KEVIN
I WAS angry, I said to Peter. Like, all the time. I had no real friends. My mom was gone. She left the second Dad got out of jail. I think she was counting time out here just like he was in there. He got home, and she took off. Couldn’t wait to get rid of a shitty kid like me. That was when I was nine.
Anyway, I only had Dad, and I still didn’t know him very well. He wouldn’t understand anything. Besides, I was pissed at him. Pissed at him for going to jail, pissed at him for not being around, pissed at him for making Mom go away.
What? No, I have no idea if he really made her go or not. I was just pissed. Some other shit was bugging me too, but I didn’t want to think about any of it, so I went out and made friends with some extreme east-siders, guys I knew Dad would hate. They were a little older than me—I was fifteen—and they did some wild shit. Broken bottles and crystal meth lightbulbs in abandoned single-wides was just the start of it. I drank and stole, yeah, but at least I wasn’t stupid enough to try the meth. Oh hell, that’s not true. I was too scared to go through with it, though I pretended I was hitting it.
Then, over spring break, Hank—he was kind of the leader—said it was time for a real bash. I… I liked Hank. A lot. I also hated that I liked him so much. It was another reason to be pissed off so much. It wasn’t just Hank who gave me those kind of feelings. It was… well, you know how it goes.
Hank’s bashes turned out to be a lot of fun. We picked a west-side neighborhood, grabbed up baseball bats or rocks or chains or whatever else we could find, and bashed stuff after dark. It felt good, like I was part of a strong and powerful group.
First it was mailboxes. We smashed ’em. Then it was cars. We bashed a bunch of those. The next step was easy. Hell, it was even logical. I mean, you go out after dark when there’s been a lot of gang activity, and what do you expect, right?
So yeah—this kid was outside on the street. Only we decided it was our street, at least until the cops showed up and we scattered. Hank saw him first, but we all caught on fast. The kid was maybe a year younger than me. He had brown hair, like me, and these really big eyes. He looked like a baby bird.
I don’t really remember everything that came next. It seemed like the kid didn’t even try to run when we surrounded him. I do remember thinking my baseball bat was really heavy, and tiny bits of glass stuck in the wood glittered like diamond dust. The kid was so scared, he was panting.
We were all waiting for someone else to start. It was weird, but no one really wanted to go first.
Then Hank said, “Hit him, Kev! Cream the little faggot!”
I was holding my bat high, ready to hit a home run. This kid was rich and had everything I didn’t. And Hank, tall and handsome and strong, was telling me to do it. And I was pissed.
Hank shouted, “What are you waiting for? Do it!”
The kid put his hands up to his head. I won’t lie. I wanted to do it. But I couldn’t quite make myself.
Hank said, “He wants to suck your cock.”
Something in that sent me over the edge. I swung my bat and hit the kid in the arm. He screamed. The gang laughed, and they swung too. Chains and rocks and hands and feet. I couldn’t stop. I was hitting everything that made me angry, everything I hated.
Everything that was me.
That was when the cop cars showed up, with lights that slashed the dark like blue knives. Everyone scattered, but one cop took me down in a football tackle and got me in handcuffs so fast I didn’t even have time to understand what was happening. I’ll never forget the awful, sad look on my dad’s face when he came down to the station to get me. I wanted to flush myself down the toilet.
The kid almost died. He was in the hospital for three weeks. He was released the day I got sentenced. Because I had a clean record, the judge gave me two years’ probation instead of jail. She said I couldn’t see or talk to any of the people I used to hang out with. If I see them or get into any other kind of trouble, I go straight to juvie.
She also gave me a picture of the kid I beat up. It’s this one here.
“His name is Robbie Hunter,” the judge said. “He’s fourteen. He has an older sister and a younger brother. He likes reading and playing video games. He loves woodworking and built his little brother a treehouse last summer.”
Every word beat me black and blue. I couldn’t speak or think. All I could do was stand there with my head hanging down. If she had swung an axe to chop it off, I wouldn’t have stopped her.
“You beat up a person, Kevin. A person with hopes and feelings and a family who was terrified he would die. You aren’t allowed to forget that.” And she hit her desk with that hammer thing.
What? No, I’ve never talked to Robbie. But I keep him on my nightstand and knock the frame three times before I go to sleep so he knows I haven’t forgotten him.
So no… he’s not my first boyfriend. Or maybe, in a weird way, he is.
MY HANDS were twisting in my lap like a nest of spiders. It was the first time I’d ever said any of this stuff out loud, and it was both easier and harder than I thought. I was sweating a little and was glad for the box fan churning damp air in from outside. The rain had slowed to a trickle.
Peter was still sitting next to me on the couch. I faced forward; he faced sideways. “I don’t know what to say,” he told me.
I shrugged. More words swarmed inside me. I didn’t want to let them out, but I was already leaking. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, I feel like I should have something profound to say, but I can’t think of—”
“I deserved it,” I said.
There. The last of the words were out. All of a sudden, I wanted to take them back. My chin trembled, and I worked my jaw.
“What?” Peter asked.
My mouth moved by itself. “That thing in the park. I deserved it.”
Peter put his arms around me then, though I didn’t move. “That’s not true, Kevin. Absolutely not.”
“Yes, it is.” The words rushed around, faster and faster, trapped in the circle of Peter’s arms. “I beat up Robbie Hunter, and then that guy… attacked me. I’m being punished, and I deserve it.”
“The universe doesn’t work that way, Kev.” Peter’s voice was soft. “No one’s trying to punish you.”
“Yeah, whatever.” It was nice to hear, but I didn’t believe it. Why else would it have happened? Shit, because of what I’d done to Robbie, I’d gotten involved in the theater program, and that put me in the park that night so Les could attack me. It was all so obvious.
Peter leaned in closer and pecked me on the cheek. I was too wrapped up in inner blackness to respond. He pulled back a little. “Six?” he said hopefully.
Okay. That made me smile. A little.
The front door banged open. Peter jerked away from me. I nearly smacked the ceiling as Dad stomped into the trailer. His hair was tousled, his work shirt and jeans filthy, his boots muddy. And he was wet.
“I’m home!” he shouted. “Whose car is that in the driveway?”
“Dad!” I bolted to my feet. “Hi! How was work? Are you hungry? Boy, you must be tired! I could make you a sandwich!” I almost ran the five steps to the kitchen. “Put up lots of drywall? You look like you’ve been slaving pretty hard! Are you working tomorrow too?”
Dad set down his lunch bucket. His eyes were narrowed. “What are you up to, Kevin?”
“Me?” I answered too loudly. I couldn’t seem to help myself. “I’m not up to anything. Why would I be up to anything?”
“The only time you babble is when I’ve caught you at something.” He jerked a thumb at Peter. “Who’s your friend? Is he involved? That his car out front?”
I had out bread and a knife and no idea what to do with either one. “Uh….”
“Hi, Mr. Devereaux.” Peter got to his feet, elegant and smooth, and held out his hand. “I’m Peter Finn. Kevin and I are in the play together. We got out of rehearsal early today, so I gave him a ride home.”
They shook hands. A too-wide grin had plastered itself across my face, and I reined it in. If Dad suspected anything….
“I see. Nice to meet you, Peter.” Dad dropped his hand and looked at him. “Is that Kevin’s shirt you’re wearing?”
My heart collapsed like a dead balloon.
“Yeah.” Peter slid his hands into his back pockets and smiled that perfectly charming smile, the one that could stop a charging jaguar. “I fell and got soaked through when we ran in from the car, so Kevin loaned me some stuff. We hung my clothes in the bathroom. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure, that’s fine. Glad Kevin has a friend.” The last bits of suspicion fell away from Dad’s face, and I thought I might faint with relief. “I’m ordering pizza for supper. You can stay if you want.”
“No, thanks. I should get home. Is it still raining?”
“Not as hard.” Dad was rummaging around one of the end tables where we kept takeout menus. I shoved the sandwich bread aside—pizza!—and snagged the umbrella from the little closet near the front door.
“I’ll walk you to your car so you don’t get wet this time,” I said.
“Thanks,” said polite, charming Peter.
“Nice meeting you, Peter,” Dad called as we walked out. “You’re always welcome.”
We huddled under the too-small umbrella and avoided puddles out to Peter’s blue Mustang. Rain drummed on the cloth above our heads. His hand and mine held the handle together, and I suddenly wanted to keep on walking down the driveway, onto the road, and into forever with him.
“Thanks for coming over, Peter,” I said as he opened the door. “I… I feel kinda better.” And it was true.
“I’m glad.” An odd look came over his face. “Look, Kev, I wanted to tell you….”
“Tell me?” Our hands were still on the umbrella handle. “Tell me what?”
He broke away and dropped into the driver’s seat. “Never mind. I gotta go. Earnest forever!”
I waved as he drove away, wondering what he had wanted to say but not wanting to think too hard about it.
Dad was on the couch, pulling off his work boots, when I came inside. “Pizza’s on the way, kiddo. They paid me pretty good, even for a short day.”
“Cool. I’m suddenly starving.” I put the umbrella away and headed toward my room.
“So what is Peter to you really?” Dad asked.
The whole world stopped. For a moment I couldn’t move. Oh shit. Had he seen something? What did he know?
“What do you mean?” I forced a casual note into my voice. Algy would have been proud.
“You haven’t had a friend over since… since before court.” He unlaced his other boot. “He a good friend?”
Oh. Jesus. It was okay. Probably. The ice was still thin, though. Dad wasn’t looking directly at me, and that meant he was keeping things too casual. “Sort of. I mean, we have a lot of scenes together in the play, and he’s pretty cool.”
“He has a car. And he’s a couple-three years older than you.”
“Sure, but we get along.” I needed to change the subject, and fast. “You gonna take a shower before the pizza gets here? Drywall dust doesn’t mix with mozzarella.”
Dad stretched and headed for the bathroom. “Yeah, I better.”
I let out a relieved sigh when he got out of sight and then almost hit the ceiling yet again when he shouted, “Kevin!”
A shirt and a pair of shorts flew through the air and fwapped on my head. “Your friend left these in here.”
I restarted my heart, then took Robbie’s picture and Peter’s clothes into my room while the shower hissed in the bathroom. Robbie’s picture went onto the nightstand, and Peter’s clothes went onto my bed—old boyfriend, new boyfriend. I sat cross-legged and crumpled Peter’s damp T-shirt to my face. It still smelled like him. I lay back on my bed, and for a moment I forgot about Robbie and Les and was back on the couch with Peter’s arms around me.