Burning Britely

by Deidre Huesmann

  And Braeden. Was. Furious. His teeth bared. Muscles tense. A vein splitting his forehead in half. Not once looking away from Rob. “The hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Jeff’s heart stopped for a moment. There was coldness there, an ice he’d never heard before. Not the same voice Braeden had used with his hysterical mother. Somehow, Jeff knew—just knew—that it was the same tone Braeden would use on anyone who would dare touch his siblings.

  It made his heart twist.

  Rob didn’t respond. His buddies weren’t helping, either. Jeff and Maya were smaller. Not popular. Easier targets. But Braeden, while not quite as large, had the backing of most of the student body, and held the rest of Rob’s cozy senior year in his clenched fist.

  Braeden pulled him away, only to shove him into the lockers. Harder. “Answer me!”

  “Fuck you,” said Rob.

  Braeden’s eyes narrowed. A green inferno. Hellfire.

  Without a word, Braeden socked Rob in the nose.

  Yelling swelled up again. Some cheering. Some jeering. Rob’s cronies kicking up a fuss but refusing to get anywhere near Braeden.

  Braeden ignored them all, releasing Rob with a look of disgust. “Touch my friends again, dickhole, and I’ll make you swallow your teeth.”

  Holding his bleeding nose, Rob pointed down at Jeff. “Are you goddamn blind, dude?” His voice was muffled. His nose was likely broken. “That faggot’s got a massive hard-on for you! And you’ve been playing into it for weeks.”

  Jeff’s stomach plummeted.

  Shit.

  If Braeden hadn’t known before—which seemed likely, since he’d come to Jeff’s defense—he had to now. A post online was one thing, but in person, in public, with witnesses…

  Well.

  Jeff couldn’t look up. He felt Braeden’s stare, confused and burning and … just … something else.

  Disappointed?

  Disgusted?

  Jeff never had a chance to ask, even if he’d wanted to. School security had finally arrived—though the fight had lasted barely more than three minutes—and split everyone up. Most were sent back to their classes. Jeff, Maya, Braeden, and Rob were sent to the principal’s office. Zero-tolerance for fighting, Jeff knew. Mom would be called. She might cry again. Maybe even harder once she found out the reason why.

  The entire time, he couldn’t look at Braeden. Not even for a moment. He just grasped Maya’s hand and they held on tight until forced to let go.

  It was done.

  He’d been outed.

  Chapter Eleven

  His mother said little when she picked him up from school. She didn’t ask for his side of the story, but didn’t indicate she was angry, either. She just looked weary. Tired. Like she’d been waiting for this day since middle school.

  Jeff wasn’t about to offer up anything, either. What was he supposed to say? I got into a fight because I like dick. Sorry, Mom.

  What a letter to Dad that would make.

  They drove home in complete silence as well. Just as they neared the neighborhood, his mother veered away and onto another street.

  Jeff blinked and looked at her. “What the hell, Mom?”

  “Language, Jeffy.” She pursed her lips. “I haven’t had anything other than coffee, and if you’re old enough to get suspended, you’re old enough to sit in a diner and have a cup with me.”

  He blinked several times. Who was this woman? “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I’m your mother. I don’t have to make sense.”

  “That makes even less sense.”

  She shot him a wry smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

  Jeff sighed and slumped down in his seat. “Fine,” he muttered.

  “Oh, my angsty teenage boy,” she murmured.

  He rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  They pulled into a parking lot of a chain diner. The smells of grease and butter and oil hit Jeff once they stepped out of the car. He wondered if they could even afford this trip. Eating out. Expenses. Money down a drain. Waste. Yet he didn’t argue as they went inside and were seated in a booth. The diner was quiet, its only patrons a few elderly folks and one woman in jeans covered with paint. From their booth he could see the kitchen workers bustling about and sliding dishes onto the warmer.

  His mother ordered a coffee and small soup. Jeff wasn’t hungry, but Mom insisted, so he reluctantly asked for a diet soda and cheese fries.

  While they waited, his mother shifted in her seat. Her large frame looked sunken in, and there were deep groves under her eyes. A pang of guilt struck his chest.

  “Jeffrey,” she said softly.

  He nodded.

  “Please tell me what happened.”

  Jeff stared at the table. Fiddled with the napkin. Then he muttered, “I didn’t start it.”

  “I believe you.”

  Of course she did. This wasn’t their first rodeo.

  “I was just hoping you wouldn’t deal with this again,” she said. “I know you have a hard time making friends—”

  “I could make friends if I wanted to,” he snapped. Part of him knew this was taboo, raising his voice at her, and that part hated how sad she looked. It only made him want to raise his voice more. “I don’t like those idiots.”

  “Jeffrey.”

  He clamped his lips together.

  His mother sighed and folded her hands. “I just need to know what happened. I thought we agreed if anyone was picking on you again, you’d tell me.”

  Yeah, when I was ten. He tore the napkin. It felt nice, so he kept tearing small pieces off.

  “Jeffrey David Young, look at me.”

  His jaw clenched. He wasn’t a child. Yet no matter how old he was, that tone—and the use of his middle name—left no room for argument. He looked up.

  His mother’s gaze searched him for a long moment. She pursed her lips. “Are you still being bullied for your height?”

  Jeff shook his head.

  “Is it for being a loner?”

  He shook his head.

  “Then what is it? Honestly, Jeffy, you’re a good son. I’m trying my hardest to figure out what could have possibly started all of this.”

  He frowned. “Didn’t the principal tell you?”

  Mom tapped the table. She paused as the waitress returned with their drinks. She added sugar, added cream.

  Jeff stirred his soda with the straw and watched the bubbles fizz toward the top. Released from their prison, catapulting to the surface, exploding into nothing. Oddly how he felt right then.

  She took a sip of her coffee and grimaced.

  Jeff didn’t know why she bothered. She’d always complained no restaurant made her brew right.

  At last, Mom said, “I’d rather hear your side.”

  Jeff rubbed his mouth. He eyed the napkin, closed his eyes. “Rob called me a faggot. Because I kind of am.”

  His mother’s eyes popped to impossible width behind her enormous glasses.

  Jeff rubbed his mouth again, this time to keep himself from saying more. The first time he’d ever spoken these words to her, and it came out so … angry. Because it was such an ugly word. Something stupid, something that shouldn’t matter to anyone but him. But here it was. Out in the open.

  Navy brat Jeffrey Young was into dudes.

  His mother covered her mouth with both hands. Jeff couldn’t discern what she was thinking behind her array of expressions. Shocked and dismayed, yes, but over what? Rob? The school?

  Him?

  “Oh, Jeffy,” she finally whispered.

  He said nothing.

  Mom blew out a harsh breath and took a large gulp of her coffee, this time without wincing, like the bitterness was welcome. She set the cup carefully on the table then leaned forward—and her stare unnerved him. It was intense. Sparking. Ready to explode into an inferno.

  Jeff swallowed. He felt like a stupid kid in trouble again.

  “Believe you me, I will hang that administration by their toes,
” she said.

  He blinked rapidly, unsure if his eyes or ears were broken. Maybe both. “What?”

  “Of course you got involved.” His mother’s voice sharpened, became fierce. “What do they expect, for you to take that lying down? And suspending you for defending yourself?”

  Jeff shook his head. “I didn’t hit anyone.” This was surreal. It made his head swim.

  What had he expected, though? For his mother to kick him out? Maybe; he’d heard about it so often.

  But this was the same mother who had cried when he’d had his fingers snapped—over his height. The same mother who had transferred him when the school had done nothing to help him as a child. The same mother who had driven him to his spelling bee competition … and the same one who had asked for his side of the story.

  His mother was many things. Forgetful. Dramatic. Sometimes overprotective. Definitely sappy.

  But she loved him.

  Jeff covered his face as the reality washed over him. He shuddered, bit his tongue to stave off unwanted, annoying tears. Anger and shame heated his face—what idiot would cry in public? He was supposed to be control.

  I’ve never been in control. I’ve just pushed away anything that would challenge it.

  To his utter relief, his mother didn’t say anything while he gathered his nerves back together. Jeff took off his glasses and wiped them. When he put them back on, his vision was still blurry, but the tears weren’t falling.

  “Sorry,” he choked out.

  His mother shook her head. “Don’t ever be sorry to me. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I might have egged him on a little,” he admitted.

  “Rob? The big boy?”

  He nodded.

  “How?”

  “I called him an idiot.”

  She scoffed. “Obviously, that wasn’t nice, but it’s hardly comparable.”

  Jeff bit down on a grim smile. “Guess so.” Any humor dwindled and died in his chest. “And they tried to hurt Maya.”

  Mom growled and picked up her coffee.

  Jeff was pretty sure she cursed, but it was muffled by the steaming liquid against her lips.

  “Well,” she said. “It is what it is. I’ll bubble this up. This is unacceptable.”

  Jeff sighed and sank back in the booth. “Don’t bother.”

  “No, I have to. Not just for you, Jeffy, for other kids like you.”

  He let out a hollow laugh. “And then what, Mom?” When she didn’t answer, he pressed. “Seriously, then what? The target on my back gets bigger? It’s not like there weren’t others saying something, but you saw Rob. He’s huge. And I—”

  I can’t go back. Not if Braeden’s there.

  Jeff’s heart squeezed. Pulpy drippings of disappointment trickled down into his stomach, churning it, making him ill all over again.

  “My chances at valedictorian next year are ruined anyway,” he whispered. “Can’t make the cut if I’ve got a suspension on my record.”

  “This will help,” his mother insisted. “We’ll challenge it. Make them see what they did wrong. Get your record expunged.”

  Jeff slowly shook his head. “Mom, I … appreciate it, but I don’t want you to do anything.” He took a sip of the soda. It was overly sweet. Why did he bother? “Maya’s okay. I’m not seriously hurt this time.” Sore and bruised, for certain, but nothing was broken or cracked—except his dignity. That wasn’t visible enough for the school administration, though. “I just want to graduate and get into a good college. Put all of this stupid—stuff—” He caught himself from cursing in the nick of time. “—behind me.”

  Mom’s eyebrows stitched together. “Are you sure?”

  Jeff nodded.

  She glanced away. Her chest heaved. A bleak smile touched her lips. “All right. If that’s what you want.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured.

  Their food arrived. Jeff still wasn’t hungry, but his stomach wasn’t doing backflips anymore, either. He pulled off a french fry, watching the cheese string between the plate and potato, and bit into it. Salty. Greasy. Fattening. No real nutrition.

  But delicious.

  Something good would come out of this, he decided. Even if he lost Braeden, even if he lost his chance at valedictorian, he’d make something work.

  At the very least, he’d protected his best friend. So long as Maya was okay, he would be all right.

  * * * *

  When Jeff came downstairs Saturday morning, the last person he expected was sitting at the kitchen table. He did a double-take, removed his glasses to wipe them clean, then put them on again. “Dad?”

  His father looked up from his cup of coffee. He looked like he hadn’t slept—which was normal for him. Clean-shaven, per Navy regulations, with silver streaking his sand-colored hair, he looked just the same as last Jeff had seen him three months ago.

  Jeff’s heart slammed against his chest. It had only been a day since his suspension. And while his mother had accepted him, his dad was of the red-blooded variety. What the hell was going to happen, now?

  He shoved his hands into his pockets and hoped his voice was calm. “I didn’t know you got back.”

  “Late last night,” said Dad.

  “Oh. Cool. Welcome home.”

  His father didn’t smile. “Your mother says you have something to tell me.”

  Jeff’s fists clenched. In the corner of his eye, his mother’s floral-patterned skirt danced at the counter. Don’t look at her. Dad will just get annoyed. Pay attention.

  “When you say it like that, it sounds like she already told you,” said Jeff.

  Hurt colored his mother’s voice. “Give me more credit than that, lil’ Jeffy.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Don’t talk to your mother that way.” His father didn’t raise his voice, but the order was hard and clear, like polished steel. Jeff flinched and lowered his gaze to his bare feet. “Do you want to tell me or not?”

  This was one of those moments where he wasn’t sure if his dad was giving him the freedom to decide or holding a silent threat in his words. Jeff contemplated his toes for a couple minutes, weighing the pros and cons. What to tell. What to leave out. How much trouble he’d be in. How much hatred he’d earn. Disgust. Anger. Disappointment.

  At last, he said, “I got suspended for fighting.”

  His father’s expression didn’t change.

  His mother sighed.

  Jeff folded his arms, moving his consideration to his ankles. “I didn’t fight, Dad. Some jackass—”

  “Jeffrey!” His mother gasped.

  “—backed me into the lockers and started screaming names at me. I didn’t hit him.” He paused. “One of the seniors broke his nose.”

  Dad continued to stare with an unreadable expression, as though he was waiting for something more.

  Jeff resisted the urge to roll his eyes. No one respects a brat, his father had always said. Least of all a military man.

  He rubbed his mouth and looked his father in the eye. Brown eyes. A dominant trait. One I missed. “Zero tolerance policy means I get suspended, too.”

  Dad moved his head in one slow nod. “What was this little punk-ass saying to you?”

  “For God’s sake, Liam,” his mother said.

  His father shot her a wry look. “Relax. He’s heard far worse in school.”

  “That doesn’t mean we—” His mother stopped and flushed, seeming to remember Jeff was in the room. “We’ll speak later.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Dad’s voice was grave but the barest spark of amusement in his eyes gave him away.

  Despite himself, Jeff began to relax. Whatever his father was thinking, whatever he might already know, he wasn’t so angry that he couldn’t banter with his wife.

  His ease shriveled and died when Dad looked back at him, all traces of humor gone. “Jeffrey, what did the punk-ass say? Must have been impressive for someone else to break his nose.”

  Confrontation was not his strong su
it. Against a goose, sure, but his father was an intimidating man. Jeff aspired to be that way someday, to show a quiet force in spite of his height. And because of this, it was harder to speak past the fear that his dad would reject him. Maintaining eye contact was a struggle. Each passing second just added weight to the words Jeff struggled to spit out.

  Finally, he said, “He called me a faggot.”

  Darkness flickered in his father’s eyes. “Did he, now.”

  Jeff nodded. There was nothing else to say.

  Silence hung between them, thick and stagnating. His father glanced over his shoulder. “Mary.”

  His mother looked back, owlish eyes blinking rapidly.

  “Mary,” he said again, with more meaning.

  “Oh … oh! Yes, I was just about to go grocery shopping.” Jeff watched with mild amusement as she puttered about, still in socks, visibly flustered. “Do you need anything, dear?”

  “No, thank you.”

  His mother swept past them, pausing only to kiss her husband, before vanishing down the hall. Moments later, she sped-walked past the kitchen, now wearing loafers. The sound of the car starting rumbled through the windows. Then the soft vroom of the car pulling out of the driveway.

  Jeff’s father folded his hands on the table. “Just one question for you, son.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Why weren’t you the one breaking his nose?”

  A small smile creeped across Jeff’s face. His heart kicked around in his chest. Not rejection. Not acceptance, either. He rearranged his expression to something more neutral and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It crossed my mind. But so did getting my glasses broken and leaving Maya defenseless. You know she’ll get kicked out of the dojo if she hits anyone.” He made a face. “I didn’t want to get suspended, but that happened anyway.”

  His father snorted and took a sip of his coffee. “I’ll deal with that. For future reference, now that you know about the intricacies of the civilian’s zero tolerance policies, I expect you to defend yourself.”

  Jeff folded his arms. “I’m not exactly a martial arts expert, Dad.”

  “I never asked you to be. We’ve talked about this. Go for the nose. The eyes. Use your palm or the flat of your fingers. We’re smaller men, Jeff, and that means others underestimate us. It also means we have a strong surprise advantage.” His father’s eyes flashed. “If you want to play pacifist, that’s your call, but we both know that’s not what’s happening.”