Chapter Six
On Wednesday afternoon there was a midweek mixer at one of the sororities. Girls in shorter-than-short cutoffs and tight tops had been giving out flyers all week. When he was leaving his economics class, a pretty girl with candy-pink lipstick and a brilliant smile had shoved one into Brandon‘s hand.
“You ought to come to our party,” the girl had said.
Brandon had mumbled something and shoved the flyer in his pocket. He’d wished that Mark was in economics with him, because he didn’t know if the girl had been genuinely flirting with him or setting him up for something that would end with a bucket of pig’s blood on prom night. Not that it mattered. He wouldn’t have gone anyway. He just would have liked to get a read on the situation, he guessed. To know if she thought he was a loser, or if he was passing—passing as some guy who was normal and approachable, and not at all thinking too much about a spiky-haired freshman with skinned knees.
By Wednesday, Brandon was spending so much time thinking about not thinking about Alex, that he was pretty sure he was having some sort of mental breakdown. He wanted to talk to Mark.
Okay, he wanted to get high with Mark.
Whatever.
So when he saw that the Alpha Delta fraternity house appeared basically deserted thanks to the girls of Chi Omega, he grabbed his stash from his bottom drawer and headed over.
There were a few guys who’d resisted the siren call of Chi Omega. Gay Sean, unsurprisingly, was one. He was sitting on the floor of the common room with a stack of textbooks beside him. So apparently some of the guys here did know how to study. Some guy Brandon didn’t know was snoring on the couch, and a low conversation drifted in from the kitchen.
A kid bounced down the steps as Brandon started up them. He was wearing earbuds, and Brandon could hear the bass from here. The kid nodded at him, his shoes squeaking on the steps.
Mark’s room was empty. His backpack was on the floor though, and so was his favorite pair of sneakers. His laptop was open on his desk, and he was downloading something. His phone was on his pillow. He couldn’t have gone far.
Brandon decided to wait. He sat on Mark’s bed and looked around the room.
If he’d been a different guy, he could have had a room here. Brandon wasn’t sorry he’d quit Alpha Delta during the pledge process last year—he felt more comfortable in his skin at Phi Sig than he’d ever felt under this roof—but he regretted not being the sort of guy who would have fit in here.
Stupid.
Sometimes he felt like he was nothing except wasted potential.
Potential Brandon could have been an Alpha Delt. Could have been popular and outgoing. Could have been successful. Except Potential Brandon hadn’t made it past twelve years old. And Brandon had spent so long trying to get back to being the Brandon he’d been, or the Brandon he’d wanted to be, that he’d never figured out who he was now. He’d never figured out what he actually wanted, instead of what he’d thought he should want.
Stupid.
Brandon squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.
Why had he wasted so much time being so stupid?
And how exactly did he stop?
“Hey.”
Brandon opened his eyes to see Jackson Phillips leaning in the doorway.
“Sorry.” Jackson was holding a DVD. He sidled into the room and slid it onto Mark’s desk. “Just returning this. You, uh, waiting for Mark?”
Jackson had the same pinched, uncomfortable look he always did. Last year, when Jackson had been assigned to be Brandon’s big brother for the pledging process, Brandon had thought maybe Jackson just wasn’t great with new people. He knew what that felt like. So he’d imagined a sort of solidarity between them, he guessed, but Jackson had stayed a little chilly the whole time.
Except after Brandon quit. When he’d called and called and called. Brandon hadn’t returned those calls and, in the end, Jackson had stopped trying. Nothing good could have come of that conversation anyway. He didn’t blame Jackson for what had happened with Bengal during that one particularly inventive pledge activity in the basement. Jackson hadn’t known what Bengal had been planning, and nobody had known Brandon would freak out about it.
“Yeah.”
“I think he’s in the pool,” Jackson said.
“Okay.” Brandon stood. “I’ll go check there.”
Jackson nodded awkwardly and then, as Brandon stepped forward, said, “It’s good to see you hanging around here again.”
It surprised Brandon so much he stopped. “Are you serious?”
Jackson’s thin eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Look.” Color rose in Jackson’s face. “I’m glad you’re doing well next door, okay? For what it’s worth, I think you’re a better fit with Phi Sig, but I’m sorry for the way everything went down.”
And, just like with the girl handing out the flyers for the party, Brandon had no idea how the hell to take that. It was true, he was a better fit at Phi Sig, but he heard a judgment there as well, didn’t he? An insult?
You weren’t good enough for us.
You weren’t good enough for the popular kids.
Not anymore.
You’re ruined.
“Okay,” he said, over the familiar buzzing in his head. That one that heralded the start of a panic attack. He shoved his hand in his pocket, felt the packet of weed there, and forced himself to breathe.
“So we’re cool?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Good.” Something like relief passed over Jackson’s face, softening the tightness around his eyes. He tapped his fingers on the DVD case and shifted his weight from foot to foot. He opened his mouth then shut it again as though he couldn’t think of anything to say, and looked almost absurdly grateful when they heard bare feet slapping up the stairs. Followed by Mark’s unmistakable accent. And attitude.
“Oh yeah? Fuck you, Gay Sean! Fuck you backwards with a cactus!” He swept inside his room, trailing wet footprints and a towel. “Hey, what are you guys doing in here?”
Jackson showed him the DVD.
“I came to see if you wanted to hang,” Brandon said.
“Hang hang, or pool shed hang?”
“Pool shed.”
Jackson huffed. “You guys need to stop smoking up in the pool shed.”
“That’s one option,” Mark agreed. He pulled a shirt on. “The other one is for you to remove the stick from your arse, loosen up, and come join us.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you guys later.”
He left.
“Later!” Mark grinned, digging through a pile of clothes on the floor. He pulled out a pair of shorts. “Avert your eyes, Bran. Deacon’s got a jealous streak, and my arse is irresistible.”
Brandon looked away. He was not going to stare at his best friend’s ass. Not even if he was trying to figure stuff out, like if he was the sort of guy who liked other guys’ asses. He heard the rasp of wet fabric as Mark peeled his board shorts down, and looked before he could stop himself.
Saw Mark stepping into his dry shorts. Saw his ass.
It was an ass.
Not anything different from what Brandon has seen before in the locker room, or in the mirror. It suddenly seemed like the most ridiculous idea in the world that a particular configuration of flesh and muscle and skin could inspire sexual attraction any more than any other. Why not the shin, or the ears, or the shoulder blade? Except suddenly he was picturing Alex’s shin, and his ears, and his shoulder blade, and his ass, and—holy crap—the blood was rushing to his dick.
When was the last time that had happened?
The shock of it killed his burgeoning erection right then.
He swallowed.
God. He needed to do something about this, because Alex Kekoa was driving him fucking insane.
“So.” Mark turned, his eyes lighting up. “You, me, weed, and the pool shed. Let’s go.”
“Hell, yes,” Brandon said, relief washing over him.
He followed Mark back down the stairs.
* * * *
Alex met Deacon for lunch at a café off campus. Deacon was dressed in his work clothes—jeans and a black T-shirt. He worked a few shifts a week at some bar nearby.
“So, I’m supposed to quiz you on the history of Prescott and on Phi Sig,” Deacon said, stirring sugar into his coffee, “but I figured you’re like a quiz champion, right? So let’s just say I asked a bunch of questions and you got them all right.”
“Oh, okay.” Alex picked at his fries and looked around the café. “I haven’t been here before.”
“I don’t come here often. Not since Mark got banned for life.”
“He got banned for life from a coffee shop?” Wow. Alex didn’t even know that was possible.
“Mmm.” Deacon set his teaspoon aside. “He kept insisting on ordering flat whites. Like every day, for a month, until the manager banned him.”
“What’s a—”
“I don’t even know. Some sort of coffee. It’s an Australian thing.”
“Oh.”
Deacon shrugged. “Anyway, Alex, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself?”
“Oh. Um.” Alex hated talking about himself. Sometimes he thought that was why he’d gotten so book smart. That way he could talk about dinosaurs and Latin roots and the Higgs boson, and not have to reveal anything personal. “Oh, I’m not very interesting.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true.” Deacon’s smile was stunning. If Alex hadn’t known he was in a relationship, it would have made him blush.
Alex shoved another fry in his mouth. “Okay. I’m from New Salem. Um, my dad is Hawaiian. My mom’s parents are German. I have an older sister named Mara, and about six million cousins. I’m gay.” Just saying it caused a jolt to go through him, which was ridiculous. It felt a little momentous though, to say it in normal conversation. To maybe finally be in a place in his life where it wasn’t a big deal to admit it. “I don’t really know yet what I want to do for a major.”
“You’re a freshman. Plenty of time to decide.”
“Mmm. But I’m on a scholarship, so I can’t chop and change too much.”
“You’re doing computer science, right?”
Alex nodded. “But I don’t know.” He dragged a fry through a pool of ketchup. “I’m taking English Lit, and I really like it.”
“It’s okay not to know what you want to do yet.” Deacon sipped his coffee. “Sometimes, you know, it’s harder for the students at your level.”
“My level?”
“Yeah, Alex. The really smart guys like you and Reuben. The ones that make the rest of us look like we’ve only just figured out how to make fire.”
Alex couldn’t even look at Deacon. “Um.”
“Anyway, guys like you are brilliant at everything, which means you’re spoiled for choice. The rest of us know from a very early age where our strengths lie. You might just take a little longer to figure it out.” Deacon reached over and stole a fry. “But I tell you one thing. Your scholarship isn’t going to dry up just because you change courses a few times. Not if you keep your grades up.”
“Really?” Alex had been kind of worried to ask in case the scholarship people started having second thoughts.
“Promise. So how are you finding college life in general?”
Overwhelming.
Terrifying.
Confusing.
“Good. I mean, it’s a bit… It’s kind of what I was expecting, but at the same time it’s totally different.” He made a vague waving gesture with his hand. “I sound like an idiot.”
“It’s a lot to get used to.”
“Yeah.” From the fact that there was nobody to kick him out of bed in the morning, to doing his own laundry, to the sudden, horrible realization last week that if he suddenly got sick there’d be nobody to bring him soup and orange juice and tissues. He’d have to look after himself. Alex didn’t share any of this with Deacon though, because he wasn’t sure if it was homesickness or if he was being a selfish little spoiled baby. “I kind of miss my family a bit.”
Kind of.
A bit.
A lot.
Deacon gave him a sympathetic smile, and Alex flushed. He straightened and managed to knock over the saltshaker with his elbow. He righted it and brushed the grains of salt onto the floor.
“My grandmother always used to say you had to throw spilled salt over your left shoulder,” Deacon said. “Something about blinding the devil.”
“Huh.” Alex sucked salt off his finger. “Who do you hit if you throw it over your right shoulder?”
“I never asked.”
Alex tipped some salt into his palm, shrugged, and tossed it over his right shoulder.
Deacon snorted.
“What?” Alex asked. “Did I hit an angel?” Or, shit, another customer?
“No.” Deacon laughed. “I was just picturing my grandmother rolling in her grave.”
“Omigod!” Alex burst out laughing too.
* * * *
The Prescott Student Services complex was always busy, mostly thanks to the fact that the bookshop was in the middle of it, and it was also a handy shortcut between the library and dining hall. It housed a coffee shop, a medical center, a computer store, and, right beside the juice bar, the Prescott Cares Student Welfare Center.
Brandon bought a juice and then, when he hoped nobody was watching, stepped inside.
He had been to counseling before, but his psychologist’s office in Milford hadn’t looked anything like this. It had been a study in beige, with apricot-colored chairs lined up against one wall in the waiting room and a collection of magazines about travel and health and photography spread out on a table. The waiting room at Prescott Cares was full of beanbags that kids were sprawling on. There was a sign pasted on the wall: FREE COFFEE HERE! with an arrow pointing to the coffeemaker. Bookshelves lined the walls, full of colorful pamphlets.
STRESSED OUT? one asked.
WORRIED ABOUT YOUR FUTURE?
Oh, hell, yes, but Brandon was suddenly sure nobody in this place, with its too-welcoming atmosphere, would be qualified to help him. He turned and headed for the door again.
“Hello?”
Brandon turned back.
“Yes, hi.” The woman was middle-aged. She had short-cropped gray hair and wore purple-rimmed glasses. “Can I help you with something?”
Brandon hesitated.
“Well, you’re not here for the coffee since you’ve got a juice already. So why don’t we head back to my office and have a chat?”
One of the kids on a beanbag—a girl wearing a floral skirt and combat boots—looked at him curiously. She was reading a book of modern poetry.
If he ran, Brandon told himself, that girl would always know he was a coward.
“Okay,” he told the middle-aged woman.
“I’m Kay.” She ushered him toward her office.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Brandon.”
* * * *
Alex sat cross-legged on his bed, picking at the scabs on his knees and balancing his laptop on his legs as he Skyped with his sister. “And then we went for coffee,” he said, “and afterward he showed me where he works.”
“Sounds like someone has a crush.” Mara was settled on the couch with a bowl of popcorn on her lap.
“No!” Alex rolled his eyes. “Deacon’s my big brother. That’s what they call the guy who looks out for you while you’re pledging.”
“Huh.” Mara made a face.
“Omigod, you don’t believe me!” He shifted, the laptop sliding off his legs and tilting Mara’s image to a weird angle. He righted it carefully. “Sorry.”
“You should be. For a second I almost saw what you had for breakfast.”
“Don’t be gross!”
“Then don’t be clumsy!”
They both laughed.
It was good to talk to Mara. Alex had been busy with school, and they hadn’t spoken for a few weeks. He’d spoken to his parents a few times since, but Mara had been out. He’d missed catching up with her.
Behind Mara, Alex could see the fish tank in the living room. Who would have thought a fish tank would make him feel homesick? He’d hated cleaning that stupid thing, and pretty much every fish they’d ever had. He’d wanted a real pet for years. A dog or a cat preferably, but he would have settled for just about any mammal. He’d almost domesticated a squirrel when he was eight, until his mom caught him with it in his bed, gave him a lecture on rabies, and grounded him for a month.
“So you’re not lusting after your fraternity big brother in a sick, incestuous way?”
“No! Deacon is totally taken! Anyway”—he lowered his voice even though he knew he was alone in his dorm room—“there’s this other boy I kind of like.”
He regretted saying it as soon as it was out.
Mara’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything. Immediately.”
“Well, I like him but he doesn’t like me.” Alex shrugged and tried to make out it wasn’t a big deal. Which it wasn’t. Except for how much it hurt.
Mara wasn’t fooled, anyway.
“Oh, bubby!” Her voice was full of sympathy. “You can do better anyway, than some jerk who doesn’t care about you!”
“He’s not a jerk! He’s just not interested.” He sighed. “Anyway, can’t we talk about something else? How’s work?” Mara had recently gotten a job as a bookkeeper at a landscaping firm.
“I hate it! God. Working in the market was more fun. Everyone at this new place is so boring. I don’t think I’ll last very long. You remember Lou from high school? He was the year above me.”
“Kind of.” Alex remembered his dad staring down some scrawny white boy with dyed black hair and too many piercings. “Did he date you once?”
“He tried. Until Dad got involved.” Mara grinned, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Anyway, he filled out, and cut his hair, and Jesus, the ink on that boy! He has his own tattoo and piercing place now, and he wants me to come and work for him there.”
“And what does Dad think about that?”
“Dad doesn’t know about it. Neither does Mom. And they’re not going to find out, are they?”
“Cross my heart!” Alex wrinkled his nose. “But you know he’s probably only offering you the job to get into your pants, right?”
“Bubby,” Mara said, “he’s been getting into my pants for the last three months.”
“Omigod! You have a boyfriend?”
“See, there’s hope for us all!”
Alex made a face.
If only that were true.