Struts & Frets (8 page)

He looked so funny saying it that I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.

“Yeah.” Rick shrugged. “I've discovered that when another gay guy finds out that you're gay, they start taking liberties with you.”

“You thought I would take
liberties
?” he said, and clearly he had no idea what Rick meant but was imagining something really horrible.

“I was just being cautious,” said Rick. “Nothing personal. I'm not generally out, as they say.”

“Wow,” was all TJ could say.

Rick looked carefully at him, like he was trying to figure out what that “wow” meant. At last he said, “Are we cool?”

TJ nodded his head. “Yeah, for sure. I just . . . I've never known a gay guy before.”

“Sure, you have.” Rick grinned. “We've been friends since junior high.”

“Hey, speaking of,” I said. “Does Joe know you're gay?”

“Um,” said Rick, “I think that's right up there with never introducing him to your mom.”

“Gotcha,” I said.

“But enough about me,” said Rick, slugging down his beer. “Let's get back to the much more interesting topic: TJ's helpless crush on Jen5.” He turned to Alexander, who was still cutting a swath of destruction through Halo. “Young Alexander, when did you first notice that our TJ was smitten?”

“Well, Richard,” said Alexander, still not looking up
from his game, “I suppose it was a few days ago, during his fascinating but somewhat awkward description of the blindness of love.”

“Ah.” Rick nodded. “For me it was the vacant, frightened expression on his face whenever she sat down at our table.” Then he turned to me. “And Samuel, what gave it away for you?”

“Can we just drop this?” I asked.

“Why?” asked Rick. He still had that weird grin like he was up to something devious.

“Sometimes when you get a little drunk,” I said, “you get kind of mean like this and I don't think you realize it.” Poor TJ looked like he wanted to curl up and die. He probably would have taken off for home right then and there, except it would have been hard to explain to his parents why he was coming home at midnight stinking of beer. “So don't be an asshole. TJ's had enough.”

“TJ?” Rick asked, and the grin turned downright evil. “Who says I was picking on TJ?”

“What . . . ,” I started. But then I finally got it. “Are you . . . ,” I began. I just couldn't say it, though. I knew what he was suggesting, but it was just too . . . weird to think about.

“I'm just wondering,” said Rick, “how it feels to have some competition.”

“No,” I said, and shook my head. “I do
not
have a crush on the Fiver.”

Rick shrugged. “Maybe you do and maybe you don't. But she has
always
had a thing for you.”

“No, fuck this,” I said. “You're just trying to get me worked up.”

“Alex,” said Rick.

“Back me up here.”

Eyeballs still glued to the game, Alexander started chanting, “She wants to jump your bones!”

Rattattatt
went the game.

“She wants to clean your pipes!”

Foosh
went the game.

“She wants to ride your baloney pony!”

Ka-boom
went the game.

“She—”

“Thanks, Alex,” said Rick. “We get the idea.”

I was so mad, I felt like breaking something. Maybe Rick's face. I couldn't think clearly and only said something dumb like, “You shitheads have totally lost it.” But I felt more than just anger. There was another emotion. Like a chill or dizziness. Kind of like fear. “Fiver is like . . . She's my friend. My buddy . . .”

“Your
what
buddy?” said Rick.

I turned to TJ. Maybe just because I wasn't sure how
much longer I could hold off from punching Rick. “I'm sorry, TJ. You know Rick's just being a drunk shit.”

But TJ was just kind of looking at me weirdly.

Rick continued. “You think Alex and I are making it up? So then you don't mind if TJ asks her out, right?”

I looked back and forth between Rick and TJ. In the background, Alexander was still blasting away bad guys. I wanted to say,
Yeah, sure, TJ, go ahead and ask Jen5 out
, all cool and nonchalant.
I hope you score
. But I couldn't say it. It stuck in my throat and wouldn't come out and I really felt like if I tried to force it, I would actually start crying or throw up or something.

So we stood there in silence, just staring at each other like gun fighters waiting for the other one to make the first move. Like that old Eastwood movie,
The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly
. I didn't know who was who, but I sure felt like we were in a desert.

Then the front door burst open.

It was Jen5.

“WHERE'S THE BEER!” she screamed.

We all stared at her. Even Alexander paused his game and turned around to look at her. She raised an eyebrow at us. “Wow, who died?”

“Hey, Fiver,” said Rick calmly. “Beer's in the fridge.”

“Thanks,” she said, still watching us over her shoulder as she walked into the kitchen. “So . . . ,” she said. “Did I miss something?”

“You sure did,” said Rick. He seemed to have recovered from the shock already. He sprawled back onto the couch with his beer. “I was just telling TJ that I'm a big homo.”

“Ah.” Jen5 nodded. She gave TJ a sympathetic look. “Disappointing, isn't it? I always thought gay men were supposed to be smart and funny.” She stood at the fridge and took a long chug on her beer. “And attractive,” she added.

“You knew too?” asked TJ.

Jen5 rolled her eyes. “Please. I knew before he did.”

The rest of the night was awful. We talked and joked and played more games like we always did. But every time I looked at Jen5, it was like I was seeing two people. One was my buddy. My confidante. Sure, Rick was my best friend, but he was so flaky that you couldn't really rely on him. Jen5 was the one I could always count on. But now there was this other person. A stranger. Not a pal, but a chick, and I suddenly had all the weird nerves and awkwardness that went along with hanging out with a chick. She even looked different. She was still the blond, gnarly-haired, crazy-dressing girl I'd always known. But now I couldn't help but check her out like she was a chick. She
had boobs. When did she get boobs? And she wore tight jeans. When the hell had she started doing that? But it was other things too. Little things that really freaked me out. Like the way she looked at people with her eyes half closed and her head tilted, almost like a cat. And the way her lips curled up at the corners when she smiled, kind of mischievous and a little . . . sexy. I had never seen those things before. It made me feel like I had lost something important. Like I had lost a friend.

Toward the end of the night, she came and sat next to me and I couldn't help but tense up a little.

“How ya doing, Sammy?” she asked, patting me on the knee just like she'd done a million times before, but now it seemed suggestive.

“Okay,” I said.

“You've been weirdly quiet,” she said.

“Too drunk,” I lied. What little buzz I had earlier was completely gone, and I'd been nursing the same warm beer since she'd shown up. The last thing I wanted was to feel overemotional or out of control. “I think I'm going to go to sleep,” I told her, and got up. She said something else, but I wasn't listening. I slowly climbed the stairs and went into Rick's room. In the darkness I looked at the stupid car and sports posters on his walls. They were the same decorations he'd had since he was about twelve. I didn't think he even
liked them anymore. He probably just hadn't bothered to take them down. But right then, I was glad because it was familiar. Comforting. It reminded me of when we were kids.

I lay down on the floor and stared up at the ceiling. My brain was buzzing again, even worse than usual. I kept thinking of Jen5's two identities and trying to merge them together. I thought of so many times in the past when Jen5 had reacted strangely to something, like making fun of my crush on Laurie, and now a lot of those moments made sense. But not in a comforting way. In a way that made me doubt I'd ever really known who she was at all.

I wasn't even asleep when Rick stumbled into the room hours later and flopped on his bed with a grunt. He passed out immediately. I listened to his snores for a long time after that. I couldn't help but wonder if Jen5 and TJ were still awake and what they were talking about. Or maybe they weren't talking. Maybe they were making out. Maybe they were . . .

The sun was just starting to come up when I finally fell asleep.

time Rick woke me up.

“Hey,” he said, looking as rough as I felt.

“Hey,” I said.

I took a shower, just to make sure I didn't have any beer residue on me before I went home. Afterward I came downstairs and saw Rick at the kitchen table, staring into a glass of orange juice.

“You mad at me?” he asked without looking up.

“No,” I said.

“I'm sorry it came out the way it did,” he said quietly. “In front of TJ and Alex like that.”

“Okay,” I said as I put my shoes on.

“But I'm not sorry I told you,” he said. “I should have told you a long time ago.”

I shrugged. I couldn't see how that would have made it any better. At least I'd been in blissful ignorance for a while.

“She really does like you,” he said. “She told me. Of course, I wasn't supposed to tell you, but I just couldn't take it any longer. Hiding that from you.”

“How did Alexander know?” I asked, although I wasn't sure why I cared.

“Alex seems kind of out there, but he notices a lot more than people realize.”

“And TJ knew?”

“I'm sure. That was why he didn't do anything. We didn't talk about it or anything, but I think he felt like it would piss you off.”

I nodded and walked toward the door.

“Do you like her?” he asked. “Like that?”

“I don't know,” I said.

He nodded, like it was what he expected. Then, “See you tonight at rehearsal.”

“Yeah,” I said. “See you tonight.”

“Morning, sweetheart,” said my mom as I stepped into the house. She was reading the paper and sipping her coffee out
of a massive travel mug like she always did. She drank a lot of coffee.

“Morning,” I said, sitting down at the kitchen table.

“You had breakfast yet?” she asked.

“No,” I said.

“Want something?”

“Sure,” I said.

Mom almost never cooked dinner. I practically lived off of microwave meals. This was partially because she worked so late, but it was also because she was a terrible cook. Except for breakfast. On the weekends, it was like she tried to make up for all the family dinners we never had. She made pancakes, eggs, bacon, sausage, omelets, waffles, potatoes, oatmeal—you name it. Weekend mornings were a feast. And this morning was no exception. She must have been feeling a little extra energetic because she made my favorite: Scotch eggs. Hard-boiled eggs wrapped in bacon, then rolled in breadcrumbs and fried to a golden brown. Sound gross? Then you've never had them. They're the best.

“Thanks,” I said as she served them.

“You okay, Sammy?” she asked.

“Sure,” I said. “Why?”

“You just seem a little down.”

“I am.” There was no point in lying. She was a therapist, after all.

“Want to talk about it?”

“No,” I said. Of course I did want to talk about it, but talking to my mother about girl problems was pretty much like torture. No matter what the conversation had originally been about, she would steer it toward sex and the need to protect myself, even if the girl said she was on the pill, because that wasn't any protection from HIV. And sometimes girls lied about the pill because they didn't want to break the mood and sometimes because they secretly wanted to get pregnant and trap guys into marriage. I guess because she thought I was some great catch? Who knows. She got a little weird about that stuff, so there was no way I was going to talk to her about this.