It’s Saturday afternoon. I’m kicking the curb at Texaco, wondering why Leo hasn’t been in class and watching the chimpanzee in his HELLO, MY NAME IS WILLY jumpsuit lube my father’s Land Rover, when a familiar car pulls into self-serve. Saint’s old white Mercury Cougar. Saint doesn’t acknowledge me, but a second later, a girl in a skirt and a pink T-shirt comes out of the mini-mart and runs to where he’s pumping gas.
“Missed you,” she says.
Saint sets the pump on automatic and musses her hair. Then, he pulls her toward him. “When were we supposed to meet them?”
“An hour ago.”
“Then there’s no time—?”
Her kiss interrupts his question. I feel her soft lips, her fingers in his hair as though his flesh was mine. “They’ll wait,” she says.
The pump snaps off, and he walks her to the passenger door. Her eyes follow him to the driver’s side, meeting mine in the middle. She looks away.
“’Scuse me, man. How you wanna pay for this?” Willy grins and displays an array of changed-out filters. I hand him my father’s Optima card and watch Saint pull away. My neck prickles from the heat, and my head pounds. I sign the slip Willy shoves at me and somehow drive away.
The girl in Saint’s wreck was Caitlin.
My room, ten minutes later
I hate O’Connor. I hate him. Even when we were supposedly friends, he looked for ways to get to me. Being with Cat now is just one more way. I take out my pen—Caitlin’s pen with the teeth marks. Funny. Just holding it makes me feel better. And the fury inside me lessens as I begin to write.
Football practice after school. It was the kind of day when your face feels like something’s about to explode. Not one cloud in the sky, and the turf reflected heat like asphalt. Saint was our side’s quarterback in the scrimmage. Coach Lowery was prepping him to start next year, and I envied his size and gunlike arm. We came from our huddle, and Saint swaggered into position. Dane Ziegler snapped the ball, and I faded left like I was supposed to. Saint ran down the center. The defense bore down. Saint had to pass. He looked right, then left. His eyes locked onto an open receiver. Me. Tom came at Saint like a freight train, and everyone else was covered. There was no defense in sight. I waited for the ball to come spiraling through the blue. It would be a perfect pass. Now, all I had to do was catch it. I was praying, Please, please let me catch it this once. Better yet, don’t pass it to me. I’d rather have had the certainty of not being humiliated than the possibility of greatness. Still, my legs carried me toward the end zone. Across the forty, the thirty-five, the thirty. Saint raised his arm.
He threw it away.
Lowery’s whistle shrilled. Intentional grounding! Ten yard penalty, loss of down! His voice boomed over everything, even my heartbeat. “Shoot, O’Connor, why didn’t you pass to your open receiver?” He jutted a thumb at me.
O’Connor said he hadn’t seen me, and Lowery tore the whistle from his mouth. “Does this look like a pacifier? Was I born yesterday? You was looking right at him, boy!” Lowery’s fists flailed like rudders for his boat-shaped frame. He knew Saint had taken the penalty rather than risk losing possession if I fumbled. My initial relief vanished. I glanced at Tom to see if he was looking. He turned like he hadn’t noticed. God, I’d screwed up without even the chance to screw up. Lowery finished yelling. Practice was over, and I trudged toward the showers.
Lowery’s voice followed me. “And you, Andreas. Push in that lip! Be a man for once in your pathetic life.”
“Yes, sir.” I grinned and moved forward.
Saint walked next to me, smiling. As on the field, he looked me straight in the eye and said, “Sorry, Nick. Didn’t see you.”
Yeah, right.
O’Connor asked me if Caitlin and I were going to Zack’s Thanksgiving weekend. I said I was thinking about it, then slowed to a crawl, until finally he passed. When we got to the locker room, I stripped naked and stepped under the stinging shower spray.
Communal showers are the most bizarre experience in the life of an American male. You’re naked, wet, with twenty other naked guys, any one of whom would take a whiz on your feet soon as look at you. The whole time, you’re trying to stare at anything except the obvious. Impossible, because deep down, you want to look. Just as a frame of reference, you know. I mean, I knew I was one of the smallest guys on the team, but was I also the smallest? Did height equal size? In other words, was I a runt in more ways than one? And could you even get a fair idea in the shower with the warm water gone? No answers here. I was too afraid of the word queer to look.
Tom stepped out, wringing his hair with both hands. He said we needed to talk. I nodded and started to rinse off.
The reason I’d been considering the subject of height equals size was Caitlin. We’d been going further lately, first in the front, then the backseat of the Mustang. I was pushing for the home run, as Tom called it. It would be my first time, and Cat said she was a virgin too. She said she was scared, but I knew I could talk her into it. Zack had invited the group to spend Thanksgiving at his parents’ place in Key West. I’d make my move then. But could I come through when the time came?
I threw a towel around my waist and headed for my locker. Tom waited, naked as Shaquille O’Neal’s head.
The big guy had no qualms about nudity. He stood, staring at the ab “six-pack” he’d worked so hard for. I looked everywhere but down. “Oh Tommy,” I said breathily. “We have to stop meeting like this. Those lips! Those eyes! You’re feeding my latent homosexual desires.”
“More like your inferiority complex, little man.” Tom flexed, then took his clothes from his locker. “Hey, I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”
I said we talked a lot. I saw more of him than his parents did. I winced at his still-naked butt. “Much more.”
“You think you’re funny. Serious, Nick. It’s about Caitlin.”
“You still don’t like her?”
He looked surprised then said, “I like her fine. It’s you, Nick.”
“What’s that mean?”
“You’re acting weird.”
Suddenly, Tom was all into getting dressed. He pulled on his pants and fished in his locker for shoes. A bunch of other people joined us, and I knew he wouldn’t talk now. “Gotta go,” I said. “I’m meeting Caitlin by the chorus room.”
Tom’s voice stopped me. “Well, that explains that.”
“What explains what?”
“This is the first practice in two weeks she didn’t text you at three-fifteen. It’s like she’s got a curfew and she’s reporting in. Today, she had rehearsal, so you knew where she was.”
“Yeah, Tom. Kmart was fresh out of chastity belts.”
“It’s not funny, Nick, and I’m not the only one who’s noticed.”
I headed for the door. My clothes felt heavy with wet heat. Saint stood talking to Dane. As I passed, I heard Saint whisper, “He always takes everything so damn personal.”
Tom followed me out. “Would you wait? I don’t want to get on your case. God, you’re my best friend, but you’re not acting normal. I mean, that was rotten, throwing her necklace out the window. You call her names too, probably don’t know you’re doing it, but it’s cruel.”
“I’m cruel, now? You think I beat her up or something?”
“I didn’t say…” Tom kicked a stray asphalt pebble. “You don’t, do you?” I glared at him until he added, “Nah, I know you don’t. But you should act nicer to her.”
A crowd headed toward the activities bus. Some were from chorus, but Caitlin wasn’t there. Where was she? And with whom? I’d said I’d pick her up, but she should have come out. I turned to Tom.
“Guess we should be like you and Liana?” I said. “What a symbiotic relationship that is. When you have to piss, Liana unzips her pants.”
Tom shook his head. “Forget it,” he said. “I’ll take the bus. You go find your girlfriend.”
He jogged toward the chorus group and, in a second, he was one with the crowd.