Date: Mon, 11 Jun 2012 21:38:00 -0700 From: Rich H Subject: When the World Changed, Part 9 Here is the next chapter of this story.  All the usual disclaimers apply - it's entirely fictional, so please don't go looking for someone you know in it.  It's also (in places ) sexually explicit and depicts minors engagaing in sexual acts, so if that's not something you like or if it's illegal where you live, by all means don't read it.  My thanks to those who've been kind enough to write me about this story - I hope it continues to interest people.  As usual, I'll put a plug in for my other Nifty story, "Seal Rocks," which is also here in the HS section (the last chapter posted in April 2011).  I welcome all comments and critiques (even the nasty ones), and again hope this story entertains.  When the World Changed Part 9 That night, Brady lay in bed, long after David had completed his not-so-surreptitious masturbation and fallen asleep, and slowly went into a panic. He had not previously realized, squarely, that he was in love with Doug Garrettson. He'd known he was drawn to Doug from the moment he had appeared from behind that pile of football pads in the gym. He was his best friend now, to be sure. He'd known he yearned to touch him, to be near him. He had imagined having sex (in some nonspecific way) with him. But love? That was another level entirely. Yet it was true. He was blindingly, hopelessly, head over heels, slash his wrists the long way, in love. With a boy. With a classmate. With a tall and obviously not-queer guy who for all his friendliness and casual intimacy with Brady, would undoubtedly recoil in disgust if Brady ever gave voice to what he'd just realized. Hell, part of himself recoiled at the idea. He couldn't love another boy, that wasn't supposed to happen. That wasn't normal. You fell in love with girls, and you got married and had kids and a house and a dog and stuff. You didn't fall in love with another boy. He remembered seeing a program on TV the previous spring sometime about homosexuals, and it had been horrifying. A kid only a little older than himself had been arrested soliciting sex in a public bathroom, his visible shame stomach turning. Doctors had described being homosexual as a mental disease. The program had said it all. Sick. Diseased. Promiscuous. Incapable of forming any lasting relationship. Anonymous. Displaced. An outsider. Was that really him? Was he sick, a degenerate, a pervert? Jesus, I'm not even 14 yet, how could I have become diseased this fast. I must be incredibly sick, then. What would Mom think - or Hal, or Trent? Shame washed over him, and this time when the tears rose they broke out, and poured down his cheeks silently, heedless of his will power trying to hold them back. Years of them came out, drenching his pillowcase and T shirt. His body ached from the shuddering despair that enveloped him. He found himself in the hallway, on the staircase going up. Past the third floor, where he knew Doug was sleeping peacefully. He couldn't go there. Past the sign admonishing students to stay off the roof. He needed air, he needed to clear his head, to think. He needed to cry, somehow. The night had turned cold and drizzly. He should have put on pants, or a sweater, or something. Socks, at least. The roof was white gravel covering tar paper, it hurt to walk on. The flagpole on center campus was lit, the flag itself standing almost straight out. The sidewalk was a good twenty feet out from the side of the building, with shrubbery and lawn closer in. Someone had thrown a paper bag into the bush beneath him. "What the hell am I doing?" he asked abruptly, stumbling back from the edge. His breathing was fast and shallow. Holy shit, he thought. He sat heavily, pulled his knees to his chin, and wept again. He slept through breakfast that morning, hoping that David could convince Hudson, a pimply junior who served as the Table Prefect, not to sting him for the absence. He didn't speak, even when David shook his shoulder to rouse him. He was grateful that David didn't pursue the matter. He turned over groggily and looked at his clock radio. Almost ten of eleven. His diaphragm ached. David was nowhere to be seen. Someone down the hall was playing Donovan, someone else had Surrealistic Pillow on. The reflection that greeted him in the bathroom was alarming: hollow eyed, splotchy faced, dirt streaked across his face and neck. He didn't remember coming downstairs. The shower head pointed directly at his face, the force of the water stung his cheekbones and lips. Maybe they'll be ripped off, would that help? He stayed in the shower a long time. There were small pieces of white gravel in the hallway, and on the floor of his room. He sat on his bad, drying his hair with his towel, and felt some amid the sheets, too. Is this what it's like to be diseased, he wondered. To be so cut off from everything, to not know what the fuck you were doing or had done or were going to do. To not know the why or when or anything. His drying faltered, and he slumped forward, elbows on knees. Maybe he'd cry again. David walked in, silent. He closed the door, threw his topcoat on his bed, and sat next to it. Brady knew he was looking at him, but felt no desire to meet his gaze. Long minutes passed. "You're OK, you know," David said quietly. "You shouldn't be all screwed up over this." Brady should have panicked. He should have said what the hell are you talking about. He should have lied, and postured, and told David that he was a big stud football player and who the fuck was he to say something like that and who the fuck did he think he was. He should have thrust his chin forward and been the tough kid, the one no emotion could touch and no fear could reach. He'd been tough for his mom, for Trent and Hal, before everyone in Cullingstown, all his life. He knew how to play it like the back of his hand. Instead, a long cry tore itself out of some place Brady never knew existed deep inside his soul, and he fell off the bed to his knees, towel still over his head, sobbing, with his forehead against the floor. His arms remained crossed over his chest, as if he would explode if he didn't hold something in. David held him there for a long time, brushing his hair, wiping his cheek, as he wailed. Somehow he'd managed to turn on some Hendrix, really loud, to mask the sound of Brady's crying from passersby in the hall. The small rational part of Brady's mind, watching his wreckage as if from a high bleacher seat, was grateful for that. "Shhh," David whispered as he held Brady's head in his slender lap. "Shhh." Brady quieted, after a long time. He wanted to keep the towel over his face. He was too ashamed to look at David. He knew, and he'd be disgusted. His father was a shrink, he'd know all about what a grotesquerie he was. The worst possible roommate to have. "Bray?" David's voice was soft. "It's OK. It really is. I know how you feel. It's not anything to be scared of, or ashamed. You're not a freak, OK?" He paused. "Well, OK, you are a freak, but that's because you're a fucking Gargantua compared to me." "Everybody's Gargantua compared to you," Brady croaked. David shoved his head lightly, and the laughter started. Softly at first, but growing, until both were rolling on the floor, knees against their chests, howling. Brady felt like his sides would cramp fatally at any moment. When he finally subsided from that fit, he wiped his face with his towel and leaned back against the side of his bed. I'm still naked, he realized, but he didn't care, and David didn't seem to care either. He was sitting on a couple of pieces of roof gravel. David was on the floor across from him, leaning similarly against his own bed, forearms on his knees, watching Brady levelly. "I never cry, I dunno what's wrong with me," he said absently, forgetting David was sitting across from him. When he remembered that fact, his panic grew again. "You - you know?" Brady asked. David smiled slightly and nodded. "How - I mean when did you - " "You're pretty easy to read, Bray. For me, anyway. You've been staring at Garrettson like he's a god from the first day you met him." Brady's face showed his fear. "Don't worry, these other guys are all fucking idiots, they have no idea. And they're not your roommate. I am. I can see stuff, you know?" He glanced away a moment. "You talk in your sleep a little, sometimes." Brady felt his blush rise. "Oh shit, what did I say?' David smiled more broadly. "Nothing too major, don't worry. Just Doug's name and all." He leaned over and put a hand on Brady's shoulder. "But it's OK. It's not sick or anything. You think it's sick, right?" Brady swallowed hard. "Well, yeah. Of course. I mean, it is, isn't it? I mean all the doctors - the shrinks, like your dad and all - they say -" "Not all of them do," David snapped, and his voice suddenly had an angry tone. "There's a lot of them who say that's total bullshit. My dad told me he thinks it's total bullshit." He smiled again, to himself. "That was the first time I ever heard him swear. 'Davey, that is just a load of bullshit and don't you ever believe that about yourself,' he said. He was really, like, adamant, about it." Brady nodded. "Sounds like a good dad." What would my dad have said, he wondered. Then he started to realize what David had just told him. "Wait a minute, wh - what'd he tell you? About yourself?" David's face split into a rueful grin. He opened his arms wide. "We're in Faggot Central, this room. Welcome home, buddy." Brady was staring at him, slack jawed. "The roommate matching gods did their work well, don't you think?" Brady stood quickly. A spasm of fear had jolted through him. "Y - you mean - I mean, like, you - you're queer and all that? " David watched his reaction with calm amusement. "Yup." He cocked his head sideways a bit. "Scared I'm gonna buttfuck you while you sleep or something?" Brady relaxed, realizing what he'd done. "Sorry," he mumbled, and moved to sit. It suddenly seemed very important to him to put some clothes on. He turned to his dresser, realized his back was to David, and fumbled for his towel to wrap around his waist. David started laughing. "I already know all about your ass, Conover. And it's a really good ass. But you're my roommate, so it's off limits. Relax." Brady felt a new wave of shame. "David, I'm sorry, I didn't mean -" "It's OK. I keep telling you that, will you just listen to me for once?" Brady grinned back. "I listen to you every fucking day. School sucks, the food sucks, Billips is a jerk, Taber's a jerk, your German teacher's a jerk, McShane's a jerk -" "McShane is a jerk. Both of them." David was suddenly vehement. "You think you know, but you got no idea." "OK, OK, preaching to the choir," Brady responded, hands outstretched in a pacifying gesture. Things started to click. "Oh, shit, Ian and his brother know, don't they? Is that -" "Can we just skip that for now? Please?" There was a pain in the request that made it impossible for Brady to respond. He turned and fumbled for some underwear. "Besides, you're the one who's all screwed up right now, so let's deal with that crisis first." Brady blushed again. "Jeez, you even sound like a shrink. You must listen really close." "It's hard to avoid sometimes." David began to giggle. "Your asscheeks turn red when you blush." Brady wheeled around. "Don't look at my ass, Goddammit!" David flopped back onto his bed laughing, as Brady tried to see if the accusation was true. After a few seconds that looked not unlike a dog chasing its tail, he gave up and yanked a pair of gymshorts on. By now he was laughing too. It was good to laugh, even if he still felt hopelessly lost. David took a deep breath. His eyes were dark now, his face very serious. "Don't ever do shit like last night again, OK? You had the piss scared outta me." Brady felt another blush rise (was it possible to blush on top of another blush? If so, he was up to about seven layers, it seemed). "Wh - what d'you mean?" "The stunt on the roof. I'm gonna put my own damn padlock on that door if I have to, but I'm not peeling you off the edge of the roof again, OK?" Brady blinked, trying to remember. "I wasn't on the edge. I - I like sat down in the middle, and I - I was, you know, thinking. And I guess I fell asleep, or something . . . " He sputtered to a halt. "Did you bring me back down here? I - I don't remember how I got back down here." That notion scared him. David smiled tolerantly. "Not when I found you. You were sitting crosslegged on the edge, sleeping I guess, but rocking back and forth. I thought you were gonna jump or fall or throw yourself off or something." He hesitated. "You were kind of a mess, actually. All snotfaced and kind of incoherent, about Doug and what a sick person you were and how you were failing your family, lots of stuff like that. I was scared I wouldn't be able to get you down 'cause you're so much bigger'n me. Took me like half an hour to get you down here. Your lips were all blue and shit by the time I got you into bed." He motioned to Brady's bed, and Brady noticed for the first time that David had put his own blankets on top of Brady's. More shame, and embarrassment. "Sorry. I - I must've really been sleeping or something, I don't remember it." Or maybe he didn't want to remember it, the thought flashed in his brain. David nodded. "I didn't think you would. Like I said, you were really messed up. The cold got you, I think, you were shaking really bad. I think you were basically asleep the whole way down." He took a breath. "So, what're you gonna do about all this?" Brady felt his chest tighten. "What can I do? I can't say anything, or do anything. It's all so fucked up. He's my best friend, I -" "Thanks for that." "No, c'mon, that's not what I meant. It- it's different, with . . . .with Doug." He finally said the name, made the connection explicit. "God, I'm so fucked up." David smiled quietly again. "The only thing fucked up is what you're thinking about yourself right now, OK? You gotta realize that, or you really are gonna get fucked up. It - my dad says it's part of growing up. You find friends, really close friends, and sometimes -" "Doug's not just a friend, though, OK? I - I - " He couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. "You love him, right now, don't you?" Brady took a deep breath, and nodded once, slowly. It was like taking an irrevocable step. David nodded back. "And, you know, maybe that'll change, maybe not. Who knows, we're all kids and shit still, right? It's this process, that happens, my dad says, and we all do it." "Not everybody does this. Not everybody thinks like this. Like I do." Brady looked at David defiantly, refusing to be comforted. "No. Not everybody. But more do than you think. More do than ever let on. They hide stuff, just like you do. They hide it, and they hide from it, and it like eats at them inside." "And your dad tells you all this?" David shrugged. "Some. Some I sort of figured out on my own." The door burst open, and Doug and Dunc came in, grinning wildly. "Everson's in his room lighting his farts, you gotta check this out." Dunc was giggling lopsidedly. Doug looked quizzically at Brady for a second. "You OK? I didn't see you at breakfast." "Fine," Brady snapped, standing quickly and grabbing for his jeans. "Let's go see the show." "Do I have to inhale up there?" David asked, keeping his eyes on Brady as he dressed. "It's all blue - the flame. Like a stovetop or something," Dunc enthused, waving them out into the hall. He suddenly hopped to his left. "What're these little rocks doing on the floor and shit? They hurt!" David shrugged casually, drawing attention from Brady's mortification. "Must've tracked them in, I went up on the roof this morning to take a look. Don't tell anybody, they'll sting me for it big time." Doug cocked his head. "What's on the roof?" David gave an easy laugh. "Not much, as it turns out." Brady ran his fingers through his hair, which was still damp. He felt grit in his scalp. "OK, we all ready?" He looked a moment at David. He couldn't look Doug in the eye. "Sure, this'll be - well, interesting, anyway," David said as they strode together towards the stairs. Doug hung back and walked with Brady. "You OK? You look pretty wrecked, like you're sick or something." Brady kept trying to avoid eye contact. "I'm fine, really. I just - I had trouble sleeping last night. It - there was, like wind, and it bothered me. For some reason." The day was raw and cold, with rain whipping the windows (and revealing small gaps in the windowsills in almost every room). After lunch, Brady decided to take matters into his own hands, borrowed a bike from Bart Luce, and pedaled into Summerton to a small hardware store on Main Street, just beneath an ancient railroad trestle. The old man behind the counter looked sourly at him as he brought the Plastic Wood tub and a putty knife up for payment. "You one of them Wilson kids?" he asked. Brady was mildly taken aback. "Um, yes, sir, why?" He shrugged, rolling his cigar back and forth in his mouth. "No reason. We usually get one or two in here first cold day, looking for something like this. Your rich daddy needs to pay more so's you can have a room that ain't leaky, son." Brady suppressed his anger. "Guess so." He decided to be a bit nasty. "Maybe I can jerk off my trust fund manager and get some extra cash, huh?" he smiled conspiratorially at the man, who was staring at him with wide eyes. "Cullingstown Redbirds!" he half shouted as he walked out. That'll confuse him even more, he grinned to himself. Brady spent most of the afternoon caulking windows throughout Linsley, at the begging request of his dorm mates. It was easy work, but few of them had any aptitude for it, especially for doing the patching so the window could still move while sealing the cracks that let the cold wind in. By the time he had finished with his own room, David's praise for his abilities had attracted the attention of boys in neighboring rooms, and he wound up visiting the entire second floor. Doug showed up as Brady was patching Prescott Hill's windows, down at the far end of the hall. Hills was a tousled dark haired mess of a boy who never seemed to have his tie or jacket on quite right, and who seemed almost as bereft of friends as Vic Stenkowski (the only other kid who seemed to know how to do the spackling work). "So I hear you're being Mr. Wizard down here. Can I take that stuff and work on our windows? They're really bad." Brady, surprised by Doug's appearance, felt himself blushing, and again avoided eye contact. "Um, sure, in a second. Why, um, why don't I just, y'know, bring it up, when I'm done and all?" Brady could feel the hesitation and confusion in Doug. "Oh, OK. Yeah, sure. Whenever." He waited a long moment, then left without a word. Brady despaired. He couldn't do this. "Hey Doug?" he called. "Yeah?" "You know how to do this sort of thing, or are you a spazz like David?" Doug started laughing. Down the hall, David's voice floated from their room: "Fuck you Conover, I'm not a spazz!!" Brady and Doug looked at each other, and their laughter grew. It felt too good to be held in the gaze of those eyes to keep avoiding them. Even if it hurt, even if he could never tell him what he felt, Brady couldn't avoid, or push away. It was his one primal need. By dinnertime the walk to Geiger was a puddly mess. The dining hall needed window patching even worse than the rooms in Linsley did; the damp chill in the high ceilinged room was palpable. Mr. Taber was now Brady's Table Master, and Brady found himself the uncomfortable object of much of the teacher's conversation. "You didn't arrive here completely unknown, Mr. Conover, I hope you know that." "Sir?" "Mr. Drake tried several times to convince both of your brothers to attend Wilson. He thought quite highly of them as athletes, and as young men. Didn't you know that?" Brady was stunned. "N - no, sir. I didn't know that." Why had Hal and Trent never told him that - or his mother, for that matter? Mr. Taber continued, not seeming to recognize Brady's discomfort. "Our team scrimmaged the Cullingstown team when your brothers were there. I believe your oldest brother was a senior, and your other brother a freshman - but already playing varsity. They both made a deep impression on Mr. Drake. Did either continue playing in college?" Brady was relieved to have a topic that he could at least say something about. "Hal - my oldest brother - he did for a little, but he . . ." He realized what he was about to say. "Well, he needed money for tuition, so he went onto ROTC, and started working part time, too, and he had to drop football to do that." He paused, and decided he might as well go all in. "It took him six years to get through, paying his way like that." Brady was conscious of the other boys at his table looking at him - not in astonishment, really, but with a realization of how hard it must have been, and of how easy they had it. Everyone, including Brady, seemed mildly embarrassed by the whole thing. Mr. Taber, however, rolled onward. "I see. And your other brother?" Brady looked around, hoping somebody would change the subject. No one volunteered. "He - he's still in college. He played, but got hit in the kidney last year, and it got, well, ruptured, or something. He almost lost it. So, he can't play now." Mr. Taber nodded calmly. "I'm glad that he was able to recover. This was at?" "Lehigh, sir. He's going to Lehigh." Mr. Taber nodded again. "Well, we are of course glad to have you here." Brady was blushing now. "Thank you, sir." "And how are your courses going so far?" "Um, fine. I - I'm sort of catching up in Spanish, and Mr. Wadleigh -" his math teacher- "is, um, tough . . . " He wondered if he'd crossed a line there - he had wanted to say that Wadleigh was a cranky old asshole, but he knew he couldn't get away with that. "Mr. Wadleigh has been at Wilson for almost fifty years. He is a fine teacher and a gentleman. Work hard, and you have no reason to worry there." "Y - yes, sir. I am - I mean I will." A small voice in his head kept noting what a rotten old turd the guy was, but he played mum. Mr. Taber turned to a gangly sophomore at the other end of the table. "Mr. Tucker, I believe you took algebra from Mr. Wadleigh last year?" Tucker took a gulping swallow of his lasagna and struggled to respond. "Um, yes, sir, I did," he mumbled through the mouthful of food. Mr. Taber nodded. "You might want to consult with Mr. Tucker, then, Mr. Conover. Though I would advise you not to engage in neck slobbing like Mr. Tucker is." Tucker blinked hard and fumbled at his shirt, trying to refasten the top button and adjust his tie. Mr. Taber watched coolly. "You know better, Mr. Tucker. I do not tolerate sloppiness." "Yes, sir." Brady watched as several other boys at the table slipped a hand to their necks to check on their own buttons. Taber seemed to enjoy their collective discomfort. He surveyed the table. "We have some seconds, gentlemen. Is anyone interested?" Brady's dress shoes were soggy by the time he got back to his room. He grabbed some newspaper and was wadding it tightly into them when David squished in. "I'm gonna get fuckin' pneumonia from this. My feet are soaked. These shoes'll be damp now till like March." Brady tossed him a section of the paper. "Use this." "Huh?" "Ball up the paper and stuff it in the shoes, it soaks up the water. Pulls it out of the leather. You change the paper every hour or so and by lights out they'll be fine." David stared at him. "You're serious, aren't you?" "Hey, it works. I've done it with work boots that've been a lot wetter than this. My brothers and I did this a lot. I think," he hesitated a moment, "it was something they got from my dad." He looked away slightly. David started laughing. "So now you're like Suzie Homemaker, too, huh?" Brady shrugged, chuckling. David took the cue, and began crumpling up sheets of newsprint, shaking his head. "If it doesn't work we can start a fire." Evan Creed stuck his head in. "What the fuck are you guys doing?" David gave the quick explanation. "Solid! Gimme some of the paper, I need to get my shoes dried out, too." "Almost all gone, maybe Billips'll give you his Times." Brady was down to the half-page classifieds, and the color was leeching onto his hands. Evan ducked out to seek some for himself. Soon every boy on the floor seemed to be asking around for pieces of newspaper. Brady couldn't help laughing, and David grinned at him. Doug appeared right after study hall ended. He leaned on the doorpost, grinning, arms folded. Brady grinned back. He wore a striped dark blue and off-white rugby shirt, and his tan forearms glowed in the light. Brady couldn't help staring. David shook his head slightly and excused himself. "I need to get something." "What?" Doug asked. "Just - something. Don't worry about it." "He's weird sometimes," Doug noted, dropping onto Brady's bed and throwing his arms back behind his head. Brady saw the hollow of his throat. "I mean what the hell was that - 'I have to get something'?" "Maybe he had to get something," Brady suggested. They looked at each other a moment, then burst into laughter. "I dunno, what am I, the interpreter or, y'know, whatvever?" "You're as messed up as he is!" Doug choked out as he laughed. Brady flushed. Their laughter died, and the ensuing silence stretched out between them. Brady kept smiling. "What?" Doug said, perplexed but grinning back. Brady looked away. "Just - I'm just, y'know, happy. I - I didn't know if I would be, here. You know, away from home, and all. But," he looked back at Doug, wishing he could say it directly, "I am." Doug's face shone with his smile. "It's pretty cool overall, isn't it? Even with dipshit McShane, it's all pretty cool." He glanced down. "I, uh - I'm glad we met, too. Y'know, got to know each other, and stuff like that." "Me too," Brady answered quickly. Was he too fast? "I, um, I don't think it'd be, like, nearly as good, if we weren't friends." Doug looked back at him, grinned widely, and clapped Brady's back. "This is what my dad told me would happen - you make really really good friends, and you like stick with 'em forever. Go to reunions when you're all fat and bald and talk about the olden days and crap." He started giggling, and lapsed into an exaggerated old man's voice. "Reeemembah that time befoah the war - the fehrst one I think - when we skiddo'ed them chaps out behind the lorry?" They both laughed. "What the fuck was that?" Brady coughed out. Doug shrugged. "Us, sitting in some folding chairs in like 60 years and waiting for the robot waiters to take our drink order." Brady flapped his arms. "Danger, Will Robinson, the old folks want their drinks!" They laughed again and fell back against the wall along Brady's bed, their shoulders touching. Brady felt his chest tighten. Would he, could he, be with Doug like that, so many years into the future? Not like that. Not like he wanted. He squeezed his eyes shut and rose. "What's up?" Doug asked. Brady shrugged, unable to look at him. "I guess - I guess stuff like that, um, it makes me – um, think of my dad. You know, growing old and stuff. He never got the chance." It was a lie, but a plausible one, that was all that mattered. Doug's arm pulled Brady back against his chest. Brady relaxed into the rough embrace despite his best efforts to resist. "It's OK, Bray. It really is. You don't have to hold that stuff in, OK? I know a lot of this stuff gets to you. Talk to me, OK? We - we're friends, right?" "Right." Brady wanted to cry again. A loud noise rose outside, down the hall. The glanced at each other, then looked out. People were heading to the stairs. "What's going on?" Doug called. "Ian McShane's beating up some kid downstairs," someone yelled over their shoulder. They joined the crowd flying down the staircase. By the time they got there, of course, the incident was over. Vic Stenkowski was sitting in a small ball on the floor, holding a very bloody nose. He was trying not to cry, but not doing a very good job of it. Mr. Frazier, a chemistry teacher who was the first floor Hall Master, was shouting at Ian, who had a smug look on his face. "Look at me now, young man! This is not acceptable, do you understand me?" Ian glared back. "The little pansy was giving me shit about some faggoty books he thinks are all 'groovy' and shit. He wouldn't shut up, OK?" He glanced around Mr. Frazier at Vic, and couldn't suppress a slight smile. "I don't have to listen to pansy shit, OK?" "And you don't stop someone talking to you by hitting them. You walk away. This will go to DC, you understand me?" "Let it. My dad'll take care of it." "Like he did last year, asshole?" David was kneeling next to Vic with some paper towels. He made angry eye contact with McShane. "You don't want to push this, man. Remember that." McShane turned several violent purplish shades. "Fuck you too, twerp. You don't tell me what to do." David stood and started toward McShane - an amazing display of aggression on his part. Brady moved to protect him, but Mr. Frazier interceded first. "Tanner, I don't need you getting in the middle of this. Get back to your room, now. Same for the rest of you. Go!!" David looked calmly at Mr. Frazier. "I'd like to take Vic up to the bathroom to clean him up, sir." "Good idea. The rest of you, go. McShane, you come with me. We need to visit Dean Storeman, now." Brady helped Dvid get Vic up the stairs. He kept his composure until they were in the second floor bathroom. It seemed most of the floor was there - most wanting to help, if nothing else than just by being there, but a couple of guys kept back and judged events with a cool detachment. When Vic saw his face in the mirror, he started sobbing loudly. "It hurts, God it hurts." David dabbed at his mouth with a wet paper towel. "Tell me where, Vic." "All over." Evan stepped in, a hand gently on Vic's hair. "Let me see, Vic - my dad's a dentist, he tells me all this gross stuff about teeth all the time." Vic laughed a bit in spite of himself as Evan took the towel from David and opened Vic's mouth gently. "No teeth broken, man, that's good." "How could he, I got braces. It's my lips and the inside of my mouth that hurt." Vic's words were thick and muffled. Even pulled Vic's lower lip outward. "Yeah, you got cut up some there. Not too bad," he added, dabbing at it lightly. "OK, who's got like Listerine?" Vic pulled away. "You're kidding, man, that stuff tastes awful." "And it'll sting," someone in back chimed in. "Yeah, but it'll clean out the cuts. Otherwise you're gonna get canker sores that'll really be a motherfucker." Evan pulled out Vic's upper lip. "Better here." He stepped back and patted Vic's shoulder. "You're gonna be OK, pal." Vic sniffled loudly. "Thanks. Th - this is embarrassing. I never been in a fight before." "What happened?" someone said. "Not important," David said with an air of authority. "Let's get Vic into his room to relax a bit now, that crap can wait." Mr. Billips appeared at the bathroom door, again in his robe with his scraggly bare legs protruding. "Stenkowski, what happened?" "McShane punched him, sir," David spoke up. "I'd like to hear it from him and not have you accusing people, Tanner. We both know you and McShane have your differences from last year. Stenkowski?" Vic blinked his eyes dry, holding the paper towel in his mouth. "What he said, sir. David was with me." This didn't seem to please Billips either, but he turned back to David. "And?" "Vic was talking to me about the Tolkien books, sir, and Ian started ragging on him about how it was - um, unmanly - to be reading them, and Vic said Ian didn't know what he was talking about." "So you got angry at him? You provoked him?" Billips glared at Vic, who shook his head. "Or you did?" he added, glancing back at David. "He didn't provoke anybody, sir. He objected to a dumb comment. And Ian acted like he was turning away, then just hauled off and slugged him. In the mouth, like you see." He paused. "He also kicked him after he fell, but Mr. Frazier was already almost there by then." "Did anybody else see this?" David was growing visibly angry. "I don't know, sir, I wasn't checking for witnesses. I was busy worrying about the guy who'd just been hit. Sorry about that, chief." "No lip, Tanner." "No, sir. Sorry, sir." Mr. Billips took in the scene for a long second. "All right," he sighed, "Stenkowski, let's get you to the infirmary. I'll get dressed and be back in five minutes. The rest of you, back to your rooms. And Tanner?" "Sir?" "No lip from you toward McShane about this. The School will deal with whatever happened, we don't need you provoking anything more." David exploded. "Yeah, I'm provoking a lot, aren't I? This is one of your kids, sir, from your hall. Who you're supposed to be responsible for, right? And he got hit, and you're more concerned about me, or - or McShane, or I dunno what, than about him. What's your deal, sir?" The defiance in that last "sir" was thrilling, and scary. "Enough. In your room now, and not another word. I could sting you for that if I wanted." He shook a finger menacingly. "All of you, go! Stenkowski, five minutes." The boys reluctantly dispersed. David walked Vic back to his room, then started striding toward Billips' door. Brady grabbed his shirt. "Don't." "Whaddya mean don't, that bastard is trying to blame Vic - or me - for this whole thing! He fucking sucks McShane's hind tit, him and his big fucking brother!" "Davey, you gotta cool it," Brady admonished - David was shouting altogether too loudly. "Frazier saw it, right? And he'll report it, not Billips, so even if Billips is a jerk about it Ian'll be screwed." David stared mutinously at Brady for a moment. "I oughta lower the boom on the asshole once and for all," he muttered. He slammed the door to their room and threw himself on the bed. "I am not gonna let this shit happen any more." Brady regarded him for a long minute. "OK," he finally said. "Your turn to spill. What's the deal with you and Ian? What happened last year?" David snorted, rolling to face away from Brady. "Nothin'. That's all over." "Nothing, bullshit. And no, it sure as hell isn't over. What the fuck is going on here?" David waited a long time to roll back to face Brady. He stared at him. "This stays in this room, all of it. OK? I mean it." "Jesus, David, what the hell do you think? After all the stuff we talked about this morning - you know, with me, and all? What the hell am I gonna blab about? You could like crucify me if you ever talked." He sat on his bed. "We're roommates. And - and friends, right?" He swallowed. "So we trust each other, and all. That - that's basic." David smiled slightly. "OK, you're right. I wouldn't ever say anything." "I know." A pause. "You better not, I'll kick your ass." David laughed. "You'd have to get in line, lotsa guys want to kick my ass. Ian and Stud Douggie are way up front, though." Brady nodded. "Yeah,. That's kind of obvious. But why - and, no offense, but why haven't they? I mean it's not like they think anything oughta hold them back, on anything." David shifted uneasily on his bed, staring off toward the window. "You can tell me, Davey. You know that. It's safe." David nodded. "Last year was weird." He sighed. "Me and Edward . . . well, we were sort of like you and Doug. I mean, we both . . . we were, you know, . . . " Brady could see him swallowing hard. "It's OK Davey, I got it." "Right," David said. Blinking a couple of time rapidly and sitting up. "Anyway, Ian was a total prick to us both. He didn't like know anything, really, but he kept saying we were like faggot twins and all that kind of crap. Douggie, he'd back Ian up - Douggie had a couple of friends in last year's senior class who were about as fucked up as he is, they all hung out. Douggie was like their pet." "Nobody like stood up and said stop?" David snorted. "We were fuckin' eighth graders, nobody gave a shit. Well, almost - Fieldstone was OK, but he was a junior, and juniors really don't have that much pull - it's the seniors. Mostly they all thought it was funny, giving the little eighth graders such a rash of shit." He sighed. "I tried to be tough about it, not take it from them sitting down and all, but Edward . . . it got to him. And guys like Ian and Stud Douggie, they know when they get to you, and they like revel in it. He'd cry most nights, after lights out. Th - that's how it started, really -one night." His eyes drifted off to a very private place, and a soft smile flickered for a moment. "So - so did anybody, like know, or see? Or were they just guessing or being jerks?" David shook his head. "Nobody knew for real. We were so careful. We lived in Roebling House, over across from the chapel, and we'd like pile up towels against the bottom of the door to make sure no noise got out, and we'd slide a mattress to the center of the room on the floor so the springs wouldn't squeak. We were crazy careful." He sighed again. "It didn't matter really, though. They acted like they knew, and that was all that counted. That, and Edward always kind of shriveled up when Ian or Douggie went at him about it. It showed, he was like guilty. That just egged 'em on, you know?' He shifted his weight forward, leaning elbows on knees. "I - I had to make it stop, somehow." Brady swallowed hard. He knew how difficult this was for David to tell. "OK," he whispered hoarsely. He was also embarrassed to feel himself half hard at the notion of David and his roommate having sex. David paused a long moment, then looked up at him with a sly smile. "And then it all fell into my lap last January. It was perfect." "What?" David looked hard at Brady for a second. "Total secret, right?" Brady nodded. David opened his closet and fished out a small manila envelope from behind his clothes. "I hide it here, but I need to find someplace better I think." He undid the metal clip and shook the envelope. A small pile of Polaroid pictures scattered onto his bed. "Check it out." Brady picked up one of the pictures and dropped it again almost immediately. It was of Ian, kneeling, his face contorted, sucking on someone's cock. His eyes were closed in obvious pain, Brady blinked rapidly, trying to grasp what he was looking at. He had never seen anything remotely like that before, or even imagined it with real specificity. Then he saw another picture, in which the guy standing over Ian was bent over close to his face. It was Douggie. In this picture, Brady noticed long red marks on Ian's back, and a belt in Douggie's hand. Ian had a pleading look on his face, but Douggie was sneering as if triumphant over some lesser thing. It took Brady several seconds to speak. "Holy shit," he finally managed to croak out. David was smiling grimly. Wanna look at the rest? There are some even worse." "No, that's OK, I - I get the idea." Brady needed to breathe. "So - so how - " "Ian's loud. Louder than you, actually." Brady blushed, and David chuckled at him. "Especially when he's getting beat up too. I started hearing this noise one night, and snuck out and saw it in the bathroom on second floor Roebling. Like 2 in the morning. Douggie was whacking the shit out of Ian with the belt and making him do all sorts of shit. Douggie likes to beat on people while he fucks 'em, I guess. Anyway - " "He - he fucked him? He fucked his brother?" "Not that might. He just beat the shit out of him and made him suck him, told him how worthless he was and stuff. Ian had lost a wrestling match that day, and Douggie was pissed about it. He'd whacked Ian at dinner that night but none of the Masters saw it. Somebody told me that, anyway. So I watched for a while and then like ran back to my room." He frowned. "At first I really felt bad for him, 'cause it was so shitty. What Douggie was doing, and all. But the next day, I like tried to be nice to Ian, and he was a total fuckhead about it and started telling everybody what a worthless faggot I was and stuff. He really want off on Edward, too. It was the same stuff Douggie had been telling him, actually, So I knew where it came from. That was when he hit me, the first time." "He hit you?". "Yeah, a sneak shot in the mouth, like what he did to Vic tonight. Nobody saw. So I - I got pissed off. Ian lost another match the nest week - I mean he was wrestling JV as an eighth grader, he's good but not that good yet - and I knew it'd happen again. So I stayed up and waited." His smile was fainter now, but angrier. "There's a janitor's closet in that bathroom, and after lights out I hid out in there with Edward's Polaroid. His is really good, you can even zoom a little and stuff, so I got really good pictures." "Jesus, they'd've killed you if they'd found you. And don't those cameras make noise when they click and like whirr out the pictures?" The audacity of what Davis had done stunned Brady. A hard gust of rainy wind rattled their window and door. They glanced around. David slipped over to the door and listened a moment. "It's OK," he said after a while, and returned to his bed, gathering up the pictures. "So anyway, Douggie was really nasty to Ian that night, and I got it all. I was thinking of bringing a tape recorder too, but the little mike doesn't pick up shit at any distance, and the bathroom's really echoey. The pictures, they were enough." "The next day I told Ian what I had, and what I knew, and that he needed to shut the fuck up about me and especially Edward. That night Ian and Douggie came to the room and tried to beat the shit out of us - well, me mostly - to get the pictures. But I had told Mr. Delaney, the House Master, that I was afraid Ian or Douggie would come after me because they'd been like harassing me, so when I let out a really loud scream he was there pretty quick. Douggie must've figured it out 'cause he split like he was a ghost, but Ian got caught, he was like crazy mad at me. So they took him to DC, and his dad pulled him from school before they could throw him out." He rose, and took a breath, "I just wish they'd pulled Douggie too, or that they didn't come back this year. The first day back? I saw Ian moving in a few minutes before you got here, that's why I was such a prick that first day. " David hid the envelope again and turned, smiling, to face Brady. "So anyway Douggie was like an angel from then on last year, and I thought I'd like pulled it off perfectly." He laughed bitterly. "Wrong." What happened?" "By the end of the year, Edward and I were - well we were like inseparable. I - I loved him. I still do. So we planned to get together over summer - his family's up near Tarrytown, in the Hudson valley - and it was gonna be so great and cool. We were gonna room together this year." He sat on his bed again heavily. "But they took one last cheap shot." "What?" "McShane's dad contacted my mom and dad, and Edward's too, and told them that his 'boys' had told him that the two of us were 'committing sodomy' all year long, and that he was going to refer it to the local police here in Summerton and tell Leeds and shit. He had some pretend shrink who has a bug up his ass about faggots who was gonna tell the cops and the school what a threat we were to all the other boys because of our 'perversion.'" He blinked. "Well, my dad went bonkers on the guy, threatened to turn him in for blackmail and pack his ass off to prison. He really went after the douchebag shrink, too - they had this one phone onversation, and I couldn't believe how my dad like carved the guy up. That was when my dad found out, about me and Edward and all - 'cause I felt all guilty and told him. H - he . . . he was so cool, about it." David's voice was thick for a moment, and he took a deep breath. "So they all shut up, to us anyway. But I guess Edward's parents really freaked out. My dad tried talking to them, but I guess they were really nasty to him. They - they had Edward start seeing that shrink, and they put him in this school in Toulon for the year - this really strict Catholic school that's like a prison and all - and he won't write me back and he wouldn't talk to me on the phone or anything. I dunno if it's him or his parents not letting him see the letters or know I called. It - it's like he's vanished, off the face of the earth. Like he never lived, it never even happened . . ." Now he was crying quietly. "So, anyway, I guess he's gone. History. Adios amigo, all that crap." Brady had no idea what to say, or do. He sat staring, arms limp at his sides, for a long minute, as David quietly bent over and cried. "But," David finally spluttered bitterly, "they can't pull shit with me, still. I still got 'em there. It kills them - especially Ian - but they can't touch me. I'll fucking ruin them if they try. Sometimes I wanna just do it anyway, just because. I wanna make them both fucking suffer. They fucking deserve to suffer, them and their prick father." Brady took a long breath. "Th - that sort of shit didn't start with Douggie, you know. He learned it, from somewhere. From somebody." David nodded. "Probably. Yeah. That's what my dad thinks." He reached over for a handkerchief and blew his nose loudly, wiping his cheeks and eyes. "So, anyway, that's the ugly story. All the way through. I - I'm trusting you, Bray, you gotta keep this secret. OK? It's what protects me here. Even from Doug." "I - sure, of course, I'm not gonna tell anybody. But - but I'm your roommate, Davey, I can protect you too. I'm not gonna let either of those two assholes, or - or, like, anybody, fuck with you. They gotta go through me first." David smiled quietly, tolerantly. "Thanks," he breathed, "but you can't protect me, big guy. Not all the time. Not from total fire breathing assholes like they are. They want to fuck you up too, don't you get that? They want you to step in front so they can stomp your ass. They like to make examples, OK? And you're top of the list." "Why? What'd I do to piss them off anyway?" "Well ,you roomed with me - that's a big head start. And you don't hate me like they do. Bad choice there, right? Then you like showed Ian up in football. They both gotta be top stud in anything athletic, it's like Holy fuckin' Grail to them. That's why Ian was getting fucked up like he was, he wasn't delivering like he was supposed to. So they're gonna fuck with you. It puts you down, it scares everybody else, and it gets to me, indirectly like. It's gonna happen, Bray, they're gonna try something. You need to be ready for it. And they'll probably go after Doug, too, because you're close to him. You know they're already telling people that you two are fags, right?" "What??" Brady felt his stomach drop alarmingly. "What the fuck do -" "It's how they work, man. SOP. They don't care if it's true or not, just that it gets spread around." Brady shook his head, then nodded. "OK. So what do we do?" "We act normal. We don't give 'em the satisfaction of being bugged. They're already both in a lot weaker position than they were last year. Douggie's not playing for shit, Ian's not the big star. Leeds is half sucking up to their dad for money and half wanting to kick their asses out. Taber would throw a party and get us all drunk if they did get the boot - so would Storeman. They're losing out, real slowly, all on their own. Just understand: they'll do something stupid and ugly as they do. OK?" "OK," Brady answered. The door thudded, both boys leaped to their feet. "It's past lights out, assholes, get the fuck to bed!" Ryan Cureton's voice boomed in from the hallway. "Sorry Ry!" Brady called back. Davey's helping me out with some algebra." "I don' give a shit, lights out now!" They quickly darkened the room and slipped into bed. Brady lay propped up on a pillow, staring at the ceiling, trying to process what he'd heard. He let a good ten minutes pass. "Davey?" "Yeah?" "I - I'm, really sorry. About Edward. I mean I know you wanted to room with him and all." Brady heard David shift a bit on his bed. "Thanks. It's not your fault, it's mine. I should've used it and killed them off when I had the chance." "You can still use it. Fuck 'em over. Why not?" A long pause. "I - I just can't. OK? I'd like hate myself for it." Brady heard a slight sniffle. "Plus, It won't get Edward back, it'll only cause more shit. It'd all just prove that the two of us were faggots all along. You don't' want to be known as a faggot here, Conover, remember that. Not everybody is as good at dealing with it as Fieldstone, and it's just rumors with him, too." He sighed. "I can't get thrown out of here, or not be a success. It'd kill my dad, a lot worse than my being queer did. And that did get to him, even though he tried to be cool about it. I could tell. So I'm as trapped by it all now as they are. It's just all so fucked up." Brady swallowed. "I'm sorry." "For what? Life just sucks. In case you didn't already know." He rolled into his covers. "I need to sleep. Stay inside tonight, willya?" Brady chuckled in spite of himself. "You didn't like take pictures of me, did you?" David giggled softly. "Don't fuck with me and you'll never have to find out." The rain and wind kept up all night. Brady's best efforts at patching and sealing the window frame proved to be for naught - the chill damp air inevitably seeped in. .By morning they were both shivering.