Chapter Eleven
It was a tribute to how glad he was to be with Alex that the dining hall looked so welcoming to Brandon. He hadn’t eaten here since last year, but as soon as he stepped inside, memories of his freshman year came flooding back. The walls were painted purple and red, the tables were covered in crumbs and crumpled napkins, and the smell of chicken soup hung in the air.
Alex gave his ID to the attendant to swipe. “And, um, two swipes, please. One for my friend.”
My friend.
Brandon had no idea if they were friends or boyfriends or what. He just knew he wanted to spend as much time with Alex as possible.
“Someone said the pasta bar is new this year.” Alex pointed.
“Oh.” Brandon watched a student ladle sauce onto a mountain of spaghetti. “Yeah, they didn’t have that last year.”
“Don’t forget your tray.” Alex moved to hand Brandon one and knocked most of the stack over. “Sorry. Crap. Sorry!” he said to the attendant. She waved it off and came over to help pick the trays up.
They both got pasta and some weird pudding things from the dessert buffet. Then they found the cleanest table and sat.
“So practice sucked,” Alex said.
Brandon burst out laughing. “I know! It’s weird how everyone’s so worked up over this competition. But I guess the regional prize is a couple thousand dollars. So, you know. That could buy Phi Sig some new furniture and a Risk: Onyx Edition.”
It was still early enough that the hall wasn’t very full, but they stayed there talking for so long that the dinner rush came and went. They talked about school, their hometowns, their families. Brandon was particularly interested in the Hawaiian side of Alex’s family, whom Alex described as “nosy but awesome.”
“I kind of want to go to Hawaii,” Brandon said. “I know that’s what everyone says. But I don’t mean dream vacation so much as like, looking at the economics of their agricultural system.” He stabbed a piece of pasta, suddenly embarrassed. “Sorry. Okay. I’m such a nerd.”
“Well, look who you’re talking to.”
Brandon was amazed at how comfortable he felt with Alex. Like nothing he said was too stupid or pointless to share. Alex told some long, hard-to-follow story about his former boss at a food truck where he’d worked summers, and Brandon found himself just watching the way Alex’s lips moved, the way the light hit his eyes.
They stayed until there was almost no one left, until it was dark outside and they’d each had three sodas apiece. “Want to take a walk?” Alex asked.
They went to the statue of Wolford Prescott. Mark had commented numerous times that this was a very atmospheric place for a date. Wolford, with his blank eyes and tricorn hat and muscular, bobtailed horse, looked out over the quad, his sword held at his side. Brandon sat beside the statue’s base, and Alex sat beside him. Their conversation, which had been lively and fun in the dining hall, grew more serious. Alex admitted he got homesick a lot, and Brandon confessed he had no idea what to do with an economics degree. The night was a little chilly, but Brandon hardly noticed. He watched students go up and down the front steps of the library and wondered how many more nights he would have like this. How had he not realized how fucking starved he’d been for someone like Alex?
“I get nervous about the future a lot,” he heard himself say. “It’s like, there are so many years to fill, and I don’t know if I’m passionate enough about economics or—or anything. You know? What am I going to do with all this time?”
He felt Alex looking at him, and he hugged his knees tighter to his chest. “You’ll find lots of things to do,” Alex said softly. “Mark’s right. You’re amazing.”
A pang went through Brandon. I don’t know. I don’t know if I’m anything much.
Brandon tensed as Alex put a hand on his back. Slowly, Alex moved his fingertips up and down between Brandon’s shoulder blades. Brandon tried to breathe.
Alex laughed. “Relax! I’m not going to machete you or anything.”
“Sorry. I’m just not used to doing this.”
“Doing what? Talking beside a weird statue? Or this?” Alex moved his hand up Brandon’s back. Then he paused to tuck the tag back into Brandon’s T-shirt.
“Touching? I don’t know.” Brandon rested his chin on his knees, and Alex’s hand swept his whole back, moving closer to his ass. Brandon flinched a little then relaxed. “Feels good,” he murmured.
“Good,” Alex whispered.
Brandon closed his eyes. Could still see on the insides of his lids the pattern of the lights lining the quad. He felt Alex lean closer.
“Can I kiss you?”
Brandon smiled. Opened his eyes and turned to Alex. A twig cracked under his foot.
Suddenly, there was a flapping of wings and something whooshed by their heads. Alex shrieked and clambered to his feet, knocking Brandon’s shoulder with his knee so that Brandon fell back against the statue. Not sure what to do, Brandon stood too, and he and Alex collided.
“Pigeon!” Alex cried. “Pigeon, pigeon. It was just a pigeon. Omigod it almost hit me in the head.” He stared at Brandon, panting.
Brandon stared back.
Then they both cracked up.
“That was very graceful,” Brandon said through his laughter.
“We should take a bow.” Alex wheezed. He took Brandon’s hand, and before Brandon knew what was happening, they swung their arms up and bowed. A few yards away, someone clapped. “Thank you.” Alex nodded in the direction of the clapping. “Thank you. We’ll be here all night.”
I hope so.
Brandon started snickering again. He pulled Alex toward him and, breathless before their lips even met, kissed him. He didn’t care if whoever had clapped was still watching. He didn’t care about anything else in the world, except just being here in this moment with Alex. Alex’s lips were soft but firm, his breath hot against Brandon’s mouth, and his tongue, when it touched Brandon’s, was even hotter.
“Wow,” Alex said when he finished. “Wow. That deserves a bow too.”
They bowed again.
Brandon snickered. “People are going to think we’re crazy.”
“Oh, we haven’t even gotten started,” Alex said. “Let’s go bow all over campus.”
“What?”
But Alex was already moving, dragging Brandon by the arm. They crossed to the quad and bowed on the steps of the library. “You can’t laugh.” Alex elbowed Brandon. “Bowing is serious business.”
“Sorry.”
So they went to the engineering building and solemnly, wordlessly, raised their joined hands and bent forward. A couple of students looked up.
Brandon was giddy as they headed on toward the residence halls. They were being absolutely ridiculous, and he didn’t care. Didn’t care if people stared, didn’t care if he was supposed to be smart or motivated or conscientious or whatever words had been appearing on his report cards since second grade. Tonight he was happy, and he was with Alex, and nothing else mattered.
They slipped into a random residential building, catching the door as a student left. They bowed to the security guard in the lobby, then turned to walk out.
“Should I be throwing roses?” the security guard asked.
They turned back to him. He was actually really handsome. Brandon’s heart pounded. Was he going to start rating guys on how they looked now? And what the hell was he supposed to say to a campus cop? Was the guy making fun of them?
“It’s okay if you don’t have roses,” Alex said. “You can just do a bravo or something.”
“Bravo!” The guard clapped. His name tag said TAYLOR.
Brandon flushed through his entire body, but Alex just gave another quick bow, told Taylor to have a good night, and led Brandon outside.
They bowed at the dining hall, where the staff was sweeping up. At the student center. At the shuttle station, where someone said, “Freaks,” and to the old chapel, which they couldn’t get into, but they bowed in front of the big wooden doors anyway.
“All right,” Alex said finally. “I think we’ve received enough accolades.” They sank onto the steps and kissed for a long time. “What do you want to do now?”
Brandon leaned against him as a breeze came through, scattering a few odd leaves. “Nothing. Just this.”
* * * *
The Academic Challenge started two weeks later. Alex was nervous, but he didn’t choke. He’d done enough of these before. And it was fun, competing on Brandon’s team. Once they even held hands under the table where nobody could see. After two not-very-grueling elimination rounds, the Phi Sigs were still in the competition. So, surprisingly, were the Alpha Delts. But nobody was talking about them at all. The entire campus was talking about Blake Dawson instead, and the fact that he was on the GSA team. Some kid called Simon from the student newspaper had even cornered him after one of the competitions and asked him if he thought being on the GSA team would harm his football career.
“Why would it?” Blake had asked, genuinely puzzled, while Scoops had tried his hardest not to hyperventilate nearby. Then Blake had grinned. “Well, football practice is in the afternoons, and these things are at night, so I can fit both in.”
“Was it a difficult decision to join the GSA?” Simon had pressed.
“No, dude. You gotta do what you gotta do, right?”
The next day someone had painted YOU GOTTA DO WHAT YOU GOTTA DO on a rainbow flag and pitched it on the football field. Even then, Blake seemed oblivious.
The Academic Challenge, and pledging, and the GSA, and having a boyfriend for the first time ever, and somehow fitting in classes and stuff like doing his laundry meant Alex was busy. Busier than he’d ever been, but that was okay. There wasn’t a single thing going on in his life at the moment that he actually wanted to change.
Things with Brandon were great.
Okay, so they’d only made out still, but it wasn’t like they were on a schedule or anything. And it wasn’t like they’d actually talked about doing anything else, or who they’d dated before, or crushed on—it would have been a short conversation on Alex’s part, but Brandon was so incredible he had to have some boy, or girl, from home pining for him still, even if he’d said he’d never kissed anyone before Alex—because it was good how things were, and Alex didn’t want to mess things up. He just really, really wanted to get laid.
Like really.
But instead of working on that, here he was hanging around at the Alpha Delta fraternity house trying to socialize with guys he had absolutely nothing in common with.
He stared balefully at his pickle and bit the end off it.
Brandon had said he wasn’t used to touching. So what did that mean? That he hadn’t done much before?
Alpha Delta was having a mixer. A more sedate occasion than usual. There was a plastic tarp thrown over the mechanical bull, and someone had put underpants on the blow-up doll floating in the pool. Which was as classy as Alpha Delt got, probably.
Their pledges were carrying around trays of snacks. They were serving soda instead of beer.
“I don’t get it,” one of the guys from Theta Chi said. “Are they trying to be respectable?”
“They swing, they miss.” Deacon shrugged. “But at least they’re trying.”
“This flies in the face of every terrible frat movie I’ve ever seen,” the guy said. “Shouldn’t we be trying to be more like them, instead of the other way around?”
“I like it.” Brandon flashed Alex a smile. “Unless the reason they’ve invited us here is to give us all food poisoning so the Killer Numbats can actually win the Academic Challenge.”
“Mark’s not that devious,” Deacon said staunchly, but Alex noticed he flicked his pickled onion into the garden bed instead of eating it.
Still, it was a fun night. Tomorrow evening the Killer Numbats were up against the water polo club, and everyone was sure they’d lose. Despite being the only team on campus with matching shirts, their own theme song, and, inexplicably, a team bus. Well, a cargo van, but everyone called it a bus. Their fundraising, Mark freely admitted, had gone a lot better than expected. They’d hired the bus for the duration of the Academic Challenge and mostly used it to drive around campus picking up beer and girls and dropping off hungover Alpha Delts to classes.
Tonight, Mark and his cousin Jackson were in charge of the barbecue.
“It’s nothing flash,” Mark had told Brandon and Alex when they’d arrived. “Just snags.”
“I don’t know what that is,” Brandon said.
“Sausages.”
“Why don’t you just say it’s sausages?”
“I did. I used a perfectly normal word that means just that.”
Sausage or snag, it tasted pretty good. Alex was even feeling confident enough to go and stand in line for another one.
“Enjoying yourself?” Mark asked him, narrow-eyed.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Mark jabbed the tongs at him. “I’ve got my eye on you, Kekoa.”
“Um,” Alex said. “Okay.”
“Mark.” Deacon appeared beside him. “Don’t pick on my pledge. He’s a good guy.”
Mark slammed a sausage onto a piece of bread and thrust it toward Alex. “Yes, Deke. God, you don’t have to lecture me every time!”
“Apparently I do.”
“My boyfriend is lecturing me!” Mark announced to the entire line. “Help, I’m being lectured to!”
“Drama queen,” Jackson said, his thin mouth turned up in a smile.
“Oh, fuck you, Jackson. Seriously, fuck you.” Except Mark was grinning as well.
Alex took his sausage and retreated.
Brandon was sitting on the edge of the pool, dangling his legs in the water. Alex sat next to him. “I think Mark hates me.”
Brandon knocked him gently with his shoulder. “He doesn’t hate you. He’s just overprotective.”
That was nice, Alex thought, watching a leaf floating on the surface of the water, but why would Mark be overprotective of Brandon? It was hard, he guessed, coming out. Alex felt like he’d never really had to do it. He’d been wearing some sort of flashing neon GAY NERD sign on his back since puberty. Alex had never been in the closet, even if sometimes he’d wanted to be.
“Have you, um…” He picked the crust off his bread and lowered his voice. “I really am your first boyfriend, aren’t I?”
Brandon hesitated. “Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“You’re my first anything.”
“Oh!” Alex almost choked on his sausage. Wishful thinking.
“Are you okay?” Brandon thumped him on the back.
Alex nodded.
It would have been nice if Brandon had kept his hand on his back, but they weren’t exactly out as a couple, were they? That was another thing they hadn’t talked about. They were dating, but were they? They hung out in each other’s rooms, played video games, caught lunch together, and made out. Apart from making out, how was that any different than having a buddy?
Alex wanted more than that, but he didn’t know how to articulate it, so he watched the leaf floating on top of the water and didn’t say anything.
“Hey,” Brandon said at last.
Alex turned his head to look at him.
Brandon leaned in and kissed him. Right there, beside the pool at the Alpha Delta fraternity house, where everyone could see.
And everyone did.
Alex blushed when someone cheered and, feeling the urge to do something even crazier, grabbed Brandon by the hand and pulled him into the pool.
* * * *
For intracampus Academic Challenge matches, the teams flipped a coin to see which one would host the match. The host team got to choose the location. Last year the Art Alliance had tried to hold a match on the library roof, until the campus police had come by and told them to move.
The water polo team, the Funnoodles, had won the coin toss and had gotten permission to hold the match at the natatorium. In the pool. A special elevated platform had been placed along the pool’s edge to keep the buzzers out of the water.
“Well, at least the Alpha Delts are used to the water,” Brandon whispered to Alex. “After the whole mechanical-bull-terrorist-training-camp thing.”
Alex laughed, and Brandon warmed.
They took their seats by Deacon and Tony and Tony’s girlfriend, Zoe, on the bleachers. The WPC was already in the water—two guys and two girls, all looking grim.
“Why do the Funnoodles look so much like Angrynoodles?” Alex whispered.
The Alpha Delts emerged from the locker room in their swim trunks and matching shirts.
“Oh, look, it’s the Killer Numbnuts,” one of the WPC girls said.
“Shut up, bitch,” Straight Sean said.
There was a collective “ohhhh,” from the bleachers.
“Hey, mate,” Mark said quietly to Straight Sean. “Run through the list. Who do we respect?” He held up one finger.
“Women,” Straight Sean said grudgingly. Mark held up another finger. “Fags.”
“We call them homosexuals. But close.” Another finger.
“Blacks.” Straight Sean paused. “Asians. Are Hispanics on the list?”
“They are. In fact, everybody’s on the list, because we’re all…?” he prompted.
Straight Sean looked confused for a minute. Then something clicked. “People!”
“Good job.” Mark clapped him on the back. “Now go apologize to her.”
Straight Sean hopped into the water next to the girl. “Sorry,” he muttered.
The match was being moderated by Professor Winglow from the astronomy department. She took her seat at a table in front of the pool. Down at the end of the bleacher, Brandon saw student staff reporter Simon D’Angelo scribbling notes. “Look at this turnout,” Deacon said.
Brandon looked around. The bleachers were nearly full, and more people were shuffling in. From what he understood, this was unusual for an Academic Challenge match. Brandon looked back at the pool in time to see Mark signal to someone behind the diving board. A second later the intro to “Eye of the Tiger” blared. Deacon put his face in his hands.
Professor Winglow leaned forward and spoke into the microphone. “Excuse me, but we do need to get started.”
“Just let it play until the words start,” Mark called. “It’s an important part of our routine. Please?”
Brandon rolled his eyes. Like anyone could resist that accent when combined with a cheeky grin. Even Professor Winglow wasn’t immune. She checked through her notes while the intro played out.
“I can’t believe they’re having this round in a pool!” Alex said as the music died away at last.
Deacon waved at someone across the row. “I heard the dean is really going to clamp down on this next year. It’s supposed to be a sensible, friendly academic competition, not Takeshi’s Castle. People are getting way too ridiculous about it.”
“Is that such a bad thing?” Brandon asked. “I mean, I guess we’d all feel more at home wearing blazers in an auditorium, but it’s kind of nice that people are having fun.”
Deacon looked at him steadily for a moment, then smiled. “Yeah, I guess it is.”
“There are a lot of teams this year that wouldn’t have entered before. It’s like once the Alpha Delts did, the floodgates opened.” Brandon nodded toward the pool. “So, I guess Mark did a good thing, right?”
Deacon’s smile grew. “I guess he did.”
“You should make sure you tell him that.”
The match began. The Killer Numbats did okay in the first round, correctly answering about one question to every three the Funnoodles answered. Gay Sean unexpectedly nailed a question about Jordanian currency, while Russell, who mostly stood there grinning stupidly, suddenly buzzed in quick as a snake strike to announce how many seasons Curb Your Enthusiasm had aired. Brandon cheered enthusiastically if distractedly. Alex had moved his hand dangerously close to Brandon’s on the bleacher. Brandon wished Alex would either hurry up and take his hand already, so Brandon could deal with the flood of nerves being touched inevitably brought on, or move away a couple of inches.
He immediately felt guilty. Wasn’t he supposed to want to be close? To want Alex’s hands on him all the time?
Finally Brandon couldn’t take it anymore and laced his fingers in Alex’s. Felt Alex start. Then Alex bumped him with his shoulder and squeezed his hand. Brandon waited for his stomach to plummet, but nothing much happened, except that he felt glad that Alex was here.
Somewhere in the second round, the slaughter began. The WPC pulled farther and farther ahead until the Numbats didn’t have a chance. The final score was pretty embarrassing, though the Numbats—Mark in particular, didn’t seem perturbed. They climbed out of the water high-fiving, and Mark reminded everyone to put a towel under them on the team bus so as not to mess up the seats.
“They took the team bus from fraternity row to the natatorium?” Alex whispered. “It’s, like, two blocks.”
“Mark Cooper!” Deacon called. A moment later Brandon and Alex had to scoot so Deacon could make room for a very wet Mark on his lap.
“Did you see us, Deke?” Mark threw his arms around Deacon. “We got eight points!”
Brandon watched Deacon politely refrain from pointing out that the other team had gotten fifty-six. Instead Deke kissed Mark on the forehead. “You know Mark Twain didn’t start the Underground Railroad.”
“I know. But did you see Professor Winglow’s face when I said it?”
Deacon sighed and pushed Mark gently off his lap. “Go on. I’ll see you at home. We’ll celebrate.”
“Ooh. Should I bring the—” He leaned over to whisper something in Deacon’s ear. Deacon’s eyes widened.
“Uh, yeah. Sure. That’d be…” He swallowed. “That’d be great.”
“Right then.” Mark jumped up and darted for the locker room, leaving Deacon with giant wet patches on his khakis.
Deacon very deliberately avoided looking at Brandon and Alex. “Hey, Deke?” Brandon said finally, fighting a grin. “What’s he bringing?” He knew Deacon would never tell him, so he didn’t have to worry about getting freaked out by TMI about Mark and Deacon’s sex life.
Deacon became suddenly interested in his nails.
“Yeah, Deacon,” Alex said, clearly taking his cue from Brandon. “What is it?”
“What, Deacon? Come on.”
“Tell us tell us tell us.”
“You two.” Deacon stood, his face pink. “You’re bad influences on each other.”
He walked toward the exit. Alex and Brandon turned to each other, beaming. “Wanna be a bad influence on me?” Alex raised his eyebrows.
Brandon didn’t need to be asked twice.
* * * *
“No, dude, this doesn’t fit,” Alex heard Blake tell Scoops. They were in the student center auditorium, rehearsing for the drag show. “I think I need the kind made for girls with double Ds, you know what I’m saying?”
Alex looked at the stage, where Scoops had Blake halfway into a hot pink dress. The zipper had gotten stuck just below his massive shoulders.
“Okay,” Scoops said. “It’s just that this color is gonna go really good with Gretel’s costume. Maybe it doesn’t have to zip all the way?”
Alex leaned across the soundboard and whispered to Hannah, “How did he go from running lights to being in the show?”
Hannah shrugged. “You saw him dance. He’s not bad.”
“Better than Stasia,” Denny put in.
Alex tilted the laptop screen so he could see better. Found “Heart of Glass” on iTunes and hit Play to check the levels. Blake immediately started dancing. “Yo, Scoops, I need you to show me how to do the intro again.”
“Okay.” Scoops was still working on Blake’s zipper. “But could you hold still for, like, a second?”
“It’s only coming out of one speaker,” Alex told Denny. Denny went to check the connections.
Alex admired Blake for unabashedly throwing himself into the GSA—attending meetings, being on the Academic Challenge team, and now rehearsing for the drag show in a hot pink dress and blonde wig. But he also thought it was maybe a good thing Blake didn’t do a lot of reading. Because on page three of The Prescottonian was an article titled “Do What You Gotta Do: Are Gay Athletes Becoming More Accepted?” Alex had walked with Blake to rehearsal, and three different people had given Blake the thumbs-up and said stuff like “Way to go!” and “You’re awesome.” Blake had just beamed back and told them they were awesome too.
Alex definitely thought it was time to tell Blake what was up. But he enjoyed having Blake as a friend and as part of the GSA. He didn’t want to watch what happened when Blake figured out everyone thought he was gay. Alex had been friends with a boy named Kirk Roban in middle school. They’d done everything together, until people started calling them gay. Alex hadn’t minded, but Kirk had withdrawn—stopped laughing so loudly, stopped drawing pen tattoos on his arms, stopped spending time with Alex. Disavowed Avatar: The Last Airbender.
“You guys, listen up!” Gretel called.
Alex turned off the music.
“Okay, so this is our last tech rehearsal. All we have are two dress rehearsals, Tuesday and Thursday, and then the show’s on Friday. Most of you already have costumes, but if you don’t, you need to have them by Tuesday. Anyone having any problems I should know about?”
“We can’t find a hot pink dress Blake fits in,” Scoops said.
“Check with the theater department.”
“Already did. Can you ask your weird brother?”
Gretel sighed. “Fine.”
“Your brother does drag?” Denny asked.
“No, he collects women’s clothes.”
“He’s a serial killer,” Scoops said.
“He’s a fashion photographer.”
Alex smiled. He couldn’t believe he’d ever worried about fitting in at Prescott. Maybe he should tell Brandon more about this group. See if Brandon would ever want to come to a meeting with him.
“While I’m up here,” Gretel said, “since the next GSA meeting has been pushed back a week for fall break, don’t forget Breaking Out is happening at the beginning of November.”
“Do we have to call it that?” Hannah complained. “It sounds like an acne infestation.”
“It’s supposed to be inspiring.”
“It gives me prom flashbacks.”
“If you want to sign up for a slot, e-mail Carl or me. So far I have Scoops, Blake, Hannah, and Sam signed up.”
The rehearsal got underway a few minutes later. Blake, Gretel, Scoops, and Stasia made a rough but highly entertaining run through their Blondie mashup, starting with “Heart of Glass” and moving into “Maria.” The group had apparently been unable to find high heels big enough for Blake either, because he was dancing in his football cleats. He looked like he was having a blast.
Some people seemed to have boundless confidence—Mark, Blake, Gretel. They all said what was on their minds, all believed in their right to be heard. And then there were people like Alex and Brandon. Not shy, exactly, but a little more cautious. Stealing bold moments here and there. Brandon kissing Alex in the pool. Alex dragging Brandon all around campus, making him bow with him.
Alex had made an idiot of himself enough times in his life that it shouldn’t have bothered him anymore what people thought. But sometimes it did. He wanted to learn that easy confidence. Wanted to learn it for Brandon, so that he could be someone Brandon leaned on. Brandon’s wariness rarely disappeared completely. Alex wondered if he made it worse by being so clumsy and unsure.
He’d come to Prescott not sure what he wanted to be or do. But now he knew. He wanted to be Brandon’s boyfriend. He wanted to make Brandon feel endlessly awesome, because Brandon was endlessly awesome, and the world deserved to see that.
Alex Kekoa was ready to step up and be a man.
He reached for the faders on the soundboard and accidentally knocked the laptop halfway off the stand. Hannah caught it just in time. “Thanks,” he whispered.
Okay, not off to a great start. But he’d learn.
He’d learn to be Brandon Mills’s hero.