Jon From High School

by Jeremy Jenkins

  Our faces were inches apart again. Only this time, the energy was completely different.

  This time, it was hostile.

  Then slowly, words dripped out of my mouth like acid. “‘Don’t be an asshole’,” I mocked.

  He flinched. Our noses were almost touching.

  Victor turned his face away from me.

  Something very ancient and caveman-like inside me loved that motion.

  It meant he was submitting to me.

  It meant he was letting me know I was the alpha.

  I was the happiest I’d been since last night.

  And God, I hated myself for it.

  I followed his face, keeping our noses inches apart.

  I had to fight the urge to bite his neck.

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  Regardless, I spoke. “If you ever breathe a word about what happened last night… to anyone, I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  His eyes—I noticed they were dark blue or something—met mine with a questioning glance.

  Dread plummeted through me. “Unless… you already did? And don’t you try lying to me, Victor. I’ll know. And you’ll be surprised to know that I know your little secret.”

  I was completely talking out of my ass, but Victor paled.

  I took note of that.

  It was something I could use to my advantage. Another clue that could help me unravel him, then tie him down with the threads of his own dirty secrets.

  “I didn’t tell anyone,” he said.

  Even though his body language showed fear, there was defiance in his eyes.

  And that bothered me more than anything else.

  Didn’t he know who he was talking to? Didn’t he respect that I had full control of the gossip circles at this school?

  Didn’t he care about any of that?

  “Good. You better fucking not,” I said, pointing a finger and touching his chest.

  I expected him to look angry. I expected him to want to fight, like any of my friends would have.

  But he didn’t do any of that. He just looked sad.

  Something uncomfortable swiveled in my chest, but I ignored it.

  I couldn’t afford that feeling either, whatever it was.

  He looked back up at me, and I couldn’t read his expression.

  Shit, with dyslexia, I couldn’t read anything.

  I was just a stupid fuck. Everything was riding on basketball.

  On my reputation.

  But the way he looked at me… it dislodged something in me, and that hurt.

  It made me want to make him hurt.

  I shoved his shoulder to provoke him. To settle the score, to even the balance.

  His sad look shifted to disappointment.

  “Pussy,” I snarled, shoving him again.

  “I thought you were better than this,” he said.

  “The fuck did you just say, ass wipe?!” I hissed. The wild animal in my chest roared and snarled, battering at the inside of my ribcage.

  I just wanted it to stop. I wanted all of it to stop.

  I wanted to erase everything.

  “You heard what I said,” Victor said self-righteously.

  My nostrils flared. I wanted to paint the wall with this guy.

  I wanted to fight; to let this animal inside of me out to tear shit to shreds.

  Victor lowered his arm and rummaged in his pocket.

  Finally. Finally, I was going to get the fight—

  “I brought you this,” he said, holding a thin piece of paper in my face.

  “The fuck is that?!”

  “Look at it, dipshit.”

  “I don’t need your garbage!” I snarled, smacking his hand. Whatever he was holding fluttered to the floor. “Now get the hell out of here before I say something I might regret.”

  Victor smoothed his long wing of annoying dark hair from his face. “Fine. The closet’s a lonely place. I hope you rot in it.”

  “I don’t know what that means.”

  He shrugged his slim shoulders. “I don’t have to care.”

  Then he left the bathroom.

  As soon as he was gone, my rage left me.

  I leaned against the wall. The cool surface felt good on my forehead.

  I’d made him go away. Things were better…

  And that look in his eyes…

  No. Things were better than better. They were great.

  He thought I had something on him, and he was terrified that I’d leak it. I could rest on my laurels—for now.

  With a great sigh of relief, I let my stress exhaust from my nose and mouth.

  Everything would be all right. He wouldn’t tell anyone.

  He hadn’t told anyone yet. I knew that much was true, because it was already the end of the school day. From the way gossip traveled here in Shady Grove High School, I would have known by now if any juicy secrets had leaked to the masses.

  All was well.

  With each breath I took, I felt lighter.

  Sure, I had to be an asshole to Victor back there, and I sort of felt bad about it, but it was worth it.

  I had to keep up my reputation of being a super straight alpha jock. I had to make sure my future was secure—and immersing myself in the hyper-masculine culture of basketball was the only way to do it.

  The bell dinged overhead.

  Guess that was the end of class. Missed the rest of chemistry—not like I gave a fuck. All I had to do was keep a C grade, and things would be fine.

  Whatever. Poor grades didn’t bother me.

  Even though I wished sometimes I could be smart like Kelly. I wished my dad would look at me the same way he looked at her whenever she brought home another one of her straight-A report cards.

  But, that wasn’t my path. My path was playing ball.

  Speaking of which, I needed to be in the locker room soon to get ready for practice.

  I popped my thumb into my mouth, soothing the swollen flesh.

  Damn, I really needed to suck it up before I had to go face the team…

  As I took the few steps toward the bathroom door, I resolved that I’d leave that fearful, worried version of myself behind.

  I didn’t do fear. I didn’t have space for it in my life.

  I only had space for success, and getting out of this town. Getting an education, having a nice life.

  And that all hinged on keeping my secret.

  A secret that only me and one other person in this world—Victor—shared.

  I hated the fact that I shared something with him. I didn’t want anything to do with him anymore.

  My foot struck something with a schlick.

  I looked down.

  Partially underneath my Nikes was that piece of trash I’d hit out of Victor’s grip earlier:

  A fresh bandaid.

  3

  Victor

  One evening, I was sitting alone in my room, reading a book, procrastinating practicing my saxophone, and trying hard not to think about what happened in the band room. The quiet tones of Panic! At the Disco played from my speakers, endlessly making its way through one of their albums.

  Twelve days had passed since my confrontation with Jon in the bathroom.

  Twelve. Days.

  I’d done what he wanted. I’d left him alone; glossed over the whole thing.

  I hadn’t told anyone about our hookup.

  It was easy for me to keep secrets like that—it was never fun for someone to get yanked out of the closet against their will.

  I mean, I was still in the closet, so I didn’t know for sure. But I’d watched enough Youtube videos about coming out of the closet in preparation for my own announcement that I knew the cardinal rule:

  You never, ever, ever, de-closet someone against their will.

  It was gay taboo.

  And I didn’t want to violate any of the rules of the LGBT community, not when I was just entering it. It felt like it would be a black tattoo on my soul; a mark across my heart t
elling the world I was a bad person.

  Keeping Jon’s secret wasn’t a problem.

  Trying not to think about it was, however.

  The way his face looked when he was above me. The way I felt powerful, for once.

  And who was I kidding? I was maybe a little unhealthily obsessed with the way his perfect abs rippled in the half-light.

  The day after our hookup, I went about the day like normal, knowing I’d see Jon in fourth period chemistry. Would things change between us, I wondered? Would he look at me differently?

  Would he want to do it again?

  The thoughts swirled around in my head and followed me around. When I walked into the band room the morning after we hooked up, my eyes went right to the spot we did it.

  His puddle of cum was still there.

  It had dried overnight, of course. But as I walked to my chair with my saxophone case in hand, I couldn’t help but let my eyes drift over it. The way the light fell on it as I moved, I could see the sheen of the tile floor shone a little differently in that spot.

  I knew why.

  And all through practice, whenever the class would take a break between songs and do our routine paper shuffling, my gaze would go back to that spot.

  That dried puddle of sin.

  Evidence.

  Proof that it had happened; it hadn’t just been a dirty dream.

  At the time, the notion filled me with a forbidden sensation of delight. Back then, I still held onto the hope that Jon might want to do it again.

  But after our confrontation in the bathroom, it was clear that dude-bro jock was content to pretend it never happened.

  I told myself I was fine with it at the time.

  Now that I’d had twelve days to think about the whole thing, I was thoroughly not fine with it.

  The more I tried not to care, the more I cared.

  And I still had to see him every day at school; first in the lockers before homeroom.

  Those broad shoulders; that perfectly-styled hair…

  I’d had that.

  If only he wanted more—!

  But I had to make peace with the fact that he didn’t want me.

  No one wanted me.

  My phone lit up nearby.

  I peered at it.

  I expected a message from one of my friends, or my sister telling me to turn my music down.

  What I did not expect was an Instagram DM from Jon Preston himself.

  Excitement exploded in my gut like confetti.

  This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

  Can we talk?

  Finally. Finally, he wanted to talk about what happened! (And maybe try to make it happen again.)

  Which I might be willing to do, as long as we kept everything surface-level.

  No emotions. No ties to an asshole like Jon Preston.

  That wouldn’t be healthy for either of us.

  However, I’d be happy to do physical only.

  I wanted another helping of that power I’d taken from him that night in the band room.

  Because that made me feel…

  Yes, I typed back. Where/when?

  I drove my Prius silently down the dirt road to Jon’s house, my stomach tying itself in knots.

  I knew he was one of the Lake Kids—those privileged few that lived on the sparkling body of water smack-dab in the center of our hometown. Towering houses ringed Lake LaMont like a miniature kingdom.

  My Chemical Romance blasted through the cab, only highlighting the feeling that I didn’t belong in this neighborhood. I belonged in the wooded community on the edge of town, where all the middle/lower class families lived in their ranch houses.

  There, things felt looser. Less regulated.

  Here, it felt like even if a blade of grass on these manicured lawns grew an inch higher than it was supposed to, it would be cut down immediately. Everything was clean edges and cut lines. Manicured.

  Unnatural.

  I wonder how it felt like to live here, in prep kid central. I wonder what it felt like to have parents that pushed sports and probably blasted Fox News throughout the house, and mothers that were still stay-at-home and not having to worry about money.

  Never having to worry about money.

  God, that would be nice.

  But if the price was living in an uneasy place like this?

  I didn’t know it it would be worth it.

  McMansion after McMansion slid past my car in the night, watching me with their bright yellow windows.

  I was an invader here; a thief coming to take something.

  The feeling was nebulous. I didn’t know what I was here to get, other than to meet up with Jon, but the notion filled me with glee.

  I slowed my old Prius to a crawl and crept through the neighborhood to the tune of Black Parade, then peered down at my phone to check the address.

  When I looked up, Jon was right there on the curb.

  “Ah!” I yelped.

  He gestured for me to roll down my window. I did as he asked.

  “What are you doing?!” he hissed as he whipped his head around. “Someone might see you!”

  I glanced around.

  No one was outside, and it looked like no one ever went outside, either.

  “Would that be the worst thing?”

  “Yes!” he hissed, his words flying at me like acid.

  Part of me wanted to floor it. Get the hell out of here. What was I thinking, coming into Jon Preston’s perfect world like this? What could I possibly gain? The dude was an absolute asshole to me, and I didn’t belong here.

  And yet…

  The way he looked in the band room that night. Even before we started making out in the hallway outside…

  I remembered how he came onto me.

  He didn’t look like a man that just wanted something.

  He looked like a man that wanted me.

  For an instant, he recognized me. And that was a feeling I desperately wanted to feel again.

  But I wouldn’t get there by being soft, no sir.

  The only way to deal with Jon Preston was hard. He wanted to be an asshole? Well buddy, two could play at that game.

  “Say what you gotta say so I can leave,” I said.

  He scrunched up his face, as if he couldn’t fathom how some nobody like me would stand up to the lies of him. “The fuck did you just say, Petoskey?”

  My heart fluttered in my chest, but I kept my face stony when I glanced up at him. “You heard me.”

  Jon looked disgusted and it filled me with delight.

  This wasn’t a scene. It was a goddamn arms race; a power game.

  Just like everything else in high school.

  I thought he was going to flip me off and go back into his house. I thought he would call me trailer trash or any other number of names. But to my surprise, he balked and asked, “Can I get in?”

  Interesting. So the whole jock bully thing might just be a persona…

  I nodded.

  He came around to the other side of the car and got in.

  For a moment I felt self-conscious of my car. The old-car-smell probably bothered him. Hell, he’d probably never smelled old car in his life.

  Everything about Jon was shiny and new, polished and perfect.

  “Drive,” he said.

  “Fuck off,” I replied.

  His shoulders relaxed and I felt the corners of my mouth lift.

  Still, I pressed the gas pedal and the Prius silently began to creep down the street.

  “What did you want?” I asked, trying to keep the hope out of my voice.

  “Just drive.”

  “Why? Are you that afraid of being seen with me?”

  “Honestly? Yes.”

  “And why’s that?” I asked. “Because you’re all high-and-mighty at SGHS? Because how dare some nobody like me, ever associate with anyone like you?”

  He crossed his bulky jock arms and looked out the window.

  What was that? Shame?

>   Did I make my bully feel ashamed?

  I continued. “Or is it because you secretly liked what we did?”

  “Shut up,” he whispered.

  “Fuck you; you need to hear this. You liked it. I liked it.” I turned the car right down a dark path to the public parking near the lake docks. “But if you’re in my car to talk about whether or not you’re gay, that’s not a conversation for me. The burden of talking about your sexuality belongs to a therapist—”

  “I’m gay!” he shouted.

  I slammed on the brakes, put the car in park, and stared at him. “You are?”

  I hardly dared to believe it. I wanted to throw a wrench in this; keep him at arm’s length. But him telling me a secret…

  That was the thing about secrets. They were sticky, and they tied you to other people.

  Without knowing it, sharing secrets brought you closer to someone, whether or not you liked or hated them.

  “You didn’t tell anyone,” he said, running his thick fingers through his hair.

  The reflection of the moonlight off the water shimmered in his eyes.

  Fuck. He trusted me. And if he trusted me, he was about to tell me a whole lot more—

  “Thank you,” he said.

  I looked forward at the shining, inky water. “For not telling anyone?”

  “Yes. You don’t know how much I’ve been stressing out over this…”

  Jon continued to prattle on about his basketball scholarship, his conservative parents, and all his asshole friends, but I stopped paying attention after the first sentence. He was just another self-centered jock, waxing on about how he was affected by our hookup.

  “Does that make sense to you?” he asked.

  I tried to resist sighing. I resisted looking at him, too, because I knew that if I saw how hot he was, I’d cave. My horny teenage brain would try to rearrange things to coax me into doing sexual things with him. Only this time, I could sense the power dynamics had again, shifted. If I went for anything physical now, I’d be submitting to him, somehow.

  And he was just a whiny, shallow jock. I needed to stand up for myself.

  “So let me get this straight,” I said, looking off at the lake. “You tell me you want to talk. I drive my ass out to your house, so you can blather on about how everything affects you? Dude, you need a therapist—”

  He grabbed my wrist. “Look at me.”