2. Where Bear Hears The Kid Plead His Case

SO, WELCOME back.

To be honest, not a whole lot has happened since you were last here. I mean, good Lord, it’s only been about two weeks. But in those two weeks, there was the Great War with the Kid, where, as I’m sure you could tell, I came out the winner. There was the Big Move (It’s About Time). There were days when I couldn’t believe this was actually happening, that we were moving into the Green Monstrosity with a doorbell that sounded so very much like our own. The only thing that really sucked about the whole thing was the look I’d caught on Mrs. Paquinn’s face as she walked through our empty apartment, and it was a moment that almost completely broke me apart. I promised myself that we’d see her a few times a week and that she’d come over whenever she wanted to.

But she had covered up that look, and I did the right thing and pretended I hadn’t seen it. It didn’t stop me from hugging her longer than was completely necessary and kissing her cheek and inviting her over the next night for dinner. She had sniffled a bit near my ear, and her eyes were shiny when she pulled away, but her smile was there and her grip was strong. It helps, I think, that we’re only going to be, like, five minutes away. It was still hard to drive away from her, though.

Then there’s Anna Grant, the former love of my life, the one who I thought I’d be with until the world ended. It was her I hurt the most in the fallout of this past summer. It was her that had been lied to the most. It seems that she’s on the road to forgiving me, but I’m having a hard time forgiving myself. It’s not easy when I see her and always feel a dark smattering of guilt. It wasn’t easy for me when I’d seen Creed and her in the two days following Creed’s party, when everything had finally been laid out in the open for all to see. I told myself, as I watched them out of the corner of my eye, that I wasn’t jealous, but even that felt false. The problem was I couldn’t tell who I was jealous of, her or Creed.

Creed. My big brother (ha!). Creed who’d hugged me good-bye before going back to Arizona for the fall semester. His touch had been a bit stiff, his eyes slightly guarded, and I felt a little sad then, wanting to fix this thing in him that I’d broken. I don’t really know what the issue is, whether it be how long I kept me and Otter from him, or whether it’s just the fact that it’s me and Otter, his older brother. I thought about it, late one night, wondering how I’d feel being in his position, like maybe if the Kid and him got together when Ty was older. That caused me to cringe and gag a little, so I think I could understand. But I think a lot of things have been left unsaid between the two of us, and while I want to be the bigger man (for once) and broach the subject, I think maybe the distance will be good for now, and I’ll let him come to me. It’s not avoidance if you actively plan to pursue it. Someday. Of course it doesn’t help that I’m too much of a chickenshit to ask either one of them if they’re still together and doing the whole long distance thing. I don’t know why I should even care.

And of course there’s Oliver Thompson, Otter to everyone because of me. It always seems to come back to him, seems to end with him. Otter, who still confounds me like no one else, who can—at the drop of a hat—shoot me a smoldering look that makes me forget my name, much less the involuntary act of breathing. It’s a talent he’s mastered and always reminds me he has. Sometimes I can resist. Most of the time I choose not to. Otter said he loved me and I believed him. I told him I loved him, and I think he believed me (even though his first time was done in bed and mine was done with a misanthropic seagull).

Otter disappeared for three years. (Mostly my fault, that; but do we really need to rehash old details now? I have a feeling that’ll be done enough later on in this second part of my story. Aren’t you just so excited? Drama! Angst! Vegetarians! The Kid told me that if our story was a Lifetime Movie Event, I’d be played by Delta Burke and he’d be played by Taylor Lautner. I don’t even know who any of those people are.) But Otter decided to come back, saying he was haunted by me down in San Diego. He left behind my favorite person in the entire world, his ex-boyfriend Jonah Echols.

When he heard me say this once, the Kid told me I was being facetious. I asked him what that meant. He told me to look it up. I tried to but then I had to go back and ask him how to spell it. He rolled his eyes and wrote it down for me. I found the following:

fa-ce-tious [fuhsee-shuhs] adjective 1. Not meant to be taken seriously
intent; concerned
or literally. 2. Lacking serious with something nonessential,

amusing, or frivolous. I went back to the Kid and told him he was grounded. He asked me if I was being facetious. I told him no sir I was not.

So Otter came back and reminded me that for all intents and purposes, we belonged to each other, regardless of anything else. Of course, nothing is ever that easy, and I kicked and screamed the whole way, creating way more drama than was completely necessary. Of course, in my own defense, there was the fact that my entire sexuality was in question, the fact that my mother came back and threatened me because of that (for reasons I still don’t understand), and the fact that Mr. Wonderful (Jonah—that was sarcasm) tried to steal Otter back that compounded the situation. It’s hard to not create drama when it seems to explode around you anytime you open your mouth.

But we survived it, somehow, him and me, survived it to the point where Otter felt the need to buy a house for us even before he was sure there would ever be an us again. Standing in front of the Green Monstrosity (seriously, whoever thought that color was a good idea should have their eyes removed) for the first time a couple of weeks ago had been life altering, not only because of what it stood for, but because of that man who stood before me, promising me a future I had never considered. I remember being shell-shocked and heartsore, but in a good way. We walked into that house for the first time, the doorbell like my own, and I knew I’d made the right choices, even though it’d been in a crazy roundabout way. Even though so much was still uncertain and still is, I knew then I no longer had to do it alone.

Do I still have doubts? I think I told you that I do. Of course I do. I’m human, after all. I’m the brother/parent of the smartest nine-year-old vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training (who just recently told me he would like to start tantric yoga—what the fuck?). I’m the son of a woman who left Ty and me more than three years ago to fend for ourselves just because her new man didn’t like having kids around. I fell into a routine then that bordered on paranoid obsession, making sure the Kid would never want for anything. My mother came back and tried to take all of that away from us, all that work we’d done to rebuild ourselves during her absence, making things infinitely worse for everyone before disappearing to wherever. Our attorney thinks I have an awesome chance of getting custody of Tyson. I try to believe her. I am the boyfriend (“Partner,” the Kid tells me. “Boyfriend makes it sound like you’re in middle school, and he asked you to circle ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”) of a man who thinks the Kid and me walk on water. We have a roof over our heads, a place to sleep at night, people that love us completely and fully. Everything is just going hunky-dory. How could I not have doubts?

You know what, though? Before this goes any further, before we can see what kind of an ass I can make of myself this time around (because we both know that’s exactly what’s going to happen), there’s something you should know so there will never be any doubt about it: I love Otter. I love the crap out of him. Like, in a cheesy epic romantic comedy kind of way. If he was getting on a plane to take a job in China, I’d run to the airport after him and tell him I loved him right before he got on the plane. I’d stand outside his bedroom window with a boom box over my head and blast Celine Dion. If he was getting married to someone else and the priest said, “Speak now or forever hold your peace,” I’d be standing in the front row with a bullhorn screaming as loudly as I possibly could. Do you get it? The point I’m trying to make? I love him, yeah? Let’s never doubt that.

“You can’t even tell you’re losing your hair,” Otter says to me as he wanders into the kitchen this bright, early morning, kissing my forehead before taking a seat beside me. “Except on the front part, where it’s way noticeable.” The Kid snorts in his cereal and laughs so hard the soy milk comes out his nose. This grosses me out and I start to gag. Otter just stares at us as the Kid drips his snotty soy milk into the bowl and as I make weird retching noises that I can’t stop because my little brother is so fucking disgusting. Otter shakes his head, pausing to sip his coffee before opening the newspaper, all the while grumbling that he never gets to have a civilized breakfast.

Love is so completely overrated.

And finally, the last little piece of the puzzle, the last part that makes me whole: Tyson, the Kid, he of extraordinary intelligence and charm, he with milk dripping out his nose. He that can spout off some random eloquent quote one minute and then laugh hysterically in that high-pitched way he does so well the next. I told him once that he’d kept me alive after the events of three years ago, and that was not hyperbole, even though I sometimes bask in it. One could argue, I suppose, that if the Kid had never been born, life would have been significantly different. One could even go as far as to say that what happened with our mom might not have happened, at least in the way that it did. But, regardless of that fact, regardless of however hard it’d been, the Kid was and is the reason I am alive. While all the others had clustered around us to make sure we stayed afloat, it was him I turned to at my darkest, when I didn’t think anything else could matter ever again.

Oh man, I’m getting maudlin again.

 

Shit, sorry about that. I can’t promise that won’t happen again. But, hell, would you expect any less of me?

The Kid finally starts to breathe again, his face an alarming shade of purple. I scowl at both him and Otter, showing exactly how not funny I think they both are. They ignore me, of course, quite used to the little fits I get into every now and then. Otter’s hands are shaking the paper, and I know he’s trying to regain his composure as well, and I roll my eyes.

You see what I have to live with? Idiots, the lot of them.

 

“You’re not going bald,” the Kid assures me, a little too late, a huge grin on his face.

“I know,” I mutter, demolishing my toast.
Otter snickers.
“So,” I say, changing the subject. “You sure about this, Tyson?”

He scrunches up his face like he’s getting ready to ask one of his All Important Questions, and I give him a moment, just in case he does. You should know that no miracle has happened in the last two weeks, no divine hand of God has come down and cured him of his idiosyncratic ways. He knows that Otter is here and here to stay. He knows that I’m not going anywhere. He knows we’re doing our damndest with the whole custody thing. But you can’t change years of quirks in this short amount of time, no matter how settled we seem to be. He still asks when I am going to be home, no matter where I’m going, if it’s not with him. I’m expected to check in if I’m going to be late. He still won’t be the first to go into a public restroom, and the bathtub still gets some use if there are earthquakes.

My biggest concern when our mother had come back was just how far this was going to push us back, just how much ground we’d lose after all we’d done this summer. I still remember coming home that night after she’d shown up, after I’d broken things off with Otter. How limp he’d been in my arms, his eyes wide and glassy. I remember how angry he’d been, both at her and with me. I wish I could say that his anger toward me hadn’t been justified, but we all know that it was. I’d acted the only way I could think of, having been pushed into a corner. I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to take him away from me, and I curse her again in my head, wondering what cracks lay beneath his surface, if any. He’s shown an uncanny resilience this last time, and I hope it’s strong enough to do what we’re about to do. I hadn’t wanted this to happen, not really, but Otter convinced me, saying it wouldn’t be fair to the Kid if we didn’t. I had sighed, but in the end, agreed.

His face goes slack as he looks me in the eye. “You know,” he says seriously, “I think you’re way more nervous about this than I am. It’s just skipping a grade, Papa Bear. It’s not like it’s anything big.”

I roll my eyes. “Oh, no. Nothing big at all. You’re only going to be the shortest kid in your class and everyone is going to stare at you weird.”

“Nice try,” he says, seeing right through my bullshit. “I’m the shortest no matter where I go, and the kids will only be staring at me because of how spectacular I am.”

No ego, that one. Humble to the core.

 

“I know you’re spectacular,” I concede. “I’m just worried that it’ll take everyone else a little longer to figure that out.”

He looks annoyed. “I can take care of myself,” he retorts. “I’m not worried about a bunch of hormonal fifth graders on the cusp of puberty.”
Otter snorts from behind his paper but doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t changed the page in a few minutes, and I know it’s because he’s listening to what we’re saying. But I also know he understands that this needs to be between me and the Kid, at least for now. He’s said what he’s needed to say to me about the matter, knowing that the final decision needs to be mine. And yeah, I’ve already made up my mind, but I wouldn’t be Bear if I didn’t second-guess every little thing I did.

One day you’ll grow up, my conscience whispers sweetly. Won’t that just be a fun day?

I sigh. “I know you can,” I tell the Kid truthfully. And I do, really. But hell, I’ll be the first to admit that this whole thing scares the crap out of me. I remember how little I was when I got to the fifth grade, how hulking all the other kids seemed to be. Granted, I never had the support Ty does, or the brains, but I’m still worried that this is too much, too fast. With all that’s happened in the past four months, I wonder if the Kid needs another change this quickly. This could all very easily just blow up right in our faces, and what then? Send him to the fourth grade and pray a therapist can fix all the damage?

Oh God, speaking of therapy, I haven’t yet told the Kid that our attorney told me and Otter that we’d most likely have to visit a therapist for the whole custody thing. To make sure that I was a fit guardian and the Kid was not in danger. Or insane. The last time I’d broached the subject of a therapist a couple of years ago, the Kid had told me that the only people who go to therapy are the ones that have no friends to cry to. I hadn’t bothered to tell him at the time that he didn’t have any friends besides me. Back then, that just made me sad. Now, I would be totally fine if I was his only friend in the world. And not because I don’t want him to go out and make friends (which he seems to be doing, at an alarming rate). No, I’m just worried about that poor therapist being exposed to the brain in the Kid’s body. Ty’s not exactly… subtle.

I’ll save therapy for another day. Procrastination is fundamental when raising a child. Consider that another one of Bear’s Life Lessons (trademark pending approval).

“Well, good,” he says, getting up to put his bowl in the sink. “God knows you’ve probably already thought this through to death. Honestly, Bear, it’s one of your more endearing traits, but don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself think?”

Otter coughs. Ass.
“Fine,” I say as I throw my hands up into the air. “But I swear to God, Tyson, you’d better tell me the minute—no, the second—something

happens. No excuses, no hesitation. That’s the only way I’m going to agree to this.”

 

He stares at me wisely. “It’s like you’re expecting something to go wrong, Bear. Have a little faith, huh?”

 

I grumble.

He grabs his backpack off the counter and brings it to the table, pulling out what he refers to as his “Genius” folder. In it are test scores, report cards, extra reports he’s written even though he didn’t have to. There are letters of recommendation from previous teachers and other school staff, a carefully thought out six-page letter he’d composed explaining in detailed bullet points exactly why he felt he should be moved forward (second revision, of course; the first one had included such gems as “Point One: I won’t have to cause a nuisance and interrupt the teacher to correct one of his or her egregious mistakes,” and “Point Six: It’ll look way better for the school district if they decided to take pity on an almost-orphaned underprivileged boy who one day hopes to make a difference in the world. If you don’t, you will all look like monsters. And also, I have a lawyer,” and finally, “Point Eighty-nine: I’m a vegetarian. Studies have shown a vegetarian’s brain works at a higher capacity than those that eat the flesh and drink the blood of our animal companions. If you don’t believe me, look it up on Wikipedia.” Like I said, subtle).

“You sure this is all we’re going to need?” he asks me, poring through the papers for at least the ninth time in two days. “It would suck to get there and have them tell us no because you forgot to include something.”

“I asked Erica,” I remind him for the hundredth time. In two days. “She went over your… proposal and said everything looked fine. You know this. Now you’re worried? Why?”

He looks up from his bullet points and watches me plainly. “Because you’re worried, Bear. And it makes me nervous. You know when you worry, I worry. It’s just something we do.”

I almost grin at this, but I’m able to squash it before he can see the mirth crawling behind my lips. He’s right, obviously. We’re practically the same, he and I. Not that that’s a bad thing, at all. We’re just… slightly neurotic. Slightly.

He sees it anyways and scowls at me.

“We’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Just remember, if you just so happen to think something that probably sounds like it shouldn’t be said out loud, chances are you probably shouldn’t say it.”

“You should probably do the same,” the Kid says. “I don’t want to have to explain to the principal, my future teacher, and the superintendent why my older brother who’s petitioning to become my guardian is attempting to form words but instead looks like he’s a gorilla that’s struggling to learn sign language.”

“I don’t do that!” I snap.
Otter chuckles and farts to cover it up. God, he’s so gross.

This, of course, sets the Kid off, and Otter follows suit, and in turn it sets me off, and even though I can’t really explain why it’s so funny, there’s just something about the three of us, in this kitchen, in this house, able to laugh like nothing had ever gone wrong, like things weren’t still so uncertain, that we still didn’t have the fucking fight of our lives ahead of us, something that just rights itself and locks into place.

So we laugh.

UNTILwe meet Tyson’s new teacher, who seems to know Otter a whole hell of a lot better than I would have thought. Or hoped. Or cared to know. I’m not laughing anymore.

We’re sitting in the principal Judd Franklin’s office, a short squat man with tiny eyes that are spaced too far apart and remind me of a goldfish, along with the superintendent, a woman by the name of Leslie Parker, whose gigantic boobs look like they are about to burst out of her tight suit coat and send the buttons flying at us like pornographic shrapnel. Every time she takes a deep breath, I think about ducking, but somehow, I’m able to restrain myself. It’s probably not helping that I’m staring at her chest (not in a sexual way at all, just amazed) so when I hear a polite knock on the door, I’m thankful for the distraction.

“That’ll be Mr. Trent,” Principal Franklin says, rising from his desk and walking over to the door. He smiles slightly at Tyson, but it comes out more as a grimace, and I wonder at it for a moment, until the door opens and in walks the Kid’s new teacher.

I am startled, if only for a moment, to see a handsome man walk in, his stride confident, his smile wide and flashing white, even teeth. His short brown hair is perfect on the top of his head, nary a hair out of place. The stubble on his face is on its way to a full-blown beard, and it adds to the masculinity that seems to ooze from this self-assured man. He’s big (almost as big as Otter), the muscles of his thighs tight against his dress pants, his shirtsleeves catching on the rises and ridges of his biceps, straining and pulling. I sit up straighter and puff out my chest a little bit, unsure why I’m doing so even as I do it. I know when I speak I’ll have dropped my voice an octave to make myself seem more manly, and when I shake his hand, my grip will be tight and strong. Stupid, I know, but I’m a guy. It’s what we do.

But what strikes me the most about Mr. Trent is how young he looks. I doubt he’s older than Otter is, maybe just a few years older than I am. That would mean he’s just graduated from college and must have only been into the job a year or two. I don’t know why I expected Ty’s new teacher to be some old guy. It bugs me, for some reason.

But then it’s made worse when the teacher smiles over at us, first to the Kid, then myself, and then it hits Otter and the grin gets wider and becomes knowing, almost intimate. I wonder at this for a moment until I look back at Otter and find him staring back, his eyes wide, that crooked grin in full display. Oh man, does it hit then. Shit.

It starts in my toes with a little buzz. My feet tingle as it moves onto my ankles and calves. My knees feel itchy and then my thighs. My groin hurts, and then it hits my stomach and ignites like fire to gasoline. It roars up through me, encapsulating my lungs and heart, my esophagus. It burns past my eyes, which harden, and then it starts to scald my brain, and only then do I know what it is, only then can I give it a name. This whole process has only taken mere seconds, but when it hits me, I can do little about it. Jealousy. Good Christ, I’m feeling jealous of some guy I’ve never met, but who my stupid fucking boyfriend can’t stop smiling at and why has no one said anything yet and why is everyone just fucking staring at each other!

I clear my throat, but Mr. Trent beats me to it. “Oliver?” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Wow, what are you doing here?” His voice is exactly as I’d thought it would be, deep and whiskey rough, as if he’d smoked two packs a day for thirty years. It’s kind of hot. If you like that sort of thing. I don’t.

“David?” Otter says, the smile still on his face.

Neat. David. His name is David. How wonderful for him. How absolutely biblical. Apparently the heavens have opened up and choirs of angels are falling from the sky in a big fat ray of sunlight, all singing, “Daaaa-viiiiid,” and all I want for him is to be smote (smited? Smoted? One of those things that means fiery death pain) for staring at my boyfriend.

Oh come on, Bear , it laughs. Did you really think that there was only you and Jonah for Otter? That Otter hadn’t been with anyone else? Of course he was with other people. You weren’t his first anything.

The fight for you is all I’ve ever known , he whispers from somewhere in my head.
It sighs. Well, whatever. So Otter loves you and blah, blah, blah. But isn’t that look on his face right now just a hoot? Jesus Christ, this David guy must walk on water or something.

Or something, I agree darkly.

David Trent ignores the Kid and me completely as he walks over to Otter, his hand outstretched. Otter stands, and their hands and fingers touch and grip, and that knowing look is still in David’s eyes, and before I can stop myself, I picture David’s hand wrapped around Otter’s cock, and the blood rushes to my dick, making me feel like a pervert. An angry, jealous, stupid pervert who is wondering why his boyfriend and his little brother’s future teacher won’t stop shaking hands, and it’s like they’re holding hands, and how sweet for them. How awesome for those two. I’m pissed off now, even though it’s literally only been twenty seconds since the guy walked into the room, this guy who looks perfect, has the perfect body, the perfect smile, the perfect ass that I seem to be staring at. Why the hell am I checking out this guy’s ass? I don’t check out other guys asses, that’s not who I am. Maybe I just need to see if it’s better than mine.

It is. Of course it is. It looks like you could bounce a quarter off it. A whole roll of quarters, if you were into monetary kink. I bet Mr. David Trent, fifth grade teacher at Seafare Elementary, knows it too. The slut. He’s not going to be Ty’s teacher. Ever. I’ll fucking home school the Kid if I need to. I’ll quit my job and stay home all day with Ty and teach him stuff about… well, whatever it is that fifth graders are supposed to learn. I don’t care. He’s not coming here. Maybe we should move too. Like, to the other side of the country. And stay in our house. Forever.

Finally (after what feels like days) Otter and Captain Ass Muscles stop shaking hands and drop their arms back down to their sides. Otter seems to realize that he’s gazing lovingly into another man’s eyes, and he darts a look over at me. I attempt to school my face from the scowl I’m sure is there, but he catches it before I can make it disappear and has the decency to look at least moderately guilty. I squint at him and tilt my head slightly to the left, sending him the message, Um, what the fuck? without actually saying the words. We’ve perfected this form of silent communication to the point it’s almost scary.

He shrugs subtly. Later.
I cough. Oh, you better fucking believe there’s going to be a later. He smirks. Knock it off, Bear. It’s not like that. I can hear you thinking

from here.

I scratch my cheek. Oh you can, can you? Then you should know I’m thinking about punching you in the balls.
His smirk becomes evil. You being jealous is so fucking hot. I want to bend you over the principal’s desk and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before—
“Why is everyone being all quiet?” the Kid asks. “Are we having a staring contest? If so, you should have told me because I wasn’t quite ready yet. Otter?” I can almost taste the sarcasm in his voice. I glance over at him and see him glaring mutinously at Otter, like he’d done the worst thing in the world and had betrayed everyone he holds dear. I should have known the Kid would have been smart enough to pick up on the same things I had. It’s scary, really, how perceptive he is. I look back to Otter, and Otter has seen the same thing in the Kid that I have and takes a step back from Mr. David Trent.
David, of course, takes notice. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Last I heard you were down in California.”

Otter reaches up and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, came back a few months ago.”

 

“Really? What for?”

 

“Yes, Otter, why did you come back?” the Kid asks him pleasantly. Well, pleasantly enough.

 

Otter grins down at the Kid. “Down, boy,” he tells him. “I hear you loud and clear.”

 

“Do you?” the Kid asks. “I should hope so.”

The principal, the superintendent, and the guy I wish would fall into a deep crevice in the earth filled with molten lava have no idea what’s going on, but their eyes are going back and forth between my guys like they’re watching a really quick game of chess. It would be funny if I didn’t find the situation so unfunny. But, hey, see how I’m not overreacting? Yet? The Bear of a few weeks ago would have probably stood up and run out of the room and gone to the beach and ignored phone calls from his friends and family while he collapsed in on the weight of his own angst, imagining the ocean was swallowing him whole as the entire world began to shift and crack under the biggest earthquake ever known. The New and Improved Bear just internalizes everything until he can get the object of his consternation alone to ask some very pointed questions as to why said object was making goo-goo eyes at a man who must only work out his ass when he goes to the gym because, good Christ, does it look like it would be hard to the touch and why the fuck am I now thinking about touching another guy’s ass?

Well, at least we can cross the whole “gay for Otter” thing off the list , it says. Now it appears you’re just gay. Open your mouth. See if a purse falls out.

I don’t know which is better. Or worse. Crap.

 

Otter turns back to David. “I’m here with these two. Bear’s my boyfriend.”

“Partner,” the Kid says. “We’ve been over this, Otter. What grade are you in?”
Otter barely restrains his eye roll. “How could I forget? But you’re right. Bear’s my partner.”

David turns to me with sudden interest, and I stand up from my chair and reach over to him. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone in the room when I try to make myself as big as possible, which I’m sure looks hilarious given that David is at least four inches taller than I am and outweighs me by a good fifty pounds. “Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice deep as I can make it, ignoring the way Otter and the Kid snort. “I’m Bear, Otter’s… partner.” I grip his hand and do my best to crush his bones into dust.

David just looks amused. “I remember hearing about you years ago. I don’t think we ever met, though.”
Say what? “Heard about me?” I ask, my voice going deeper, almost to the point where it sounds like I’m grunting.

David lets go of my hand before I can break his fingers. I’m sure he’s in copious amounts of pain and just wants to crawl into a corner and hold his injured hand and cry. But somehow, he’s still able to smile at me. He’s good. “Oliver and I used to be… friends.” It’s not lost on me how that last word comes out, low and breathy, like he’s fucking the air around him with his mouth. He’s really good. “I didn’t know you were… you know.”

I stare at him, daring him to keep on talking, but he’s obviously waiting for me to respond to his question that’s not really a question. “I don’t remember you,” I tell him. “Must not have been very good friends if I never met you.” These words are out before I can stop them, and even I can hear how much of a jackass I am.

Jesus Christ, it laughs. Why don’t you just whip out your dick and piss on Otter? I’m sure that would get your point across.

Otter sighs and shakes his head, but that small smile never leaves his face, and I know he’s enjoying the hell out of this, and I think maybe I should piss on him, but I don’t think we’re the water-sports type. I’m fucked up as it is; I don’t need to find out I’m into kinky shit on top of everything else. I don’t think my heart could take it. (And, knowing the way my luck goes, I’d find out I was into the really kinky shit, and would be the type that needs to wear a black leather hood over my head with a zipper across my mouth and have jumper cables attached to my nipples with the other ends to a car battery, just to get my rocks off. That’s a real thing, by the way. People do that. Look it up online. I can wait. See? I told you. People are so weird.)

David’s not fooled by my words, and his grin grows wider, and it’s like he’s a shark, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many teeth before in a person. I’m about to open my mouth to say something (what, I don’t know) when the Kid speaks up for me.

“We all live together now,” he tells David, his little voice flat. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
David turns from me and looks down at the Kid. “It sounds like it,” he says cheerfully. “And you must be Tyson. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you!” He reaches out to shake the Kid’s hand, and I see the veins on the back of the Kid’s hand rise as he attempts to give his own version of a death grip. Jesus God, he’s not just like me, he is me. “That’s quite a handshake you’ve got there!” David exclaims, pretending to fall to his knees and grimacing.

The Kid rolls his eyes. “Are you always this patronizing?” he asks. “If so, I don’t know if we’d be a good match.”
“Tyson,” I say, my voice a warning, even though I just want to let him at David. It would be hilarious to watch as the Kid systematically deconstructed his future teacher, but I’ve always tried to impress upon the Kid that he show respect, especially when we’re trying to get him ahead.

The Kid scowls at me for a moment but then drops the act. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just don’t like to be talked down to.”
David nods solemnly, and I think he’s being serious. He gets a point in my book, but he has to make up for the huge deficit he’s already amassed. He doesn’t stand a chance. “Well, Tyson, I can definitely promise I won’t pander to you. I’ve heard some very wonderful things about you, and I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

“Shall we, then?” Principal Franklin asks, waving his hands toward the empty chairs.

 

We shall.

As soon as we are seated (the three faculty members on one side, us on the other, which, unfortunately, gives me the idea that we were auditioning for some reality competition, and for the life of me, I can’t shake this thought despite the seriousness of the conversation—I suck like that sometimes), Ty proceeds to pull his “Genius” folder out of his backpack. I’m about to open my mouth to ask what the people across from us would like to discuss further when the Kid pulls out a thin metal stand from his bag, which he unfolds and props up next him. He then pulls out a little black device that he clicks on and off. A laser pointer. He stands and grabs the “Genius” folder, opening it and pulling out papers, placing them on the stand. The top page on the stand says: Why I Should Be Allowed Into The Fifth Grade By Tyson McKenna.

My God, the Kid is about to give a presentation.

I glance at Otter, wondering if we should try and stop this or see how it plays. But Otter is watching my brother with such adoration that it takes my breath away, leaving me unable to say a damn thing. For a moment I forget about stupid fucking David Trent and his gigantic muscles, and as if he can hear me thinking (which, to be honest, I think he can), Otter turns his eyes to me, and that adoration doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows. Christ. I start getting choked up, and I have to look away. He knows, as he always does, reaching out to pat my hand gently, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I nod my head once, letting him know I get that he gets it, that we’ll step back and let the Kid go and see what happens.

The three opposite us stare dumbfounded as Tyson takes a moment to gather his thoughts, rifling through his notes, muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in deep thought. I feel slight unease, having not known that Tyson was going to make this a big deal. The Kid isn’t exactly known for his discretion (what kid is?), and I can only hope he won’t be going along with his normal thought process. But while I hope this, I know that it won’t matter in the end. I figure I can cut it off if need be and deal with the consequences later.

At the very least this should be entertaining.

The Kid finally seems ready and looks across at the others, ignoring Otter and me completely. He stands, taking a deep breath. I can see his hands are shaking a little bit, the laser pointer clutched in his tiny fist, the knuckles going white. He’s nervous. The Kid is fucking nervous. It is enough to break my silence and heart both at the same time. Otter feels me tense, and his grip on my hand tightens. I look over at him and he smiles quietly at me, shaking his head just once. So much is said in that one look, like he knows every fear I have, how it’s killing me to see the Kid nervous, because he’s never nervous. Worried, yeah. But nervous? No fucking way. And if he’s nervous now, it means he’s scared, and it means that I have to go to him. I have to protect him. I have to make it better. It’s my job. It’s who I am. It’s what I’m supposed to fucking do. I glare at Otter but he knows. He knows.

“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me today,” the Kid says, his voice small but firm. “I am here to tell you why I feel you should allow me to be moved up from the fourth grade to the fifth at the start of the upcoming school year. It is my hope that, after my presentation, you will see that I have many interests, such as animal rights and math.” He raises an awkward hand and removes the top page from the stack, and I have to put my hand to my mouth to keep myself from laughing and bawling all at the same time as I see next page says, I LIKE ANIMAL RIGHTS AND MATH in large block letters, to which Ty points the laser pointer, highlighting each word to emphasize something. I don’t know when he would have printed this stuff off the computer. I never saw any of this. I wonder if Otter knew. I remind myself to threaten to withhold sex from him until he tells me.

“I am academically inclined, as you can see from my test scores,” the Kid says, reaching down to his “Genius” folder and taking out copies of his report cards and passing them out among the three who are currently staring at him raptly. I should have realized it wouldn’t have taken much for them to fall under Ty’s spell. He’s a charismatic Kid, that’s for damn sure. They murmur their thanks as they take the papers from him, studying them closely, as if they’ve never seen such things before, as if they haven’t already known what his report cards look like.

“Now,” the Kid continues, his voice stronger, more sure, “before I get into the meat of my presentation, which, by the way, is the only time meat is acceptable, I would like to show that I have a wide variety of interests outside of academics. I would like to read you a poem I wrote.”

Oh fuck. Oh no.

 

Otter starts to lose it next to me. He’s quiet, but I can feel his hand shaking on top of mine. This is going to be a nightmare.

The Kid picks up another piece of paper from his folder and removes the second sheet from the metal stand. The next paper says, A CONTEMPORARY POEM BY TYSON MCKENNA ENTITLED “WHY I SHOULD SKIP A YEAR (ODE TO EINSTEIN AND MY ANIMAL FRIENDS).”

He takes a deep breath, and I wonder if I should try and stop him before he speaks, but I’m too late. All I can do is sit back and let the Kid perform his poetic epic. And from the sound of it, he’s found out how to access the thesaurus on the computer. He’s going to be unstoppable.

To the faculty of Seafare Elementary
I’m here to impress upon your will!
I consider myself to be cognoscenti
(that means a person with a high degree of skill).

I say this not to brag, because that would be really lame (even though it sort of is kind of true).
Nor am I here for eternal glory or fame.
I just want to talk to you!

People often ask why I am a vegetarian, and I’m honest when I look them in the eye; I say, “Well, why are you such a barbarian? Putting those animals in your mouth to die?”

They’ll look at me funny, and will sometimes start to stutter, but I’ll continue on, not to be deterred,
saying, “I can’t believe you’d use that mouth to kiss your mother,” as they start to choke on what is undoubtedly some endangered aquatic bird.

People can’t believe that I’m actually only nine.
“Kids don’t talk like that,” they say, “no matter how mature they be!” Really? You don’t think so? That’s okay. That’s fine.
It’s not my fault the most syllables in a word you use is three. But I think I deserve a chance to show you exactly what I can do. After all, in school Einstein barely got passing grades.
And if he can be considered the father of modern physics through and through,
Then I think there’s a chance I’ve got this made in the shade.

I’m not saying this to sound cocky, that’s not my intent at all. I’m merely trying to stress a little point.
So I’m hoping that coming up here in the fall,
You’ll let me skip ahead a grade in this here joint.

In conclusion, where things inevitably come to an end, I am happy you’ve let me have my say.
As I hope it will be in my ability to tend
to grow smarter with each passing day.

Oh, and one more thing, in case my subtlety confounds: don’t eat meat. I mean, really, why would you? There are plenty of plants around.
Take a chance! Try something new!
I promise it’ll make your life profound!

IAMBIC pentameter, meet wood chipper. Wood chipper, iambic pentameter. He stops and looks up nervously.
Motherfucker, I’ve got tears in my eyes.

Otter and me begin to clap at the same time, the two of us creating such thunderous applause that it sounds deafening in the tiny office. The Kid looks startled by the noise, but only for a moment. He looks over at us, and I see the nervousness that has plagued him since he opened his mouth slowly melt away. The smile that grows on his face is breathtaking. Jesus, I’m so proud I feel like a mom at a soccer game whose kid has just scored his first goal.

The others in the room (those that haven’t gotten to see the Kid’s interpretation of “poetic license”) are staring at him with what can only be described as matching looks of awe. I can’t tell yet if that’s a good thing or not. It’s how I would imagine people would look like after they’ve discovered a new species of bug, and they don’t know yet if it’s poisonous. They are filled with wonder, but it’s cautious.

Tyson doesn’t seem to notice any of that, so I guess it’s okay, although it doesn’t stop me from shooting glares at all three of them, which they recognize and begin to clap politely. I didn’t know that Seafare was the center of the poetry universe to allow them to be such snobs about the whole thing.

Jerks.

But it’s enough, and Ty’s courage returns in full force and for the next twenty minutes, he speaks, sliding page after page off the stand, laying out each and every bullet point that Otter and I had read over and allowed to stay in, not knowing it would be the Kid presenting them. There’s times he veers off on random tangents (“I would also like to implement a student council that could assist the faculty in moving this school into the future; to start with, we need to go green, people. We only have one Earth. I think new leadership is needed to bring about this change. But please don’t think I mean my administration to be a dictatorship. You, as the paid staff, would still be allowed to provide what I’m sure is your valuable input. This isn’t Cuba, after all.”) and times that he gets preachy (“Did you know that thirty cows are slaughtered somewhere in the world every two hours? How is that fair?”), but in the end, it doesn’t matter. It’s obvious he’s thought this through, his master thesis on what it means to be the Kid. If anyone ever again asks me how he can be the way he is, I’m just going to have him give a repeat performance, poem and all.

I’m about to give him the universal signal to wrap it up, but he finishes with a flourish, quoting some dead guy who said something about something. I don’t know. I’m half listening as it is, making sure to keep an eye on the faculty members across from us, ready to launch myself across the table in case one of them shows even the remotest signs of disinterest. Otter knows this, and his grip on my hand tightens ever so gently, and I have moments to marvel that I’m sitting here in public, watching my little brother give his fifth grade dissertation while my boyfriend—er, partner—holds my hand.

Gee, look how far I’ve come. I only think nervously about removing my hand once or twice, especially when I catch David sneaking glances at Otter’s apparent need for public displays of affection. Yeah, maybe I am rubbing it in a little, but he’s gotten under my skin somehow, and not in a good way.

But the Kid finishes and bows slightly, and we clap again, and I notice with trace amusement when the faculty immediately applauds, louder this time. Either they got my pointed stares, or they’re just glad it’s over.

Ty puts his stuff away and comes to sit down next to me in his chair and leans over, burying his face in my shoulder. Otter leans over, almost resting his chin against my other shoulder, his breath sliding over my neck, causing gooseflesh to prickle, and we both wait for the Kid, knowing he’s going to need reassurance with whatever it is going on in his head right now. This has been a big step for him, one that I’m sure he wouldn’t have been capable of four months ago.

“Derrick?” he finally asks, his voice muffled by my shirt. Worse than I thought, I guess. He usually reserves calling me Derrick when he’s about to ask one of his Very Important Questions About (fill in the blank).

“Yeah, Kid?”

“You’re not mad, are you? I just wanted this to be a surprise. I wanted to show you and Otter that I can do this, that I didn’t need any help.”
Echoes of a conversation a few weeks before come flying back from a time when I was in a raging panic, thinking that I’d lost the Kid forever, only to feel the weight of him in my arms. I shiver slightly, feeling it roll up through my spine. “I’m not mad,” I say roughly. “I could never be mad at you for that. That was pretty damn amazing, Ty. That took some balls.”
Otter reaches over and ruffles his hair gently, his big hand pulling on strands of the Kid’s dark hair. “We’re proud of you, Kid,” he says quietly, only for us to hear. “And you don’t ever think you can’t ask us for help, even if you did that all on your own.”

Ugh, we’re getting saccharine in front of people who for all intents and purposes are strangers. I kiss the Kid’s head and hear him grumble about it, but he pulls away, a small smile on his blushing face. I glance at Otter, who grins at me and mouths the word “softie,” and I almost fight the urge to roll my eyes, but do it anyways. Whatever. I’ll get him back later.

David Trent, Mr. Franklin, and Boobs McGee (God, I’ve got to stop thinking of her like that!) are obviously relieved when our little family moment is over and they don’t have to stare at the ceiling or the floor in an attempt to give us our privacy.

Mr. Franklin juggles the papers on his desk and clears his throat, tapping a finger on the desk. “Well, Tyson,” he starts, “that was certainly… a first in all my years as an educator. You made some very… unique points that we will undoubtedly be talking about for years to come.”

The Kid preens. I scowl.

“Now, Derrick,” he continues, eyeing me warily, “as you may remember at the end of last year, we discussed the probability of advancing Tyson a year, given his aptitude for pretty much everything. It’s rare, to be sure, and I’ve met only a handful of truly gifted children in my life and have seen how many of them can flounder if they are not adequately challenged. I seem to remember discussing with you if you felt Tyson would be ready for such a change, and hearing your hesitancy in the matter. May I ask what has changed?”

Wait, now I’m on trial here? Hell. What should I tell him? Should I say that we’re reasonably okay now that I’ve found out that I like dick? No, I think that might be too crude. Do I tell him it’s because Tyson and I have finally found at least a semblance of peace because Otter came back? Nah, I don’t think it’s fair to rest all of that on Otter, even if it is a good thing. But no matter what I think, I can’t help but notice how it all comes back to Otter, no matter which way I try and spin it. That, without him, Tyson and I would probably still be antisocial shut-ins hell-bent on making it through day by day. How can I fully explain that to him when I really haven’t even said those things to Otter? Sure, I think he knows on some level, like he seems to know everything else, but he needs to hear it from me, and not in a room full of people where I can’t accurately show how much he does mean to us, means to me (and yes, I am being way dirty here, which is not the best place to have thoughts about sucking my boyfriend’s cock until he does that thing that shows me he’s close: the toe-curling, hair-pulling, low-grunting thing that shows me that I might have a knack as a dick sucker after all.)

Shit. Now I’m horny. Again.

And apparently my train of thought has been hijacked again by masked bandits on horseback, as I’m pretty sure a full minute has passed in complete silence with me staring slack-jawed at the people sitting across from us. Great. Gorilla struggling to learn sign language, just like the Kid predicted. Where’s Mrs. Paquinn when you need her? She wouldn’t have allowed this much time to pass without at least giving her thoughts on whatever it is that decides to wander through her brain at that given moment, either aliens or the social ramifications of cottage cheese (long story).

“Er… well, you see,” I stammer, sure I’m not helping anything by speaking. “We’ve… ah, how would you put it. We’ve… gotten to a better place? You know, in our lives?”

How articulate! it chortles gleefully. You are obviously a cognowhatever just like your brother! My God, how are you not a rocket scientist by now?

“Is that so?” Principal Franklin asks. “Could you elaborate?”

Oh, I bet you’d like that. “Well, Tyson and I have recently moved into a house, so no more apartment. And, uh, we have a more stable home life. You know, at home? And we have a great support group around us that… surrounds us.” I need to stop because it sounds like I’m choking on my words. Jesus, the Kid can give a thirty-minute presentation, and I can’t speak for two freaking seconds? I look at the one person in the room I know can help me, and he’s there, always there, and something passes between us, and he nods at me, squeezing my hand gently before turning back to Franklin.

Otter says, “I’m sure you’ve been recently made aware of the events of three years ago? Tyson’s attorney informed us that she contacted your office and advised you of the current legal situation.”

Boobs Mc—Leslie Parker speaks up. “Yes, I have had a conversation with Erica Sharp. And I must say that we were obviously surprised hearing about your mother’s… departure. We were under the impression that Derrick was acting in her stead with a power of attorney because of a health issue.” She looks at me sternly, though not unkindly.

“I never said it was a health issue,” I grumble.

“Be that as it may,” she says, “you let us believe that it was. Derrick, I don’t know whether to hug you or throttle you.” That’s nothing new. Most people have that reaction. “Didn’t you ever think to ask about any financial assistance? The school has resources to provide for low-income families. It would have been so easy for you just to talk to us about what was going on so that we could have helped you.”

Ah, there it is again, people’s innate need to worry, to want to help. It was this very thing that had caused such great discord in those first couple of years, what with my damnable pride and lack of trust in most everyone around me. I could attempt to explain them, but anything I say, any argument to the contrary, will sound weak. Because my decisions were weak. Even though I thought I was reacting in the best interest of the Kid, there’s times when I wonder if I was watching out for myself even more, cocooning us both inside that apartment where we were reasonably safe, where the outside world could just pass us by without so much as a second glance. Was I in the wrong? I don’t know. Maybe. But the time to secondguess myself is in the past. It’s not something I care to focus on anymore, especially given where we’re headed now. It’s easy to drown in the past if you allow yourself.

Trust me, I know a thing or two about drowning.

“I didn’t know who to trust at the time,” I finally say to the others, my voice low but steady. “I’m not going to try and convince you that I handled everything as I should have, because I didn’t. I know that. But we’re here now. We’ve made it this far. And we did it on our own, and we’re in a place that we don’t need your help. Not that it’s not appreciated,” I tack on hastily.

Otter squeezes my hand again, just to let me know he’s there, before he says, “And Bear is working full time at the grocery store, though I’ve got enough money saved that he’ll be able to go down to part time once he goes back to school.”

Oh shit! I totally forgot to tell you. Yeah, apparently I’m starting school again at the community college this fall. And apparently this isn’t up for debate. You should have seen the look on my face when Otter told me this. Oh, and the Kid was in on the whole ambush, as well, agreeing with everything Otter said, every perfectly valid point he made, that we were financially secure, which allowed me to lessen my hours at work (oh, and let me tell you the joy I felt in that, knowing that Otter had already put my name on his banking accounts—he takes this “partner” crap way too literally; that didn’t stop me from opening the first statement that came in the mail, which caused me to go into apoplectic shock by just how big the number was—San Diego had been kind to Otter, at least financially). If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the past few weeks, aside from the fact that I should never be allowed to think on my own, it’s that trying to win an argument against Otter and the Kid when they’re united is an impossible task. It’s easier for me just to say “yes.”

Otter was right. Christ, I’m turning into such a softie in my old age.

So yeah, I’m going back to school at the age of twenty-one. I figure I’ll start with a few classes just to get back into the swing of things. I don’t know what I want to be anymore, although Otter wants me to continue with the whole writing thing. Maybe. Or maybe I’ll become a dentist. Or a bug scientist (whatever they’re called). I’m super excited about homework. That’s a lie. But Otter knows me too well and told me he’s going to sit next to me while I register online, just to make sure I do it. Knowing me, I would probably chicken out, tell him I did do it, and then pretend to go to class and really sit in a Denny’s until a couple of hours had passed. Of course, that train of thought blew up in my mind, and I had gotten to the point where I realized I would eventually have to plan a fake graduation, and I wondered if I knew enough people to make a fake graduation look realistic when I realized that sounded like way too much work and that it would be easier just to really go to school.

Needless to say, Otter won that round.

“I figure the Kid can help me with my homework too,” I joke with the faculty. But it appears their sense of humor has died working in the public school system, and they don’t find it funny. I think I’m hilarious, so their loss.

“And how will the custody hearings interfere with all of this?” Principal Franklin asks. “The only reason I mention it is because I know that moving a child up a grade can create additional stresses on a person, even one as… intuitive as Tyson.”

“I won’t get stressed—” the Kid starts, sounding offended. I shake my head at him, and he stops, but not before he shoots a dirty look at me.

“I’ve thought about that,” I admit. “I wondered if he was going to be able to handle it. But I think he’s a lot stronger than you’re giving him credit for. I know he’s stronger than I gave him credit for. And as for the custody issues, we are taking it as it comes. The attorney has laid out what the potential issues could be, and we’ve decided that, regardless, it needs to be done.”

“And will Tyson have to undergo counseling?” Leslie asks. “Oregon custody laws usually dictate that a psychologist or counselor will have to give their opinion to the courts on the well-being of the child, in addition to any visits by a social worker through Child Protective Services.”

Uh-oh.

“I have to go to therapy?” the Kid asks me, his voice so incredulous you would think we’re suggesting he bathe in raw hamburger. “I’m not crazy, Bear! You know how I feel about those quacks!”

“You’ve made it clear, Kid,” I tell him, trying to keep myself from leaping over the desk and throttling the superintendent until the light fades from her eyes. “Many, many times. But this is something that is nonnegotiable. We’ll discuss it when we get home, okay?” I hear him grumble his response, which sounds suspiciously like “You bet your ass we will,” but I let it go and turn back to the stupid woman who let the therapeutic cat out of the bag. “Yes, he will undergo an evaluation, and yes, we will have a social worker assigned to us. And I’ve been told this process can take some time. But I’ve got faith in him. He would tell me if he thought he couldn’t do it. He says he can.” I shrug. “That’s good enough for me.”

Leslie nods at me and glances over at the principal and David Trent before turning back to me. “Well, this was never about whether or not Tyson would be moved up, because academically, I believe he is ready. His maturity also suggests he could handle the transition. And while I admit to being worried about the stresses on his life with all that is going on, the decision on whether or not to move him up was with you, Derrick, and your mother.” She blushes slightly, as if mentioning my mom is a faux pas she should have avoided. “And now we know that it is just up to you, well, again this is about what’s best for Tyson, and if you put your support into it, then I don’t see any reason why he shouldn’t move up.” She looked down at the Kid. “And, Tyson, I expect you to let us know if there are any issues that need to be brought to our attention.”

Tyson looked at her suspiciously. “You mean you want me to tell you if Mr. Trent is a bad teacher?”
Oh, Jesus.

Leslie Parker coughs politely while the principal turns red and David Trent stares, dumbfounded. “No,” Leslie says. “That’s not quite what I meant. I mean if the workload begins to be too much for you, I expect you to speak up and let someone know.”

“I think division and fractions and I will be just fine,” he says, sneaking a quick glance at me. “But I will let Bear and Otter know if something goes wrong. Or you guys. Or maybe I’ll just cry to my therapist about it and he can put me on Ritalin and I’ll become a mindless drone, incapable of feeling anything.”

Great. No way is he letting that go. Fantastic.
“Kid,” I warn again. “Now’s not the time for your views on psychotherapy.” And trust me when I say he has views on it. How could he not? He has views on everything.
His face goes slack as he turns to me jerkily, saying in a flat monotone, “Does not compute. Does not compute. I don’t have feelings thanks to

artificial chemicals coursing through my veins. What… is this human… emotion… called love?”

 

Ladies and gentleman, Tyson McKenna.

But it appears I’m the only one glaring. The others seem to be amused, even Principal Franklin. While I had no doubt that the Kid would win them over, I would rather it not have been done at my expense. But, really? Whatever works.

David takes us down to his classroom and shows the Kid around, and I can tell there’s a moment when they randomly begin discussing the Civil War and Pop-Tarts that Tyson begins to get excited. I smile at them sadly, knowing that this is just another step for the Kid on his quest for world domination. And another step away from me.

Blah, blah, blah.
The Kid is looking through some of the textbooks he’ll be using for the year when Otter’s phone rings. He glances down at the display and a weird look crosses his face. “I better get this,” he says.

“It’s not Jonah, is it?” I ask, my voice hard. Jonah would be the only one I could think of that would explain why Otter suddenly looks tense. We haven’t heard from him since I tried to break his face off the night of Creed’s end of summer party. He’d run back to San Diego, for all I knew. Talking about Jonah is not a good thing for me.

Otter shakes his head and says, “Hello” into the phone as he walks out of the classroom.
“Who’s Jonah?” David asks, suddenly standing next to me.

“Just this dick I know,” I grumble before I can stop myself. I squint at David. “Why do you care?”
David shrugs. “You looked really pissed off when you said that name, so I just wondered I guess. That was rude of me. I apologize.” He grins, and of course it looks perfect. All those even teeth that look like they get bleached every day and would probably glow as brightly as the sun in a black light.
“So,” he says.

“So,” I say.
“You and Otter, huh?”
Oh, how professional. You should be fired! “Yep, me and Otter.” “Been a long time?”
“Why?” I glare at him.
“Just wondering.”
“Long enough.”
“Oh. That’s nice.”
“Yes. It is.” I don’t want to talk to Mr. Perfect anymore.

But apparently he wants to talk to me. “Look, Derrick, I’m not trying to hone in on anything here. Just trying to figure out how things are, is all.”
I think he’s telling the truth, but he could be a pathological liar. And a sociopath. He looks like the type. He probably has dead bodies stacked four deep in his closet. “You want to know how things are?” I ask him quietly. He nods.

I turn to face him full on, and he’s about as tall as Otter, though not as big around. I’m not kidding myself into thinking I can intimidate anyone, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. “Otter’s mine,” I tell him softly. “He’s mine, and he’s not going anywhere. So you can stop thinking whatever you’re thinking about him, because it ain’t gonna happen. We clear?”

David grins. “Crystal. I like you, Derrick. You’re very funny.” “I’m not trying to be funny,” I growl.
“That’s what’s so funny about it,” he reassures me. “You won’t have

any problems from me. Otter’s wanted you for years.”
“Uh, what?” I knew this, but how the fuck does David know this? David watches me as he speaks, looking for what, I don’t know. “We

dated about five years ago. Nothing too serious, it only went on for seven or eight months. Neither one of us really broke it off; it just sort of ended. But every now and then, he would talk about you, and you could just hear something in his voice, see something in his eyes.” He shrugs. “There was something about him when he talked about you. He never got like that when speaking of anyone else. But you were still in high school and underage, so obviously he wasn’t going to do anything. Well, that, and the fact that you had a girlfriend, from what I remember.” He says this last like he expects a response.

But I don’t want to give him one, because even though I’d known how Otter had felt about me, had heard it from the man himself, it still shocks me to know how other people could have seen it too, that it is a real thing, that it has memory because people have seen it. I don’t say anything because I don’t know what to say. How is it that all these people could have seen what was right in front of me and I didn’t know?

Before the silence can get more awkward, Otter walks back into the room, and the lines on his forehead tell me that whatever that phone call was about, it can’t possibly be good. Shit. And here I was thinking that today would be all easy. Between Tyson’s attempt to become poet laureate to Seafare Elementary, and his new teacher who looks like a porn star and who has apparently had sex with my boyfriend (stop thinking about that!), I don’t know how much more I can handle today.

I give Otter a quizzical look, and he shakes his head once, and I know he wants to wait until we get out to the car before he says anything. I call for the Kid, who says good-bye to David and jumps up onto my back and starts babbling about the stuff he’d read in the textbooks and how excited he was and that he was nervous when he started to give his presentation and did I think his poem was good and did I think that everyone else thought his poem was good? I notice Otter and David shaking hands again, David grinning at Otter, but Otter’s distracted and drops his hand and follows us out the door.

It’s not until we’re in the car and driving home that he tells me who was on the phone. And when I hear who it was, my heart stops in my chest, and I think maybe I’m going to puke all over Otter’s Jeep. And when I hear what they want us to do… well, when I hear what they want us to do, I tell Otter to keep on driving until we reach Mexico. He just smiles at me weakly.

Who is it, you ask? Who was on the phone?

Well, it would seem that Creed and Otter’s parents are home from their trip abroad, where they were fighting Pygmies in the Amazon (okay, that’s not what they were really doing, but I still don’t know what they were actually doing). And they were surprised to learn that Otter was back in Seafare. And they would like him to come for dinner this Saturday. And they would like me and Ty to come for dinner. Otter was with us already? Oh, great! That saves them a phone call! Oh, and Creed is flying back for a short weekend to see his parents, even though he just left. And Creed invited Anna! Oh, and wouldn’t you know, Anna had, in turn, invited Mrs. Paquinn! Wasn’t it just so wonderful? It’s like the whole family back together again! We’ll make it a celebration!

Alice and Jerry Thompson do not know about me and Otter. Or me and Anna. Or me and Creed.
This isn’t going to be awkward at all.