perverts who likes to get spanked!”

There were several chuckles from the boys and Stinson grinned as everyone lined up.

When the calisthenics were completed, Stinson and Charlie Young were named captains and began to draft teams for football. Christian was so certain that neither would be chosen that, when Charlie called Jamie’s name and Craig called his, he stopped and stared in horror. Jamie looked on with alarm and then determination.

Craig was giving Jamie an evil smile and Charlie, who had chosen Jamie only because Craig had told him to, just shrugged and started out with his team. However, Christian saw Coach watching the affair from the doorway to his office with a curious look on his face.

The four boys walked over, Christian nervously, Jamie, curiously, Charlie trying to figure out what he had done wrong already, and Craig defiantly. Coach looked at Craig and said, in an ominous voice, “All right, Stinson. What’s the game?”

“I don’t normally think much of all the guys standing around the basketball courts wasting time, but I don’t like what’s going on here. Something’s wrong. Stinson, I don’t trust you. McKenzie, if you and Christiansen here don’t want to play football, you don’t have to.”

“Thhhanks, C-c-coach,” Christian said with relief. Jamie looked at Craig carefully and then at Christian.

Craig gave him a narrow look and then stormed out of the gym in disgust. Coach frowned after him and then turned to Jamie and Christian.

“Out,” he barked, pointing to a different door than the one Craig had just exited.

The two stopped in the storeroom to retrieve a basketball, but suddenly Christian stopped . He looked around the locker room and toward the toilets in the corner, out of sight of the coach’s office. He thought for a second and then turned to Jamie.

“I’ll b-b-be out in a mmminute. You g-g-go on. I have to g-g-go to thhhe bathroom.”

Jamie looked at him in the eyes for a moment and then seemed to suppress a smile.

There was something about the way Jamie said “shooting” that made Christian wonder if he were being suggestive, but the thought left his mind as he crept through the locker room to the toilets. Peeking through the large window to his office, Christian could see Coach standing with his back to him. Quickly, he slipped past and over to the toilets. He glanced around again, satisfied that he was alone, and positioned himself before the farthest one. He slipped his shorts down, freeing his throbbing five inch erection. It felt nasty, exciting, to be hard, openly hard, in the locker room. He grasped his penis and felt a surge of excitement at the touch of his hand.

Quickly, he sat down, spread his knees wide and quickly started jacking his hard-on.

“Oh, yeah,” he whispered softly as visions of a naked Jamie floated through his mind. “Yeah. Oh, yeah.”

His hips were churning and squirming as he rapidly pumped his boner. His hand was a blur as it rubbed and stroked and his face was tightened into a look of agony as the wonderful feelings spread from his steel-hard cock and into his body.

Suddenly, he froze. There was a sound from the locker room. Quickly, he leaned forward and slipped his boner inside his gym shirt. He waited a moment, peering toward the sound. However, he saw nothing and, after a moment of careful listening, heard nothing. With a sigh of relief, he freed his penis again and resumed his jacking-off.

The feeling was building and he could sense he was about to blow. He lifted his gym shirt, leaned back, and, as his fist pumped his dick, shot his teenage sperm all over his chest and stomach. After a few frantic seconds, it was merely seeping from the slit of his penis, flowing down the shaft and into the soft, orange hair above the base.

Christian rested for a moment before reaching for the toilet paper to wipe himself off. He froze a second time, certain he had heard something. However, if someone had caught him, they would not have missed the opportunity to totally humiliate him. He shook his head and pulled his shorts up.

He slipped past the coach’s office again and was about to open the door to the outside when it suddenly burst open and Jamie appeared. His face was red and he seemed in a hurry, but when he saw Christian, his face took on a look of confusion.

“Oh, um, wwwell, OK. I g-g-guess I’ll mmmeet you outssside,” Christian mumbled, taking the ball from Jamie and exiting the door.

The thought that Jamie might, at that very moment, be jacking off, too, undid all the good his just completed session had done. He was instantly hard again and fought the urge to find some excuse to re-enter the locker room. Instead, he forced himself to walk over to the opposite end of the courts from the usual malcontents. He was shooting baskets for a few minutes before he saw Jamie appear and walk toward him with a much more relaxed demeanor than he had possessed just a few minutes earlier.

“Come on!” Jamie declared suddenly running toward Christian. He grabbed the ball away from him and ran to a free basket, where he shot and missed. Christian laughed and took off after the ball. Soon, his new erection was forgotten and when Coach blew his whistle for everyone to come on, the five minutes in the shower and locker room proceeded without incident. Even Craig Stinson ignored the two boys.

The first hint that something was wrong came during lunch. As Christian and Jamie sat alone at a table near the side of the cafeteria, several girls walked by and giggled, though not in the same way girls had been giggling over the past couple of days when passing Jamie. There was something negative in their giggles, something mean-spirited. Jamie simply shook his head.

Later, however, when they passed the “cool” table as they were carrying their trays to the conveyor belt, Christian saw Trent Hollister glance up at him as he whispered something to the other guys at his table. Suddenly, one of them burst forth with, “You’re kidding? Really?”

The others began to laugh hysterically and Christian, afraid to look back at them, walked uncertainly on. However, he noticed Jamie look back sharp-eyed.

Jamie said nothing, but he gave Trent a second sharp look as the left the cafeteria.

Fourth Hour Science was as lethally boring Wednesday as it had been Tuesday. Mr. Fucker showed a filmstrip about Newton’s Third Law and then read from another book. The only thing that kept Christian awake was the interchange he had witnessed between Jamie and Trent at the beginning of class and his thoughts as to what might be behind it. As they had taken their seats, Trent had looked directly at Jamie, almost apologetically. However, it seemed to Christian that Jamie was having none of it. His friend stood with a fist on his hip and an angry eyebrow raised. Trent colored and immediately lowered his head and looked away.

As the two boys entered the hallway after the bell, Jamie still had a determined look on his face. Christian was dying of curiosity.

Jamie said nothing for a second, the blank look on his face unchanging when he finally replied, “Nothing.”

Christian knew he was lying and probably trying to protect him, but he didn’t pursue the issue further. He already had something else on his mind, the realization they were next going to Fifth Hour History with… Mr. O’Leary.

Christian realized, after they left their lockers and began the trek back upstairs to History, that his right hand was trembling. His left held his notebook and history text, but it was sweaty. Jamie remained silent and his face was impassive, even as they entered the classroom. Christian took his seat and glanced back at Jamie, who seemed deliberately to be avoiding Mr. O’Leary. He was either gazing out the window or looking over his homework assignment, anything but looking at Mr. O’Leary. The teacher, Christian noticed, also seemed a bit more preoccupied than usual. He sat at his desk, not acknowledging any students as they entered, his eyes seemingly glued to the textbook before him and then the bell rang and he stood to walk to the lectern, his eyes, he is eyes focused only on the students in the front of the room. When he called the roll, he kept his eyes on the roll sheet, even when he called Jamie’s name at the end, though he did pause for just the slightest bit of a moment. It was clear to Christian that both Jamie and Mr. O’Leary were trying to avoid each other.

He was about to comment on it to Jamie as they left History when some ninth grade boys walking by started laughing. One of them looked at Christian and said, “Hey, McKenzie! Time for a spanking?”

The others became hysterical as they walked on. Christian furrowed his eyebrows in complete confusion. Jamie bit his lip in fury as Christian stopped in the hallway.

The boys behind Christian shoved him forward and he and Jamie started walking again. Jamie sighed heavily.

Christian looked at him skeptically and replied, “Well, b-b-back…gammon and…”

“I love backgammon!” said Jamie as they descended the crowded stairs. “You any good?”

“I c-c-can wwwipe the fffloor with you and throw yyyou away like a d-d-dirty towel.”

“Yeah?” Jamie replied as they reached their lockers. “We’ll see who wipes who.”

Several kids gave Christian strange looks as they walked to Sixth Hour English and his curiosity was killing him; but he sighed and went on, listening to Jamie prattle on about how good he was at chess and Monopoly as well. When they entered the classroom, Craig was nowhere to be seen, but Mr. Roberts was seated behind his desk, carefully reading some papers in what appeared to be an imitation of Mr. O’Leary from Fifth Hour. Christian started to say “hello” to him, but thought better of it. Surely the teacher knew he was there, but it was obvious he didn’t want to speak.

When the bell rang, the teacher stood and called the roll from behind the lectern. He didn’t look up at Christian’s name, or at Jamie’s, for that matter. Jamie hadn’t been involved in the incident in the English class the day before; only after in the lobby.

The class continued their discussion of Great Expectations and Dickensian England as if nothing was amiss, except Craig never appeared in class and Mr. Roberts studiously avoided calling on Christian, let alone looking at him, even though Christian often raised his hand. After a while, the boy simply gave up and sat sadly behind his book, afraid to look up. When the bell rang, he slowly gathered his things. He saw Jamie waiting at the door and nodded, but made no effort to hurry as he walked dejectedly up the aisle.

As he crossed in front of Mr. Roberts' desk, however, the teacher finally spoke.

Christian jumped, startled at the man’s words. He saw a warm smile on the teacher’s face and, suddenly, felt a flood of relief.

“I hope you didn’t think I was unhappy with you today because I didn’t call on you. It was deliberate, but it wasn’t because of anything you have done. I made a mistake yesterday telling the class how good you are and I may have inadvertently made things a bit tougher for you by doing so. You know how jealous and spiteful kids can be. So, I was trying to avoid any misconception of favoritism today. I know you could answer all those questions.”

Christian smiled with such gratitude that Mr. Roberts had to fight with himself not to jump up and give the boy a hug.

Mr. Roberts looked toward the door and saw Jamie standing patiently and peeking in.

Mr. Robert’s nodded and then a look of surprise came over his face. Then, one came over Christian’s, as well.

Mr. Roberts smiled and said, “I think you just need a little encouragement and a lot of that will go away. Well, even if I don’t do it publicly in class, always consider yourself encouraged in my class.”

Christian grinned widely, not afraid of showing his braces to his English teacher, the only man, it seemed, who was ever encouraging to him.

“Well, you look happy,” Jamie commented as they walked back to their lockers.

“I am,” Christian replied. “Mr. Rrroberts is a nice man. I rrreally like him. He rrreally cares.”

“Yeah, I can tell. I think he’s a good guy. And, I think he really likes you.”

Christian nodded in agreement, though there was something in the way that Jamie said it that he wasn’t comfortable with, almost as if he were comparing Mr. Roberts interest in Christian to Mr. O’Leary’s interest in Jamie. It wasn’t the same at all! Mr. Roberts was a nice man. He was decent and caring. He would never flirt with a student!

They reached their lockers and grabbed what they would need for homework and then went to the Orchestra room for Christian to retrieve his clarinet. It wasn’t until they returned to the first floor and were approaching the lobby that, once again, Christian realized there was something wrong, something dreadfully wrong.

Charlie Young was standing in the middle of a crowd saying something in an excited voice. Dozens of kids were crowded around him, listening and suppressing their laughter until Charlie looked up and pointed.

“There he is!,” Charlie declared as the crowd turned in gleeful expectation. “The master-bator!”

Charlie’s comment was met with wild laughter. Christian froze, his eyes wide with horror and realization. Someone had seen him. There had been someone in there! He stared at the faces, the laughing, mocking grins. He was frozen; he couldn’t move. The knowledge that the whole school knew he had been jacking off in the locker room that morning was too much.

“’Oh, yeah! Oh, yeah!’” Charlie mocked, imitating Christian’s private moment.

Jamie closed his eyes and looked down in resignation. When he looked back up, he saw Trent Hollister standing on the other side of the lobby, am expression of deep regret on his face. His eyes met Jamie’s and he shook his head, mouthing the words, I’m sorry. Jamie stormed over to him and dropped his books.

Christian didn’t wait around to see what would happen. He was too mortified, too ashamed to remain. He ran.

The laughter was ringing in his ears as he ran down the hallway to the side entrance, echoing down the hall, following him, chasing him until he had burst through the door and was outside, mercifully free of the sound, but not the memory. He threw his things into the baskets of his bike, fumbled desperately with the lock, and finally yanked the bike from the rack. Within seconds, he was flying up the street, passing cars and cutting around wayward pedestrians.

There was no way he could ever return to school. They knew. Everyone in the lobby knew. Everyone who had laughed earlier and made the cryptic comments knew. They knew he had masturbated at school. It was too much.

He reached Brentwood and turned. What would he do? What could he do? All he knew was that he needed to be alone and he needed to be in The Gardens.

He was panting, not just from exertion, but from frustration and humiliation, as well, as he pulled up to the crossing guard at 24^th. When traffic stopped, he tore across the street and, two blocks later, whipped into the carport at his house. He parked in his father’s space, setting the kickstand and removing his things. He burst into the house, ignoring his mother’s warning not to run, flew to his room, threw his things on his bed, and tore back downstairs.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” his mother demanded as he ran through the kitchen again. However, he was out the back door before he could even think of framing a reply and before she could demand one. He crashed through the gate, kicked the stand up, jumped on the bike, and flew back into the street.

Tears flowed down his cheeks and his throat burned as he pedaled furiously down Brentwood and up 28^th St. He passed Jamie’s house and a fleeting thought of his friend passed through his mind, one tinged with regret and bitterness. Why would someone as beautiful, as intelligent, as cool as Jamie want to be friends with someone who was the object of the entire school’s derision? No. That was over. Everything was over.

He flew around the corner and into the parking lot, dodging another Cadillac driven by yet another old woman who gave him a vicious look. He didn’t even bother to lock his bike in the rack. For a moment, he paused in front of the new entrance.

He couldn’t face Mrs. Linley and he certainly couldn’t face Jamie’s father at that moment or in that state; but, he desperately needed to get to the gardens behind the museum. He stood for a moment, panting and thinking, until he turned toward the utility gate at the side of the building. It was open and there was no one standing around it. He walked quickly through it and around the North Wing until he came to a pathway leading out toward the Gardens.

It was a beautiful, sunny day, a perfect September afternoon with a clear blue sky and only a slight breeze to keep the end-of-summer heat from growing too great. Small groups of adults, mostly elderly women, strolled around the grounds among the topiary and statuary. Christian avoided them until he found a bench in the midst of a stand of wine-colored crepe myrtle. It was facing the creek, the crepe myrtle shielding it from the view of The House. Finally, he collapsed onto the bench and released the energy, the pain, the frustration, the humiliation, and the anger that had been building since the scene in the lobby. He wailed and then he began to slam his fists against the wooden slats of the bench. Harder and harder, he struck the bench until he stood up and marched about the bench, flailing his arms and crying out, “Stupid! Idiot! Damn! Damn!”

Soon, the words became incoherent, just sounds expressing the anguish in his heart until, exhausted, he collapsed in the thick grass across the walkway from the bench. He cried as all the years of embarrassment and shame, of frustration and fury, of his parents ridiculing him, his peers mocking him, his teachers misunderstanding him all came bursting forth.

He didn’t know how long he had lain in the grass crying before he became aware that he wasn’t alone.

He looked up and saw a pair of legs enclosed in tight white pants. Higher was a loose navy blue shirt and above that, framed by the most beautiful blond hair in the world, was the concerned face of Jamie.

“I assumed you would be somewhere here in the Gardens. You’re mum said you were pretty upset when you left.”

“Here,” he said as he extended his hand. “I stopped inside the house. I thought you might need these.”

Christian swallowed and sniffed and swallowed again. He nodded and sat up, reaching across the path to Jamie’s hand. He took the tissues, wiped his eyes, and blew his nose. Slowly, uncertainly, he stood and stepped over to the bench, sitting to Jamie’s left.

Neither said anything for several minutes. They listened to the water as it flowed over the stones in the creek, to the old crows in the ancient trees lining the creek, to the chatter of several ladies and they passed behind them. Finally, Christian spoke.

“I didn’t want to upset you at school. I thought we could come over to my place and I could let you know without it being really embarrassing for you.”

“It wasn’t Charlie. It was Trent Hollister. I saw him head for the locker room just after you went in and I was afraid he would catch you.”

“It’s no big deal. Anyway, I went in and Trent was peeking around the corner and he was groping himself and then he saw me and got all embarrassed. So, I told him not to tell anyone and he said he wouldn’t. I asked him after school and he said he only told some guy named Biff. He didn’t mean for it to get all over the school like it did

“Biff’s his b-b-best fffreind. I think they b-b-beat-off t-t-tog-g-gether.”

“Don’t worry about it. Everyone wanks. I mean, everyone. There isn’t a guy there who doesn’t get a stiffy in school and there isn’t a guy there who doesn’t wank at least once a day. Hell, I do it three or four times a day.”

“Every…one kn-n-nows I d-d-did it at ssschool. They’ll lllaugh at me ffforever.”

“No they won’t,” Jamie said softly, his mouth just inches from Christian’s ear. The boy could feel the heat of Jamie’s breath on his cheek and throat and, suddenly, he began to feel something other than the pain. He looked up and gazed across the creek at the brush lining the boundary fence to the east. Jamie continued.

“This’ll be forgotten in a day or two. Besides, who cares what the hosers think? You’re my friend and I don’t care that you wanked at school. Hell, I did, too. Knowing you were in there doing it, got me going. So, I had to do it, too.”

Jamie’s words had become softer as his face grew closer to his friend’s. Christian’s breath became irregular as he realized that Jamie might be coming onto him. He froze.

Jamie’s lips, his soft, pillowy lips, brushed his cheek as he gave Christian a light kiss. His right hand fell to Christian’s right knee and then he whispered, “It’s all right.”

Softly, he kissed Christian’s cheek a second time. A third kiss pressed against his skin slightly. As he pulled away, Christian gradually turned toward him. Jamie’s lips were parted and his eyes, those eyes the color of the ocean at dusk, stared into his.

This was the moment. All thought of the pain and degradation, the anguish and the hopelessness, dissolved as Christian made his decision. He closed his eyes and leaned forward. Jamie bent his head slightly to the side and touched his thick lips to Christian’s.

For several minutes, their lips made love to each other, at first immobile, but gradually puckering, kissing, pulling the other’s lip. Jamie raised his hand and placed it on the side of Christian’s face, his thumb tracing along Christian’s eyebrow. His fingers slipping into his short, orange hair. He pulled Christian’s face forward and pressed his lips harder against his friend’s.

When Christian felt Jamie’s lips part, he knew what was happening, but it was still a shock to feel the slight hint of Jamie’s tongue touching his lower lip. The tongue paused just a moment before venturing forward, pressing against Christian’s lips. He paused a moment and then let it pass through and into his mouth.

He was French kissing Jamie Christiansen and only then did he realize just how fiercely, painfully hard he was. Jamie’s tongue was in his mouth. He could feel the writhing flesh in his mouth. It was alive, sliding against his own tongue, slipping around his teeth, touching his braces and the top of his mouth. But, it was sliding his own tongue against Jamie’s that sent a thrill through him.

The two boys jumped and split apart. Standing on the stone pathway and dozen feet away, was Cody, the groundskeeper’s son from their “Express Yourself” class. He was wearing another tee-shirt, though this one said “Pink Freud” and bore a pink picture of Sigmund Freud. His brown hair was hanging over his ears and down over his eyes. He was holding a trowel and a pot of yellow chrysanthemums and he looked distinctly embarrassed.

Christian was ready to die again. How many more humiliations and embarrassments could he take in one day? Not only had been caught beating-off in the locker room, not only had word made it around the entire school, now he had been caught making out with the prettiest boy he had ever seen by a tough-looking guy who could have knocked both their heads off.

“I’m sorry to… like… interrupt and everything, but… like there’s this bunch of old women coming up from behind and I thought I should warn you.”

Cody nodded, his checks turning the same color as the sprinkling of freckles across his nose. He turned and, as he was walking away, muttered, “See ya.”

Jamie pulled away from Christian, who still couldn’t speak. They looked at each other and then, his eyes open wide with surprise, Jamie finally said, “Wow.”

“Well, I guess it could have been worse,” Jamie muttered as the group of women Cody had warned them about strolled past, ignoring the boys.

“Who’s he gonna tell? He doesn’t go to our school. I think he was being cool. I think he was being a sport.”

Christian swallowed and looked down. Jamie waited until the ladies were past and then took Christian’s hand in his own.

“We’ll get it later,” Jamie said as he stood, the reason for his impatience quite obvious in the front of his pants. Christian gazed at it for several seconds and then smiled. Jamie extended his hand. Christian took it and stood and, together, the two boys strode along the stone pathway toward the footbridge that would lead to Jamie’s house.