Geography Club (8 page)

Fortunately, Trish’s face began to melt. “Oh! Russel, that’s okay. It’s really sweet actually. We don’t have to tonight. And you’re right. Your first time
should
be special.”

After that, Trish agreed we should head back to the teen dance club. With all my sweating, the ink stamp on my hand was almost completely gone. But they remembered me, so they let me back in.

We found Gunnar and Kimberly, and Trish and Kimberly immediately headed off to the bathroom, where I knew Trish was telling Kimberly all.

“Okay,” Gunnar said to me while we waited. “What happened?”

“What?” I said.

“With Trish! You went for a ‘drive’?”

“Nothing happened! We talked.”

I could tell Gunnar didn’t believe me. He was certain we’d fooled around. I wasn’t surprised that was what he thought. As a master liar, I knew people believed what they wanted to believe. Trish believed that I didn’t want to have sex with her because I was a virgin, because that’s what she wanted to believe. Gunnar believed I had
had
sex, because that’s what he wanted to believe.

When Kimberly and Trish came back from the bathroom, Kimberly had a headache and wanted to go home. I knew this was yet another lie. Trish had told Kimberly everything, and now they wanted to go home and giggle about it. I could tell from the little mocking smirk on Kimberly’s face.

We drove the girls home and did our non-orgy kissing thing where Gunnar and Kimberly kissed at the front porch, and Trish and I kissed at the car.

“You don’t have anything to be ashamed of,” Trish said, whispering again. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

Her lie might have been more convincing if, back at the club, she’d waited at least two minutes before running off to tell Kimberly. But I was the practiced liar in this relationship, not Trish.

“Call me?” Trish said, prancing away.

“You bet!” I said with a confident wave.

Then Gunnar drove me home, and my second date with Trish Baskin was finally—finally!—over. I got out of the car and watched him drive away, even though it was still raining outside.

Docious
, I thought. But I definitely meant “holy shit,” not “hot damn.”

Later that night, I stood by the stinky picnic gazebo staring up at the stars. The rain had finally stopped, and everything was now bright and clean and clear. The stars looked like they actually had little pointy things on them.

“Hey,” a voice said.

I turned. It was Kevin. I’d IMed him thirty minutes earlier and told him that I’d really needed to see him, and to meet me here. Then I’d changed out of my wet clothes and come to wait for him.

“Hey,” I said.

“Sup?” His voice was soft and measured, like a surgeon talking to an anxious family in a hospital waiting room. He could tell something was wrong.

I opened my mouth and told him everything that had happened earlier that evening. I may have taken a breath, but I’m not sure.

When I finally stopped talking, Kevin hesitated a second longer, making sure I was finished. Then he said, “Man, that really sucks. Trish sounds like a real bitch.”

“No,” I said. “She just wanted what everyone wants. I just didn’t want it with her.” For some reason, I couldn’t look at Kevin when I said this. Good thing there were the stars.

“Still,” Kevin said. “She didn’t have to say those things. She didn’t have to say you were gay. It was like she was tryin’ to scare you into doin’ her.”

I glanced at Kevin, but he was looking down at his shoes. “You must’ve turned a lot of girls down,” I said.

He hunched his shoulders. “Not as many as I should’ve.”

I wasn’t jealous at the thought of Kevin having sex with girls. I figured it had to be about as exciting as my experience with Trish.

“Russel?” Kevin said. I wasn’t looking at him now, but I could tell he wasn’t looking at his shoes anymore, or the stars either. He was looking right at me. I thought, Why is there never a good fog when you need one?

“I should go!” I said. “I just really needed a friend to listen. Thanks for listening!”

Kevin didn’t say anything. He just stood there, a stone guardian watching me as I started my march away.

I’d only made it a couple of feet when I realized that I’d just said yet another lie in a whole evening of lies. If I’d really needed a “friend,” I would have IMed Min. But it had been Kevin I’d wanted to see, and not to tell him what had happened with Trish.

I turned to face him, to tell him I was tired not just of lies, but of loneliness. Meeting the other members of the Geography Club, being open with them, had been important, but it had only been the preparation before the start of my journey. I’d learned about the places I wanted to go, I’d talked about them with my friends, but I hadn’t actually set foot outside my door. The terrain of my own heart, the landscape of love, was still entirely unexplored. But people are right when they say the hardest step of every journey is the first, and I was scared. (Okay, I was terrified.)

“It’s all right,” Kevin said, softly, sensitively. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. And if we do anything at all, we’ll be safe.” So Kevin knew the truth. Why I’d contacted him tonight. What I really wanted from him. And it sounded like he wanted the same thing, like he was ready to leave on the very same voyage with me.

The funny thing was, suddenly I wasn’t nervous anymore. I don’t know if it was what Kevin had said, or if I was finally just sick and tired of feeling so alone—just like the night I’d agreed to meet Kevin, someone I didn’t even know, at this stinky picnic gazebo in the first place.

In any event, I stepped up to Kevin and kissed him. In the close confines of his arms, it felt like I had stepped right up into the stars themselves—like I had become one with the sky, and that together we were as clean and pure and wide as the universe itself.

I got to third base. At baseball practice the following Monday, that is. As for what happened that night with Kevin at the stinky picnic gazebo, that’s none of your damn business.

But I suppose I should tell you anyway. If I was reading this and I didn’t tell me what happened, I’d be pissed.

So here’s what happened.

We were standing there kissing with that whole stars-and-universe thing going on. And it was nothing whatsoever like kissing Trish Baskin. For one thing, his breath was better. And unlike when Trish kissed me and I didn’t really kiss her back, Kevin was definitely kissing me back. (Boy, was he kissing me back!)

But it was just kissing, no groping or fumbling or even very much hugging. And since you can just kiss for only so long, eventually, we sort of pulled back and stood there facing each other.

“Man,” Kevin said. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

It took me a second to catch my breath. Then I said, “What?”

“I wanted to kiss you. Ever since that first night when we met here? I wanted to kiss you then. Before that even. Why do you think I joined the Geography Club? I like everyone okay, but you’re the reason I joined. To be with you.”

I could hardly believe my ears. Kevin Land had joined the Geography Club to be with me?
He
wanted
me?
But I could see it on his face. Min had been right. Kevin Land wanted me.

I’m going to repeat this for emphasis, and because I really like the way it looks written down.

Kevin Land wanted me!

Kevin Land
wanted me!

Kevin Land wanted
me!

Sorry to go off like that, but learning that Kevin Land had a crush on me took me completely by surprise.

Of course, I knew how pathetic all this would sound if I said it out loud. So all I said was, “I wanted to kiss you too.”

He stepped closer to me, and I felt his arms circle around me again and his hands rest on the small of my back. “I love your eyes,” he said. “You have great eyes.”

“How do you know?” I said. “It’s too dark to see them.” (Yes, I know this was totally the wrong thing to say. Give me a break—I was new at this.)

But Kevin just smiled. “I remember what they look like. It’s like they’re green and gray and brown and yellow, all at the same time.” Just plain old hazel, I thought. (At least I knew enough not to say this.)

I felt one hand slide up the side of my body and touch my hair. “And your hair,” Kevin said. “I’ve never seen hair this color before either. It’s the color of autumn leaves.” His hand moved to my face, gently feeling my cheeks, my nose, my lips, and my chin. “Best-lookin’ guy in third period P.E., that’s for sure.”

“What about Jarred?” I said. Jarred Gasner was a guy in our P.E. class, and yes, I immediately regretted saying this too.

“You’re much better-lookin’ than Jarred,” Kevin said. “He’s kind of cute. But you’re handsome.”

“Am not.”

Kevin smiled again, and his teeth glowed in the darkness. “You are.”

“Can I ask you a question?” I said, desperate to change the subject—and at the same time, not wanting it ever to change.

“Sure,” Kevin said.

“When did you know you were gay?”

He shrugged. “I guess I’ve always known. I just always liked being around guys. I like that they’re bold and confident. That they’re not afraid to take risks.”

“Oh,” I said, thinking, In other words, you like guys who are the complete opposite of me.

“Russel?” Kevin said.

“Huh?” I said.

“Can I kiss you again?”

I couldn’t very well turn him down now—not after what he’d said about liking guys who took risks. Then again, I didn’t
want
to turn him down. So I nodded, and he kissed me. His lips were firm and strong, his chin and face rough with whiskers.

We kept kissing, only this time there may have been some groping and fumbling and hugging. I think I’ll end this scene here, though. After all, a guy should be allowed to keep some secrets, shouldn’t he?

I had my first baseball practice that Monday afternoon, and I didn’t completely suck. Unfortunately, here “I didn’t completely suck” doesn’t mean “I was actually pretty good.” It just means I didn’t completely suck. But at one of my times up at bat, I really did manage to make it to third base.

Halfway through practice, Coach told the team to pair up, and before I could stop myself, I glanced over at Kevin. A couple of other guys looked like they were trying to catch Kevin’s eye too, so I was flattered when he drifted over toward me.

Before I knew it, Coach had directed us out to the outfield, where the pairs of us were supposed to practice our throwing and catching. Kevin would slam the ball into my mitt (
thwap!
), and I’d do my best to heave it back at him (
thwumph
).

At first, it felt stilted and awkward. My aim was lousy, and even though Kevin was obviously going easy on me, his pitches still hit my mitt so hard, they stung my hand.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

But then something strange happened. It was like we fell into some sort of groove. The ball kept whizzing back and forth, and it felt like we were connected somehow—like it was electricity zipping back and forth on a shiny copper wire. The ball itself was alive, and suddenly so were we—fresh and alert and raw.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

Kevin would throw and I would catch, then I would throw and he would catch, and as we did, the other baseball players all around us in the outfield fell away. Now we were completely alone, like two simmering volcanoes side by side on some deserted tropical island in the middle of a calm blue sea.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

Thwap!

Thwumph.

I stared at Kevin, at the graceful flow of his perfectly proportioned body, at the shocks of his dark hair poking recklessly out from under his cap. I thought, Is playing baseball always like this? (I also thought, It’s a good thing I’m wearing a cup!)

Ironically, only two hours before, I’d decided to quit the baseball team. My reasoning went like this: I’d joined the team to get closer to Kevin, but after Saturday night, I was now about as close to Kevin as I was going to get. Still, I’d planned to wait a few weeks to actually leave the team, until some semi-believable excuse presented itself. That way, Kevin wouldn’t think I’d joined the team
only
because of him, which somehow still seemed too pathetic for words.

But now I was thinking, Hey, this baseball stuff isn’t so bad! It sure beat my dates with Trish.

“Okay!” Coach called from home plate, and suddenly I was back in the outfield, with my awkward aim and stinging palm. “Let’s try hitting a few more!”

On our way back to the dugout, Kevin said to me, “Dip?”

I had no idea what he was talking about. I was pretty sure he wasn’t asking me to dance.

He must’ve seen the confusion on my face, because he flashed me his round tin of chewing tobacco. “Chew,” he said. “You wanna chew?”

“Oh.” Suddenly, I understood why I’d spent the first part of the practice dodging wads of spit. It hadn’t occurred to me that the team members were actually spitting
something
. Duh.

I’d never chewed tobacco before. (I’d only smoked cigarettes twice.) And the thing was, I didn’t particularly
want
to chew tobacco. When it came to putting cancer-causing toxins into my body, I was no Gunnar, but I was a bit of a health nut. Then I remembered what Kevin had said about liking his guys bold and confident and willing to take risks. Besides, I was a baseball player now; I had to try chewing tobacco at least once, right?

“Sokay,” Kevin said to me, slipping the tin back into his pants. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No,” I said. “I want to.”

“Really,” he said. “It’s no big deal.”

I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Hey, you should know by now that I like to try new things.”

He laughed and blushed a little, then twisted open the tin for me to help myself.

I tried it, and sure enough, I didn’t like it. It tasted like shredded leather marinated in warm vinegar. But I kept it in anyway, mostly because I didn’t want to disappoint Kevin. Meanwhile, I was thinking, So what if I’m making one tiny little compromise for Kevin’s sake? Wasn’t compromise part of what relationships were supposed to be all about?

On Tuesday, the day after my first baseball practice, the Geography Club met again.

“Well?” Terese demanded. “Where is she?” She was talking to Min and Kevin and Ike and me, and she was talking
about
Belinda Sherman. True to her word, Belinda had come to our meeting last Thursday. Since no one wanted her there, and since no one sure as hell wanted to talk about geography, it had been one very awkward meeting. After about ten minutes, we’d ended the meeting with some vague talk about getting back into geography the following week.

This week.

Today.

“Maybe she quit,” Kevin said hopefully. That had been the unofficial plan on Thursday. Be so boring and disorganized that she’d want nothing to do with us.

But Min said, “No such luck. I ran into her today. She said she was bringing in some geography board game this afternoon. God knows why, but I think she’s here to stay.”

We stood there for a second, all of us sending out waves of psychic discouragement to Belinda, wherever the hell in the school she was at that exact moment. Ike looked particularly annoyed, but then I noticed that whenever he glanced at me, his scowl seemed to deepen. That’s when I knew it wasn’t just Belinda Sherman he was irritated with. I’d been right about Ike being hot for Kevin, and now he was jealous of what was going on between Kevin and me. I hadn’t told him what had happened on Saturday night—I’d only told Min, who’d been very excited for me and who’d managed to restrain herself enough to say “I told you so” only one single time. But Min had to have told Terese about Kevin and me, and she’d probably told Ike.

“Well,” Terese said to the group. “That’s it then. If Belinda shows, that’s the end of the Geography Club. What’s the point?”

“No!” I said. I hadn’t meant to speak so loudly, but I was passionate. I didn’t want the Geography Club to end—which I guess meant I hadn’t joined the Geography Club just to get together with Kevin after all. Or if I had, the club had since become important to me for other reasons. Because I had Kevin now, but I still desperately wanted the Geography Club to go on.

I glanced at the door to Kephart’s classroom, which was still closed. Belinda was nowhere to be seen.

“There has to be something we can do,” I said.

“We could always start another club,” Ike said.

Min shook her head. “Belinda would know. She works in the office, remember? She’ll see our names on the application.”

“So what?” Terese said. “So what if we hurt her feelings?”

“It’s not that,” Min said. “She could report us, say we deliberately excluded her, maybe even say it’s because she’s black. It’d just call attention to our club, and that’s the last thing we need.”

I thought about this, but no matter how I turned it over in my head, there didn’t seem to be any way out.

“God
damn
it!” Terese said. “I was really starting to like this damn club.”

“Yeah, me too,” Ike said, taking a break from glowering at me.

“It’s not fair!” I said, and everyone looked at me. “Why can’t there be just one place for gay kids, where we don’t have to hide who we are? Hell, straight people have the whole rest of the world! They go around holding hands and kissing and talking about ‘my-girlfriend-this’ and ‘my-boyfriend-that.’ And they say
we
shove our lifestyle in
their
faces? That’s a laugh!”

I was pretty riled up. But I wasn’t so excited that I couldn’t sense a change in the air. We all turned toward the classroom doorway, which, of course, Belinda Sherman was now standing in, with a large orange shoulder bag at her side. How the hell she had opened the door without anyone hearing, I don’t know. But she had. And even if she hadn’t heard absolutely everything we’d said, she’d heard enough. You could see it in her eyes.

We stared at her and she stared at us. She knew. And everyone there, including Belinda, also knew that she could ruin us all.

Min was the one who finally broke the silence. “Are you going to tell?” she said softly.

Belinda stood there thinking for what seemed like a minute or more, but was probably only ten seconds. Then she closed the door behind her and faced us, so there were now six of us alone in that classroom.

“My mom’s an alcoholic,” she said at last.

I thought, What the hell does that have to do with anything? If Belinda Sherman was quirky like Gunnar, always saying the wrong thing at the wrong time, I sure as hell didn’t want to hear it right then. I and every other member of the Geography Club wanted to know one thing, and one thing only: was she going to tell the rest of the school about us?

“She’s always drunk,” Belinda went on. “My mom. She doesn’t get really, really drunk that often, but when she does, she tells everyone she’s sick. I think sometimes she even believes it. I guess because sometimes she
is
sick, and I always have to clean it up.”

“That’s interesting,” Terese said to her. “But it doesn’t answer the question. Are you going to tell on us or not?”

“No, wait,” Min said. “Let her talk.” I wanted Belinda to go on talking too. I had an idea where she was going with this. Besides, pissing off Belinda Sherman didn’t strike me as a real good plan just then.