What They Always Tell Us (18 page)

“What?” he asks, a slight twinge of dread rising in his belly.

“About, you know, Marty Miller’s party and what you did.”

Normally, it is a subject Alex wants to avoid. But now, he feels a sense of relief that Nathen has brought it up. “What do you want to know?”

“You sure you’re okay with it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, I guess…Well, mainly I want to know why you did it.”

Of course,
Alex thinks. Everyone wants to know why. So in the dark, Alex tries to explain it. It is the same story he has told Dr. Richardson countless times.

“I guess it was March or April of last year?” Alex says. “I don’t know. Tyler and Kirk started acting weird. Or maybe it was me acting weird. But they looked at me like I was some freak or something. Something changed between us.”

At home, he explains, he’d look in the mirror, trying to figure out what it was that his friends and all the other people at school saw when they looked at him—he looked the same, didn’t he? It was like they sensed something in Alex that he himself couldn’t recognize. Something they should avoid. Like he had some contagious disease.

He tells Nathen that he hadn’t seen much of his friends that entire summer—Tyler went away to tennis camp for a month, Lang had traveled through Europe with her older sister, and Beth and Kirk both took summer jobs. “I’m too tired, man,” Kirk would say whenever Alex called. Alex also left messages for Beth, but she never even called back. When Tyler got home from camp, he always seemed to have some excuse to avoid hanging out with Alex, too.

“So what happened when school started?” Nathen asks.

“I guess I thought maybe things would go back to the way they had been. But it didn’t work out that way. From the very first day of school, things were off. Just like they were in the spring.”

The night of the party, Alex remembers that all his friends ignored whatever he said, how Kirk had told him that his taste in music sucked, how Tyler kept giving him sidelong annoyed glances. Alex drank a rum and Coke that he’d mixed himself. He drank it fast and felt light-headed but in control, the alcohol suppressing the unease he felt.

“So, Alex,” Tyler had said that night. “You lose your virginity this summer?” Then everyone started laughing.

Alex had smiled and laughed, too. “Very funny.”

“What the fuck
did
you do all summer?” Tyler asked.

“Mowed yards and stuff,” he said. Which was true. He also read books, but more often than not, he never finished any, his interest lagging midway through. He raised his cup and realized it was empty. Kirk had the flask. “Can I have some more?” Alex asked.

Kirk rolled his eyes and dumped a little more into his cup. Alex drank it down in one gulp.

“You’re so weird,” Lang said, laughing.

Then they went back to acting like he wasn’t there. At times, Beth hooked her finger into Kirk’s belt loop and took puffs from his cigarette, like they were a couple. Lang talked about the French or German boys who had hit on her. Tyler mentioned some girl at his camp, how she was such a slut.

“Tell me you fucked her,” Kirk said.

“Kirk, that’s gross,” Beth said, but she smiled like she didn’t really mind.

“I never fuck and tell,” Tyler said.

Listening, holding his empty cup, Alex felt confused, out of place. It was as if he were with a group of strangers. Or, if not strangers, people whose lives now had little to do with his. “Only a few months had gone by, but in a way it felt like years had passed,” Alex explains.

“And then you went to the party?” Nathen asks.

“Yeah. Then we went to the party.” He remembers being in that bathroom, feeling a tremendous ache. It was an ache that had spread through his body that summer, growing and growing. It was an ache of emptiness. Something was missing. Something that other people seemed to have without even realizing they had it. Alex couldn’t bear the future if it meant living with this feeling, day in and day out. He didn’t think the ache would ever go away. But it did, of course. Alex breathes out, like he has just run a sprint. “It was a mistake,” Alex says. And he believes this. “A stupid mistake.”

A long silence takes over, as if Nathen is just processing what Alex has said. Finally he says, “Thanks for telling me.”

“Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Of course not.”

Alex pulls himself more tightly against Nathen. He could say so much right now, but instead he closes his eyes and tries to relish this bizarre contentment. This relief.

“You know you can talk to me, if you need to,” Nathen says. “Always.”

Alex nods in the dark and says, “I know.”

Soon, he can hear Nathen’s breathing, slight little snores. But Alex refuses to let sleep take him. He wants to stay awake, he wants to drink in every last moment of their first night together.

James

G
reer and Preston get their acceptance letters to the University of Alabama in the middle of February, and they waste no time announcing it to the world.

“This is the best fucking Valentine I could have gotten!” Preston exclaims at lunch, because it’s the Friday after Valentine’s Day and all four of them—James, Nathen, Greer, and Preston—are dateless wonders. But that’s okay, because there is a big party tonight, for couples and noncouples alike. A sort of anti–Valentine’s Day party.

“You’re looking at two Bama freshmen,” Greer says, giving Preston a high five.

Big deal,
James thinks. So what if he and Preston got into Alabama? It’s not like there was any doubt that they would. Anyone can get in there, especially anyone whose parents are rich alumni. All the Alabama-bound kids—and there are a lot of them at Central—are getting the acceptance news. Over half the senior class seems to be in a state of euphoric relaxation, and the other half is sitting on pins and needles.

“Must feel great,” Nathen says. “Knowing where you’ll be going this fall.” Like James, Nathen has yet to hear from the schools he applied to, like NYU and Columbia.

“It sure does,” Greer says, smiling and then flashing a mouthful of half-eaten hamburger.

“Sick,” James says. He picks at a half-eaten roll, which is doughy and sweet. The cafeteria is crowded and noisy and smells like burned meat.

“So no news from Duke yet, man?” Preston asks.

He shakes his head and drains the rest of his orange juice. “Not yet. They don’t let you know till early April.”

“Well, my man,” Preston says, patting him on the back, “there’s always Bama.”

“Yeah, what more do you want? Beautiful campus, great football team, hot sorority girls!” Greer says. He and Preston laugh.

Nathen smirks and looks over at James, as if in commiseration.

“You two boys can go get your fancy-pants degrees at some private school,” Greer says. “I’ll think of you when I’m banging a Tri Delt after a football game at the KA house.”

James laughs, and both Preston and Greer laugh, too, thinking that James is laughing with them. But really, he’s laughing at them. Is that really all college means to them? Football, frats, and sorority girls?

Nathen shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “You guys are pathetic,” he says, though he, too, manages to laugh.

“So, Nathen, are you coming to the party tonight or are you gonna pussy out on us again?” Preston asks, switching gears.

“I’ll be there. But I can’t drink much. Our first meet will be here before I know it, so I have to be good.”

“Sucks for you,” Greer says.

Tennis season starts soon, too, but that won’t stop James from drinking a little. Still, James isn’t really looking forward to tonight. Parties, parties, parties—they are all starting to seem the same. All the same old faces, the same old antics, the same old conversations, the same old cliques. Sometimes it feels like everyone is gathered on a dock, surrounded by glassy dark water, while James is tethered to the side in a little rowboat, and the rope holding him there is slipping away. Soon the boat is loose and the dock and the people on it become minuscule dots in the distance, and James is floating in the vast body of water, all alone.

“Earth to James,” Preston says.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you need a ride tonight?” he says.

“Oh. No, not tonight. Nate and I are going in his car, since he’s not drinking.” He looks over at Nathen, who is smiling to himself. It’s a look James has seen on Nathen’s face a lot lately. The smile of someone at ease with himself, the smile of someone who looks unreasonably happy. Lately he’s asked him, “What are you smiling for?” But all Nathen says is, “Can’t someone smile?”

The Valentine’s party is in a huge subdivision on the other side of town, at Jay Atkinson’s house. Jay’s a football player, a big guy with curly honey-brown hair, someone all the girls have swooned over at one time. Despite that, James thinks he’s a good guy, and surprisingly smart for a football player. He’s also the type of person that most everyone at school likes, so the party will probably draw a big crowd from all social circles.

Nathen drives, weaving his Jeep through the wide streets and up and down gently sloping hills.

“Are we lost?” James asks.

“No. Jay’s house is all the way at the back of the neighborhood.”

“God, it’s like a small city here.”

The houses are diverse but unremarkable—some two-story, some split-level, some modern, some colonial, with well-tended yards and two-car garages. As they get closer, they see a horde of cars lining the street. Groups of people amble toward the brightly lit house, a beacon in all this suburban darkness. Behind this stretch of houses, James can see a thick forest of pine trees that looms over the houses like a forbidding curtain. Nathen parks behind a Honda, and the two of them make their way inside.

A lot of people are gathered on the back patio, where the kegs are, and the rest are jammed into the hallways and the living room. Jay, the host, is crowded in the kitchen with a lot of other football players, black and white guys who look older than everyone else because they’re so oversized. They’re all smiling big and laughing, basking in the glow of their athletic celebrity. Out back, Nathen and James see Preston and Greer and a few others standing around smoking cigarettes as if that will keep them warm. A bitter wind weaves through the forest behind the house, shooting spurts of coldness onto them.

“I’m gonna get a beer. You want one?” James asks.

“None for me, remember?” Nathen says. He heads over to the guys, leaving James waiting in line with an empty red Dixie cup. James scans the crowd as he waits, and he recognizes most of the people. Even though he is tired of such parties, there is a slight comfort in all this familiarity. He feels a tap on his shoulder and turns.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Clare says, smiling. She’s bundled up in her coat and a maroon scarf. Suzy is with her, as well as a few of her other girlfriends—Meg and Stephanie and Melody, all with sour expressions on their faces.

“You too,” he says. He glances around. “I guess no one really has dates.”

“Yeah, well, dates are overrated,” she says.

George, his teammate, is manning the tap on the keg when they get up to it. “Hey, man! Good to see you here,” he says, sounding drunk and exuberant.

“Fill ’er up,” James says, holding out his cup. He takes Clare’s cup for her and has George fill it first.

“What a gentleman,” she says.

He shrugs and smiles. They move away from the keg and sip the cheap beer. Nathen and the boys are standing off the patio in the brittle grass, talking among themselves.

“You heard from any schools yet?” Clare asks.

“Not yet. Have you?”

“Well, I got into Alabama. But I just applied there for safety’s sake.”

“I didn’t even bother.”

“I should hear from Davidson next month, and Vandy. And Tulane. It’s kind of stressful, all the waiting.”

“Tell me about it.” He suddenly remembers sophomore year, when he and Clare dated. That Valentine’s Day they had watched a movie at her house, had pizza, made out, traded stupid gifts. It seems so long ago, especially as they stand here now, a few months from graduating.

James hears someone shouting his name. He glances over and sees Greer motioning for him, seeming impatient. “Well, I better go join the boys.”

“Okay. See you later,” Clare says.

He joins the guys, who are egging Nathen on to go talk to some girl. “See that chick? That junior? See her?” Preston says, pointing with his cup to a girl with short reddish blond hair and wearing a pink sweater and jean jacket. “She’s been making eyes at Nate ever since you guys got here. But he won’t go talk to her.”

James recognizes her as a soccer player. Brittany? Brenda? Short and cute, but maybe too goody-goody and fresh-faced to be all that hot.

“Dude, I told you I’m not interested,” Nathen says.

Lots of girls have had crushes on Nathen, but as far as James can remember, Nathen hasn’t had crushes on any of them. He talked about this one girl he had a summer fling with a few years back, at a math camp, of all places. And sure, he’s made out with girls at parties and gone on a few dates, taken girls to homecoming dances and prom and stuff like that. But he’s never had a serious girlfriend. And so what? James thinks. They’re nothing but pains in the ass anyway. Nathen is smart, smarter than the rest of them.

“Just go talk to her, man. She clearly wants your jock,” Greer says.

“Leave him alone,” James says.

“I gotta go pee anyway,” Nathen says, then beelines for the backdoor of the house, disappearing inside.

“What’s up
his
butt?” Greer says.

“Maybe he isn’t interested in that girl. Just leave it alone.”

“Yeah, well, it’s weird,” Greer says.

“What is?”

“All these chicks are hot for him and he just, like, brushes them off. All the time. I mean, he could have more pussy than even me.” Greer laughs.

“Maybe he does and he just doesn’t brag about it all the time like you do,” James says.

“Whatever.” Greer chugs the rest of his beer, and even in the dim light of the back porch area James can see that his eyes are ragged and red and glassy. He is drunk, and sometimes he can be one of those mean drunks.

“Hey,” Greer says, starting to smile, as if some bright idea just occurred to him. He sort of snorts and then he sucks on his cigarette and blows it in their faces. “What if Nathen is a fag?”

“Shut up, Greer,” James says, fighting back a cough.

“Hey, he may be a pussy about chicks, but no
way
he’s a fag,” Preston says, looking directly at Greer.

Right then, Clare, Suzy, and George walk over with their cups of beer. “Hey, guys,” George says. “So, who’s not a fag?” he asks, smiling.

“What?” Clare says.

“No one’s a fag,” James says.

“Except maybe Nathen,” Greer says, letting out another snorty laugh.

“Nathen?” Clare asks. “Our Nathen?” she says, like they all lay claim to him.

James looks toward the house, nervous that Nathen will come back and find himself in the middle of this awkward conversation. But luckily there’s still no sign of him. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Preston says, “Hey, Greer said it, not me. I don’t think he’s a homo.”

James glances at Clare, who looks back at him with annoyance in her eyes.

Greer is smiling big, like he’s the funniest guy in the world. “Well, it would sure explain a few things.”

“Shut up, Greer. Before he comes back,” Clare says.

“Yeah,” Suzy says.

“Explain what things?” James asks.

Greer smiles and runs a hand through his hair. “Well, for one thing it might explain why he and your little brother are such good buddies.”

Everyone’s quiet a second, as if they’ve all been slapped in the face and don’t know how to react.

James feels his heart pounding, his face burning with rage. He feels a hand on his elbow, a gentle touch anticipating restraint, but it’s too late, because before he knows it his fist has flung out and hit Greer smack on the cheek. And then again. Two quick punches.

“
Fuck,
man!” Greer says, stumbling back and shielding his face before James’s next assault.

“Stop, James!” he hears Clare shout, but mostly everyone has grown quiet. He’s about to punch again when two sets of arms pull him back.

“Easy, buddy,” Preston says. He resists their arms at first, but when he sees that Greer is on his knees in the grass, touching his face pathetically, he eases up and shrugs himself away.

“I’m cool,” James says, walking off to the side, away from everyone.

He breathes heavily. As shafts of wind hit his face, he almost feels like he is frozen. He’s certain that he has drawn the attention of the entire backyard crowd. It is Clare who eventually pats him on the shoulder. “Come with me,” she says, leading him away, back inside. That’s where he sees Nathen, on the couch talking with a few of his cross-country teammates, drinking a Coke and smiling obliviously.

Clare leads him to the front of the house. “You okay?” she asks when they reach the front foyer, which is empty and quieter.

“I can’t believe that fucker.”

“Let it go,” she says. “He’s just a drunk idiot.”

“Don’t tell Nathen,” he says. “Okay? Promise?”

“Okay, James.
Okay,
” she says, so calmly. “I have my car. I can drive you home, if you want?”

“I came with Nathen.”

“I’ll tell him you feel sick. Just stay here. Hold on, okay?”

The funny thing is, he does feel sick. Or not sick as much as nervous, on edge, his head buzzing. He closes his eyes for a bit, and when he opens them he sees Clare coming back. Nathen is following her, looking worried, that calm smile gone from his face.

“You okay, buddy?” he says.

“Yeah. Yeah. I just don’t feel well.”

“You already had too much to drink?” he says, sounding baffled and amused.

“I don’t know.”

“Listen, Nathen, I’m gonna drive him home,” Clare says.

“You sure?” he asks both of them, his eyes darting from face to face, unaware of what Greer said outside. Ugly lies, stupid insults.