Chapter Four
“If you want me to punch your little hipster stalker,” Mark said, “I would totally do that.”
“You would not,” Brandon scoffed. “And I wouldn’t ask you to anyway.”
They were in Brandon’s room. Gavin was off at some video game marathon at the student center, and Mark had needed a break from all the dudes at Alpha Delt. Brandon’s resolution not to tell Mark anything had vanished the second Mark had turned up, narrowed his eyes, and said, “Bran, what’s wrong?” And Brandon had lied. Brandon was terrible at lying. Even his truths, presented with a flush and a stammer, sounded unconvincing. So the half-truth he told Mark—the one where Alex’s attention was starting to make him feel uncomfortable—sounded like the biggest load of bullshit in the world.
“That’s because you’re too nice,” Mark said. “You need to get some mongrel in you.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“Get some mongrel in you. You know, like grrrr!”
“Did you just growl at me?”
“For illustrative purposes only.”
“Anyway…” Brandon shook his head. “I don’t want you to do anything. And I don’t care if he’s gay or whatever. It’s just I’m not good with things like…like crushes.”
“Ah.” Mark was staring at him way too intently. How was it that someone who thought Ernest Hemingway was a lovably daft, bug-eyed fellow in a denim vest who’d been to camp, Africa, jail, and saved Christmas, could be so surprisingly perceptive when it came to their friendship? “So is this anything to do with…” Mark hesitated only a second. “With what happened with your teacher?”
Brandon’s heart sped. He suddenly hated that Mark knew that about him. He’d been stupid to ever mention it—and the fact that he’d told Mark back when they were still virtually strangers made it even worse.
He could remember a night when he was ten and his mom and Charlotte were talking about a boy Charlotte liked. They’d been in the living room, and Brandon had complained to his dad that he couldn’t watch the big-screen TV because the girls were in there. “Why do they have to talk so much?” he’d asked.
“It’s a female thing.” His dad had smiled conspiratorially. “They need to gossip and talk about their feelings. Especially about boys. Us guys, we’d rather relax in front of the TV with a beer.”
And here Brandon was, talking to his best friend about his feelings. Go figure.
“I guess,” Brandon muttered. “Partly.”
Mark sat beside him on the bed. “Look, Bran. I’m not so good with the counseling stuff. But, uh, you remember those ads they showed us during student orientation last year? Prescott Cares?”
Oh, God, did Brandon ever. “If you are concerned about a Prescott student, or if you are a Prescott student with a concern for yourself…”
“Yeah,” Brandon said. “Mark—”
“I’m just saying, they listed like a zillion resources. There’s free counseling, and, like, free massages at the massage therapy school. And those craft classes where you can mount therapeutic butterflies on Styrofoam boards…”
“Mark, don’t take this the wrong way. But if you report me to Prescott Cares, I will end you. And make it look like a swimming pool surfing accident.”
Mark nudged him with his shoulder. “C’mon, I would never sic them on you if you didn’t want it. But maybe you should think about being a Prescott student with a concern for yourself, hey?”
“I’m not…falling apart or anything here.”
“I know you’re not, mate.” Mark’s eyes were dark with worry.
“Okay.” Brandon hunched over and glared at his desk. At his Protoceratops. Fucking Alex and his fucking “I love dinosaurs! I collect them! Don’t you love them?” And his fucking big sad eyes when he’d turned away from Brandon after the pledge ceremony.
Brandon didn’t know if the ache inside his gut was nausea or regret.
Alex had looked crushed, and Brandon had never guessed he had that power over another human being. It made him want to grab Alex and tell him how he deserved someone who wasn’t fucked up. Remind him that he was young, and he was a college freshman, and there were plenty of guys out there who would love to be with him, who could touch him without feeling sick. Brandon would tell him not to put all his eggs in one basket. Or one basket case.
Brandon sighed. “I don’t have a problem with…with him being gay. You know that. It’s not about that.”
Shit, if Brandon’s dad could have heard this sleepover gabfest, he’d have bought Brandon a frilly lavender dress and a one-way ticket to Canada.
“I know it’s not,” Mark said. “It’s not the gay thing that worries me, Bran.”
Brandon tensed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re nineteen. You should want to be with someone. With anyone. Mate, if I don’t get laid at least once a day, I go up the fucking wall.”
Once a day? Was that a lot? Was Mark just bragging? Brandon had no idea. Mark was pretty out there. Maybe his sex drive was out there as well. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe getting laid once a day was perfectly normal for a horny nineteen-year-old guy in a relationship.
Mark nudged him with his shoulder again and lightened his tone. “You must be getting pretty sick of your hand, right?”
“Right.” Brandon forced a laugh as shame crept over him. How the hell would someone like Mark understand that Brandon couldn’t even touch himself like that? The only time he came was in his sleep. He sucked in a deep breath and straightened. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we just watch a movie? Something with explosions?”
And no kissing.
“Sure.” Was it Brandon’s imagination, or did Mark seem relieved? Who could blame him? Brandon wouldn’t have wanted to talk to himself either. “Can we use Gavin’s computer? His is much nicer than yours.”
“I dunno,” Brandon said. “He’s kind of weird about people touching his stuff.”
“If he catches us, I’ll sweet-talk him. Everyone likes me.”
“Except professors,” Brandon said.
“And Bengal.”
Brandon ignored the queasy feeling he got at the mention of Bengal’s name and forced a smile. “That old lady you took out when you tried to learn how to skateboard.”
“Several of my neighbors back in Bundaberg.”
“But yeah, other than that…”
“I enjoy being a polarizing figure,” Mark said. “But most people’s poles point toward liking me.”
It was true, and Brandon felt a flash of envy. How great would it be not to give a fuck whether people liked you? He really didn’t want to talk anymore. “I don’t want to talk about other people’s poles. Explosions.” He nodded at Gavin’s computer. “Now.”
* * * *
“All right, for ten points—” Evan scrolled down his computer screen. “‘The Treaty of Meerssen amended an AD 843 agreement. Name that earlier treaty involving the three sons of Louis the Pious.’”
“Treaty of Verdun,” Alex said immediately. “Give me something hard.”
“Uh…” Evan scrolled again. “Dude, I don’t know any of these. Okay, here. ‘A 1957 model of consumer behavior suggests that people base their spending on their expected, long-term wages. For ten points, name the hypothesis that implies that windfalls are saved and unexpected bills are paid out of savings.’”
Alex thought for a moment. “Permanent income hypothesis.”
Evan leaned back. “Dude, you are gonna kick ass at Academic Challenge.”
Alex wrinkled his nose.
He liked being smart—okay, he loved being smart, and it seemed like Prescott was the sort of place where being smart was actually something to celebrate, instead of an invitation to get his head flushed down a toilet. But sometimes he wished there was a way to trade some of his book smarts for street smarts. And was there such a thing as sex smarts? Alex could use some of those too.
Evan closed his laptop. “Anyway, I’ve got class, and weren’t you going to that thing?”
Alex checked his phone. “Shit! Yeah.”
The thing. His first meeting of the Prescott Gay-Straight Alliance, which was held in the LGBTQ Student Center, which, Alex had discovered during orientation, was just a fancy name for an annex of the library. It felt weird to be going to a GSA meeting here at college when he’d never gone to any in high school, but Alex wanted to start being more politically active and more aware of social justice issues. He wanted to be useful and, as corny as it sounded, to help make the world a better place. It made sense to start with a cause that was close to his heart.
And if he happened to make some friends at the same time, that was just a bonus.
It was drizzling, and Alex had forgotten to grab an umbrella. He scurried. People had always made fun of the way he walked. He got “Where’s the fire?” a lot. They made fun of other stuff about him too, like the way he said “Omigod,” and the dinosaur thing, and the way he truly believed that if he was in the same room as Emma Watson, he would literally fall over dead from joy and terror. But he’d never gotten the sense that people made fun of him maliciously. Once in a while, sure. But mostly his peers let him be. It probably helped that all his cousins were over six feet tall and built like linebackers by the time they turned thirteen. Somehow those Polynesian genes had shorted out, literally, when it came to Alex.
He was a little scared that at this meeting, he might meet real victims of bullying and abuse—downtrodden kids who’d been kicked out by their parents or nearly killed by their brothers or shunned by their former friends. And that he wouldn’t know what to say.
Alex had no idea what he’d do if he met someone who had, like, a dark past. He’d always been friends with pretty well-adjusted people, and his own family was kind, loud, and more inclined to get upset over the results of The Voice than over news that one of them was gay or trans or one of those sex dungeon people in the leather outfits. Alex wanted to think he was sympathetic and generous enough to give an abuse victim the support and friendship he or she needed, but he was secretly worried that he’d just try not to get involved.
By the time he reached the library, the cuffs of his jeans were sodden from stepping in puddles, and the meeting had already started.
“Hi,” said a purple-haired girl who was standing at the front of the room. She seemed to be doing the talking at the moment. “I’m Gretel. Come on in. You are?”
“Hi.” Alex wished his wet jeans didn’t rub quite so loudly when he walked. “I’m Alex.”
“We’re just getting started,” Gretel said. “Take a seat.”
Alex scanned the room quickly. His options were the spare seat in the midst of a group of very intimidating-looking girls with political slogans on their T-shirts, or the chair beside the big guy in a letter jacket who had a spiral notebook open in front of him and appeared to be taking notes.
Alex panicked briefly. Surely there wouldn’t be a pop quiz?
He sat next to the big guy.
“’Sup,” the guy said. “Blake.”
“Hi. I’m Alex.”
“Okay.” Gretel smiled broadly. “I see we’ve got a few new faces here. So, welcome to the Prescott GSA, and if you’ve got any questions, please feel free to ask.”
Blake’s hand shot up.
“Um, yes, Blake?”
“How do you know if you’re gay?” Blake held his pen ready to write.
“How do you know…” Gretel trailed off.
“If you’re gay. Like, is there a test or something?”
A boy on the other side of the room snorted. “Yeah, you put a dick in your mouth and see if you like it.”
One of the girls in the political T-shirts bristled. “That’s so typical! What about lesbians?”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Well, with lesbians, you substitute pussy for dick.”
“I object to the word substitute. You’re being misogynistic!”
“Fine,” the boy said, with another eye roll. “You upgrade from dick to pussy. Happy?”
Alex was so out of his fucking depth here. He looked at Blake, the guy who’d somehow started all this. Blake was writing notes furiously. Then he looked up again. “So there’s no, like, way to be sure apart from the dick thing? Like, you can’t go to the doctor and get tested or anything?”
The boy gaped. “I was joking!”
“Oh.” Blake looked down at what he’d written and crossed it out.
Gretel looked around the room, tugging at a lock of her purple hair. “Is this something you’ve been struggling with lately, Blake?”
“I’m trying to figure some stuff out,” Blake said.
Alex admired his attitude. He didn’t seem like the sharpest tool in the shed, but he had questions, and he’d unashamedly come to the place where he could get answers. Alex couldn’t help but sneak a look at his notes:
LESBEAN LESBIAN
GAY
BI
TRANSGENDER
Q???
I???
Put a dick in ur mouth 2 see if u like it.
Missojenistic???
Wow. Blake was really starting from scratch.
The boy on the other side of Alex whispered to his friend, “That’s Blake Dawson. From the football team.”
They went around the room and introduced themselves and said why they were here. Blake said he was here to learn more about what to do if you were gay. A few kids snickered.
Then it was Alex’s turn. “Oh, um, hi. I’m Alex. I’m just— Well, I’m gay, and I—I think I need to get out more.” People laughed. “I mean, I’d like to learn more about social justice issues and—and be useful.”
Only one person in the group had a really traumatic past. Or at least, she was the only one willing to share it. Hannah, a small girl with black, curly hair. Her father had hit her with a beer bottle when she’d come out, and when the bottle had broken, he’d put the jagged glass to her throat and said he would kill her. She still had a long scar running down her neck toward her collarbone. Hannah was here because she wasn’t that scared girl anymore. She had friends and a place where she belonged. The girl sitting next to Hannah hugged her.
Gretel talked about this year’s GSA events—the drag show, making floats for Philly Pride, and volunteering with Habitat for Humanity, End Domestic Violence, and Utterly Global Bullying Prevention. An author of a book about transgender history was going to give a lecture in October and wanted to come to a GSA meeting while he was in town. Alex found himself getting more and more pumped about being part of this group.
The boy who’d advised Blake to put a dick in his mouth was called Scoops, and everything Gretel said apparently reminded him of a song. “Carrie’s the one you’ll want to see about getting on the committee,” Gretel said at one point, and Scoops stuck his elbows out and started undulating and singing “Carey,” by Joni Mitchell. He was like a walking version of that improv game where players could only speak in song lyrics.
When Gretel passed the sheets around, Alex signed up for the drag show committee, since it was the only thing that didn’t conflict with Academic Challenge matches. No way was he getting up on stage, but he’d for sure help out behind the scenes. He was surprised to see Blake had signed up for it too. Before he knew it, the meeting was over, and pairs and groups of friends were jostling one another on the way out the door. Alex wondered if, after a couple of meetings, he’d have a group to arrive and leave with.
As he was heading out, he heard Gretel say, “Blake!”
Alex hung back and turned slightly to see what was going on.
Blake approached Gretel, who put a hand on his arm. “Hey.” Her voice was low. “Sorry, I don’t mean to freak you out or”—Hannah and her friend walked by, giggling, and Alex missed some of what Gretel said to Blake—“how you identify, that’s totally fine. But I wanted to let you know I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Thanks,” Blake said brightly.
Gretel glanced around then leaned close to Blake and continued. “We have a lot of trouble getting athletes into this group. It would be so incredibly good for the GSA and for Prescott to see a student athlete acting as a role model. And especially a football player.” Gretel was practically bouncing. Blake looked confused. “So thank you so much for joining. You could really help a lot of people.”
Blake nodded. “That’s why I’m here. To help my buddy. Sorry, that’s just what I call him; he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s… He’s still working some stuff out, but I think he’ll be cool with me being involved in this. Maybe he’ll even want to come here with me.”
Gretel’s face lit up. “That’s great, Blake! I didn’t know you had a… Well, we’re here if either—or both of you—need any support.”
Blake high-fived her and headed out the door. Alex quickly started walking so Blake wouldn’t know he’d been eavesdropping.
“Hey,” Blake said, when they were partway down the hall.
Alex hesitated, then turned. Blake was standing at the entrance to the men’s room, one hand on the door.
“Alex, right?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Awesome glasses.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I ask you a favor? It won’t take long—I don’t think.”
Alex glanced warily at the men’s room. “Sure…?”
“I just have to go to the bathroom. Could you wait out here for a minute and just make sure I make it out okay?”
“Um…okay.” Did Blake have some kind of digestive disorder where he could die on the toilet? Was this a prank? Big jock going to the gay club meeting to find easy targets? Alex thought again of Blake’s notes. No, Blake might not be bright, but his heart seemed to be in the right place.
Alex stepped closer to the men’s room, and Blake flashed him a smile. “Thanks! I’ll be right out.” His gaze turned dark. “I think.” He darted into the restroom.
About five minutes later, something thudded against the restroom door. The door swung open. Blake looked stunned, and then incredibly happy. “It’s fine!” he said to Alex. “Everything went fine. I didn’t even need help. I’m cured!”
He blew past Alex, running down the hall and leaping into the air with a massive fist pump.
Alex glanced at the restroom, then back down the hall, where Blake was disappearing out the back doors.
“You’ll meet some characters in college,” Alex’s father had told him.
Between Blake, Scoops, and Brandon—oh, God, Brandon—Alex figured he was right.