IT’S ONLY a matter of time. I know this Trent kid is hot about something when I keep scoring on him in basketball. He says it’s because I’m such a fucking fairy I’m able to fly in my layups. I tell him I hope he’s better at football, because he fucking sucks at basketball. Coach Gebhardt tells us to play nice. Despite Lowry’s No Bullying policy, the faculty sure does let a lot of shitty behavior go by.
“Nice shot,” Berlin says to me after a sweet little hook shot.
“Thanks.” His eyes linger on mine, and I think maybe he’s feeling me in a gaytastic way, when Trent comes up and knocks my shoulder, hard.
“Watch it,” Trent says, like it’s my fault he ran into me, and throws the ball to Berlin harder than necessary. Berlin doesn’t talk or look at me for the rest of the game.
After class, I’m getting ready to shower when someone comes up from behind and slams me into the lockers. I catch myself just in time. My palms smack against the cold metal and save my nose from being smashed. My mother loves my face. She’d be beside herself if anyone messed it up.
I spin around to find Trent and his groupies staring me down. A whole mountain range of assholes. Berlin isn’t with them.
“Let’s see what moves you got now, you fucking faggot,” Trent says. His henchmen close in on either side, trying to look intimidating. It’s working. My heart rate spikes and I can hear it throbbing in my ears. I imagine I’m trapped in some low-budget PSA about school bullying. It helps me get on top of the fear.
I drop my shirt on the bench between us and square my shoulders, thinking maybe I can reason with him. “Why don’t we try transcending stereotypes, Trent? You can do better than the small-minded, homophobic jock, can’t you?”
“You like to suck dick, faggot?” he asks.
I’m guessing that’s a no.
“Not as much as your mom,” I answer back because I clearly know how to take the high road.
Trent shoves me again, hard enough that the back of my head bangs against the metal locker, rattling my brains and causing me to bite down on my tongue. I taste the coppery tang of my blood. Hello, old friend.
The masochist in me wants Trent to hit me. Ever since I overdosed and then painfully and some days regrettably got off painkillers, I’ve felt so little that even a good punch in the face seems like a welcome change. And maybe too I want Trent to confirm exactly who he is.
I recognize the primal desire in Trent’s eyes. To wound, maybe even kill. Seth has it too. They get off on the thrill of beating someone else into submission. Domination.
“You know what we do to faggots around here?” Trent says.
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know what you do to the goats.”
Trent swings, and I turn to take it on the side of my face. My bottom jaw feels like it popped out of place and my lower lip is on fire. I taste more blood. A surge of adrenaline rolls through me, heightening my senses. Turning me on. Like a maniac, I grin.
“You like that?” Trent seems bewildered and maybe a little disturbed I’m not trembling in the corner. I didn’t even try to block his blow, though I probably could have.
“You hit like a girl,” I say, spitting blood on his T-shirt. Like a girl boxer on steroids, I should add.
At that same moment, Berlin enters the locker room, still wet from the shower, bare chested, with a towel around his waist. A new kind of arousal takes hold of me. He’s built like a gladiator, all muscle and athletic grace, but not too beefy like some of the other guys on the team. Curly blond hair and blue-gray eyes. Ben-Hur. That’s how I imagine him during my me time.
His eyes lock on mine, and he looks like he’s going to shit his pants, if he was wearing any.
“Trent, man, what the fuck?” he says.
Trent turns, and I know Berlin is going to blow his cover. I heard he broke up with his girlfriend over the weekend, though I try not to read into it. I’m a little ashamed I let an asshat like Trent hit me just to feel something. How messed up is that?
I rush Trent and grab his right hand, his throwing arm, and give him a jiujitsu handshake. He cries out and goes up on his toes to alleviate the pressure I’m putting on his arm. With one blow I could break it and ruin his football career forever.
Lucky for him I’m not that kind of person.
“Listen to me, fucktard,” I say quietly, because this message is for his ears only. “I’m a faggot and you’re a homophobic prick, and while you may feel it’s your God-given duty to beat the gay out of me, I can assure you, it won’t work. Touch me again and I’ll break this arm before you can say the word touchdown. You feel me?”
The look in his eyes is lethal, but I know he’s in extreme pain. I apply a bit more pressure and he gasps, the muscles in his neck straining, the vein in his neck popping out. He swallows tightly, then nods. I release him, giving him a little extra shove at the end so he’ll stumble backward. Him falling on his ass is accidental, but it’s definitely the best part of my day.
Trent groans, still holding his arm, and I turn away. If he comes at me again, he’ll have to kill me. I grab my clothes and head for the showers, glancing at Berlin as I pass as if to tell him his secret is safe with me.
With a friend like Trent, it seems Berlin is the one in need of protection.