Chapter Six

What A Boy Wants

“BREAKING THE GIRL” by Red Hot Chili Peppers played from the speakers poolside as I pulled myself out of the water.

“You think I have what it takes to bring home the gold, Amanda?” I said grabbing a towel, water sliding off my body.

“Yes,” Amanda said, tapping into her tablet. “Your times are excellent.” She stood up from the bench poolside and surveyed my face. “But something is off. Are you getting rest?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you’re an adult. It’s what you do.”

“Elijah, you’re an athlete. Athletes need sleep.”

“I sleep,” I lied. “In my next life maybe,” I teased.

“Get more sleep,” she said. “That’s an order.”

“Fine.”

“Okay,” Amanda said, “you’re doing very well. But I know you’re also training for the 5k and doing Oklahoma! and Aca-Deca. That’s a lot. I thought you were doing less these days?”

“That is less,” I said. “No more tap dancing, band, tile-glazing, underwater basket weaving!”

“You know,” Amanda said, handing me a bottle of water, “doing one event, winning one event, is more than enough. You know that right?”

“Sure, Amanda,” I said, “but why win one when I can win three competitions and star in a musical?”

“Elijah, you’re either an overachiever or have supernatural powers.”

Amanda didn’t know the half of it. She was ordinary. Not clued into my real abilities. Former abilities. No, I was progressing at the Dáu Xhà. I channeled my magic just last night. What a rush to feel it again, the burning heat in my chest as I summoned a mini-candy bar in the air. Before I could eat it, it dissolved.

“Wow!” Barn said. “You did it!”

“Brilliant, mate!” Austin said, leaning over to hug me. I breathed in his smell, citrus and eucalyptus. He smelled like heaven: love and acceptance. I couldn’t fail him. I couldn’t let him down.

I stayed late at the Dáu Xhà learning how to escrimàgo and to aveàtra, or fly into the air to evade monsters.

“You are a quick study,” Máurso boomed, two white cats perched on his shoulders. “I knew you could do it, Delomary. There is Immortal blood in ya!”

I was doing it. I was getting better.

“Are you listening to me?” Amanda said. I snapped to. “You can win, but you need some rest.”

“I’m going to nail the competition, Amanda.” I ignored her order or advice or whatever. I could sleep later. I swaggered to the locker room to take off this ridiculously small bathing suit.

*

CLOUDS FLOATED OVERHEAD, blotting out the moon from time to time. The grass was wet from a deluge earlier. The rain subsided, and the storm trekked east over the Verdugo mountains, leaving in its wake a flotilla of fluffy clouds over the Valley.

“You know this is sacred,” Austin said as we stood at the edge of the bamboo forest growing past the barn and livestock buildings. “Aveàtrimenta, we call it. Flying, yeah?”

“I mean, I flew too, once, Kangy.”

“That’s different, mate. You used spells to fly,” Austin explained. “What we do is innate. We dissolve gravity to move effortlessly up and into the sky.”

Austin pointed to the tops of the bamboo, rustling with the soft breeze. “Aveàtrimenta is what we do to fight monsters.”

“You and Barn are excellent at it.”

“Yeah,” Austin said stretching out his hand. “Come on, let’s do it together”

I stared up at the twenty-foot tall bamboo trees.

“I think I can do ten feet max,” I said. “I mean, I’m a Coaugeláido. That’s what Máurso calls me. The baby Coaugelo.”

“No, love,” Austin said. “You can do it. I know you can.”

I gazed at the bamboo. Daunting. If only I could snap my fingers and fly again. I concentrated. My feet lifted off the ground. I opened my eyes. I sank back onto the grass.

“Kangy,” I said, “maybe we just skip it for now.”

“Eli,” Austin said, “you can do it!”

“I can’t.”

“I believe in you!”

Austin always believed in me. Always.

“Okay.”

I concentrated. My sneakers lifted off the grass. And a second later, I sank back.

“This is hard.”

“Try again!”

I attempted to fly for another twenty minutes. To no avail.

“Let’s give up,” I growled. “I can’t do this.”

“Why are you giving up so easily?” Austin was mad.

“Because I’m a fricking loser!” I was angry. “Don’t you see it?”

Austin shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Shut up, Kangy.”

“No, stop acting this way. Like a morrònigo!”

I was appalled. “I am not garbage!”

“Then prove it!” He folded his arms across his chest.

“Vovo-puxhàredo!” I cussed him out.

“Just focus,” Austin said, “and remember what Máurso taught today—you can bridge my magic. All Coaugelus do it.”

“I…um…I’m not sure…”

“Yes, you can, it’s innate,” Austin said. “It’s the reverse of what Encantreinus do in a battle with monsters. You shield your magic, and we tap into your magic. But in this case, you can tap into my magic to be stronger.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“You don’t trust Ol’ Kangy? You think he lies?” Anger boiled near the surface.

“But Kangy, I mean—” If I do that, then I depend on you to be strong. To be better. To grow and be confident and succeed. Doesn’t that mean I’m less than? Depending on someone else to succeed?

“Come on, mate.” Austin clasped my hand. “Just trust me.”

His hand was firm, warm—no, hot. I concentrated like in the past, how I used to shield my magic from monsters. Only in reverse, I was tapping into Austin’s magic. Energy surged from his fingers into my palm and down my fingertips. My body was charged.

My feet lifted off the grass. Higher and higher. The clouds floated overhead. Moonlight shone down on our faces. The bamboo trees grew closer and closer. And then we were standing softly on the boughs, our shoes touching the tops.

“Kangy!”

“Brilliant, yeah, mate?”

“Wow, we’re standing on bamboo!”

“And you thought you had to have a full arsenal of magic to float again, huh!”

“Well, yeah.”

“But that’s what’s great about this. Us. Magic. No one can take this away from you.”

I could. If I slipped up. The two red dots. The wheezing and panting. Daring me to push on, to…no. Elijah. Relax. Everything is fine. Relax. You won’t fail. Will you?

“Elijah,” Arnulfo had said in session earlier, “just say the words, “I am gay” to yourself as many times a day as you need to.”

“Yeah, why?”

“To help you accept yourself.”

“I do accept—”

Stylo shot me a look.

“Okay, fine.”

“Normalize being gay, Elijah. Normalize drag queens and books about boys in love and being you.”

I am gay. I am gay. The words drifted through my head as I held onto Austin’s hand.

“Okay, now we can run and leap as far as we want!”

“Oh, no,” I said to Austin, “I’m—I’m—scared.”

“Simply hold onto my hand, love,” Austin said. “We’ll do it together.”

“But if we fall?”

“Don’t you know Coaugelus always land on our feet?”

“That can’t be right.”

“Eli,” Austin whispered, “trust me.”

I swallowed my fear. My eyes locked with his. His eyes burned with love and kindness and compassion. And confidence. Austin never had to remind himself to say “I’m gay” while in class or when walking down the street when the insecurity reared its ugly head like a M’mu.

“I trust you.”

In a split second, our shoes lifted off the tops of the bamboo. L’Ocle hooted and orbited overhead. Austin was lifting me higher in the air. “Let me know when you want to run and leap, Eli!”

“No, Kangy, I—I—I’m afraid.”

“Don’t be. Let yourself go, my Eli!”

Austin moved faster. L’Ocle flew above, her black eyes reflecting the silver light of the moon.

My heart struggled to soar, held back by the fear of two red dots, those flaming eyes. And the rasping and wheezing. Then, my heart began to beat wildly in my chest, and my lungs contracted. I let go of Austin’s hand. I fell swiftly toward the bamboo and the damp earth below.

L’Ocle cried out and transformed into a golden eagle, her huge claws reaching for me. Her talons clutched me. She flew up and away from the bamboo forest, the barn, livestock sheds, and the offices of the agricultural team, depositing me on the meadow stretching past the bumblebee garden toward the lake on the north side of the property.

I lay on my back as L’Ocle reverted to being a snow owl, landing on a bough of an aspen tree nearby. Austin floated down toward me. I cried softly.

“Eli,” Austin said, “why are you crying?”

“I messed up.” Frustration reverberated up and down my spine.

“No,” Austin said. “You did great for your first time!”

“I need to do better!”

“Relax, mate. Give it time.”

“I don’t have time.”

“You do,” Austin said soothingly. “Look, you got scared. We all are frightened the first time.”

“What if I’m always terrified?”

“I don’t believe that. You’re strong and powerful. A fighter. My little fighter.”

“Kangy—” I wanted to fall into his arms and never leave them. I wanted to travel back in time to when we were innocent. And I hadn’t learned to hurt him. Me. Us.

“Eli,” Austin said, “I think that’s enough for tonight. You look tired.”

“I’m fine!” I lied. I knew I would go home and get in bed and wake up in a panic at three AM. The red dots would be there. The tendrils of darkness would slide from under the furniture and doorways and pull me away from the light and into the void.

I was running and running as fast as I could away from the abyss. The finish line was in sight. I only had to reach the end, and then I would win, a gold medal hanging from my neck and the safety of knowing I wasn’t at all like that man, the one with spit floating on his beer, my name would be in the online edition of the Daily Camaraderie and trending on social media. And in a split second, I would have leapfrogged all the uncertainty of my young life. Austin and I would be riding bikes together, fifty-five and settled.

Settled.

Safe.

Us.

A shadow crawled up from the ground along with two fucking red dots. I wasn’t going to reach the finish line. I wasn’t going to make it. I knew it.

And the room filled with evil laughter. Mocking me.

“Maybe give up, foolish, Iunio. You know you can’t battle the darkness. The Shimmering is weakness, the Gloom is pure hatred and that malevolance motivates. It is all powerful. You know this. As you sit in your session, begging the world to accept you. That is weakness. Hatred is pure. Accept the power over you. Accept me.”

“You told me to prove I’m not a loser.”

“Maybe you are. I can make everything better. Just submit to me.”

I woke up struggling for air.

I glanced at my phone.

I had a message from Austin.

“You were brilliant, mate.” With two hearts and an emoji of two birds.

I smiled and put my phone back on the charger. I lay back in bed, staring up at the cherubs overhead.

“Love is stronger than hate,” they whispered, as if they too were afraid of the darkness—of the cold truth that maybe love wasn’t stronger than hatred.

*

I STOOD UNDER two large oak trees in Stylo’s backyard while Aunt Dora sipped on a beer and Uncle Ozzie puttered around an old motáuvo, a hover motorcycle the League used when tracking down monsters. He also tricked them out. Ozzie belonged to a circuit of motáuvo enthusiasts nationwide that met up to show off their personalized bikes.

“Okay, Eli,” Stylo called to me from near the back porch, “I want you to run as fast as you can and then launch into the air!”

“Easier said than done,” I said, looking up at the gray roof of the house. I was supposed to leap over the house and land on the front driveway. Ozzie had cast a gramora, so none of the neighbors would see.

“Stop being a mopey-faced fool,” Stylo said. “Too much thinking, not enough doing!”

“I like to think!” I retorted. “You know, so I don’t mess up.”

“It’s fine to mess up. What’s the worst that will happen? You’ll faceplant on our roof, but gravity will deposit you back here on the soft grass.”

“Great,” I said. “I don’t want to break any arms or legs.”

“Pfft,” Stylo said. “You haven’t grown as a Magical until you’ve broken a leg and an arm.”

Dora chuckled, sipping a cup of steaming tea. Old school R&B played from the radio: the Stylistics, the Floaters, the Platters.

“Fine, okay.” I calmed my mind, the warmth in my chest bloomed, and I tore off across the grass. In a split second, my feet lifted off the grass, and I was airborne.

“Wow!” I shouted down to Sylo and Dora and Ozzie as I neared the roof. My feet touched the shingles, and then I realized where I was. The roof shuddered under my feet. I swayed and planted my butt on the roof.

“Good job!” Stylo called to me. I stood, rubbing my rump.

“Ow, that hurt!”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!”

“Quoting Kelly Clarkson?”

After lunch, we watched the Birdcage and Bros.

“Gay movies to make you realize it’s normal, Eli.”

“I’ve seen gay movies.”

“Sad ones? Where gays die at the end because of course they want to see us die?”

“Um, yeah maybe.”

“Yeah, well, these movies aren’t about us dying. They are about us living our best lives!”

Later, we got out our skateboards and rode up Olive Avenue toward the Burbank Town Center.

“So, Eli,” Stylo said as we neared the Olive Avenue Bridge, “bet you’re a little tired, wanna float on your board to the mall?”

“Huh, how?”

“Easy,” Stylo said. “You just squeeze your eyes. Not sure if your man taught you. It’s the quick way to launch your magic. Your feet meld into the board and from there you can float along.”

“No way?”

“Squeeze them eyes, bro.”

A moment later, my board and I hovered a few feet over the concrete.

“This is one hundred percent!”

“Fun, huh?”

We skated over the bridge, then popped into the Burbank Town Museum, featuring an exhibit of drag costumes.

“Gays are everywhere,” Stylo said. “And no matter what they try to do, we can’t be erased. Trust me.”

Afterward, our stomachs growled. We grabbed Chicken-on-a-Stick at the food court and skated around the plaza in front of Dirk Delomary’s department store.

Out of nowhere, Dad showed up, looking wild eyed and acting a little erratic. He smelled of alcohol.

“Hey, kid,” Dad said. “Can I talk to you?”

Stylo stopped doing an airwalk, watching us.

“You okay, Eli?”

Dad glanced over at Stylo.

“That your friend?”

“Yeah,” I said backing away from Dad.

“He’s a little short.”

“He’s a she, Dad.”

“Oh, uh,” Dad said. “Weird.”

“Not weird.”

“Hey, so your Mom came by. To talk. Do you know why?”

I shrugged. Because she hated you? Join the club.

“Yeah, talking all this mess in front of Florence about how I’m a bad influence. How I messed you up.”

“Dad, I mean, let’s leave it alone.”

Stylo walked over. “You okay, Eli?”

“He’s fine!” Dad snapped. “Look Eli,” he said, turning his back to Stylo, “I had some investments go bad. You think you could help?”

“With what?”

“Surely you got some money?”

“I have twenty bucks.”

“Maybe five g’s?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

Dad rubbed his nose with his hand.

“Are you drunk, Dad?”

“No!” Dad said. “I’m on the wagon.”

His breath betrayed his words.

“Look, I gotta go. We have dinner.”

Dad ran his hands across his face. “Jesus, El. Help me out.”

“Naw, Mr. Uh, I don’t know what your name is—” Stylo interrupted. “We gotta go. And you know there are support groups. If you fall off the wagon.”

“Mind your business!” Dad snarled.

“Okay, see you,” I said hopping on my board. We took off up the hill to home.

“Yeah, so your Dad,” Stylo said as we neared the gatehouse.

“That’s him. Sperm donor is what Tory calls him.”

“He didn’t look okay.”

“He has problems.”

“I can tell.”

“I’m just trying to move on with my life, avoid him.”

“Yeah,” Stylo said, “you know you’re nothing like him.”

“I have his DNA.”

“Yeah, but you are a great person, Eli. My hero, remember?”

“Hah. I can’t even fly over your house.”

“Yeah, who can when they are a Coaugeláidu?”

“I’m impatient. I have something to prove.”

“To whom? Your dad?”

I stopped in my tracks.

“Why do you say that?”

Stylo’s eyes scanned my face. “Just wondering.”

“Wonder a little less,” I said. “He’s a joke. A nothing. I’m not like him.”

Sure, a voice whispered inside me.

No.

No.

No.

“Anyway, you can stay for dinner.” I changed the subject. “Selena Gomez is coming over along with Sam Smith and Petra.”

“Oh my fricking goodness, yes, please!”

“We wear tuxes to dinner when celebrities come. Do you have a tux?”

“Like in my back pocket?”

“Mom has extra tuxes if you need to borrow one.”

“Shit,” Stylo said. “Yes, let me clear it with Aunt Dora.”

“Cool. We have a few hours. Want to hit the pool? Maybe a massage after?

“Oh, goodness,” Stylo said, “I love being your friend.”