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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and

incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination

or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,

locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or

the publisher.

Your Heart was a Legend

Torquere Press Publishers

1380 Rio Rancho Blvd #1319, Rio Rancho, NM 87124.

Cover illustration by BSClay

Published with permission

ISBN: 978-1-61040-638-3

www.torquerepress.com

this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except

as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information

address Torquere Press. Inc., 1380 Rio Rancho Blvd #1319,

Rio Rancho, NM 87124.

First Torquere Press Printing: January 2014

Printed in the USA

YLVLW 683(5,25=25* IRU PRUH PP ERRNV

Your Heart Was a Legend

By Emily Nakanishi

“Fuckin’ fag.”

I cringed as Abel Young’s back hit the lockers with a

resounding slam. I couldn’t even see Abel through the

mesh of people that gathered to watch the show, effectively

trapping him as well. As always, he didn’t say anything,

and other people carried on around the mob by the lockers,

unfazed and unwilling to step in. No one ever stepped

in except for the strange, ex-hippie-stoner-chick English

teacher from down the hall who heard the commotion every

day.

“Can’t believe I have to share air with you -- don’t

fuckin’ touch me, queer!”

I clenched my fist around the strap of my backpack and

stopped, glancing back over my shoulder. It frustrated me

that no one seemed to care, that I lived in such a backwater

small town that this could go on without someone blinking.

The English teacher was already heading toward the crowd,

beads and jewels clacking away. She had tried, I knew,

to get this kind of thing media attention, but there were

two things you didn’t do in Small Town, USA, population

14,000: beat your wife or be gay.

“Live in harmony!” she yelled above the crowd, and a

few people chuckled at the absurdity of it.

“Keep walking, Frankie,” Clancy said, grabbing my arm

to keep me moving down the hallway. He didn’t want to get

involved. He never wanted to get involved. “It’s not worth

it, she’s handling it.”

“Jesus, I think the fucker gave me AIDS!” someone

shouted, just to get the last word in.

“That’s it, break it up!” the teacher snapped, her usual

singsong tone sharp. “Everyone go on; anyone still here in

ten seconds is getting a detention!”

I glanced back again just in time to see the crowd

dispersing. Abel was picking up his books off the floor, his

baby face scowling at the ground and shrugging away the

teacher’s concern. He was wearing purple leopard print

skinny jeans today. From what I could tell, they had worked

like a magnet, drawing the bullies in for the kill.

“I hate this fuckin’ place,” Clancy said. “I swear to God,

man, one day that kid’s gonna haul off and shoot the whole

damn place up, just you wait. Who thought of high school,

huh? What is this, four years of torture to the weakest and

the weirdest?”

Clancy was one of my best friends. He was best

described as a mix between a hipster and a grunge baby,

with blond hair that curled in a way that the girls loved.

Up until freshman year, he had hung out with completely

different circles, namely the douchebags and the preppy

chicks. While he had never explained what exactly had

caused the falling out -- there were rumors involving the

football team and Clancy’s little sister -- his family had

enough money that he still got invites to parties that seemed

straight out of Hollywood. He threw every single one of

them in the trash, sometimes lighting them on fire when he

lit a cigarette.

Yeah, Clancy had a tendency to be overly dramatic at the

best of times.

“I’m pretty sure it was the government,” I responded.

“You know, the whole public schooling thing to give

everyone an education and opportunity and shit?”

“Ah, so it’s like a survival of the fittest.” Clancy

immediately launched into his rant on the current state

of affairs in America. I tuned him out, having heard it

countless times before at the lunch table, in class, over IM,

through text, and, once, when he was talking in his sleep.

Besides, I hated that he never wanted to get involved;

conflict made him nervous. Not that I was any better,

considering I just let him lead me away.

Instead of listening, I thought back to Abel.

Abel Young was gay. It was common knowledge

throughout the high school, especially considering we had

all pretty much grown up together. Ever since he had come

out in the eighth grade, he had made absolutely no effort

to try and hide it, despite the daily gauntlet he had to run

through the halls. He was a textbook stereotype, almost a

caricature, with an effeminate manner, makeup, and bright

clothes. I had never understood exactly what made the guy

so seemingly willing to be a target, but then, I had never

really had a conversation with him. He socialized with his

circle of artsy-fartsy theater kids and hipsters, with their

‘holier and smarter than thou’ attitudes, and I stuck with

my weird, fringe-of-society clique -- the stoners, the loners,

and the losers. It was high school, and in high school, you

didn’t venture out of the carefully drawn lines in the sand.

I admired the guy, and he never seemed like he had it too

bad, despite the idiots with small minds. He seemed happy

enough with his friends, after all, and from what I had seen

of his parents from a distance, he had it good there too. It

made me think that I should try coming out to a few people,

like Clancy. It always seemed like a good idea until I saw

the latest black eye that Abel was sporting or the writing

on the bathroom walls. Then it just seemed like a one-way

ticket to social suicide. Yeah, he had a lot more courage

than I did; I was still firmly hidden in the back of the closet

behind the coats, the shoes, and the Christmas decorations

from the year before. After all, I had only just begun

admitting to myself that I was gay without panicking. How

was I going to come out?

Tobias, my best friend, was waiting for me after school,

just like always. He parked in the student parking lot

instead of the pick-up lane with the parents, mostly because

he could lie out in the bed of his pickup with his sunglasses

on and nap until I got around to heading outside. I was

always torn between rushing to see him sooner and lagging

behind so I could catch him stretched out and relaxed in

the sun. Either way had my heart rate picking up, and there

were days that I wanted to throttle Clancy for taking too

long or too short of a time. I had this down to an art.

His work boots were kicked up over the gate of the

truck, splattered in paint, and smoke curled up from where I

presumed his head to be. Tobias was a high school dropout

from the year before and a notorious chain-smoker, labeled

as a bad influence by pretty much everyone in town except

for the people that actually knew him, like me and Clancy

and the painting business he worked for. Not a lot of

people knew that he had dropped out to work more so that

he could support both himself and his mother’s drinking

habit. Ever since my mom had remarried two years earlier,

he had been supporting me as well. My stepdad ruled the

household with an iron fist (one that was quick to strike,

too, let me tell you), so I had unofficially moved onto

Tobias’ couch after one too many drunken threats thrown

my way.

I tossed my backpack over the side of the truck and

grinned when I was rewarded with a grunt of a startled

swear. Tobias sat up and glared at me, cigarette still in

hand. The smoke smell, sweet, clung to him just like

the harsh tang of paint usually did. It was a strange

combination, but it was all him, and it smelled like home

to me. His dark hair was messy and untamed, like it just

begged to be brushed down, and he looked like he hadn’t

slept in days. He needed a haircut, but he never noticed

until he resembled a mop. The shaggy, half-assed look

worked for him, though, somehow, and despite the bags

under his eyes, he was attractive, with that “bad boy” aura

that everybody secretly loved, including me. Dark hair,

James Dean eyes, and tan skin from working in the sun -- it

was a wonder that I hadn’t been cast to the side in favor

of some trust fund girl. But maybe I was biased -- to me,

Tobias would have looked hot if he were wearing a brown

paper lunch bag.

“You’re a dick, Frankie,” he said, but he hopped out of

the bed and moved to the driver’s seat. “Don’t you know

that I hauled my ass out of bed just to make sure you didn’t

have to walk uphill both ways in the snow home from

school? A little bit of fuckin’ gratitude would be nice. I’m

just sayin’.”

“I’m so thankful,” I deadpanned, closing the passenger’s

side door as he started the truck. “You look like a zombie,

man.” I reached into the glove box and pulled out Tobias’

extra stash of Marlboros, moving to take one out of the

package.

He swiped it out of my hand before I even had it lit. “I

feel like one,” he said. “Mom’s on a binge. I can’t believe

you slept through the racket last night. And what have I told

you about smoking?”

Living with Tobias was both a blessing and a curse. If

I didn’t, I would never get to see the man fresh out of the

shower or talk to him first thing in the morning. I would

also never have to avert my eyes for thinking unwholesome

thoughts about my best friend. Besides, I still felt a little

guilty for adding to his troubles. Even though he had never

said a word about me living there, let alone complained,

he was still only twenty and he had enough on his plate.

Between his mom and the bills, I was sure the last thing

he needed was a kid to worry about. Whenever I offered

to get a job or stay home from school and help out, he just

gave me the same answer every time. “High school degree

will get you more than a GED, trust me,” he’d say with a

dismissive wave. “And if you get the chance to get the hell

outta here, take it and don’t look back.”

He never really elaborated, but I had known Tobias

for years, and I could read between the lines. “Don’t be

like me,” he was really saying. “Don’t drop out, don’t get

stuck, and don’t give up.” He was too young to think like

that, I knew, but he wouldn’t let me do anything about it,

even though I desperately wanted to help ease the burden

somehow.

I looked out the window of the truck at a stop sign in

time to see Abel walking home, just like always. He had a

concerned-looking girl at his elbow and an ice pack over

his nose, drops of blood staining his t-shirt. Tobias followed

my gaze.

“Kids are fuckin’ cruel, man,” he said, shaking his head,

and we drove on.

***

The thing about being seventeen, gay, and hopelessly in

love with your pretty damn straight best friend is that you

have a lot of things to brood over. I couldn’t help it -- I

looked at Tobias and all I could think about was kissing

the line of his neck, where his dark hair was curling just

a little bit too long. It wasn’t a thought that I was terribly

comfortable with yet, but I had a lot of thoughts about

Tobias that I was scared of. Kissing his neck was one of the

milder ones.

***

The days blurred in a haze of school and Tobias as

summer edged toward fall. On a night in mid-October,

we went down to the river that ran along the outskirts of

town. It was just the three of us, Tobias and Clancy and me,

with the radio on and a couple of fishing poles. Tobias had

backed the truck up to the very edge so that we could fish

off the tailgate, and it was nearing nine o’clock.

“Elvis is dead, Clancy,” Tobias was saying for the

millionth time. He had the oldies station on, playing

through the truck radio, and it always started a friendly

bickering between the two. “He hasn’t been abducted by

aliens and he’s not living in Jamaica or whatever the hell

you’re thinking.”

“And I’m saying that you can believe whatever you

want.” Clancy was lying in the bed of the truck, flannel

shoved under his head as a makeshift pillow, as he chipped

paint away from where it was caked onto Tobias’ work

overalls. It was warm for the season, even with the wind

blowing cool air off the water. “You’re entitled to your own

opinion, all right, man? Just like I’m entitled to mine.”

“Yeah, but your opinion’s dumb.” Tobias grinned at him,

blowing out a puff of smoke.

“Your face is dumb,” I threw in.

“Your mom’s dumb,” Clancy added. “Besides, dumb or

not, it’s still my opinion, right? I want cold hard evidence;

that’s the only way you’re gonna convince me.”

“We can’t go steal Elvis’ body, dude,” I said quickly.

That kind of thing would be right up Clancy’s alley,

especially if he were high. Clancy had a tendency to steal

things when he was high.

“Because there’s no body!” Clancy said triumphantly.

“And there’s no body because he’s not dead!” He sat

up, putting on his flannel as he checked the time on his

cell phone. “And while I would love to continue this

conversation...” Tobias rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Mom’s convinced that Tobias here is corrupting my

delicate sensibilities.”

“Yeah, go ahead and return to the mother ship,” Tobias

said.

After Clancy had gone in his own pickup, it was just the

two of us. It was just the two of us a lot, and it came easy,

like something between us just slotted together. Tobias

reeled in the fishing pole -- nothing was biting -- and

moved on to lighting another cigarette and lying back to

look at the stars. I lay down beside him. The breeze gave

the early summer night a chill, and I wanted, desperately, to

slide over and curl into Tobias’ side. It would be warm and

comfortable, and I craved the electric spark that I got from

touching him.

He folded his arms behind his head. His elbow brushed

mine, and my breath caught. It was ridiculous, a tiny touch

that I shouldn’t have even really noticed. It didn’t help that

it stayed there, constant warmth against my own chilled

skin, and I felt as though I were on fire where that tiny bit

of contact originated.

“You looked at colleges?” Tobias said, and my stomach

plummeted. I hated this conversation, the one that brought

up graduation and the future. “I mean, there’s not a lot

of money, but you’re smart enough to get a couple of

scholarships, and you definitely qualify for some grants.”

“What’s wrong with sticking around?” I asked.

“You stick around long enough and you never leave.”

Tobias had a half-cocked grin on his face, crooked and

self-deprecating. “You ain’t got nothing keepin’ you here,

Frankie, you should go. Might never get another chance.”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to think about leaving

for some faraway town, for school and people and the real

world. I didn’t want to think about leaving Tobias, about

maybe drifting apart and not hearing his rough voice every

day.

“You’ve only got one life, you know? You got to take

these chances and opportunities while they’re there, or

you’ll fuck yourself over. There’s a whole damn world

out there, but you’ll never know it if you don’t go looking

for it.” He was quiet then, and I wondered if he was still

talking about me, or if the conversation had switched over

to him now. “You’ll never know what you’re missing if you

don’t open your eyes, Frankie,” he finally finished.

I jolted at that. It was something about his words,

something about the fact that he was talking about me

leaving like it was nothing. It might have even been

something about me being seventeen and hopelessly in

love and brooding, but his words stuck in my brain like a

particularly good song.

Just then, Leonard Cohen came on the radio, and Tobias

grinned, closing his eyes and flicking his ashes into the

water. “I love this song,” he said.

You’ll never know what you’re missing if you don’t open

your eyes. I opened my eyes, never even realizing I had

closed them, and I saw Tobias in the moonlight with the

cherry of a cigarette in his hand, singing along with the

radio.

***

Time went on, from that night in October straight into a

cold winter that had Tobias pulling odd jobs around town

as painting and construction ground to a halt for the season.

He worked unstable hours and stretched every dollar, and

even though he never said a word, I could tell that this

winter was a bad one. Still, he made sure we always had

dinner and that the heat stayed on. I watched him through

the winter, swearing at the cold. I watched Abel, too,

watched the same group of bullies steal his coat so that he

walked home shivering in the snow. Then, I watched as

the snow melted away into spring, and Abel could escape

outside once more and avoid the crowd.

Eventually, the curiosity got to me. It was a stupid

question, I thought, a weird obsession, but I had to know.

It was late March; there were only a few weeks of school

left, after all, and rumor had it that Abel had a drama

scholarship lined up out of state. Once the year was over, I

wouldn’t get the chance again. We weren’t exactly friends,

after all. That Tuesday, I dodged Clancy’s offer of lighting

up on the bleachers in favor of creepily stalking the resident

out-and-proud social pariah. I found him sitting outside

under the big tree in front of the school at lunch, one of

the only quiet, empty places. Abel always ate alone, with

a book, I guess because all of his friends had a different

lunch period -- the tree was where the jocks weren’t, so that

was where he went.

“Hey,” I said.

Abel was alone, his theater friends off doing something

or other. He looked up at me with a confused, wary look.

“Hey, Frankie.What’s up?”

“I’ve got a question.” I sat down without asking for

permission, crossing my legs and looking at him. He was

wearing bright pink eye shadow and a Lady Gaga shirt, and

it was a little disconcerting, I’d admit. It wasn’t that I didn’t

like the guy, I didn’t know him, and in all honesty, I had no

idea what to do with him. There wasn’t a lot of education

on homosexuality, and whenever I Googled it, I just got

porn. Not that I’m really complaining about that.

He rolled his eyes, and then glared at me. “No, I don’t

have AIDS, and don’t worry, ‘the gay’ is not contagious.”

He looked like he was going to ignore me after that,

looking back down at his book pointedly.

I blinked, taken aback. “What? No, I... You get beaten

up all the time, man,” I said, and then I mentally smacked

myself in the forehead. I wasn’t the best conversationalist,

and I struggled to find a way to word the thoughts going

through my head.

“I’m aware of that. Kind of hard for me to miss,” he

finally said, sounding a little less cautious and a lot more

amused. He closed his book, which I took as a good sign. I

mean, it was either good, or he was getting ready to punch

me or something.

“So... I mean, why don’t you... try to fit in? Or hide

it or something? I mean...” I scratched the back of my

head, trying to think about how to sound less like an idiot.

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just... pretend?”

Abel looked at me for a long moment, like he was

contemplating something far above my meager mental

capacities. Finally, he kind of nodded, like he’d come

to some kind of decision I wasn’t aware of. “Listen,” he

said. “The world’s changing. As a whole, people aren’t

as... closed-minded as they used to be. Yeah, I mean, they

are here, but in other places...” He paused, now looking

as though he were the one struggling for words. “’Be the

change you want to see in the world,’” he finally said. “I

mean, it’s kind of cliché, but... I like it. And I want to see

people being themselves without fear of getting their asses

kicked for it.”

I nodded, soaking it all in and saving it up for

contemplation later. I could see what he was saying, and

it kind of made sense. Not enough sense for me to start

running down the halls proclaiming my homosexuality at

the top of my lungs, but the sentiment was there. “Thanks,”

I said and stood to go find Clancy.

“You know, Frankie,” Abel said, looking up at me

again. “You ever need to talk, I’m a good listener. Even

if it’s about football or something, I need some manly

conversation sometimes.”

I couldn’t help my grin. “Yeah, sure, thanks.”

I skipped the rest of my classes that day, lying out on

the bleachers and smoking with Clancy. Sure, it wasn’t

the smartest thing I had ever done, but finals weren’t

for another week, and besides, I was kind of having an

existential crisis or something. I stared up at the sky,

sunglasses over my eyes and a cigarette in my hand

-- Marlboro Reds, one of Tobias’ that I’d stolen out of

his glove box -- head-to-head with Clancy. Clancy was

smoking, but it wasn’t a cigarette.

We probably shouldn’t have been able to get away with

it, but in all honesty, it didn’t seem like anyone noticed.

Clancy and I weren’t the type to get into much trouble,

but we weren’t the type to excel or anything. We slipped

through the cracks of the system, like ghosts. I took the

opportunity to think, eyes on the sky until they burned from

the sunlight, and when I closed them, I could still see colors

behind my eyelids. I was nervous, even though, rationally, I

knew that Clancy really wouldn’t flip out.

He was my friend, though. So, here it went, all of the

tension built up in my chest over the years. I exhaled it with

the smoke, and opened my eyes to the sky again. “I think

I’m gay.”

There was silence from Clancy, then the subtle sound

of him shifting on the metal of the bleachers. “Uh.

Congratulations?”

I sat up. Maybe he was higher than I thought. “Dude, did

you hear me?” I asked, looking down at him.

Clancy sat up as well, shrugging. “What do you want

me to say, man? I mean, if you have a crush on me or

something, that’s sweet, but I’m really not interested. I like

you, buddy,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “But

only as a friend.”

“I’m not joking, Clancy,” I said, because, obviously, he

wasn’t getting it. I was gay, and he was playing it off like it

was something unimportant.

“I know you’re not joking.” Finally, he sounded serious.

“Just... what do you want me to say? If you’re looking for

a reaction, you’re telling the wrong person.” He spread his

arms and grinned. “Look at all the fucks I really don’t give,

man.” I just stared at him. He took pity on me, reaching out

and bumping my chin to close my mouth for me. “You look

dumb when you do that, dude. Frankie, I’ve known you

since fifth grade, all right? I’m pretty sure I knew you were

gay before you knew you were gay. You always had that

really unhealthy fascination with William Shatner in Star

Trek.”

“So... what, you couldn’t have told me?” I managed.

“A little bit of warning would have been nice!” Especially

when I was fourteen and scared to death of myself.

“You figured it out eventually. Besides, I figure that’s

something a dude has to realize on his own.” Clancy

shrugged again, lying back down, apparently to chase down

his “mellow” again. “I was serious, though. You’re telling

the wrong person, Frankie.”

“Considering you haven’t punched me, I’d beg to differ.”

“I mean Tobias,” Clancy said. He looked at me, upside

down from my point of view, and his serious face was back

in place. “I’m not blind, man. And neither is he.”

That felt like a punch to the gut, and I couldn’t breathe.

The idea that Tobias had known how I felt all along both

scared me and astonished me, and a thousand million

questions ran through my mind all at once. If he had known

and never acted on it, then did that mean he didn’t feel the

same way? I had never expected him to return them, but I

had always hoped.

It took me a minute to find my voice. “He knows I’m

gay?”

Clancy seemed to have forgotten about the weed, letting

it burn away in his hand. “He knows you love him.”

“He’s like my brother,” I said quickly. I didn’t know why

I was trying to deny it. It had just been my own secret for

so long, I couldn’t imagine letting anyone else share it. I

wanted to hold onto it like the selfish martyr that I was. “Of

course I love him, Clancy.”

“Now you’re just being dumb on purpose.” Clancy rolled

his eyes at me. “You love him, Frankie, anyone with a

pair of eyes and half a brain can tell. They see it, they just

convince themselves that they don’t, because good small

town boys don’t do that, remember?” He tilted his head

back, still upside down to me. “We’ve all just been sitting

around, waiting for you to catch on, man.”

“He’s straight,” I said anyway. “Sometimes that matters

to people -- it matters to Tobias.”

“How do you know that? You ever asked him?” He

waited, and when I didn’t answer, because I hadn’t asked,

he nodded. “See, you don’t know. You’re just assuming.

You’re putting words in his mouth, and if he were here,

he’d hit you for that. Not for being gay, but, for... Shit, I’m

too high for this.”

“I don’t have to ask. I...” I took a deep breath. Now that

the whole sexuality thing was out of the way, it seemed

like I had opened a whole new can of worms with Clancy.

“He was in love once, remember? With a girl. Thus, he’s

straight.” She was beautiful, I remembered, and he was too

young for her. She was married, and after she left, Tobias

didn’t bring any other girls around. I didn’t like to think

about that; I had hated her on principle, even if I hadn’t

really understood it then. “He’s always talking about me

leaving, anyway. If he... you know. Felt the same way, he’d

want me to stay, right?”

“Or, maybe he just really cares about your future,

dumbass.” Clancy gave me this long look, and I felt like

the biggest moron in the world. I didn’t even know why.

Finally, Clancy shook his head and sat up again. “Frankie,”

he said, “love is love, all right? The gender is just the

package it comes in. Don’t be an ass and presume you

know what Tobias is thinking.”

I had no idea what to say to that. Maybe I was the

selfish one, then, I finally thought. Maybe Clancy was

right. Or maybe Clancy was wrong, and I was just fucked.

The whole world felt like it was in turmoil, like everyone

around me should have known that things had just flipped

over on their heads for me, and they should have been... I

don’t know, running in the streets and screaming. I didn’t

know what to say, and I didn’t know what to do. My head

was spinning. My chest felt tight and I couldn’t breathe.

I had been so certain that my feelings were secret from

Tobias, so certain that he was straight and couldn’t feel the

same way about me, and now that it was even a remote

possibility... I felt the sudden urge to put my head between

my knees.

“You know, to be honest, I’m a little afraid of what’s

gonna happen to him after you go,” Clancy went on,

rambling now. “I mean, with his mom and everything. Hell,

dude, you might be the only thing actually keeping him

from becoming what everyone already says he is.”

A drunk, a thief, a playboy -- I’d heard what people said

about Tobias, and it wasn’t flattering in the least. “He’s

better than that,” I said, and I meant it.

Clancy closed his eyes with a noncommittal hum, but he

was grinning, soft around the edges. “You know him better

than I do.”

***

“Here,” Tobias said, and a pile of papers landed

haphazardly on the kitchen table beside my reheated pizza

leftovers. I fanned through them as he moved through the

kitchen.

“The fuck, man?” They were college brochures, all of

them in-state with laughing, go-lucky coeds on the front.

“Tobias, I told you, I’m not sure.”

“And I told you it’s pretty much nonnegotiable.” Tobias

spun one of the chairs around, straddling it and stealing

the piece of pizza right out of my hand. He smirked when

I glared, unrepentant. “Pick a couple out. Look ‘em over,

see what you like. You don’t have to go in with a major

declared or anything, spend the first year getting your feet

wet, figuring out what you like.” He shoved a couple of

brochures at me.

“I can’t afford this,” I tried, but it was an old argument.

“You’re gonna have financial aid running out of your

ears,” Tobias replied around a mouthful of pizza.

I sighed, looking at the brochures half-heartedly.

Different school colors, different places, but they all looked

the same to me.

“Financial aid doesn’t cover food and shampoo,

dumbass,” I muttered.

“Frankie.” Tobias’ hand landed on my shoulder. His

fingertips were close to my neck, and I tried not to tense.

“You really think I’m gonna let you starve and walk around

like some kind of hobo?” The touch was warm -- he gave

my shoulder a squeeze before he pulled away again, and

started rifling through the brochures. “What about this one?

This chick’s hot.”

The ghost of a touch was still heavy on my shoulder, and

the skin felt cold now that he had pulled away. “I really

don’t think that’s how you’re supposed to pick a school,

dude,” I said, and tried to let the moment pass.

***

Tobias’ couch was actually pretty damn comfortable.

It was one giant floral print that his parents had bought

when they had first gotten married. Back then, they had

been happy, and you could still see the remnants of that life

throughout the house, under the dark and dust, in the old

photos, home videos, and the furniture that hadn’t changed

in twelve years. Next to all those memories were Tobias’

stained boots, splattered with paint and mud, like a symbol

of the exhausted man that past had become.

At any rate, the couch had been broken in, and for

the last two years of my life, it had been my bed. As

comfortable as it was, though, it was also right in the

middle of the living room, which meant that I stirred if

Tobias so much as ventured out for a midnight snack. He

was pretty good at keeping quiet.

His mother, however, was a totally different story.

I hadn’t actually drifted off to sleep yet. I was in that

in-between space where my face was mashed into the

couch cushion, but my whole body felt like lead and

I wasn’t willing to move. My thoughts were drifting,

mostly to Tobias and college, Abel and Clancy, all to the

soundtrack of Tobias doing dishes in the kitchen. I dozed,

distantly hearing the pad of bare feet on carpet first, and

then linoleum -- lighter than Tobias’, ghostlike. There was

the sound of the fridge being opened, the clink of a bottle

finally drawing me out of my half-asleep haze.

“It was your father’s fault.”

Her voice was too loud for the quiet night. I jolted a

little, turning my head so that I could breathe better. I heard

Tobias sigh, the sound of dishwater, and the light fluff of a

towel landing on the counter.

“Ma,” he said, just barely loud enough to hear. “It’s late,

Frankie’s already in bed. Keep it down.”

“Sorry.” She laughed a little, like a girlish giggle, but

her voice wasn’t much quieter. It didn’t really matter, I was

awake then. “It really is his fault, though,” she went on.

There was the too-loud scrape of a chair on the floor, the

sound of the beer bottle being set down on the table.

“Really don’t wanna talk about this, Ma,” Tobias said.

He sounded tired; he always sounded tired, from work,

from her, from me.

“I tried to tell him!” she said, like Tobias was accusing

her of something. “I said, ‘John, Johnny, you got

responsibility now. You got a wife and kid, John, you can’t

do this kinda shit, John.’ He didn’t listen.”

I heard the delicate chink of plates being stacked, but not

a word from Tobias.

“I tried to tell him, he doesn’t listen, no... No, bastard

goes off and gets himself killed. Told him not to -- not to

go, but... Selfish asshole,” she finished. “Didn’t even let me

apologize before he fuckin’ died.”

“Ma.”

I rolled, and I could see the edge of Tobias through the

kitchen doorway, leaning against the sink with his head

ducked, dishes forgotten in the water. I wanted to get up

and smooth my hands down his back, ease the tension that

seemed to turn him to stone.

“Ma, it’s not your fault,” he said after a moment, like he

had counted backwards from ten or something.

“No, it’s his. I’m a goddamn alcoholic and you’re a

fuck-up and it’s all his fault!” She was loud again, not quite

yelling, but close. Tobias moved out of my sight, into the

kitchen, and there was the rustle of fabric.

“Come on, Ma, it’s late. Let’s get you to bed,” he said,

like he’d say to a tired child.

“I want --”

“You can take the fucking beer, I don’t care.”

If she noticed that he had snapped, she didn’t say

anything. A moment later, they came through the kitchen

doorway, her leaning heavily on him and muttering about

how wonderful he was to take care of her like this. I

couldn’t hear them after that, but after a few minutes, there

was the sound of a door closing. Tobias came back up the

hallway, dropping the beer bottle in the trashcan along the

way. I closed my eyes when he didn’t disappear into the

kitchen -- I didn’t want him to know that I had overheard. It

was private, even if I couldn’t help listening.

What surprised me, then, was the sound of his footsteps

getting closer. He sat down on the coffee table, and I heard

the quiet rasp of him running his hand through his hair.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and then the back of his hand was

gently laying against my arm. A moment later, and his

knuckles brushed against my cheek in a gesture that was far

too... tender or romantic or something for me to ever, ever

have associated with him. Tobias was roughhousing and

confident pats on the back, not... not this hesitant, stolen

touch in the dark. I couldn’t help it -- my eyes opened and

caught his.

His name slipped out before I could catch it. “Tobias?”

He was frozen, though it was hard for me to see his

expression in the dim light. Slowly, he pulled his hand

away. “Just checkin’ on you, Frankie. Go back to sleep.”

I wanted to reach out, wanted to grab and pull him back,

but my heavy arms refused to obey, and he was gone and

down the hall before I could even twitch a finger, before

I could work my mouth around the words to ask what the

hell that was. I wanted to ask if he could feel it too, the

strange sense of electricity that still hung in the air even

though he was gone. I wanted to pull him down onto the

couch and kiss him.

I wanted to know if that -- those gentle touches -- could

be something I would be allowed to get used to.

It was a moment of weakness, I thought to myself. It was

a moment of vulnerability that had him reaching out for

me, because he had no one else to reach out for. I was okay

with that, or... I could be okay with that.

I didn’t sleep much that night.

***

I wanted to talk to Clancy about it. Hell, I wanted to talk

to Abel about it. But talking about it meant sharing what

Tobias’ mother had said, and those weren’t my secrets to

tell. I was torn between hope that he felt the same way, that

he felt something other than friendship or brotherhood, and

a desperate attempt to keep myself grounded and realistic.

Tobias was tired, overworked, and stretched thin between

his shit, my shit, and his mother’s shit. Any human being

would reach out for a hug or something after that, and

Tobias just wasn’t the type to ask for it in case someone

saw the weak spot and aimed a kick at it. Still, though, I

could feel his hand, and I wanted so badly to feel them

again.

All in all, the whole mess of confusion and change

had me in a pretty bad mood. I didn’t want to see Tobias,

because it was a constant war of “want to touch but can’t”

versus “it would be so easy,” but I also really, really did. It

was like I couldn’t make up my mind if being around him

was good for me or not. As it was, not going home with

Tobias meant going home to my mom and stepdad, and that

wasn’t really a choice at all.

The bitch of it was that I wanted to come out to Tobias. I

wanted him to know, I wanted to be able to breathe without

this thing following me, trapped in the space between us.

Deep down, I hoped he would return the feelings, even

though I had prepared myself for the absolute worst. And

then, on the other hand, I didn’t want him to know, ever,

because if I never said it out loud, then nothing would ever

be ruined. I would have rather pulled my own teeth out

with my toes than lose Tobias from my life.

This time when I tossed my backpack into the bed of

the truck, I didn’t wait for Tobias to sit up. I got in the cab

and lit a cigarette before he was even in the driver’s seat.

“Damn it, Frankie,” he said. “What have I told you about

smoking?”

I had heard that line a million and a half times before, it

seemed, and it was usually the kind of mother hen behavior

that made me smile. Today, though, it just pissed me off,

grated my nerves in just the wrong way. “You smoke,” I

snapped. “Little hypocritical to tell me not to.”

Tobias cocked an eyebrow. “Do as I say, not as I do,” he

said. He pulled out of the parking lot with another glance

over at me. “Have a bad day or something?”

“Fuck off, Mom,” I muttered, eyes turned out the

window.

I didn’t see the expression on Tobias’ face, but I could

tell by his pause that he was attempting to contain his

temper. Tobias had some pretty legendary patience, up to

a point, but once you crossed a line, he had a temper to be

reckoned with. I knew exactly where the lines were and

how to walk all over them, how to burn them like bridges

behind me. I could toss hurtful words over my shoulder like

a match into a lake full of kerosene.

“Christ,” Tobias finally replied. His tone was still light,

but I could feel the underlying tension. “Hell, son, need one

that bad, might as well have one.”

I kept my mouth shut. Honestly, I knew fighting with

Tobias was a bad idea. It wasn’t right to take out my

frustrations on him, but from the passenger’s seat of his

pickup, all I could see was that, in a roundabout way, this

whole mess was Tobias’ fault. If Tobias wasn’t... I didn’t

know, himself, I wouldn’t have fallen in love, I wouldn’t be

dealing with these feelings. If it weren’t for Tobias, I’d be

able to smoke a cigarette whenever the fuck I wanted to.

When we pulled in the drive, Tobias’ mom was parked

in a lawn chair on the front porch. She was wearing what

she had gone out in the night before, her makeup smudged

and her hair up in a half-assed ponytail. I knew from past

experience that she was probably still drunk or, at the very

least, hungover. Tobias swore, parked the truck, and got out

without a word to me.

“Toby, where the hell you been?” his mom called, words

slurring together. She was really drunk if she was calling

him Toby instead of Tobias. No one called him Toby

anymore, and the nickname made his eyes go haunted and

scared, his whole body tensing in a way that screamed

vulnerability.

“Work, Ma,” he said, walking up the stairs. “Then I had

to pick up the kid. Where are your keys?” He unlocked

the door and helped her stumble through into the house.

I followed, teeth clenched and gripping the strap of my

backpack tighter than necessary. He deposited her on the

couch, where she slumped with a drunken fool’s smile.

I dropped my bag by the door to stalk into the kitchen,

and opened the fridge. I pulled out a beer, and I was

popping the cap off just as Tobias walked in. “She dropped

‘em in the fucking toilet at the bar -- Oh hell no.” He

swiped the beer out of my hands and set it on the counter

behind me. “The fuck you think you’re doing?”

“Finding a cure for cancer, what’s it look like?” I glared

at him and moved to grab the beer again, but he blocked

my way.

“What’s your problem today, Frankie?” he snapped.

“Smoking’s one thing, but you sure as hell don’t need a

drink.” Tobias didn’t drink. His mom did enough drinking

for all three of us.

“Toby!” his mom shouted from the living room. “Be a

good boy and fix Mommy a snack!”

I saw his eyes dart to the side, towards the door like

he was afraid she was going to be coming in at any given

moment. I didn’t know why he was scared of her when she

got this drunk, and I had never been brave enough to ask --

the way I saw it, he was big enough he could take her if she

came at him with a bottle or something, and I wasn’t sure I

could bear whatever weight was on his shoulders.

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Swear to God,

if she weren’t my mother, I’d knock her ass out and ship

her off to Mexico.” He was still trying to make light of

the situation. He was always so steady, so fucking patient,

and it was so frustrating. If he weren’t so damn perfect, so

fucking forgiving and gracious, I thought, I could fall out of

love with his ass and push him away and be perfectly fine

with just being friends.

I was angry, so angry, at myself and Tobias and his

mother and the whole damn world. “Is that what you do

with people, Tobias?” I heard myself say. The anger was

heady, both overwhelmingly terrifying and relieving at

the same time. “You ship ‘em off when they’re too much

trouble?”

Tobias’ head shot up. “You better watch your mouth, son.

You’re like my brother, Frankie, but I will lay your ass out

on the floor.”

A brother. I was like his brother, and somehow, those

words made everything feel so much worse. “Is that why

you want me to go? Am I too much of a burden?” I didn’t

even care about the beer now, after that rush of giving into

the anger and frustration.

“You know that’s not true,” Tobias said. He was still

trying to keep his voice even. “You wanna get out of this

place, Frankie, trust me.”

“Fuck you!” I shouted, stepping forward, up into Tobias’

space. It was strangely intoxicating, watching him try to

dial back his temper and not strike out at me. “Stop telling

me what I want! Maybe I wanna fucking stay, you ever

think of that?”

“Why the hell would you want to stay? What you need to

do is go out and get a degree and --”

“Shut the fuck up, Toby!” I yelled.

The nickname was what did it, finally, and he shoved me.

I stumbled back until I hit the counter on the other side of

the tiny kitchen, hard enough that there was probably going

to be a bruise. Good. I wanted him to give me a reason

to go if he wanted me to go so badly. “Maybe I wanna

stay for you.” The words slipped out before I could catch

them, tumbling down from my head and out of my mouth.

Once they were there, hanging in the space between us, I

couldn’t take them back. I stood straight and started toward

Tobias again, but he shoved me back once more. This

time, though, he trapped me against the counter, one hand

clenched on the edge and the other a sharp, jabbing finger

in my chest.

For the first time, I realized just how dangerous this

sleeping dragon that I had poked was. His nostrils were

flared and his face was a faint shade of red, eyes sharp

and bright with anger. His jaw was clenched, strong and

defined, and I wanted then more than ever before to lean in

and press my lips to his, to bite and nip and get a fucking

reaction.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “I will not be the

reason you don’t make anything of your life, Frankie.”

I couldn’t speak for a moment, the anger giving way to

some kind of dark thrill mixed with a tiny bit of fear. When

I finally found my voice, I couldn’t manage more than a

half-uttered word -- “I...” -- before Tobias’ mother stumbled

into the kitchen to lean against the doorframe.

“Where’s my snack, Toby?” she asked, looking

wounded, like an offended child.

Tobias jerked back, eyes darting from me to his mother,

and I took the opportunity to escape. I grabbed my bag and

slammed the door behind me, trying to grasp that oh-so-

liberating rush of anger once more. It was gone, though, so

I pretended that I wasn’t running from the mess I had just

made, that I couldn’t hear Tobias calling my name from the

kitchen.

***

“Just take a couple days to cool off and get your head

on straight, man,” Clancy said. I had called him from a

gas station. Clancy’s had been the safest temporary option

for the night. I didn’t have the guts to go back and face

Tobias, and there was no way in hell that I was going to my

stepfather’s house. I still wasn’t sure if I was ready to go

back to Tobias considering that I was back to angry again,

but Clancy’s mom seemed like she was afraid I’d steal her

silver or something, and I didn’t know if I could get another

night on their couch.

“Hey, faggot!”

The shout made me grit my teeth, and I turned, gritting

my teeth. Abel’s back hit the locker, same as always, a

perfectly fuckin’ predictable routine. Clancy grabbed my

arm to hold me back.

“Heard you’re looking for a big ol’ cock to suck, queer.”

That was it. I jerked my arm out of Clancy’s grasp,

ignoring his warnings, and turned instead to the people

grouped around Abel. I shoved my way into the center,

holding out a hand to help Abel up. He took it after a

moment of bewildered confusion, expression morphing into

relief and gratefulness.

“Oh, look at this,” one of the meatheads, the ringleader,

said. “The queer’s gay little boyfriend wants to help him

out!”

“Get lost,” I said to the guy. “I’m done with this bullshit.

Leave him alone.”

This was it, my moment in the spotlight, where I could

give a passionate speech about love and world peace and

being yourself and all that other stuff that they liked to

show in movies. That didn’t happen though, because I had

pretty much done the equivalent of painting myself bright

red and slapping a bull.

The ensuing fight was quick and brutal. I wound up

with a bloody nose and a split lip, along with various other

superficial wounds and a week of suspension. One guy was

sporting a black eye and another had the imprint of Abel’s

class ring on his jaw, and Abel’s hair was officially ruined,

so he said.

One important thing had slipped my mind in my moment

of heroism. They didn’t call Tobias. They called my mom,

who was at work, so she sent my stepdad. I knocked my

head against the wall behind me in the office, kicking

myself mentally because I was so dumb, Jesus. It took him

fifteen minutes to show up, and when he walked into the

office, I felt like he was about to lead me to the electric

chair. “Come on,” he barked, and I stood, ice pack still

pressed to my face, following him out like an obedient little

dog. I wasn’t looking forward to this -- my stepdad had this

strange ability to make me feel small and powerless.

We were halfway down the walk to the circle drive

where his truck was parked when the hippie English teacher

came hustling out the door, calling my name. My stepdad

shot me a look and stopped, one giant, meaty hand on my

shoulder keeping me from bolting off or something. She

was smiling, strangely.

“Sir,” she said to my stepdad, “you should be very proud

of this young man. He did something very brave today by

standing up for Mr. Young, and I truly wish that half of the

school displayed just an ounce of the courage that your son

possesses.”

“Yeah, he’s something else, all right,” he said, like

reading lines from a script. It was the right phrase but the

wrong inflection -- he meant it like an insult where she

meant it as a compliment.

“The LGBTQ Community needs more allies like this

one,” she said, beaming at me. I forced a smile, my heart

dropping into my stomach, because she had no idea what

kind of trouble she had just caused me.

My stepdad was looking at me, restrained anger in his

face. “Well, thank you, ma’am.” He was practically frog-

marching me to the truck before she could say anything

else, his hand like a steel trap on the back of my neck. I

glanced back at her, and her smile had dropped, her hand

halfway up to her mouth like she had just realized what she

had done. I tried to give her a reassuring smile, because

she couldn’t have known, but the movement hurt my lip,

causing it to crack open and start bleeding again.

“Not only do you get in a goddamn fight, you do it for

that thing?” he starts in. “Franklin --”

“It’s Frankie,” I said on autopilot.

“It’s whatever the hell I wanna call you!” he thundered,

and I pressed myself against the door of the truck. “That’s

it, no more. You’re not gonna shack up with that punk,

and you’re not gonna even talk to that fag again, you

understand me?” I didn’t say anything, but that delicious

little taste of anger was back within my reach. “Should’ve

come and got you before he corrupted you. You steal, too?”

“Tobias isn’t a thief,” I snapped.

“He’s a fuckin’ drunk just like his mother, and he’s

turned you into a --”

“He didn’t turn me into anything!” My blood felt like it

was on fire, I was so angry. “He’s helped me!”

“Helped you become a little faggot just like him!”

God, I was so sick of that word. “So what if he did?” I

demanded. “I’m gay, what the fuck are you gonna do about

it? Pray it away or try and beat it out of me?”

“Well, you sure as hell ain’t seein’ him again,” my

stepdad growled.

“Fuck you.” I wrenched the door open just as the truck

came to a stop at a stoplight, ignoring his indignant, angry

yells as I ran down a one-way street that he couldn’t follow

me down. The anger that I had embraced quickly faded out,

and I dropped onto a bench. My entire face was covered in

dried blood, and people gave me a wide berth. I officially

couldn’t go back to my stepdad’s house, and while I had

never wanted to, it had always been a last-ditch option if it

came down to that or homelessness. I wanted to go home,

to Tobias.

A familiar truck pulled up to the curb, a quick burst

of the horn making me look up. Relief flooded my entire

being, and I was pulling open the door to the passenger’s

side before I even thought about it. Tobias didn’t say

anything as he drove, and when we pulled into his

driveway, I suddenly felt exhausted, like I could sleep for

a decade. He didn’t get out right away, and I didn’t want

to look at him, afraid of the strange mix of disappointment

and concern that I knew would be in his expression.

Instead, I listened to the faint rasp of him rubbing the scruff

on his chin, and pushed the door open.

“What the hell, Frankie?” he said when we reached his

living room. It wasn’t anger behind his tone, but something

like exhaustion. “What were you thinking? Finals are next

week, and you get suspended? Damn it, you have to pass

high school to get into college, remember?”

“Why are you so ready to get rid of me?” I asked. It was

a sigh -- I couldn’t even grab onto a fraction of the anger I

had felt only a few days earlier.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tobias said, dodging the question

by going into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. When

he came back into the living room, he tossed me a bag

of frozen peas for my nose and handed me the water and

a couple of ibuprofen. “What did you get in a fight over

anyway? Is there a girl I don’t know about?”

“Not a girl,” I sighed, flopping down on the couch. “Abel

Young.” I dropped my head against the back of the couch

and balanced the peas on my nose. I didn’t want to have

this conversation.

Tobias took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and seemed

to count to ten. “Frankie,” he said, like he was trying to

control himself. “Why did you get into a fight over Abel

Young?”

I shifted a little. This definitely wasn’t the right time to

come out of the closet, let alone confess any deep, dark

desires, but Tobias deserved the truth. After all that he had

done for me, he deserved the best of me, and the best of me

was honest.

I dropped the bag of peas into my lap. “I have to tell you

something.”

“Aw, fuck.” Tobias sat down on the coffee table and lit a

cigarette.

“It’s... Look, I’ve thought about it for a long time, okay,

and I’m sure of it.” I started babbling. “And I talked to

Abel, and he made a lot of sense, and Clancy... well, Clancy

was high at the time, so you know, but he’s always high, so

--” My hands were shaking around the neck of the bottle.

“Tobias, I’m gay,” I finally forced out, and I didn’t dare

look up. “I’m sorry.”

Tobias stared at me for a long moment. “Shit, Frankie,”

he finally said and looked away before turning back to me.

“Quit looking so damn terrified, I’m not about to knock

you out or anything, and don’t fuckin’ apologize for it,” he

finally said with a sigh. He was wearing the face that he

saved for extremely uncomfortable social situations, the

one that looked like he would rather be covering himself

in honey and lying in front of a hungry bear than speaking

about emotions and feelings. His habit of swearing to

reassert his masculinity was out in prime form. “Why

didn’t you tell me sooner? Jesus fuckin’ Christ.” He took

another drag, dropped it in the ashtray, and lit another

one. “So you’re gay. So what. Lots of people are gay.

Ellen Degeneres is gay, and she’s married to a smokin’ hot

supermodel, so there’s that. It ain’t nothing to be fuckin’

ashamed of, Frankie, not really. But it’s gonna be hard, you

know, ‘cause people are stupid as hell and then they fuckin’

get together and breed little idiots just like themselves.”

“There’s something else you should know,” I said,

interrupting his pep talk.

Tobias shook his head and went on like I’d never even

spoken. “I got your back. You’re not gay or straight or

fucking purple to me, you’re just Frankie, and I got your

back.”

“Tobias, listen --”

“Damn it, Frankie, shut the fuck up.” Tobias looked up

at me, his eyebrows knitted together darkly and his jaw

clenched. His expression was enough to shut me up -- there

was something desperate there in his face, some kind of

control that he was only barely hanging on to. “There are

just some things that we don’t fuckin’ talk about, okay?

I’m fine with you being a fairy or -- fuck, sorry, a fuckin’

respectable homosexual American -- but...” He sighed,

looked down at his lap, and then back up at me with what

was possibly the most vulnerable expression I’d ever

seen him wearing, his cheeks tinged pink. “Just don’t be a

fuckin’ girl about it, okay?”

I got it, then, from the blush on his cheeks and the

look in his eyes. “Okay,” I said. “Sorry.” He was right, I

knew then. Some things didn’t need to be spoken to be

understood. “Look, it’ll... it’s just a crush, okay, it’ll go

away, and I won’t...” I felt like crying, but I was a guy

and this was Tobias, and I didn’t cry in front of him. I

swallowed, trying to find the words to apologize for being

in love with him.

“Don’t be sorry, just be... I don’t know. Be Frankie.” He

still looked upset, though, like he was warring with himself.

“Fuck. That’s not what I meant. I’m fucking this up.” He

stood, pacing a few steps before finally turning and looking

back at me. Suddenly, he moved, quick and unstoppable.

His hands were on my shoulders then, sure and confident,

steady and firm.

“Tobias --” I said, could feel my eyes gone wide and my

cheeks heating. “You...”

“Shut up, Frankie.” The bag of frozen peas hit the couch

cushion beside me, but Tobias’ hand had moved from my

shoulder to my jaw, big and calloused from every odd

job he did to keep our heads above the water. There was

an expression on his face that I had only seen in passing,

in fleeting looks out of the corner of my eye, soft and

strangely desperate, and once, I thought, in the middle of

the night only a few days earlier. He leaned in, the hand

still on my shoulder pressing me back against the couch,

and he was so close that I could see the little dots of gray

in the blue of his eyes. He didn’t move for a long moment,

just a bare minimum of space between us.

He surged forward suddenly, and his lips hit mine like

a freight train, like there was absolutely nothing he could

do about it, like he was just destined to keep going forward

until he found the end of that tunnel. I could taste blood

as my split lip opened up again, but Tobias didn’t seem to

notice or particularly care, just gently slipped his tongue

against mine and nipped at my upper lip as he pulled away.

His hand slid through my hair, resting on the crown of

my head, fingers gripping lightly, like he was afraid I was

going to bolt or something. I couldn’t move even if I had

wanted to, trapped there between the back of the couch

and what seemed like my entire life in front of me. “I’m

gonna say this once,” Tobias said, low and breathless, voice

rough. “And then we’re never fucking talking about it

again, got it?”

I nodded, staring at him, my heart in my throat. This

was the moment, I could feel it, on the edge of nothing and

everything. He was either going to pull me back, or he was

going to be the one to push me over.

“I fuckin’... I love you, Frankie,” he said, punctuating his

words with gentle shakes of my head. “I’m straight as hell.

I like women and boobs. But you...” He let go of my hair,

smoothing it down, fingertips trailing down my cheek and

finally cupping my jaw. After a moment of silence, where

he just breathed and looked at me, Tobias leaned in and

pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re the exception to the

fuckin’ rule. I don’t know why. You just fuckin’ are. Even

though you’re kind of a fuckin’ dumbass.”

He pulled away, then darted back in and pressed another

quick, heated kiss to my lips, before letting go of me

and backing away. He stared at me for a moment, that

expression still on his face, and I knew I looked like a

maniac when I grinned wide, blood on my teeth. He shook

his head at me, the first signs of a smile on his mouth,

and grabbed the peas. I watched Tobias’ retreating, paint-

splattered back, letting him escape from the terrifying realm

of feelings to shove the peas back in the freezer.

In a moment, Tobias would come back, and probably

swear a little more to try and shake the remnants of

emotions away. When they let me back into the school, he

would still be waiting in the bed of the pickup truck when

I got out. Next fall, I would probably go to some local

college, and Tobias would swear at my homework with me

just like he always had. Underneath it all, though, would

be that knowledge, that spark that we both felt, punctuated

with fleeting touches and smiles. Eventually, we would

raise our middle fingers to this town, these people, together.

I thought back to what Abel had said, about the world

changing and all that shit.

It hit me then. If I stood still long enough, I could watch

it change before my very eyes.