What They Always Tell Us (17 page)

“Mom? Dad?” he asks during a commercial. “We have an early run on Saturday, with Coach Runyon. And, uh, Nathen wants me to…He wants me to sleep over so we can wake up early and just go together.”

“Don’t you run enough all week at school?” his mother asks.

“Well, it did rain a few days this week,” he says. “So this is a make-up run.”

“I don’t see why not,” his father says. He then turns back to the TV, as if it’s all settled.

“Well, are Mr. and Mrs. Rao okay with you staying over?” she asks.

“Uh, I think so.”

“Maybe I should call them,” she says.

“Well, I think they may be, like, going out of town.” There, he has said it, the truth. He feels relief at not having to construct a lie on top of another lie.

“So it would be just you boys?” she asks.

Alex is unable to read her tone. Is she suspicious, or just being matter-of-fact, or a worrywart? “Yeah. But, I mean, you guys left me and James alone all weekend, remember? Back in November?”

She seems to ponder this for a minute, nodding. “Well, I suppose it’s okay, if it’s okay with Mr. and Mrs. Rao. Hon?”

“It’s fine with me,” his father says. This time he looks at Alex and nods.

“Okay, then,” she says.

Alex sits with them while the rest of the show plays, forcing himself not to smile or jump up and down. He thinks about how tomorrow night, at this time, he’ll be at Nathen’s. Just the two of them. The whole night together.

Friday afternoon is dreary but dry, and after cross-country practice, Alex and Nathen say their good-byes, knowing they will see each other in just a few hours. Alex is sweaty and winded but not exhausted—he has a nervous buzz about him that prevents that. But he has forgotten his trig notebook, and he will need that this weekend, so he heads back inside the school to his locker.

Inside, it is mostly quiet, with just a few teachers lingering in their classrooms. Alex pads down the hall in his jogging shoes. As he gets closer to his locker, he worries about what might be scrawled there in Wite-Out. There have been no incidents since the last one, and today, thankfully, his locker door is bare, unviolated.

He retrieves his notebook and walks back down the hall, turns a corner, and that is when a girl dashes out of the bathroom and nearly slams into him.

“Jesus!” he says, bobbing out of the way. When he sees that it is Alice, the girl his brother used to date, he feels himself redden. “Oh, hi. Sorry.” Like he’s apologizing for James or something, and not for the near collision.

Her face is puffy and pink, and her eyes show the strain and wetness of a good fit of sobbing. She wipes a few tears away with her hand and says, “It’s okay. I’m the one who almost knocked into you.” She isn’t carrying any books, but her hands are bunched into little fists.

“Are you okay?” he says.

She sniffles and looks at him. He thinks she may start sobbing again. But she doesn’t, she just nods and holds in her tears.

“You sure?”

She forces out a breath and looks toward the ceiling, as if gathering herself. “Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be all right.”

He knows that she is just saying that. But what can
he
do? He barely knows her. “Okay, well, I hope you, uh, have a nice weekend.”

She forces a smile and nods. He still gets the sense that she is moments away from another crying jag. When he cries—and he hasn’t cried since the incident—he does not want anyone to see him. It’s an ugly, pitiful sight, meant for privacy. So he just walks away, leaving her there in the empty hallway. But with each step he takes, he feels the urge to go back and try to comfort her or something. He doesn’t know what he would do, what he would say, and when he drives off he feels a flicker of regret before he remembers the night ahead of him.

Later that afternoon, when he’s in the kitchen getting a soda, Alex hears James come in the front door (probably after checking the mailbox). Alex had hoped to avoid him before going over to Nathen’s—what was he going to tell him about tonight, after all? Will he believe the Saturday jogging story? Even if he believes that, will he still think it’s odd? Guys don’t really have slumber parties.

James walks into the kitchen and looks into the pantry. Without missing a beat, he says, “So, Nate says you’re sleeping over at his place tonight.”

Alex cracks open the can of Pepsi. “Uh, yeah.”

“Because of a crack-of-dawn run with your coach?”

“Yep. It sucks.”

“Why wouldn’t he come over here instead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

Alex’s heart starts pounding.

“I’m not an idiot,” James says. “I know his folks are out of town. Nate told me. Y’all are going to have some of the guys from the team over for a little party.”

Alex’s heart steadies, and he says, “Oh yeah. We are.” He stands there with his soda, trying to appear calm.

James leaves the pantry and opens the fridge and takes out a half-drunk bottle of Gatorade. He drinks it right from the bottle. When he finishes guzzling, he exhales. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says. He narrows his eyes at Alex, like he’s holding something back, and then leaves to go upstairs.

Nathen greets him at the door with a mischievous smile. He’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt, no shoes. “Welcome to the Rao home,” Nathen says. Inside, the house is warm and smells of books and furniture polish and a spice of some sort. Alex drops his overnight bag in the foyer. He has packed his running clothes, just in case, but also pajamas—cotton shorts and a thin white undershirt—and his toothbrush.

The Rao home is more modern than his—more large glass windows, more angles and pitched ceilings, sleeker furniture. Nathen gives him a “tour,” first through the living room, where the walls are lined with bookshelves and dotted here and there with watercolors and small exotic-looking paintings. Then to the kitchen, which is gleaming and sparklingly white, even the appliances. Then down a long hallway that is covered with family photos.

“This is the wall of shame,” Nathen says.

On the wall are framed photos of the Rao family through the years—Nathen as a Little Leaguer, kneeling on a grassy field with a baseball bat pitched over his shoulder; the Rao family dressed to the nines in front of some important-looking building at the university; then the family again, with Sarita in her cap and gown at graduation, a slightly younger-looking Nathen with his arm around her, smiling his big smile. Then there is one of the family in front of what Alex recognizes as the Taj Mahal. They are all smiling and squinting in the sunlight, looking hot and ragged, not equal to the majestic building behind them.

“Wow,” Alex says.

“Yeah, that’s when we went to India a few years back. I was twelve.”

“Looks awesome. I’ve never even been out of the country.”

“It was okay. I remember it being hot as hell. And crowded. Mom insisted we go to see my grandparents. She acts more Indian than Dad does. That’s what Sarita says anyway. Sarita’s always riding Dad these days, saying he’s lost touch with his heritage.” He tells Alex how his sister has rediscovered her roots while at college, getting into yoga and spirituality and all things Indian, even though Nathen reminds her that she is half English, too. Not to mention American. “But she gets it from Mom. Mom probably wishes
she
were Indian and not Dad. She collects all these Indian paintings of dancing women with eight arms and stuff.”

“That sounds kind of interesting.”

“I guess,” Nathen says. “I must say, she’s a good cook. The Indian food she makes is really delicious.”

“I went to Star of India once,” Alex says, referring to the Indian restaurant near the campus. “It was good.” But he feels foolish after saying it, like he is trying to score points.

“Ah, that place is okay.” Nathen turns from the wall and smiles at him. “Maybe we’ll have you over to dinner sometime.”

“Yeah,” Alex says, giddy and terrified at the thought.

“Well, want to see my room?”

“Sure.” He follows Nathen down the hall, past a few other rooms and a bathroom. Nathen’s large room is at the back of the house, and it has its own bathroom and walk-in closet, as well as a big window that overlooks the backyard. He has a double bed and a messy desk that is covered with schoolbooks and papers and a lamp, a long dresser on which is perched a mirror, where Nathen has inserted photographs into the edges of the frame—snapshots of him running or with friends (Alex spies a few with James) and with family. The walls are decorated with framed certificates for all of his awards, both academic and athletic. Third Place, Tuscaloosa Fall 5K, 16-and-Under Division. National Honor Society. First Place, Citywide Mile Run. National French Honor Society. Young Chemists’ Honor Society. James’s room is like this, too, a wall of accomplishments. Alex’s is paltry in comparison—his only real prize was second place in a third-grade art fair and third prize in the science fair in sixth grade.

“So this is it,” Nathen says, walking around the room.

“It’s nice,” Alex says.

Nathen just shrugs and smiles. Alex can feel an odd charge in the air, like they are delaying something. He wishes he had the courage to walk over and kiss Nathen, to get something started, but he feels frozen.

“Well, you wanna order a pizza and watch a movie?” Nathen asks.

“Sure,” he says, both disappointed and relieved.

Nathen walks up to him and grabs his hands, though he doesn’t look at him. Instead, he stares down at his feet and says, “I’m glad you’re here tonight.”

“Me too.”

Then Nathen reaches in for a kiss, and it sends sparks of joy down Alex’s body. Because, finally, they are able to kiss without fear of being seen. It doesn’t feel dangerous or risky anymore. It feels safe and good.

Later, they are under the covers of Nathen’s bed, lying on their backs, Alex’s head resting on Nathen’s outstretched arm.

“How did you know that I liked you?” Alex asks.

“I dunno. Guess I could see it in your eyes.”

Alex smiles, says, “Really?”

“Sure. Couldn’t you see it my eyes?”

“Not really. I mean, I don’t know. I guess I didn’t know what to look for.”

“Hungry eyes,” Nathen says. “You had hungry eyes.”

It is late, and they have spent the entire night either fooling around or drinking beers or talking. Nathen has already told him about how he always knew he liked guys from a very young age, when he’d sport woodies looking at the men in underwear in the Sears catalog. But how he never acted on it until math camp one summer, with a kid from Birmingham. Hearing about his past makes Alex feel a little queasy—queasy and jealous that there were a few guys, and just a few, Nathen is careful to point out, before Alex, none of whom live in Tuscaloosa. But also queasy because Nathen is so sure of himself, so confident in who he is.

“So,” Nathen says. “What are you thinking about?”

Alex sighs. “I don’t know.” After a bit, he says, “Are we, like…I mean—”

“Fags?” Nathen says.

“Shut up,” Alex says, laughing it off, but still jarred by the sound of that word. Besides, he was about to ask if they were boyfriends.

“Well, we
are
fags. And that’s fine by me.” Nathen’s leg pushes into his, and Alex finds himself getting hard again. His head is swimming with so much feeling and so many thoughts and fears, but lurking underneath it all, there are steady waves of relief and happiness. He wishes he could bottle it up and save it.

“You okay?” Nathen asks.

“Yeah,” Alex says, rubbing Nathen’s hip with his right hand.

“You know, we can’t tell anyone about this.”

Alex says, “I know.”

“I mean, it kind of sucks.” Nathen rolls toward him and hovers above him, looking down. He rubs Alex’s chest with his free hand. “It has to be our secret. I mean, if anyone found out—”

“We’d be dead.”

“Well, I don’t know about
dead,
” he says. “But it’s definitely
not cool
down here.”

Alex wants to ask if that is why Nathen is applying to schools in New York and up north, but he doesn’t even want to think about that—the fact that, in August, Nathen will be gone. Instead, they start kissing again and that leads to more of the usual. Before, with girls, Alex got nervous about the idea of sex and messing around, so he never pursued it. It didn’t really light his fire anyway, so he figured he’d be bad at it. But this, with Nathen, doesn’t feel weird—it feels so natural, like he’s picked up a skill he didn’t know he had.

Afterward, they both linger in a state of restlessness. Alex has never slept in a bed with someone else in it, except on vacations when he and James had to share a room or a hotel bed. But this is, obviously, different. He feels too wound up to fall asleep.

“What are you thinking about?” Nathen asks. Once again, he cradles Alex against him.

“Just thinking about how good this feels.”

Nathen squeezes him. “It sure does.”

A few minutes of silence go by. Then Nathen says, “Can I ask you about something?”

“Yes.” He takes a deep breath.

“I mean, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”