Omorphi (5 page)

“Jesus, Michael, I sure as hell hope no one applies the handkerchief code to you. Just be yourself. That’s who Christy has a crush on.”

“I’m overreacting, aren’t I?”

“Definitely on the gushy side, man.”

“Do you think I should tell my parents that I met someone?”

“If you do, you have to say I met someone I like, and he likes me back. Then you know what your mom’s going to do? It’ll be a full-on interrogation.”

“Yeah, maybe I better hang back. I didn’t even get Christy’s last name or number.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong with me! I just, well, he kissed me, and I forgot. That’s all.”

“Bro, am I going to have to teach you dating skills?”

“Don’t be a tool. I know how to date. Well, girls, anyway. I mean, it’s been a while, but I can handle it.”

“Did you find out anything about him?”

“He heard everything we said, he’s gay, he has a crush on me, he thinks I’m hot, and he’s been following me around because he didn’t know for sure if I was gay.”

“That’s all you found out?”

“I was with him for only half an hour!”

“Lame excuse. Listen, I gotta bounce. Call me later tonight.”

“It’s not lame! Later.”

“W
HAT
do you think, Mac?” Bobbie, Michael’s mom, asked his dad at dinner.

“It could be neurological.”

The number-one hazard of having a pediatrician for a father and a nurse for a mother is that every event in your life is a symptom of a larger problem. Namely, a medical condition. “I’m fine,” Michael said flatly.

“We’re worried about you.”

The number-two hazard is being overprotected in the extreme. “I’m fine, Mom.”

Mac leaned in and peered at him closely. “Are you certain, son?”

The number-three hazard is twofold. One, you are forever relegated to an age where you still fit into a fourteen-inch plastic chair and, on that premise, all of your statements are subject to confirmation. “I’m sure, Dad.”

“You look flushed, feverish, as if you have the flu.”

“I don’t know, Mac. It looks more like a cardiac event to me.”

“Do you think so, dear?”

“Do you recall the first time you kissed me, honey? My symptoms were nearly identical.”

Michael had had enough. “Okay, stop! I met someone. Can we stop with the medical diagnostics now?”

Bobbie laughed softly. “Do tell.”

He looked from her to his dad’s expectant face, and then dropped his fork on his plate. It clattered loudly, bounced, and he caught it just before it fell off the table. “Okay. Fine. Blond, blue, five foot two.”

“Come now, you must know more than that,” Bobbie pushed.

“He’s gay.”

“Are you certain?” Mac asked.

“Oh my God, Dad. Yes, he’s gay.”

“How do you know?” Bobbie asked.

He gave his mom a deadpan look.

Mac joined in. “Well? How
do
you know, son?”

“Oh my God. Okay. He kissed me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“I knew it was a cardiac event.” Bobbie smiled a self-satisfied smile.

“Right you are, my dear. What do you suppose his EKG would look like right now?”

“P, Q, and R spikes off the grid.”

“Oh my God! Will you please stop!”

“When do we get to meet him?” Mac asked.

“Are you kidding? He’d need an ER and long-term psych care after meeting you!”

“We’re trained medical professionals,” Bobbie assured.

“My point exactly!” He could only stare at his parents as they rolled in soft laughter. “You know, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to humiliate your son for personal entertainment.” He stood and took his plate to the counter.

Bobbie pulled him back by the pocket of his sweatpants. He dropped into his chair again. “What else do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

He stood again. “I have to call Jake, and I have homework to do.”

“Tell us a little about him,” Mac encouraged.

He capitulated and plopped into the chair again.
He’s pretty and perfect, and I have a giant crush on him.
“He’s sweet and shy, and you’d scare the crap out of him.”

“Do you go to school with him?”

“Yes.”

“What grade is he in?”

“He’s a senior.”

They waited expectantly.

“What else do you want to know?”

“Does he play a sport?”

“Is art a sport?”

“An artist. How nice. What kind of art?” Bobbie asked.

“He paints.”

Mac nodded appreciatively. “What does he like to paint?”

“Dad, I just met him.”

“And you’re kissing already?” Bobbie teased.

“Okay, that’s it. No more questions.” He stood again.

“But we have so many more, honey. Does he have a name?”

“Yes, he has a name. Make a list.” Michael left the kitchen and his parents’ laughter behind.

M
ICHAEL
closed his AP history book and reviewed his essay. It would do. He couldn’t concentrate any longer with R-rated thoughts of Christy swimming through his mind. He retrieved his phone from his backpack and dialed Jake.

“How you doing, bro?” Jake answered through a yawn.

“Ready to hit the sack. Wish I had Christy’s number, but even if I did, I couldn’t call him. He can’t speak.”

“You could text.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“You could also get his e-mail address and instant message him.”

“Yeah, I could.”

“Why do you sound so flat?”

“Mom and Dad figured out I met someone.”

“How?”

“They went into this weird diagnostic mode, trying to figure out why I looked flushed and feverish. I’ve never seen anything like it. They weren’t even this weird when I told them I liked guys. It was humiliating.”

“What’d you say to them?”

“I told them about Christy, and they asked how I knew he was gay, and I told them we kissed.”

“Oh, no way, Michael, you didn’t!”

Michael laughed. “Yeah, man, I did.”

“One thing you gotta learn, bro, some things are TMI for parents.”

“C’mon, Jake, we’re eighteen, and it’s not like they think we don’t kiss or have sex just because we’re still in high school.”

“You don’t.”

Michael chuckled. “Shut up. I’m working on it.”

“Seriously, it’s that ‘out of sight, out of mind’ thing for parents.”

“Then I’m doomed.”

“Naw. Lucky for you, your parents are cool. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, bro, later.”

M
ICHAEL
woke with a gasp. His breath labored, and perspiration covered his still-pulsing body. His dreams of Christy never ceased to push him over the edge. He sank against his pillow, his mind reeling with images of pretty Christy. Thoughts of Christy in his arms, fitting perfectly against him as they shared gentle caresses, drove his imagination wild. Man, he loved his dreams of Christy.

“Y
OU
look fresh, bro,” Jake complimented as Michael climbed out of his SUV on Wednesday morning.

“Thanks. I hate my hair.”

They fell into step, their gait familiar and easy. “What’s wrong with your hair?”

“It has a two-track mind. One’s lost and the other one’s looking for it. I can’t ever get it to go one way.”

“It’s curly. It’s not supposed to.”

“How come yours does?”

“I use gel.”

“I hate that stuff. It makes me feel sticky.”

Jake chuckled. “You’re nervous.”

“Am not.” Michael’s denial sounded lame even to him.

They heard a loud commotion and turned. To Michael’s horror, Evan Blythe, one of their track mates, shoved Christy’s books from his arms and jerked his backpack off his shoulder. The books splashed to the ground as the backpack landed with a dull thud. Evan kicked a book, and it skimmed down the concrete walk with a sandy screech and came to rest in the damp grass of the commons. Evan laughed and trotted away, leaving a loud “Faggot!” to ring rudely on the air.

Michael sprinted and caught up with Evan and tripped him with one quick sweep of his foot. Evan fell to his hands and knees, his hands landing with a painful slap as they hit the concrete.

“What the fuck, Sattler?”

“What are you doing, man?”

Evan got to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

“Him!” Michael pointed back toward Christy.

Evan brushed the knees of his pants with angry hands. “I’m just messing with the little homo, Michael. Shit, you didn’t have to do that.”

“Neither did you! Since when are you into bullying? Help me pick up his books.”

Evan looked around at the gathering crowd. “Forget it.”

Michael rose to full height. Granted, he was only a couple of inches taller than Evan was, but he knew it made a difference to Evan. “Man, you’re being an ass. Help me collect his books.”

Evan gave Michael a tentative look.

“Jake, take care of this.” Michael walked to where Christy stood, back plastered against the lockers, eyes staring, distant.

“Hey.”

Christy continued to stare at some far-off vision.

“You all right?”

Christy remained still as a statue, silent.

Michael set a gentle hand on Christy’s shoulder, and he jumped and cowered, his hands raised as if in preparation for a blow. “It’s all right,” Michael said softly as he covered Christy’s hands with his own and slowly moved them down. “It’s only me, Michael.”

Christy looked up at him with frightened eyes, and recognition slowly set in. He withdrew his hands from Michael’s grasp and balled them against his chest. Jake and Evan began picking up his things, and he shied from them, pressing into the cold steel of the lockers as if in an effort to melt into them and become invisible.

Michael dared to put a hand carefully on his shoulder again. Christy didn’t jump this time. “C’mon, let’s go sit over there.”

Christy didn’t budge.

Michael bent and whispered. “It’s okay. C’mon, let’s sit down.”

Christy moved on unsteady legs to the concrete bench, and Michael sat next to him. “You okay?”

Christy nodded woodenly.

Jake set Christy’s now pieced-together belongings next to him and shot Evan a pointed look.

“Hey, ah, Christy, sorry.” Evan stuck his fist out for a bump, and Christy shrank back.

Michael gently moved Evan’s fist away. “It’s okay. He won’t hurt you.”

“What’s the matter with him?” Evan asked.

“You scared the shit out of him,” Michael said angrily.

“I didn’t touch him.”

Jake grabbed Evan by the upper arm and hauled him around the side of the art bungalow.

“You okay?” Michael asked softly, wanting desperately to put an arm around Christy and comfort him.

Christy nodded.

“You okay to go to class?”

Christy nodded again.

“Do you want me to walk you to your room?”

Christy shook his head and gestured to the classroom door directly in front of them but twenty feet away.

“Let’s get you to class.” Michael stood, slung Christy’s backpack over his shoulder with his own, and picked up Christy’s books. “Come on.”

Christy stood unsteadily, and Michael guided him to the classroom.

Christy lost his balance when he climbed onto a stool at one of the high art tables, and Michael caught him by the arm before he fell. Christy flinched and slowly pulled his arm from Michael’s grasp.

“Where do you want your stuff?”

Christy pointed to the cabinet beneath the table. Michael tucked everything away as Christy watched his every move, his eyes now focused in the present.

“Are you going to be all right?”

Christy nodded, his eyes following Michael as he stood.

Michael smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “See you at lunch?”

Christy nodded again and mouthed, “Thank you.”

“No problem. See you later.”

“W
HAT
the hell was that all about, Evan?”

“Hey, Michael, I didn’t mean anything by it. Jake explained things to me. I never would have done that if I knew he was from Wellington.”

“Wellington has nothing to do with it. You shouldn’t be doing crap like that to anyone!”

Evan was sheepish. “Won’t do it again. We cool?” He held a fist out to Michael.

You sure as hell won’t.
“Not again, dude.” Michael bumped fists with him.

“Not again, man. Later, Jake.”

The first bell rang. “Thanks,” Michael said to Jake as they watched Evan speed away.

“No problem. Let’s get to class.”

M
ICHAEL
watched the second hand on the clock tick down to the lunch bell and zipped his backpack up as it rang. He jumped from his seat and sped to the cafeteria. Stephen Engel sat at their table with Jared McLeod and a couple of other guys from Michael’s track team. Jake clapped Michael’s shoulder as he took a seat next to him.

“Did you see Christy?” Michael asked, worried.

“Be easy.” Jake pointed to the cafeteria doorway as Christy appeared.

Michael’s relief was palpable.

Jake chuckled. “Be easy. He’s been here since the beginning of the year. He can handle himself.”

Michael couldn’t help but smile as Christy approached. “Hey.”

Christy gave him a brief, shy smile.

“Hey, Christy. I know we saw each other this morning, but we didn’t officially meet. I’m Jake.” Jake extended a fist, and Christy looked at it, bewildered. “Make a fist, man.” Christy did, and Jake bumped fists with him. “Good to meet you.”

Michael pushed a chair out with his foot, and Christy hung his backpack on the back of it, withdrew a pad and pen from a pocket, and sat. Michael turned to everyone at the table. “Christy, this is Stephen, Jared, Brian, Noah, Gavin, another Michael, Evan you met this morning, and that’s Nicky. Everybody, this is Christy.”

“Hey, Christy. Sorry again about this morning,” Evan said, repentant.

Christy gave Evan a curt nod.

Jared smacked Evan’s arm. “What happened, man?”

Evan glanced at Michael, and Michael gestured for him to speak. “Nothing. I gave Christy a hassle.”