Sara (20 page)

Good, he thought. He started the car and backed down the driveway, checking to make sure nothing was coming, and drove toward town. The sun had already set in the west, and he knew most of his classmates had probably already headed into Kahola for the night. But he didn't want to go anywhere near Kahola. He headed through Carterville, stopping at intersections and wishing he could think of somewhere to go. After he left the town limits, he turned right onto a dirt road.

He drove aimlessly for a while. Usually there would be a party somewhere—but that wasn't likely tonight. Noah's death after Linda Avery's party probably had the kids who usually drank running scared—at least for this weekend. Besides, he wanted to get drunk, good and stinking drunk, and he didn't want any of the other kids to know. He'd never been drunk, and if he was going to make a fool of himself, he'd rather do it in private.

No matter what, he was Randy Froelich, after all, and he had an image to maintain.

But even that
, he thought as he drove along the dirt road, throwing up a cloud behind the El Camino,
isn't really who I am. Nobody knows the real me.

Except for Glenn
, another voice nagged inside his head.
You could be yourself around Glenn, and look how you repaid him for that!

He pushed that thought out of his head. It was true, though. He'd never been himself, not really. When he was a kid, he'd had the image of Keith to follow, to be like. Keith had been good-looking and popular—everyone loved Keith. He'd been such a great athlete he managed to shine even though the football and basketball teams he played on at Southern Heights lost almost all of their games. Keith was everything Randy wasn't—he got straight A's effortlessly, he had an easy way with girls, he was tall, and everyone liked him. He'd tried to be like Keith, but he always failed. He had to study almost constantly to match Keith's grades. He had to exercise and lift weights and practice sports over and over again. Everything had come so easily to Keith. He'd even walked on at Pittsburg State and made the football team, eventually earning a scholarship. Keith had been perfect in every way. His parents adored him. Every girl in school wanted to date him. The guys liked him, teachers liked him—and he even took church seriously, looked forward to going to services every Sunday.

Randy knew his parents looked at him and saw a pale copy of perfect Keith. Hell, even as much as he wanted to resent his brother, he couldn't. Keith really was perfect. He was the perfect brother, too. He always had time for Randy, whether it was to toss a football around or shoot baskets. Before he went off to college, Keith never missed one of Randy's games. And of course, when he bought his new car, he'd given his younger brother his old one. Every time he called home he wanted to check in with Randy, make sure everything was okay, would apologize for not making it back to see Randy's game on Friday night.

It would be so much easier if he'd been an asshole—like everyone else's older brothers were.

Randy had always been shy around girls, and when he went steady with one, he was always shy, afraid to try anything with them.

Because you really like boys.

“Shut up,” he said out loud, and turned up the car stereo. Even that had been a gift from Keith—a new stereo system for the car for his birthday. Keith worked in the off-season, and worked full-time in Pittsburg in the summers. He never forgot a birthday, and his gifts were always thoughtful ones.

Randy slowed the car down when he realized he was getting close to the turn-off for Kahola Lake. He smiled. Maybe his subconscious mind had led him this way—Kahola Lake was the perfect place to come hide out and get drunk. There was a public beach where kids came in the summertime to hang out, get tan, and drink—but he'd just follow the lake road around from there. There were some cottages with docks that belonged to people with money so they could come spend days down there in the summer, but they should all be abandoned since it was fall. He'd find one, park in the driveway and sit on the dock, drinking Jack Daniel's till he was falling-down drunk.

He took the turn toward the lake. The road sloped down between two fields. He could see the road around the lake and the moon reflecting on the lake's flat surface. He slowed down and turned right. The public beach was just ahead, but there were no cars parked down there. He slowed down and looked out at the raft anchored about twenty yards offshore.

Before Glenn came out, we used to hang out there
, he remembered.

He reached over and opened the glove box as he slowed to a stop. He opened the bottle and took a swig. His eyes watered and his throat burned. The taste was horrible, and he almost gagged. His stomach felt like it was on fire, and the warmth started spreading through the rest of his body. He took a deep breath, and his mind began to get a little bit woozy. He wiped at his eyes until they cleared, and he stared out at the raft.

The last time they were here was about a month before Glenn came out.

School had just let out the week before, but it was a weekday. He'd taken a summer job shelving groceries at the Safeway in Kahola, but it was his day off. Corey Barlow had broken up with him right before school let out, and he hadn't wanted to hang around the house. He called Glenn and they'd headed out to the lake. It had been a nice day—no tension, just relaxation and quiet. They'd both fallen asleep out on the raft, their legs touching lightly. It was nice, and when he'd dropped Glenn off at home he had no idea that it was going to be their last time together as friends.

The next week, Glenn had started hanging out at the country club pool where Clark Murphy worked.

He sped up a little bit, and the road curved to the left on its way around the lake. He liked the lake at night. It was quiet and peaceful, and he liked that he was the only person around. He kept driving until he was on the opposite side of the lake from the public beach. A driveway loomed up out of the darkness on the left, and he turned into it. He parked alongside the house and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. The sound of the car door shutting seemed incredibly loud—he couldn't believe how quiet it was out there on the lake. He walked down the sloping lawn till he reached the dock. He took another swig of liquor. It didn't burn quite as bad this time, and he was starting to like the taste of the whiskey. He grinned and walked out onto the dock. The wooden planks groaned beneath his weight. It was a cool night, and he sat down on the end of the dock. He took off his shoes and socks, dangling his feet just above the water.

So, why haven't you asked another girl out since Corey broke up with you? If you had a girlfriend, sticking up for Glenn wouldn't have been an issue, would it?

“Shut up,” he said out loud. He twisted the cap off the bottle and took another drink. This time it didn't burn at all, and the taste—well, the taste seemed a lot better. He tilted his head back and looked up at the stars.

“I fucked up,” he said aloud to the night sky. “I fucked up and lost my best friend, the only real friend I ever had.” He felt a wave of sadness wash over him, and his eyes filled with tears again. He took another drink.

Damn that Glenn anyway! Why did he have to tell the whole wide world that he was gay? Why, when we're still in high school? Why couldn't he have waited until he—
we
—were off at college?

He felt incredibly sorry for himself.

He took another drink.

“Glenn should know why I did what I did,” he mumbled. He hiccupped, and it tasted of whiskey.

His head was woozy, and he felt all tingly inside.

If this is what it felt like to get drunk, he could understand why people liked it. He grinned and giggled.

He took another drink.

The wind picked up and he shivered, despite the warm feeling he was getting from the whiskey. He pulled his feet back up and put his socks and shoes back on. He had trouble tying the shoelaces, and that made him laugh all over again.

I do like feeling like this
, he decided, taking yet another swig from the bottle.
Maybe it's not so bad. Maybe I should do it more often. And if I just drink on Saturdays that won't affect how I practice on Monday, will it? It can't hurt my playing on Friday night.
This struck him as funny somehow, and he started laughing all over again.

He held the bottle up to his mouth, but stopped. His head was swimming, and he didn't feel so good anymore.

“Randy,” a voice said from behind him. Startled, he almost dropped the bottle into the lake. He looked back over his shoulder and frowned.
I must be really drunk
, he thought, hiccupping again,
because it looks like her feet aren't touching the ground.

He turned around so he was facing the shore.

“Hello, Randy.” Sara's voice was soft, and she was smiling as she walked out onto the dock. He shook his head. Her feet were touching the ground—but she was barefoot. That didn't make any sense.

She was wearing a sheer white dress, and he could see her nipples, firm and erect, through the material as she came closer to him. Her smile was broader, and her eyes, her beautiful eyes, seemed so warm and caring.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, looking at her nipples. He felt himself starting to stir inside his pants.

She sat down beside him. “You really miss Glenn, don't you?” She touched his arm, and he shivered. Her hand was so cold.

“'Course I miss Glenn.” The words sounded slurred, so he tried to focus, to form the words properly. “He was my bestest friend.”

“And that's how you treat your bestest friend?” she replied, putting her arm around his shoulders.

He didn't like having her touch him, but he didn't want to pull away from her. His head was floating, and it was taking all of his concentration to keep it on his shoulders.

“I—” He stopped as a wave of nausea rolled over him. He frowned. “I don't feel so good,” he said thickly.

“There, there.” She placed her right hand on his forehead and pressed against his skin. Her hand was so cold, so unnaturally cold, but it did help. The wave receded, and he felt better.

Still drunk, but better.

“I still—” He frowned as she took the bottle away from him. “What are you doing?”

“You don't need any more of this,” she replied, turning it upside down so the liquor poured into the lake. “Trust me, okay?” She smiled and her breast brushed against his arm. Her voice was so low, so seductive.

“I—” He stopped talking. She was lightly touching his inner thigh, tracing a circle with her index finger.

“Do you want me, Randy?” she said, her voice teasing. “You're not really gay, are you? You like girls, don't you?”

“'Course I do.”

“You didn't need to be worried that people might think you were a fag, did you, Randy?” she purred. “Even if you and Glenn—well, did what you did, that didn't really mean anything, did it? That was just two friends horsing around, isn't that right? Isn't that how you explain it to yourself?”

“Yeah, I guess.” He couldn't wrap his mind around what she was saying, then words pierced through the alcohol fog. “Glenn told you?”

“You don't mind really, do you?” she purred, unbuttoning his shirt. She ran her fingertips down his chest and he shivered. Something wasn't right, and he knew he should stop her, get away but he somehow couldn't move.

He felt
fear
licking at his guts, a dull terror starting to rise inside his alcohol-dulled senses.

She finished unbuttoning his shirt and slid it off his shoulders and down his arms. She leaned over and licked his nipple. Involuntarily, he moaned and closed his eyes.

“Do you want to kiss me?” She breathed the words out. She kissed his chest.

“No,” he slurred. His mind was still cloudy and he knew something wasn't right, that he needed to get away from her somehow, get back to his car and go home, anywhere but here with her.

But the way her mouth felt on his skin, the way her soft warm lips worked on his chest, he couldn't find the strength or energy to push her away.

“You know you want me.” He could feel one of her hands working against the front of his pants. “I know you do, Randy. Don't you want to prove once and for all that you're not gay?”

“No! I don't have to prove anything to anyone!” From somewhere, he managed to find the strength to push her away from him. “Jesus.” He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs.
Why did I drink so much? I was wrong, I don't like this feeling at all.

“So you are a gay boy, after all?” She raised an eyebrow and laughed. It was a cold sound. As it echoed off the lake water, he tried not to throw up. “I've seen the way you look at other boys at school. You blame Glenn for what happened between the two of you, but it didn't start with Glenn, did it? Glenn didn't find those websites you look at late at night alone in your room, did he?”

He gaped at her, unable to form words in his shock.
How could she know that?

He knew he should get up and drive away, no matter how drunk he was. He needed to get away from her because there was something about her that wasn't right, and maybe if he wasn't so drunk he could figure it out, but he could feel the fear coursing through his veins, and he tried to stand but his legs wouldn't cooperate.