Jumbo (10 page)

Mitchell drew his head back but didn’t know what to say. He turned into the shower and continued washing himself.

22

By the time Mitchell got out, Luke was waiting for him, half-dressed but buttoning his shirt. He sat down on the bench behind Mitchell and waited while Mitchell got dressed. Mitchell imagined Luke watching him closely, getting turned on by his ass as he bent forward. And he took his time about it, drying every inch of his body. They had to wait till the other guys had left anyway, and he didn’t care if he was late for his father. His father could go to hell.

When he had finished dressing, he sat down next to Luke to put his shoes and socks on. Mason was the last to leave, and after he had gone, Mitchell turned to Luke.

“So — you like me?” Mitchell said.

“Yeah.”

“You want to go first?”

“Not really.”

“Okay.” Mitchell tried to think how to start, but decided it was best to come straight out with it. “I like the notes — and yeah, I want to do that stuff with you.”

“What stuff?”

“Let you fuck me. Suck your dick.”

“
What?
”

“Come on, Luke. I know it’s you. I know you’ve been writing the notes.”

“
What
notes?”

Mitchell opened his mouth, but stopped. “You haven’t been writing me notes?”

“
Hell
, Mitch, if I want to say something to you, I’ll say it straight to your face. I haven’t written you any fucking notes. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

Mitchell tried to think. “You said you wanted to talk to me.”

“About Sarah.”

“Sarah?”

“Yes, Mitch. Sarah. You remember how I said she was hot for you? How she would have gone out with you if you’d asked her? Well, I asked her out. I didn’t mean for it to happen that way. I was trying to set something up for you.”

“Set something up for me?”

Luke moved away from him on the bench and turned to face him. “I know you’re gay, Mitch. Hell, I’ve known since junior high. A guy can’t watch his best friend ogling him every time they meet and not know.”

“You never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say? I’m not gay, Mitchell. I’m not interested. I couldn’t — do anything with you.”

Mitchell felt choked, as though he couldn’t breathe. Something tightened in his chest and he leaned forward, putting his head in his hands.

Luke slid over and put his hand on Mitchell’s back. Tears welled in Mitchell’s eyes and he began to cry silently, unable to help it. He stared at the grimy floor as his tears dripped onto it.

“I know what the guys say about you, and I was trying — to get you a girlfriend. To get you one so guys couldn’t say you were gay, because I like you, Mitch. You’re my best friend.”

Mitchell started to sob. “I’ve got no one to talk to.”

Luke wrapped his arm around Mitchell’s shoulder and drew him toward him. “Mitch.”

“What?”

“Just stop it.”

Mitchell put his hands up to his eyes and tried to wipe away the tears. “So you could never ...?”

“No, Mitch, I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. And if it gets out — if guys start thinking you’re gay, then how do you think that makes me feel — like I’m your lover?”

Mitchell started to sob again and Luke stood up. “I’m going to miss my bus, Mitch, and really, you just have to deal with this yourself. I can’t do this shit.”

Luke picked up his pack and walked out of the locker room.

Mitchell sobbed hopelessly, and when he had got a grip on himself, he sat still, unable to move, rigid in a stony silence as he listened to the dripping of a shower. He lifted his head slowly and flinched. Someone standing at the end of the lockers, looking at him. It was Mason.

“That was very interesting, Jumbo.”

Mitchell drew his head back and wiped his tears away.

Mason took a couple of steps toward him. “And you want to know the best thing about it? I’ve got it all in here.” Mason waggled his iPod and held it out to Mitchell, tantalizingly. Mitchell supposed he could make a grab for it, but it wouldn’t make any difference. He couldn’t beat Mason in a fight.

He stood up. “I don’t care, Mason. I don’t give a
fucking shit!
”

23

On the way home, Mitchell’s father started to talk about Jake Walker moving in with them and how Mitchell might feel about that. Mitchell sat in an icy silence. He had sat in the locker room for more than fifteen minutes after Mason had left, playing back over the conversation he had had with Luke. If only Luke could have said something before, if only he had told Mitchell that he knew he was gay, if only they could have talked about it years ago, then perhaps things would have turned out differently. Mitchell might have given up on Luke, given up on loving Luke, and saved himself years of heartache.

And Luke had basically said he couldn’t deal with it, couldn’t deal with talking to Mitchell about it, so Mitchell was back to square one. Gay, and with no one to talk to, and about to be outed by Mason, who would no doubt be thinking of some way to make the conversation public.

He wondered what Mason would do — post it online somewhere and direct people to it? Put it on YouTube? Even so, Mitchell couldn’t imagine the recording being that clear. Mason must have been standing behind the end of the lockers. It wasn’t like an iPod could pick up a conversation that clearly. Then again, why did Mason even need the recording? He could simply tell the guys on the team what he had heard. What would happen then? Would he be showering with the guys? He didn’t think so. Hell, Marley would probably kick him off the team. It was probably the reason Marley hated him. Did everybody think he was gay?

Mitchell shook his head.

“How you feeling, son?”

“Fucked — if you want to know the truth.”

His father opened his mouth, most likely to tell him not to swear, but he closed it again. They pulled into the garage and Mitchell threw himself up the stairs and into his room. He locked his door and looked for Sally automatically, though the bed had gone, she had gone, and it was too much. He threw himself onto his bed and screamed into his pillow. He wanted to smash something. He wanted to get up and grab his baseball bat and start smashing his room up, smashing his window and the computer and anything else that would break.

He lay there for half an hour, breathing into his pillow and making his face hot. What the hell would they be eating tonight? Some fucking frozen dinner or pizza again. How the hell was he supposed to train on that?

As it turned out, Mitchell was right. His father ordered pizza and they sat in the living room, eating it and watching television, no one talking. Pete got up to go and Mitchell followed him, but his father called him back.

“Can I talk to you, Mitchell?”

Mitchell turned.

“Would you sit down?”

He sat on the couch.

“How are things at school?”

Mitchell shrugged.

“You didn’t sound too happy this afternoon. Is there something I should know about?”

Mitchell started. He opened his mouth, but stopped. Where could he even begin, and how could he tell his father anyway? What good would it do? How could he tell his father that he had been in love with Luke for years, that he was gay, and that someone at school had found out? That tomorrow he would be outed?

It was simply too much. He didn’t want to have that conversation with his father. He couldn’t. And anyway, he was angry — damned angry at his father for bringing up Jake Walker this afternoon, angry at him for asking him if Jake could move in. He had been going on about what a great cook Jake Walker was, how he was a trained chef, and how nobody had to know why he was living with them. Saying they could tell people he was a hired hand, someone who was helping out now that Mitchell’s mom had gone.

“Mitchell. You know you can talk to me. We’ve always talked things out. If you’re keeping something to yourself, if there’s something happening, then I want to know about it.”

“I’ll tell you sometime, Dad. It’s just ... I’m angry.”

“Angry with me?”

“Yes.”

“Can we have that conversation?”

“If we have to.”

His father stood up. “The first thing to say Mitchell is that I love your mother. We’re very good friends. We’ve got on very well for the last twenty years or so, though obviously, she’s angry at me now.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No.”

Mitchell sat in silence while his father walked to the fireplace and back again. He sat down and leaned forward.

“I loved your mother when I married her. I didn’t know then that I was ... gay. And honestly, Mitchell, I didn’t know for the first few years of our marriage. Things aren’t as simple as that. There was passion—”

“Dad.”

His father stopped for a moment. “I know it’s hard to think about your parents ... making love, but we certainly did, Mitchell. I’m not an exclusively gay man. Your mother and I were very young when we married — barely out of high school. I was confused. I knew I had feelings for men, but — it was a different world, Mitchell. Not as easy as it is now.”

“What? The 80s? It must have been practically the 90s, Dad.”

His father sat back in his chair. He fell deep into thought. “Okay, Mitchell. You’ve got a point. I certainly could have followed my inclinations, my strongest inclinations, but I didn’t. Your grandmother and grandfather are very traditional. There was no way I could do that — there was no way I felt I could do that,” he added quickly.

Mitchell took a deep breath and closed his eyes. If only his father knew what he was dealing with. If only his father knew .... Here, Mitchell stopped, struck by the fact that he was dealing with the same conflicts himself.

He relaxed a little and allowed his father to continue.

His father told him that his mother and he had married and had two children before his father could admit to his mother how he truly felt. They had spoken about it when Mitchell was a child, practically a baby, but they had decided, together, that they would do the best thing for their children, or what they thought was the best thing: stay together. They slept in the same bed, and there had been times when they had had sex, though they had both decided on no more children. They planned to wait until Mitchell had turned eighteen, and then, and only then, to separate.

“Last year your mother spoke to me. She said that you were too immature, that we should see you out of your final year of school. And I agreed.”

“And so why ...?”

“I’m getting to that.” His father took a breath. “I met Jake through Alan Williamson. The two of them were together, but Jake was working right next to me, in the building next door. We began to meet for lunch — and from there, well, something happened. We fell in love.”

There was a long silence.

“And I’d been waiting for so long,” his father said, sounding suddenly choked, “that I just didn’t want to let this time go by.”

Mitchell felt shaky, but he didn’t know what he could say or do. His father wiped his eyes with the heels of his hands, and Mitchell said, “It’s all right, Dad. I understand.”

His father nodded, though he was obviously struggling with himself, trying to rein in his emotion.

“Your mother was — is — angry with me because I broke the agreement we made: not the original one, but the one we made last year to see you through school.” His father hesitated. “And I think she’s angry because I’ve found someone, when she’s always been loyal to me — though of course I had too, until Jake.”

“Dad—”

“No, wait, Mitchell.”

“Dad. He can move in. Don’t worry about it. Sure, he can move in, make out like he’s hired help. It’s fine with me, but really, Dad, I can’t talk about this anymore. I’ve got ....” Mitchell shook his head, determined not to cry. “I can’t .... Can we just leave the conversation there?”

His father nodded and Mitchell got up quickly. In his room, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, thinking how strange his family, how strange the world, was.

24

The following morning, Mitchell woke feeling unusually happy. He stretched luxuriously before the memory of yesterday crashed down upon him like a shower of breaking glass. The conversation with Luke. Mason. Hell, everything. He thought about skipping school, but supposed it would only make things worse. He would miss out on knowing what had happened, and would be left at home worrying.

When he got to school, Tadd was on the front steps. Tadd put his hand up and said, “Mitch. Wait up.” Mitchell knew the two of them had gym together today, but he really wasn’t in the mood for Tadd now. What the hell did Tadd have to worry about — perfect face, perfect body, huge dick, popularity, money — hell, the guy had it all.

“I was waiting for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I got a call from Mason last night. He emailed me the conversation, told me all about it.”

Mitchell stopped. They had just come through the doors and into the foyer and there were people everywhere. Tadd tugged him backwards into a classroom and closed the door.

“I told him if he sends that shit to anyone, says anything about it, then he’ll have me to deal with.”

Mitchell jerked his head back.

“He’d sent it to Robby, but I called Robby as well. Told him the same thing. He wasn’t so worried about it, said he couldn’t even make out what you were saying.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. So don’t worry, buddy,” Tadd said, wrapping his arm over Mitchell’s shoulder. “Like I said — I’ve got your back.”

Mitchell didn’t know how to start. “Shit. Thanks, Tadd. I mean — I thought it was all over for me today. I thought I was ....”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

Tadd put his arms around Mitchell and drew him into a hug, holding Mitchell tightly against his chest. Mitchell recoiled automatically, pushing Tadd away. And then the two of them stood there, breathing heavily, looking at each other, their faces flushed. And there it was again, that look in Tadd’s eyes that meant — what? As though Tadd was wounded, as though he was hurt by Mitchell pushing him away. But why would Tadd want to hug him?