Just For the Week
5 Feb 2022 5405 readers Score 9.3 (187 votes) PDF Mobi ePub Txt
I’m in my room with my lab partner. Experiments have been conducted and data has been recorded, but now we have to prepare for tomorrow’s presentation to the class. We’ve been at it for over an hour, but there’s still so much to do. I ordered a pizza. We’ll be at this all night.
My lab partner is sitting on my bed while I swivel back and forth in my desk chair. My house is a no-shoes house, so we’re both in athletic crew socks – me Nike and him Addidas – while our pairs of shoes keep each other company downstairs by the door. He suddenly kicks his feet out, drops them next to my legs and hooks onto the armrests of my chair, stopping my swiveling action. He grins at me and tells me that the constant twisting is annoying. His feet are touching my thighs. Bigger than mine, his teenage boy feet are so tempting in those clean white socks. I can see the contours. I soooo want to touch them. Caress them. Peel those socks off them.
He flops on his back and the exposed strip of bare skin below his t-shirt, above his waistband causes an immediate stirring in my crotch. He might be the cutest boy on the face of the earth. Either that or he’s just currently the most accessible, being in my bedroom and all. He raises his arms above his head and suddenly I have a full view of his bare stomach all the way up to his rib cage. His belly button couldn’t be more perfect. I was right the first time. He is the cutest. The tightening in my crotch intensifies.
He props himself on his elbows making lines crease across his smooth, lean stomach. Somehow, this is even more enticing. My face flushes. I didn’t think he caught me gawking at him, but his smile widens. He suggests that I go get us some sodas before the pizza gets here. His feet are still against my thighs and hooked in my armrests. I’m kind of trapped between his legs. I indicate my predicament with my eyes and he tells me he’s comfortable and doesn’t want to move. He tells me to stand up and step over him.
Forgetting that I’m bulging in my crotch, I stand up. My lab partner notices my “situation” and his eyes widen. His feet release the chair’s armrests and he hooks his legs around the back of my knees and pulls me towards him. He looks up and meets my eyes. He drops his feet to the floor, sits up and wraps his arms around my waist. His hands find their way under my shirt and explore my back causing goosebumps to explode on my skin. He pushes up my sweatshirt, gives his prey a long look and plunges his tongue into my navel. I gasp in surprise.
He gives my tummy little kisses all over and I giggle because his nuzzles tickle. I lace my fingers in his hair. He tells me that I’ve been teasing him all afternoon, making us take our shoes off, telling him he can sit on my bed, twisting around in the chair in front of him. Reaching and stretching in front of him. It was all too much and now he has to do something about it. He unbuttons my shorts, pulls down the zipper and slides them down my hips. My boxer briefs can barely hold my raging erection and my lab partner looks hungrily at my pointer. His hands slide down to my ass and begin to massage as he works his mouth all around my shaft through my underwear. I moan. This is the first sexual experience of my life and it came out of nowhere. It’s happening so fast.
Hooks his fingers inside the waistband of my boxer briefs and now those are off too. My erection springs free, almost slapping him in the face. He laughs, but he’s not laughing at me. He catches my eye again, smiles again, parts his lips and swallows me whole. I know I’m not huge, but I’m not particularly small either. He takes in all of me. His nose is buried in my pubic hair. He continues to massage my butt as he aggressively sucks me off. My fingers tighten their grip in his hair and my mouth drops open as I throw my head back and call out his name. His mouth is delivering sensations that I had no idea mouths were capable of delivering. His oral attack is relentless and I’m about to blow my load. I change the tone of my moan to forewarn him of my pending explosion, but he doesn’t back off.
I’m getting closer and closer. So close. It’s about to happen. It’s starting. And then…the bell rings. Not once, but over and over and over. That damn pizza guy is persistent. And a cock blocker. Suddenly my lab partner stops. He pulls away, leaving our latest experiment unfinished.
The bell rings on. And on and on and on. I slowly realize that I am in my bedroom and I do have a raging boner, but I’m all alone. It’s not the pizza guy or even the doorbell at all. It’s my alarm. It’s time to get up and get ready for school. I was having yet another fantasy dream about my secret crush. My secret crush who is straight, has a girlfriend and doesn’t even know that I exist.
* * * *
Like many other eighteen-year-old boys, I’m still figuring out who I’m going to be. Or at least that’s the lie I tell people. The truth is, I know who I am…I just don’t know how or when to be who I am. I’m a living self-contradiction in terms. A conundrum to my family and friends. Some of it’s on display for everyone to see; the musician who prefers old music. The fan of baseball and basketball, but the hater of football and hockey. The runner who is not athletically inclined in any other way. The one who won’t eat normal food. The guy who is not obsessed with video games and gives absolutely zero shits about the next great gaming system. I like reading books – physical books. And not Manga or Graphic Novels or Fantasies either. I have nothing against those genres, they’re just not for me.
But those things are all choices. Conscious preferences. There are other things about myself that I didn’t get to pick and choose. Things I don’t get a say in. Things like my boring, flat mousey brown hair, my green eyes that I wish were blue and my generally overall average looks. Oh, and one more thing. I like other boys.
Presently, I’m a senior at Chandler Catholic High School. The Chandler community is not particularly progressive; their mission and principles are a bit outdated. Their emphasis is on the message of Christ, service and responsibility to the church. The sad and unacceptable fact of the matter is they don’t even have a GSA club. This is not an environment fostering self-exploration, self-expression or singularity. Comply and conform. This is not the place for a gay atheist to thrive out in the open, so here I am…hiding. Fortunately, it’s mid-May and I’m quickly approaching graduation. Post high school will be my time. That’s when my life will truly begin. I just need to hang on for a few more weeks.
But I’ve been eighteen for a few months now and I’ve contemplated the big reveal. When I do come out, it will be on my terms and on my timeline. I am not a go-with-the-flow, free-spirit kind of a guy. I make lists and I set priorities. In my mind I’ve planned my “coming out” party. First, there will be no party. Second, keep my secret until high school is over. Third, tell my best friends and my brothers over the summer. And fourth, tell my parents the night before I go away to college. Or better yet, the morning of the day that I leave. I want a buffer zone of at least six states between us. So, like my winter coat and boots, I – Jack Pearson – remain safely tucked away in the closet. For now.
* * * *
I’ve never pretended to not be gay. I’ve never dated or had a girlfriend as a cover. I don’t lie about it either, I just don’t talk about it. Most of the kids who know me assume that my strict parents won’t allow me to date. I don’t correct this false assumption. My parents have actually been eagerly awaiting the day I come home and announce my interest in a girl. My older brother went through a dozen girls in high school. My little brother Josh, who’s only in eighth grade, has like three different girlfriends at the same time right now. He’s making me look bad. To this point my parents just think I’m shy and awkward, which is not untrue…it’s just not my whole truth.
There are about 150 kids in my graduating class making the school’s total student population in the vicinity of 600. I don’t know all 600 kids personally, but I do know that there’s only one openly gay student, Matthew Barnes. He’s a junior, one year younger than me, and kind of my hero. I’ve never interacted with him beyond just a nod, a smile or a “hi” in passing, but I’ve seen the crap he’s had to deal with. The name calling, the taunting, the occasional bumps and shoves…the bullying. It’s not safe for someone like Matthew Barnes to openly be who he is, but he’s doing it anyway. He really is a hero.
* * * *
I share a bathroom with my brother and it sucks. Josh is an EF5 tornado in the bathroom. He’s like the freaking Tasmanian Devil. I leave everything neat and clean for him but the whole room is a wet, drippy mess when he’s finished. Solution: I get up early and go first every day.
We’re a cereal house on weekday mornings but I stopped eating grains and sugar last year. I had seen a documentary about the Paleolithic lifestyle and it just clicked with me. It’s my new thing. I’m not looking to lose weight – I just want to be healthy. Of course, this is one more thing for my family and friends to poke fun at. Another way to be different and weird. If they only knew. I grab two hard-boiled eggs and a bottle of water from the fridge.
I join my parents at the table in comfortable silence until Dad asks me, “Jack, isn’t prom coming up next week? Have you asked a girl yet?”
Just as the question is asked, Josh comes sliding into the kitchen; big socked feet on the shiny linoleum floor. I have a mouthful of egg, so Josh helpfully jumps in, “A girl asked him to go to prom, but he said no.”
My parents both look like they were just told that our church exploded.
Josh, grinning at me now, says, “It was a girl named Sarah. And she’s kind of hot too! I can’t believe she’d even want to go with him.” Josh laughs and fist bumps my shoulder.
My face turns beet red as I choke down my last bit of dry yolk. One of the things I hate most about myself is how emotional I am. I can’t help it; it’s how I’m wired. I laugh easily, I cry easily and most of all, I embarrass easily. And when I get embarrassed, I blush. There’s no hiding my feelings. I wear my heart on my sleeve and my emotions on my face.
Dad looks shellshocked, “Is this true?”
It’s true. Two weeks ago, Sarah Grey promposed to me. Life would have been so much easier if I’d just said yes. Date or no date, I have to go because I’m on the student council which also acts as the prom committee. I just thought I’d go alone or as a third wheel with my friends. Was there any logical reason that I would turn Sarah down? No. Here was this cute, sweet girl who had mustered up the courage to ask a guy to prom and the guy – me – hurt and embarrassed her. I couldn’t tell her that I did the noble thing, that I actually did what was right for both of us. Not without “coming out”. But like I said, “coming out” is something I choose on my own timetable and I’m just not ready.
Sarah is friends with Hannah Vaughn. Hannah, like me, is on student council and she is my arch nemesis. She’s usually on the opposite side of most any issue from me. She’s the elephant to my donkey. When Hannah found out that I rejected Sarah, she told everyone that I must be gay. She even posted it on the school’s social media. It was quickly taken down, but not before the damage had been done. People I didn’t even know took sides and weighed in. It was a rough couple of days. I’d always been a fly under the radar kind of a guy. I’m not popular and most of the school hardly knew I even existed. Until now. My best defense has always been to deflect and avoid, but that’s not easy to do when I’m the center of everyone’s attention. Then, something happened that took the focus and the heat off of me. The entire Chandler community was rocked to its core by the earth-shattering news. The most popular couple in the school had broken up. Tyson Courtland and Stacey Harrison.
Tyson is the captain of the boys’ basketball team. He’s actually a top prospect in the state. Colleges are clamoring for him. He’s also the best-looking guy in our school. This is not my opinion, it’s an established fact. Everyone knows it and it’s not up for debate. He is 6’ 4”, lean, muscular, blond haired, blue-eyed, strong-jawed, chiseled cheek boned…do I need to say more? When his deep blue eyes meet yours, you almost have to look away. It’s dangerous. He’s too good looking. Sounds stereotypical, right? Nope. He’s also generous and kind. He doesn’t take himself too seriously and he makes other people feel important by showing genuine interest in them. Most of my interactions with Tyson happen during student council meetings. Of course, Tyson is the class president, so he’s also the head of the council. We have after-school meetings every Wednesday.
Stacey Harrison is the most popular girl in school, and unlike Tyson, she does fit the stereotype. Aside from having all the right friends, she’s the captain of the girls’ volleyball team and just not a nice person. She and Tyson dated for a whole year, but now, it’s apparently over. And so close to prom too. Stacey was immediately asked by several other boys and she has already said yes. She is going to prom with Kevin Johnson, one of Tyson’s basketball teammates.
Tyson has not asked anybody else yet. The school is abuzz with anticipation. The hottest, most popular guy in school has to have a date for prom, right? He’s obligated to go. Will he go alone? No way. But two weeks have gone by and he’s asked no one. Prom is right around the corner.
I so don’t need Josh stirring the shit right now. I want to punch him in the arm. All six of their eyeballs fix on me, waiting for my response. I pick up my plate, now covered with the carcasses of peeled eggshells, and head to the sink. I say, “Yes, I was asked by a girl to go with her to prom and I politely declined.”
Dad asks, “Why? You don’t like her? Are you waiting for somebody better?”
Yeah, Dad, I’m waiting for somebody with a penis. I say, “I don’t know, Dad. I just said no. She’s nice, but I’m just not into her, okay?”
Mom intercedes, “Jack, sweetie, your dad and I just don’t want you to miss out on life’s important moments. Your senior prom is a big deal.”
Ugh. Thanks Josh. I’m very different from both of my brothers and a bit of a puzzle to my parents. A puzzle they haven’t yet solved.
I say, “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine. Danny will be waiting.” I bolt out of the kitchen.
* * * *
The bus sucks. It is to be avoided at all costs. Danny and his car rescue me every morning and most afternoons. Until a year ago, I always rode shotgun and Layne was in the backseat. Then they started dating. Girlfriend trumps best friend.
Danny is the star of the spring play. The performances are finally this weekend so his rehearsal schedule has been insane lately. He’s a phenomenal actor. Almost, Maine is a play of nine short stories; love stories. One of the nine stories is that of a same-sex-couple. Danny has nine parts including Randy, one of the gay characters. A faction of students and parents started a petition in an effort to cancel the play because of its “sexual overtones that are not consistent with the school’s mission and educational objectives”. Surprisingly, they failed.
We pick up Layne and she says, “Good morning, Daniel.” Only she is allowed to call him Daniel. If I tried it, I’d find myself riding the bus tomorrow. She glances at me, gives me a wink and says, “Jackson, good morning.” Full first names are a thing of hers, especially if she cares about the person.
As Danny drives, Layne angles herself toward me and says, “You have student council today, right?”
I nod.
She says, “You and your council member-type people better get on fixing the shitshow that is this year’s prom. We’re seniors! It’s supposed to be one of life’s biggest events.”
Prom attendance had been on the decline for years before our time at Chandler but ticket sales so far for this year are pointing towards the lowest turnout ever.
“I’m on it.”
She looks unconvinced, “Show some backbone Jackson. And stand up to Hannah Vaughn. I hate that bitch!”
We get to the school parking lot and, as usual, there’s a crowd around Tyson Courtland’s car. He drives a new, red Lincoln Navigator. Of course the tallest, most popular guy drives the biggest, shiniest car. Everyone still wants to know: who will Tyson ask to prom? We’re only days away and time’s running out.
* * * *
My first class of the day is Introduction to Drama. Tyson Courtland and Connor Mills are in this class with me. We sit in a semicircle on the stage floor. I’m usually on the opposite side of the circle from Tyson and Connor. This doesn’t bother me though. It gives me a nice view of my secret crush – Connor.
Connor Mills is Tyson Courtland’s best friend, and the object of my fantasies. He and Tyson are both on the basketball team and in student council. Connor is seriously cute. He’s 6’ tall, has dark blond hair, hazel eyes and a warm smile. I find myself staring at Connor whenever I’m near him. Crushing on Tyson is something that never even occurred to me. Tyson just seems too perfect; almost unreal. Unlike Ken-Doll Tyson with his devastatingly good looks, Connor is more…accessible. Especially when he’s in my bedroom, ripping off my shorts and swallowing my erection while squeezing my ass cheeks in his strong hands. I need to stop. Beads of sweat appear on my forehead, my face flushes and I’m well on my way to pitching a tent.
Don’t get me wrong, Connor is of course straight as an arrow. He’s dating Natalee Corrigan and has been all year. They’re going to prom together and my fantasy of being asked to prom by the boy of my dreams is just that, a fantasy.
It’s still a few minutes before the starting bell and something happens that has never happened before. Tyson stands up, walks over to me, nudges my book bag over with his enormous school-appropriate shoe and sits. I suppose his supersized feet are in proper proportion to his 6’4” frame. Anyway, this is unprecedented and I sit here frozen and silent. What’s happening and why? He folds his legs and our knees are touching. My body goes rigid. Tyson says to me, “Pearson, we have to figure this prom thing out today. Nobody seems to give a shit about it this year. Personally, neither do I. But the student council is responsible.” He leans in closer and his shoulder bumps mine. Even through the four layers of our blazers and oxford shirts, his body heat makes my skin sizzle. “We haven’t even sold enough tickets to cover the cost of the venue.”
His blue eyes stare right into my green eyes and I find I can’t hold his gaze so now I’m looking at my own feet. My normal, regular sized feet. This is the first time in our four years at Chandler that Tyson Courtland has talked to me one-on-one – outside of a class or student council. I glance across the circle at Connor, but he’s involved in conversation with Natalee and not paying any attention to us. If it wasn’t for student council, I don’t think Tyson Courtland would even know my name. He puts his arm around my shoulders and I imagine this is what it feels like to be electrocuted.
I swallow and say stupidly, “Uh, yeah. We need to figure something out.” His touch makes my face flush.
He smiles at me and says, “You have some good ideas in those meetings, you just need to speak up more. Don’t let that Hannah get to you.” He winks at me. “I’m counting on you.”
The bell rings and I’m alone again, staring across the semicircle.
* * * *
At lunch I get my usual salad and make my way to my usual table. Danny and Layne each have large slices of pizza that overhang limp paper plates, a side of soggy fries and a carton of chocolate milk. They really are a perfect match.
I ask my friends, “How do we make people care about prom?”
Layne says. “Modernize it. Make it new, exciting, unique.”
I ask, “How?”
Layne sips her milk, “I don’t know, start by dumping the tired old traditions that people stopped giving a shit about decades ago.”
Danny dunks a limp fry into a gross oily pool of ketchup. “It’s all about love. Look at us. A year ago, we were just friends and neither of us went. This year, we’re in love and I can’t wait for prom night. It’s as simple as that.”
I look at Danny. There’s ketchup on his upper lip. “So basically, I have 10 days to make more people fall in love. That’s great, thanks guys.” As I think about it though, maybe there’s something there.
* * * *
Our fearless leader – Tyson – calls the meeting to order. Prom is the only item on today’s agenda. He recaps the sad state of ticket sales to date and demands our ideas.
Hannah goes first, “Tyson, you need to ask someone already.”
Tyson scowls at her, “That’s none of your business and irrelevant to the matter at hand.”
Hannah scoffs, “I’m just saying, Mr. President…you know the whole school is dying to know who you’re gonna bring. Once you announce your new girlfriend, everyone will want to come.” She turns to me and narrows her eyes, “Sarah Grey is still available.”
There are a few giggles and I my cheeks burn red before Tyson puts up a silencing hand. “I make my own decisions. It’s not my prom, it’s our prom. Maybe I’ll go alone.”
Connor clears his throat and says, “Speaking of going alone, maybe the tickets are too expensive. We sell couples tickets at a discounted price, but maybe if all tickets were discounted, we could get more singles to come?”
We also agree on relaxing the dress code and killing the outdated tradition of having a king and queen.
The group goes quiet and I fidget in my chair. Tyson eyes the circle and when his gaze reaches me, he stops. “I know Pearson has something he wants to say.”
Everyone stares at me and I flush again. I say, “Well, I was thinking about why people don’t care. We know that prom’s downward trend is not new, but this year’s the worst. Why? I asked around all day and a lot of kids are uncomfortable with the dated traditions and formality of the whole thing, so the changes we already agreed on are great.” I pause and take a deep breath, “But others said they don’t feel included or even welcome. There’s a stereotypical prom couple that is perhaps a little…exclusionary.”
Hannah snorts, “Maybe to you.”
Tyson shushes her, “Let him finish.”
I hesitate. Here goes nothing. “Maybe we should have an ‘inclusion’ theme. You know, everyone is welcome. It goes right along with everything else we talked about. Lowering the price, encouraging singles to come, formal wear optional…”
Hannah side-eyes me, “When you say ‘inclusion’, what do you really mean?”
“I mean that this year’s prom should be for everyone, not just the traditional couple. No matter who you are or who you like. Chandler has never had an inclusion week. We could stand for a little more diversity and acceptance.”
Heather says, “I like the idea of making it a whole week. We could take our end of year spirit events, including prom, and rebrand them as part of inclusion week.”
Hannah homes in on me again, “You know where we are, right? This is Chandler: A Catholic high school. Everybody here, practically, is white. When you say diversity and acceptance, what you really mean is gaaayyy.” She unnecessarily draws out the word, giving it three syllables and staring at me as she does so.
Mrs. Horan, our facilitator, is now paying attention. She hasn’t interjected yet but is ready to if necessary.
Troy, one of the school’s few black students, says to Hannah, “Why do you have to judge everyone? Why does it matter so much to you who other people are?”
She blanches for just a millisecond, then regains her composure, “Troy here is living proof of the tolerance we exemplify at Chandler. We don’t have to trash our prom to prove anything.”
Troy offers a sickly-sweet smile, “Thank you so much, Hannah, for ‘tolerating’ me. You are truly my hero. And I love that you think inviting people who don’t look and act just like you would be ‘trashing’ prom.”
I catch Troy’s eye and give him an almost imperceptible nod. Troy is also exceptionally cute. He’s a friend, so I don’t allow myself to have a crush on him. My crushes have to be from afar. Connor has never said two words to me. If he ever did, it would probably all be ruined.
I continue, “We all wear these uniforms every day, right? It’s almost cult-like. Comply and conform. We have to follow rules about what our hair can look like, makeup, jewelry, body art, even what kind of socks we can wear! No joke. Well, what if our prom was our opportunity to be our unique, individual selves? Creative expression. And I’m not talking about any one thing. I am talking about welcoming and including everyone. Supposedly, that’s the true spirit of our school. We are all a community. The school has been trying to change its perceptions and to be more open-minded. An inclusion week that culminates in a modernized, diverse, fun prom could go a long way in helping to make the school a more progressive environment.” I will a bead of sweat at my hairline to not run down my forehead and into my eye. “A traditional prom night just sounds boring. We’re asking people to put a lot of time, effort and money into what feels like a dull English tea party or a dreary wedding reception where everyone is dressed the same and bored out of their minds. Let’s make it different and fun.”
Troy fist-bumps me, “Dude, that was… No wonder I let you be my friend.”
He grins at me and I laugh. “Please. You begged me to be your friend.” Now he laughs.
It looks like my impromptu speech had an effect on others as well. Some of them, anyway.
Ellen says, “I love it! Prom has always been for Chandler students only. What if we allowed non-Chandler dates? You know, friends, neighbors… It will definitely increase ticket sales and maybe diversity.”
Hannah is like a dog with a bone and zeroes in on me again. “We all know why this inclusion angle is important to him.”
I feel my cheeks redden again and there are a couple giggles. I wish Layne was here to punch her in the face.
She goes on, “Look if you all want to have a prom with a bunch of single, gay kids wearing jeans and t-shirts, maybe you should have your own prom the next weekend and stop trying to ruin ours for the rest of us.”
Her hate is palpable. This time I’m red from anger, not embarrassment.
Troy takes this one, “Really Hannah? A separate prom? We’re talking about the spirit of inclusion and your suggestion is segregation? Maybe you’re the one who shouldn’t come.”
I feel like applauding.
Tyson speaks for the first time in a while. “Pearson is right. Chandler is generations behind the times. We have an opportunity here to make a real difference.”
We put it to a vote and nine of the ten of us raise our hands. Tyson says decisively, “Inclusion week it is. The play this weekend will kick things off. Let’s get the word out. We want everyone to attend.”
Hannah mutters, “Ugh, that play.”
Tyson is looking at the May calendar as he continues, “Monday night is the Spring Concert, Tuesday is the final home game for girls’ volleyball, Wednesday is the final home game for boys’ basketball and Thursday is senior awards night. We want a great showing for all of these events.”
Ellen asks, “Well we know Saturday is prom, but what about next Friday? There’s nothing on the schedule.”
Heather says, “You know, we had all that rain during homecoming week last October and we never got to do our bonfire. We could do that.”
Hannah speaks again, “Could I please bring this back around to the actual prom? Whether you want to admit it or not, when you talk about inclusion you really mean gay.” She looks at me again. “Now I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that, but how are we really going to get that message out? Are we putting up posters saying: ‘Gays Welcome!’? We all know that Matthew Barnes is our only gay student. Are we targeting him?”
Troy shakes his head in disbelief, “You mean openly gay. He is our only openly gay student. And that’s part of what we want to change. Clearly there’s a population of our student body that doesn’t feel safe being their true selves. And, if I understand Jack correctly, it’s not just about sexual identity. It’s about celebrating our differences, whatever they may be. But she does have a point,” Troy acknowledges begrudgingly. “How do we convey our message? With tact?” He glares at Hannah as he punctuates the word “tact”.
Tyson says, “Nobody’ll want to be first. It’ll take something big. A splashy public example that creates a safe space for anyone else to follow.” I can see that he’s molding an idea.
“How do we do that?” asks Lori. “Convince Matthew Barnes to publicly ask someone out?”
“No.” Tyson looks around the circle. “I am available. We’re going to use me. Everyone here today is going to prom and eight of us have dates. I don’t.” His gaze lands on me. He smiles his charming Tyson Courtland smile.
My eyes almost pop out of their sockets and that bead of sweat finally trails down my forehead.
Tyson says, “And Pearson doesn’t. Jack Pearson, I am officially asking you to be my prom date.”
There is a deafening silence, during which it feels like my heart actually stops beating. And then everyone laughs. I’m relieved when they laugh; it’s the perfect distraction from my red, ever-blushing face. But Tyson isn’t laughing. When the room quiets down, he makes his case. “I’m serious. If we want to affect change at this school, what are we waiting for? We are about to graduate and leave Chandler behind. We could leave it a better place than we found it.”
The group is in a state of stunned silence. Connor in particular needs to pick his jaw up off the floor. He mutters quietly to his friend, “Dude, what are you doing?” Connor isn’t the most articulate member of the student council, but he simply expresses what everyone else is thinking. What the fuck is Tyson Courtland doing?
Tyson’s eyes are still on mine. “This goes beyond ticket sales or the effort to save our prom. This is real. It’s important. We can make a difference. Pearson?” He’s still looking right at me. “What do you say? Will you be my date for prom?”
I open my mouth, but no sound escapes. Tyson Courtland just asked me to be his prom date. Tyson Freaking Courtland? What universe am I in? This is seriously the biggest HOLY SHIT moment of my life!
Natalee points out, “You know Tyson, with inclusion week as our theme, you’re not just asking him out for prom. You’ll have a whole week of…dates. You would be ‘boyfriends’ for like ten days.” She has a mischievous glint in her eye as she makes this revelation. There’s more laughter, but only from a couple people this time.
Troy observes, “We don’t want this ‘statement’ to be perceived as a stunt. It could be condescending or insulting to those kids who are genuinely…” he searches for words and settles on “…who we’re looking to include. What would all of this look like? You would have to be an actual couple.”
Tyson says, “I get that. I take this seriously. I’m asking Pearson if I can be his boyfriend for the week. This will be the real deal.” He continues, “Look, there are kids out there hiding in the shadows, right? I know we can’t bring all of them out of hiding, but we can at least provide that safe, welcoming space. We’ll be right out there for all to see. What do you say, Pearson? Are you in?”
Everyone is looking at me again. I’ve been one of those “kids hiding in the shadows” since day one, but, despite recent rumors, nobody knows it for sure. I also had the impossible fantasy of going to prom with my boyfriend. This wasn’t the boy I had imagined, but could I really say no to a cause so close to my heart? Plus, this was kind of all my idea. If I say yes, what about my plan to stay in the closet through these last days of high school? I’m so close to that finish line. What are my priorities here? Making a difference or self-preservation?
I have no time to properly weigh my options. Nine student council members plus Mrs. Horan are waiting expectantly. I look at Tyson and his usual wide smile is more of a crooked grin. I’d seen that grin before and I suspected that it emerged when he was being genuine or vulnerable and not putting on a show for his audience. For whatever reason, this is important to him.
I meet Tyson’s gaze and this time I don’t look away. So much for just getting through these last couple weeks of high school with my head down. This will be as up as my head has ever been. Life’s big moments, right? I exhale loudly and take the plunge, “Yes, I’m in.”
About three quarters of the room cheers, including Mrs. Horan, and Tyson’s small crooked grin widens. I’ve seen Tyson Courtland win before. Winning is what he does, but he doesn’t look victorious or self-satisfied, he looks…proud? Happy? I can’t help it; I find I’m smiling too, though I’m also fucking terrified. Connor and Hannah brood in silence.
When the atmosphere calms down, Hannah says, “I have a question. When you two dance, who will lead? Who will be the boy?”
Connor, without thinking, blurts out, “Tyson, duh.”
He and Hannah laugh, but again, they’re the only ones. Have I spent four years crushing on an asshole?
Tyson shoots him with eye daggers and Connor mumbles, “Sorry dude.”
Heather is almost giddy. “So, what do we do now? Do we announce you two as a couple? Put it on our school Facebook page? Time is running out.”
Tyson says, “Not yet. We need to do this right. We’ll have to come up with a proper promposal. I have an away game tonight, so Pearson and I will meet tomorrow after school and work it all out.”
I guess I’m meeting up with Tyson after school tomorrow.
He continues, “I want you to tease it starting now. Put out all the inclusion week stuff and have everyone anticipating a big surprise announcement at 6:00 tomorrow night.”
It is approaching 3:30 and Tyson recaps the afternoon and hands out assignments.
I help stack the chairs then hop off the stage and take an aisle seat next to my book bag. I’m still in a state of stunned shock and reality hasn’t sunk in yet. Snapping me out of my reverie, Tyson appears in front of me. Instead of just sitting down with my bag between us, he picks it up and moves it over a seat. He sits right next to me, holds out his cell phone and says, “Here, take it.”
Our fingers touch each other’s and I almost drop his phone as my hand involuntarily jerks. I look down and his screen is open to a blank “new contact”. He says, “Put your number in for me and I’ll text you later. It might be kind of late, after my game. That okay?”
I’m still having trouble speaking and my hands shake as I struggle to enter my number in the correct sequence. I nod my agreement.
Tyson leans in close and says, “This morning, right here in this theatre, I asked for your help. I had no idea you’d come through in such a monumental way. Your idea was brilliant and your speech was awesome.” He nudges my arm with his elbow. “Sorry I put you on the spot like that, but this thing is bigger than just us.”
I’m frozen still.
He holds out his hand to me and I stupidly shake it. He laughs, “You’re funny, Pearson.” His hand is still open, waiting expectantly, “I need my phone back.”
“Oh! Right,” I hand it back to him with my number finally typed in. “Sorry.”
He says, “I’ll text you later. I gotta bounce.”
He walks away and leaves me sitting there, dazed and confused. What the fuck happened here today?
* * * *
I look down at my prisoner. My lab partner is spread eagle on my bed – his wrists and ankles are each tied to a corner post. He asks me how he got here. I tell that “how” is not important. It’s the “why” that matters. We have another experiment to conduct and he is the subject. He wriggles and discovers his bindings are too tight to fight against. He asks, okay, why is this happening. I take a step closer and look down at him. I tell him he’s being punished for misbehaving. He asks what he did so I count off his offenses on my fingers.
First, you didn’t finish our last experiment. You brought me to the edge, then stopped short. He protests. He claims that it wasn’t his fault. He wanted to finish, but the bell rang…time was up. I offer a tsk tsk sound and continue. Second, when you were shooting hoops in my driveway earlier, you were wearing this sweatshirt. With every jump, you teased me with a flash of tummy. You know you have the world’s most perfect innie belly button. How dare you torture me like that.
Right now, with his arms tied above his head, that sweatshirt is riding up again, revealing a tantalizing strip of bare midriff above his sweatpants. I swipe a finger across that strip and he reacts like he’s been tased.
I resume my list of his offenses. Third, you know the house rules, but you broke them anyway. You walked through the front door, through the house and into my bedroom with your shoes still on. Some rules are not meant to be broken and now you have to pay. You will be the subject of today’s experiment. It’s really more of a test than an experiment. The Gay Test.
His eyes widen and asks me what The Gay Test is.
Can another boy make you pop a boner? So, I tell him the parameters. I get thirty minutes on the timer. Thirty minutes to do whatever I want to him. There are three possible outcomes. One: he has no reaction to my attempts and therefore, my lab partner is not gay. Two: I bring his soldier to saluting attention, boy on boy, thus proving that he is probably gay. Three: if I can get him to cum before time is up…well then, he’s definitely gay.
He protests. This test isn’t fair. We’re 18-year-old boys. We’re always horny. Looking at pictures of rocks turns me on. I tell him that doesn’t matter. If he truly isn’t gay, then another boy touching him would turn him off, not on. To him, I would be less sexy than rocks. I nudge the elastic hem of his sweatshirt 2 inches higher and expose my favorite round hole in the world. He doesn’t have much body hair, but the light trail leading from the navel and disappearing inside his sweatpants is a little darker than the dark blond hair on his head. The prisoner inside of my own pants is making an attempt at an escape of his own right now. I already failed this particular test long ago. Or maybe I passed the test. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective.
I press start on the 30-minute timer and the experiment has officially begun. I look at him, lying there all helpless. Squirming from time to time, but to no avail. He has no chance. I will win.
I look down to his feet, still in those shoes. He’s wearing rainbow Osiris high-tops. Really? His feet are already really cute. These shoes are screaming out for attention. Every color is represented in those loosely worn high-tops, including fat teal laces that aren’t even tied. He’s hardly wearing these shoes. They look like they’ll slip right off. I give it a try and I’m right. One light tug and his left shoe is off his foot and in my hand. I examine it. It’s a cute shoe, but it’s cuter on his cute foot. I bend back the tongue and see that he wears an 11. I’m a 10 myself. I would spend more time contemplating the shoe itself, but the timer is counting down and I have work to do.
I grab his socked foot and he takes in a sharp breath. I rub and stroke his arch as he groans in pleasure. His sock is a little damp and clinging to the shape of his foot. It wasn’t long ago that he was shooting hoops and working out. He warns me, sorry if I’m a little ripe. He isn’t. Not to me, anyway. Again, this may be a matter of perspective, but his gentle, manly scent is like pheromones to me. An aphrodisiac. I might blow a load in my shorts.
I maneuver his sock off while keeping his bindings in place. I turn my back on my lab partner and discretely take a whiff. If I weren’t an atheist, I’d think I was in heaven. I drop the sock and kick it under my bed, hoping it’ll get “lost”.
I haven’t yet touched his bare foot, but I’m about to correct that oversight. Suddenly, my lab partner is writhing and struggling against his restraints as he howls in laughter. I guess his foot is ticklish. I follow the same program on his right foot and tears are streaming down his cheeks by the time I’m done.
Though it’s not nearly enough of that, time is ticking and I must move on. I kneel between my lab partners legs and push his shirt up to his arm pits. The full expanse of his bare chest and stomach are like a blank canvass and I’m a master painter. His belly is already quivering in anticipatory fear. I smile.
I stroke and poke here, there and everywhere. He must be enjoying it, because he’s laughing really hard. For an athlete, he doesn’t have washboard abs. His arms, shoulders, calves and pecs are all strong and well-toned. His belly soft and vulnerable – just how I like it. There’s no flab…just sensitive innocence.
I lavish attention on the tender tummy for a good five minutes. His sweatpants are thick and baggy and I have no idea what’s going on inside there. It’s time to unwrap my present.
I pull his pants down to find that he made the bold choice to not wear underwear today. I ask him if it’s laundry day. If he ran out. Maybe he doesn’t own underwear. Or maybe… Maybe he went commando today for me!
At any rate, he has a semi. He already failed…or passed…the test. Now it’s just a matter of degree. My lab partner is 2 inches taller than me. He has me beat by 2 inches somewhere else too. I tell him this and he says he already knew that from our last experiment. This makes me blush. He apologizes, telling me that I have nothing to be ashamed of. That I’m not small. He’s just…even more not small. I laugh at his choice of words. I haven’t touched it yet, but as we discuss his manhood, it continues to grow. I feel like I’m making it rise with my eyes. It bobs with his heartbeat, one degree higher each time.
I can’t wait any longer. I grab it. It twitches and he gasps. I twist and rub and stroke and he throws his head back moans. I kiss and suck up and down his sensitive underside and his toes curl as he hardens to full mast stiffness. I take in his full length and his body rocks and quakes involuntarily. I know he’s close. I slither my tongue and increase my suction. He screams out my name, lets out a breath…and the timer sounds. I slide my mouth off him and he pants breathlessly. What’s happening? That was never 30 minutes. There is no way I used even half of my 30 minutes.
My lab partner is suddenly not bound to my bed anymore. His shirt is down, his pants are up and he proudly tells me that he is not “definitely” gay. I only proved that he’s “probably” gay. I tell him that he was only 10 seconds away from acing the test and he laughs as the timer blares on.
Except it’s not the timer. 30 minutes weren’t up. It’s my fucking alarm. Time to get ready for school.
~~
In the school parking lot, I look around and don’t see Tyson’s tall, red magnetic car in its usual spot. He’s always here by now. Kids are meandering around like lost sheep. They don’t know where to go or what to do without their fearless leader.
Reading my mind, Layne says, “Sheep. Look at them. Pathetic.”
We head into the building and peel off in different directions. I enter the theatre and take my usual spot in the semicircle. Slowly, the other kids trickle in but still no Tyson. I look across the semicircle at Connor and Natalee to find them staring back at me. Like maybe I know something they don’t. I offer a shrug. Connor’s attention reverts back to his girlfriend. Connor. I’ve never actually seen his belly button; I only imagine it to be a perfectly round innie. I’ve actually only ever seen him in his school uniform: oxford shirts tucked in with ties and blazers. I never had him in my gym class…no chance to see him changing in the locker room. And of course, he’s wearing school approved shoes to match the uniform – maybe size 11, but that’s just a guess. It’s only in my mind that he owns a pair of rainbow Osiris. I also wonder if he’s really 7.5 inches down south. I force myself to stop thinking before I get worked up again.
Besides, I have a boyfriend now. Where is he? Is he not at school today? Wouldn’t he have texted me? Is he backing out of the plan?
About ten seconds before the starting bell, the door flies open and Tyson runs down the aisle, vaults the steps onto the stage and slides into his spot.
Connor throws out his arms, palms down like an umpire, and declares Tyson, “Safe!”
Everyone laughs and Tyson playfully shoves his friend.
Mrs. Horan appears from backstage and says, “Nice of you to join us this morning Mr. Courtland.” Tyson’s cheeks are flushed from exertion. I can’t help but smile and Tyson winks at me.
* * * *
Because I was nervous about this afternoon with Tyson, of course the day just flew by. In the blink of an eye, school and Accafellas rehearsal are both over. Mrs. Jensen leaves me alone in the music room as she usually does when I wait for my ride. I’m the only one she extends that privilege to. I pace the room nervously. It’s 3:17. Thirteen minutes until Tyson. The piano is silently summoning me. I have plenty of time for a short song.
I usually play what I’m feeling, so I play Vienna. As my fingers finish their dance and the final notes of the outro fade, I feel two hands clamp down on my shoulders from behind. I startle and jump, almost falling off the bench. I turn to see Tyson with a huge smile on his face.
“What the f-” I stop myself in case Mrs. Jensen is within earshot. “You scared the shit out of me!” I hiss in a whisper.
“That was the coolest thing!”
It’s only 3:21. I point out the obvious, “You’re early.” I look him up and down. His hair is wet and he is in shorts, a t-shirt and sneakers instead of his uniform. He had come from the showers and, while Tyson always looks good, right now he’s infuriatingly cute.
He says, “Yeah, practice ended early.”
“How long were you here?”
He’s still smiling, but also looking at me like he’s confused about something. He says, “I caught it all from the first note. Did you know that’s one of my favorite songs?”
How could I? “No.”
“What you just did? That was an incredible thing! I mean, damn, Pearson. That was awesome! I knew you played the piano but seeing you in action…”
How did he know I play piano? I never told him. We’ve hardly ever spoken to each other. I start to stand, “We have to get going, right?”
He puts a hand on my shoulder to stop me. His touch is simultaneously a comforting warmth and a bolt of lightning.
“Hold up. We have some time.” He grabs a chair, slides it next to my bench seat and says, “Sing me a song, Piano Man. Do you take requests?”
I smile, “I might be up for the challenge.”
He names a few songs, some old, some new, and I play them all. He’s staring at me with the biggest shit-eating grin. I ask, “What?”
“How are you doing this? Seriously? I just name a song and you play and sing it? No sheet music. This is ridiculously stupid talent.”
Everyone who knows about my musical prowess is used to it by now. It’s been a long time since anyone’s been surprised or impressed. I realize I’m blushing. Tyson notices, points at my reddened cheeks and says, “I’m gonna have fun making that happen all week.”
Great. Tyson spots the printed programs on the piano and takes one. He reads it and his eyes widen. “There’s a spot in the program that’s just your name?”
I try to downplay it, “It’s no biggie. Mrs. Jensen asked me to do a farewell song for the seniors.”
“It’s a huge deal! The program doesn’t say. What’s the song? Is it Vienna? Were you practicing?” He’s getting excited.
“No. The programs were printed before my selection was approved.”
“So, what song?”
“Sorry,” I tease. “You’ll just have to show up and see.”
He says, “Oh, your boyfriend will be there. Do people know you can do this?”
Ignoring that, I say, “Let’s put this in perspective. You’re like the biggest star athlete in the history of Chandler. My thing is no big deal.”
“No big deal? I know the kind of practice and dedication this takes. You weren’t born doing this. You have to know how brilliant you are. I knew you sang; I was at the winter concert and I heard your solo, but putting it together with the piano, what you do, it’s so-” An idea pops into his head that literally stops him mid-sentence. He pulls out his phone and takes a picture of me still at the piano, then starts typing.
I say, “Hey, what’s that for?”
“I’m texting an update to Ellen. You’ve just been added to the prom night agenda. A live performance by Pearson. Something like that where it’s just you and the piano. Something fitting with the inclusion theme.”
I say, “Umm, hello? Did you actually just add me to the prom program without asking me? I know you’re The Tyson Courtland, but don’t I get a say?” He looks surprised, maybe even a little hurt. I see that he means no harm. I sigh, “Look, I’m glad I impressed you, but the prom crowd would rather just hear more from the DJ.”
He shakes his head in disbelief. “You don’t even realize what you’ve got here, do you? That was like…” he searches for a word and surprises me with, “…professional. And after you wow everyone Monday night, they’ll be dying to hear you again.”
“Who’s everyone? Our concerts play to sparse audiences. It’s pretty much just the parents of the choir kids.”
Tyson says, “Are you forgetting it’s inclusion week? It’ll be a packed house. I’ll make sure of it. And your performance will steal the show.”
I’m not a “steal the show” kind of a guy. That sounds more like Tyson’s style.
* * * *
Tyson’s car sits lonely and abandoned. I’ve never seen it before without a crowd around it. He pops the locks and I hesitate. I know it’s just a car, but in my mind it’s like this iconic thing…Tyson Courtland’s car. Who am I? He sees me standing there, unsure, so he steps over and takes my book bag. He opens the back and tosses it in with his.
He says, “You know how cars work, right? You have to get in.”
I smile, climb in and buckle up. Tyson looks at me, “However this week goes, I’d like to still be friends after.”
Friends with Tyson Courtland? I nod.
He starts driving and asks me, “So you’re gonna study music in college?”
“Yeah, I found out last month that I’ve been accepted at Berklee College of Music with a decent scholarship. They have the best music program. I was lucky to get in.”
“You’re too modest. Based on what I just witnessed, they’re the ones lucky to have you.” The sky is clouded and it’s shadowy in the car so I don’t think he can see that he made me blush again. He asks, “Do you play other instruments?”
“Guitar, bass, trombone, a little saxophone and even some drums and percussion. But those are all self-taught. Piano is my main thing. I really want to focus on composing in college. I’ve tinkered a little so far, but I don’t know if it’s any good.”
He looks at me again, “I’m sure they’re awesome. I’d love to hear your songs sometime.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call them songs. I haven’t written any lyrics yet. It’s mostly just melodies and musical ideas.” I look out the window as we drive through downtown, “I think everyone excels at something but only the lucky ones discover what their thing is.”
He looks at me, “I think you just came up with your first lyrics.”
We pull up to his palatial house. “My parents aren’t home but my sister is.” We step into what I assume to be a mudroom. I’ve heard of a mudroom but I don’t think I’ve actually been in one before. There’s no mud. Tyson slips off his shoes and apologizes, “Sorry, but this a ‘no-shoes’ house.”
Stepping out of my own shoes, I gulp as an image of my fantasy/dream from two nights ago flashes in my brain. Will Tyson trap me in his desk chair with his giant size 14 socked feet rubbing against my thighs? For a second, I think I have serious problems that I should talk to a psychologist about. Then I remember: No, I’m fine. I’m just your everyday horny 18-year-old virgin. This is normal. Sort of. Maybe.
It’s already 5:30. I ask, “6:00, right? Do we even know what we’re doing yet?”
Tyson looks me over, “You’re a worrier.” He grins. “Follow me.” He leads me through the kitchen, up the stairs and down the hall to the last room on the right. He opens the door, flips on the light and steps aside for me to enter. It’s his bedroom. There are sports posters on the walls and a bookcase with one shelf of books and four shelves of trophies. His bed is neatly made with a solid blue comforter. The floor is free from piles of dirty clothes. I notice all of that later though, because the thing that catches my eye, the thing that makes my jaw drop is the huge display board set on an artist’s easel. The board is the size of a 60” flat screen. I would guess that it’s a white board, but I can’t really tell because every square inch of it is covered. It’s covered with my life. It’s me. There’s even an image of the Berklee College campus. I just told him about that in the car on the way over.
My mouth is still gaping open in shock, “How…? When…?”
“I wish I had more time to make it better. It’s a little rushed,” he says modestly. “I started it after student council yesterday. I worked on it more last night when I got home after my game and I put on some finishing touches this morning.”
I think back to him rushing into drama class just as the starting bell rang.
“But how did you know some of this stuff? Before yesterday, you and I never really talked. Did you call Danny?”
Tyson looks at me confused, “Burns? No, I didn’t call anyone. Some of what I know about you might have been from things Burns said over time, but I’ve seen you around for four years. We’ve been in student council together for two years. I just picked all this up.”
“What about Berklee? I just told you about that in the car.”
“Like six weeks ago on a Wednesday after school, we had our usual student council meeting. You practically floated into the theatre. You ran up to Troy and told him that you got your Berklee acceptance letter. He reflected your beaming smile, spread his arms and hugged the shit out of you. You were both so freaking happy. I found myself smiling. How could I forget a moment like that?”
I look closer at the collage. It’s truly a work of art. A shit-ton of time and effort went into this thing. He must have stayed up half the night. Maybe all night. It takes on a life of its own. My life. I look at Tyson and he’s smiling at me. I say, “It’s beautiful. It’s spot on. I feel guilty.”
He frowns, “Why?”
“I didn’t do any of the work. And where are you in this?”
He says, “Hey, I asked you to prom, remember? I put you on the spot and forced you into this whole situation. I knew you couldn’t say no in front of everyone so this is my ‘promposal’ to you. My first official act in my role as your boyfriend.”
Right. I need to remind myself that this is an “act” and a “role”. It’s not real and it ends soon. I swallow back the lump forming in my throat. “It really is amazing. You know, under other circumstances I would say it’s creepy, even stalker-ish.” I shoot him a grin.
He shoves me playfully, like he did with Connor this morning, “Hey, I want everyone to take this seriously.”
He goes to get his sister to take pictures. “Jack, this is my sister, Miranda. She’ll be a junior next year. She knows what we’re doing and she’s gonna help us out.”
We keep it simple. Just one boy asking another boy to a dance. Something that should be so natural and common is so uncommon because the fear of hate and shame gets in the way.
Eventually the photo session comes to a merciful end. Tyson connects his camera to his laptop and posts one video and one picture, the one where I look the least dorky, to the school’s Facebook page. I instruct Tyson, “Delete all of the ones we didn’t use. I want no evidence left behind.”
It’s exactly 6:00. Tyson steps out of the room again, leaving me alone with Miranda. She says to me, “Thanks for doing this. It’s important to him. It’s important to me.”
I can see the family resemblance – she’s tall, blond, wavy-haired and blue-eyed.
“Tyson says you play the piano. Chandler doesn’t offer much, musically and singing isn’t really my thing, but I like playing guitar.”
I say, “That’s cool. I play some guitar. Do you take lessons? Have you been playing long?”
“I got an acoustic guitar for my twelfth birthday. I’ve been taking lessons for a few years.” She sighs and looks down at the floor. “I wish our school didn’t suck so much.”
“I’ve been wishing that myself since my first day of freshman year.”
She laughs.
I say, “I’d like to hear you play sometime.”
Tyson walks back into the room and says, “I know where we can get a great bun-less burger.”
* * * *
It’s only been a few hours since this ten-day adventure began, but I already feel myself letting my defenses down. I need to approach this clinically and keep my emotions out of it or I could get hurt, which would only be on me. Tyson doesn’t even know I’m gay.
As he drives, I wonder if Miranda is at least a part of his motivation. It’s not my place to suspect, but maybe…
Tyson says, “I should forewarn you, I told Ellen and Heather about our dinner plans. They’re getting the word out. We might have an audience as we eat. If this is gonna work, people need to see us out there together. As boyfriends.” I’m still absorbing what he just said as we pull into the parking lot, which is quite full for 6:30 on a Thursday evening. We’re at Burger Bonanza. Tonight, it looks like it’s overrun by our school. Tyson parks and asks, “Are you ready to make our big debut…as a couple?”
Before pulling the door open Tyson surprises me by taking my hand, which jerks away in reflex. He says, “Is that not okay?”
“No, I’m sorry. It just surprised me. That’s what boyfriends do, right?” Or at least what they should be able to do, openly. I put my hand back in his. His hand is bigger and stronger than mine. It doesn’t feel wrong.
* * * *
We enter, still hand in hand, to a literal standing ovation. Tyson basks in the adoration while I keep my head down. I don’t see an empty table anywhere, but that might be because I’m staring at my shoes. Tyson seems to know where to go and guides me through the maze of tables and throngs of people. We come to a booth that is taken on one side by Connor and Natalee and empty on the other. Tyson gestures and I slide in first. I nod a greeting to our fellow council members and Tyson slips in next to me. I look across the table to see Connor, my secret crush of the past four years, looking right at me. Mere hours ago, this would have been enough to render me a babbling idiot, but right now, I hardly notice him. I do wonder, though, what he’s thinking. His insensitivity yesterday in our student council meeting had stung. Not enough to stop me from having another dream about him last night, but still. Presently, he smiles at me and says, “Good to see you, Jack.” He holds a fist out to Tyson who obliges with a bump.
Tyson gets the waitress’s attention and we order. He has a beaming smile as we chat. At eighteen, he possesses social graces that I doubt I ever will. He has an uncanny way of making each person at the table feel like they must be the most important person in the room. We’re with his friends, but never does he let me feel left out. He includes me. He draws me out. I hardly recognize myself. How does he do it? We eat and talk and an hour flies by.
I spot another table of student council members. Troy, Ellen, Heather and Gabe are in the far corner. I excuse myself and Tyson stands so I can slide out. After chatting with those friendly faces for a few minutes I’m on my way back to my table when I remember that I turned my phone off at Tyson’s house. I had thought we’d have a lot to do in a short time and I didn’t want any interruptions. I never turned it back on. I’m now looking down, powering it up when I hear, “Jackson Pearson!” Layne. Her smile is so big, her cheeks must hurt. She wraps me in a hug so tight I almost drop my phone and my bones creek.
“I figured you were involved in this big announcement but I had no clue you’d play the starring role!” She punches me in the arm and I pretend like it doesn’t hurt, though I do stagger two steps back. “I love, love, love it! I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me. I’m your friend.”
I rub my arm, “Yes, my friend who wears her emotions on her sleeve as much as I do. I couldn’t tell you.”
She scoffs, but says, “Fair point.” The smile returns. “So… Tyson Courtland… What makes the two of you the poster boys for inclusion week?”
“You’ll have to ask him. The inclusion theme was my idea but our…coupledom…that was all Tyson.”
“You know Daniel wanted to come too but he’s stuck in rehearsal.”
“It’s opening night tomorrow. I get it. Hey, how’d you get here?” Like me, she doesn’t have a car and Danny is our ride everywhere.
“My mom dropped me off. She’ll come get me when I text her.”
“Let us take you home.”
“Seriously? Me in the Tyson-mobile? Who would have ever thought that would happen?”
* * * *
For the first time in a year, Layne’s in the backseat and I’m up front with my boyfriend. Layne says to Tyson, “It’s really cool what you two are doing. Sacrificing your own prom experience for a social cause.”
Tyson eyes her in the mirror. “It’s really not that much of a sacrifice. Let’s be honest, Stacey’s a self-centered snob. Pearson here is kind, funny and blast to be with. There’s no doubt that I traded up.” His words make me blush again. I just can’t hear a compliment without that happening.
“Go easy. We don’t want his head to swell.” Layne tousles my hair.
“Is that possible?” Tyson asks. “I don’t think I’ve met a humbler person in my life. Especially for someone with so much talent.”
She leans forward between us, “Tonight at the restaurant was a celebration, but keep in mind, those were your supporters. The haters are out there and they won’t go unnoticed. Some of them are already making noise on online. Be careful. Stick together and protect each other.” We pull into her driveway and she looks from me to Tyson and holds his gaze. “And don’t hurt each other either.” She grabs her bag and opens her door. “Thanks for the ride.”
* * * *
I’m just beginning to drift off to sleep when my phone vibrates an incoming text. Tyson: “Not the ideal first date.”
Me: “The afternoon was fun.”
Tyson: “I’m picking you up tomorrow and all next week.”
Me: “I’m all set with Danny.”
Tyson: “But now you have a boyfriend.”
Me: “So what would have been an ideal first date for you?”
Tyson: “Hmm. It would have to be an all-day thing. Maybe we could start the day with a good run. I’m still getting to know you. Do you like rides? Six Flags? Maybe a day trip somewhere a few hours away? A hike? Starved Rock? Oh! We could spend the day at the Warren Dunes in Michigan. Whatever we did all day though I imagine the night ending with you cheating. Food-wise. A piece of cake, a slice of pie or a huge ice cream sundae.”
I laugh. Suddenly I want to do all of those things. With Tyson Courtland.
Me: “Sounds great. When this is all over and we’re still friends, we’ll tackle some of that list.”
Tyson: “All of it.”
* * * *
Tyson takes me to Donna’s Diner for breakfast. Our waitress knows Tyson as a regular. “Hey honey, your usual?” Yes, he comes here often. She looks to me, then back to Tyson. “Who’s your new friend?”
“This is Pear- This is Jack. He’s my boyfriend.” He smiles and says it so easily. So casually. With zero hesitation.
“Oh,” she says. “You two make a cute couple. What’ll it be sweetie?”
“I’ll have the country omelet, no hash browns, fruit instead of toast, black coffee and a water.”
The waitress, Julie according to her name tag, says, “A man who knows what he wants. I like it.” She winks and walks away.
Tyson looks amused, “That was very specific.”
“I want what I want.” I glance around the dining room and notice there are some other Chandler students here. I guess being seen together is the point. I ask, “So what’s your ‘usual’?”
“You’ll see. And don’t judge me. I’m a growing boy. I need to carb-up for optimum performance.”
“Are you really still growing? You’re huge.”
He laughs and sips his water. “It’s Friday. What’re we doing for our second date?”
“The play. I always go to the first and last performances to support Danny. It’s opening night.”
“Cool. Then that’s where we’ll be. We still have the afternoon. Meet me in the parking lot at my car after school.”
Our food arrives. Tyson has an embarrassingly tall stack of pancakes. It’s topped with whipped cream, powdered sugar and maple syrup. At least there are blueberries in the pancakes…no, wait…those are chocolate chips! There’s a side of bacon and sausage and a large glass of orange juice. I’m almost nauseous from the sickly-sweet smell coming from his side of the table. He sees my reaction and grins again. I can’t help but smile back.
We’re about to leave when Tyson’s phone rings. He looks at the screen and says, “It’s my mom, I have to take this.”
I nod and he answers. “What’s going on? How is he?” He listens quietly for a minute then says, “Yes, I did. Yes, she’s fine. Okay, I will. I love you too.” He ends the call.
He leaves a generous tip for Julie and we “bounce” out to that big, red Navigator.
* * * *
We hadn’t talked about lunch. Will we sit together?
In line for my usual salad, I feel a tall presence materialize next to me, “Pearson.” He orders a salad, too, but gets juice instead of water. He says, “Lead the way.”
He follows and slides in next to me at my table, ignoring his large group of friends across the cafeteria. Assessing his meal, he says, “Pearson, you’re already rubbing off on me. Look at my healthy lunch.”
I give him a half smile. “First of all, after that breakfast, I don’t know how you could even consider anything other than a light lunch.” He’s grinning back at me as my comments turn into a lecture. “Second of all, your lunch is only partly healthy.”
He looks sadly at the meager tray in front of him, incredulous, “What do you mean?”
I point, “The juice.”
“What’s wrong with orange juice?” He indicates the label, “See, no added sugar.”
During this exchange, Danny and Layne arrive with their usual pizza, fries and chocolate milks. They observe Tyson’s presence at our table and shoot me an inquisitive glance. I shrug in response.
Danny looks at Tyson’s tray and asks, “Did Jack make you order a salad? Don’t let him bully you.” They all laugh.
Tyson, still confused, says, “No, I thought I’d make a healthy choice for a change but Pearson here doesn’t see it that way.”
Danny and Layne look at his tray and shake their heads in unison. Layne says, “Here comes the juice lecture.”
Tyson’s grin widens. “Oh boy! The juice lecture! Lay it on me Pearson.”
“Juice is one of the worst things for you. Even when it’s 100% juice.”
“But it’s just oranges, nothing else.”
I ask, “If you were having oranges, like for a snack or with lunch, how many would you have?”
He starts to see my point, “One.”
“And how many oranges do you think it takes to fill that 12-ounce bottle you’ve got there?”
“I don’t know, but something tells me you do.”
Danny and Layne snicker. I continue, “Six! Two ounces per orange. Six oranges! That’s too much sugar, even if it is natural sugar.”
He looks across the table at my friends, “I feel like he’s not done yet. Is there more?”
Danny says, “Oh yeah.”
“And,” I shoot a dirty look at Danny as I continue, “by drinking the juice of an orange without chewing and digesting the fiber of the fruit, the sugar goes straight into the bloodstream. You might as well be eating pure sugar with a spoon.”
Tyson pouts, “But it says ‘with pulp’.”
Danny and Layne crack up.
“Does that conclude the juice lecture? I have learned so much.” He flashes a toothy grin.
I put my hands up in mock-surrender.
Tyson puts his arm around my shoulders and gives me a quick squeeze. “I like the passion, Pearson. Ever since you stood up to Hannah Vaughn two days ago, you’re like a new man.”
I fight off another blush as Layne voices her agreement, “Yes, Tyson’s right. I’ve seen the change too. And it has been over the last couple days.” Her eyes move from me to Tyson and back to me again. “If no one else has said it yet, let me be the first. Not only are you two super-cute together, but you’re good for each other too.” She pops a fry in her mouth.
Now the blush comes and I can’t stop it.
Danny says, “There are a shit-ton of comments on Facebook about your promposal. They’re mostly positive. You wanted to shine a spotlight…mission accomplished.”
I nod. I believe in what we’re doing with every fiber of my being. I would just prefer it if the spotlight I was shining wasn’t aiming right at myself. I say, “But the negative ones cut deep.”
I extract myself from Tyson’s arm, stand and gather our trays. I dump the trash, stack the trays on the can and turn to head back but Stacey and Kevin Johnson are blocking my path.
Kevin, who’s all beefy muscle like a professional bodybuilder says, “Look who it is honey. It’s Courtland’s new girlfriend. Here he is, all alone.” He takes a step closer and my fists clench in reaction. I can see beyond Kevin that Tyson’s back is to me and he holds Danny and Layne’s attention as he talks animatedly. All three are too far away and unaware of my predicament. Kevin is like a human brick wall. I’ve never been in a real fight in my life and I don’t want to start now. A few of the people around us begin to feel the air in the room change. Kevin takes another step closer and I take a step back.
“What’s the matter? Not as brave in real life as you are on social media?”
What are my options? Call out for help? Stand my ground and hope he just walks away? By the look in his eye, the latter seems unlikely. But suddenly I’m not alone anymore. Connor’s now standing with me.
Putting an arm around my shoulders, Tyson-style, he says to Kevin, “Do you have a problem with my friend here?” Kevin is bigger than Connor too. Way bigger. Kevin is bigger than the two of us together. He’s bigger than most humans on planet earth.
“Mills? This doesn’t concern you. Back off.”
Connor steps us forward instead of back. “Like I said, do you have a problem with my friend here? If so, I think the three of us can step outside and work it out. But if this was just some kind of misunderstanding, well then I guess you were about to be on your way.” Kevin’s eyes move back and forth between us. Connor adds, “Do the right thing here, Johnson.”
I see Kevin’s shoulders drop an inch and he backs down. “Another time.” He and Stacey walk away.
I exhale for the first time in over a minute and look at Connor, “Thanks.”
He releases my shoulders and smiles. “That asshole? Anytime.” He leans in close, “Be careful though. Stick close to Courtland and your friends all week.” He starts to walk away then turns back. “You know, he cares about his sister. A lot. He’s a good brother.” He leaves me standing there.
He’s a good brother, Connor’s words echo in my ears. No matter how close I’m beginning to feel to Tyson, I have to remember why he’s doing this and that it will all come to an end. It’s just for the week. Like it or not. Even if we continue to be friends after… I don’t have a lusting crush on Tyson. I like him. And no matter when or how this ends, it’s gonna leave a mark.
Chapters 2 & 3 will be published soon.