When I Grow Up (Tales from Foster High)

by John Goode

  He paused and looked back at me. “He gave you keys because he could look into your soul and tell you were a good person. Not because you were wearing shorts so tight he could tell if you were cut or not.”

  “Oh, I forgot,” I called after him as he walked out of the bathroom. “Because God forbid Brad get anything based on merit. Anything I get has to be ’cause of my looks, right? You know, I was in a great mood before you got home.”

  “Well, I’m sorry to point out the old gay guy who saw you on the street and hired you might be trying to get into your pants. Or shorts. Or whatever you wear tomorrow to show off your body.”

  “We’re back to this?” I asked him. “You want to leave another hickey? Maybe you could spell out your initials so they know who I belong to.” I pulled on my jeans, not even bothering to look for underwear.

  “If I got a job where they told me to wear something tight and revealing, you’d lose your mind.”

  “If you got a job, I’d have set off fireworks to celebrate. You know why? ’Cause I’d be happy for you instead of so jealous that I’d make sure to spoil the moment for you.” I tossed a shirt on and slipped into my sneakers. “I was really happy, Kyle, and you ruined that.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked as I walked toward the door.

  “Out. To celebrate in peace.” I slammed the door.

  No idea where I was going, but I wasn’t staying there.

  Kyle

  SO LET me guess. I should have run after him? I should have thrown myself down at his feet and begged him to forgive me? Because that’s what guys like me do to keep guys like him, right? You know as well as I do that there is no earthly reason for someone to give a guy they literally met off the street keys to their place.

  And before you bring up Tyler, Foster is a small town and he literally knew exactly where Brad lived, so that doesn’t count.

  See, this is the same problem, just dressed up as a different thing. Brad has always been desperate for people to like him, even if he didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. It was like the only validation he could get about himself was from other people. So to him it wasn’t creepy or inappropriate for some old gay guy to give him that much attention; it was a good thing and meant Brad was desirable.

  And don’t even get me started about Colt.

  When I explain what comes next, it’s going to look like I chased Brad away and into Colt’s arms, but I assure you… that was where this was ending up anyway.

  Kyle

  A VOICE in the back of my head screamed that I should go after him.

  A louder voice asked, why doesn’t he just turn around?

  I can’t deny that I wanted to rush after him, but I wasn’t wrong and he knew it. Who the hell just sees someone on the street and offers them a job? I mean, Brad isn’t fucking Lana Turner. The guy wanted into Brad’s pants. Hell, I can’t imagine the line to get into Brad’s pants wasn’t legendary. And how long would it be before the millionth muscle guy hit on Brad and he finally realized he could be with another hot guy?

  I slumped back onto the couch and thought about calling Brad and telling him to come home. When the phone lit up telling me Robbie was calling, I almost threw the thing across the room. Instead I took a deep breath and answered. “Hey.”

  There was maybe a second’s pause and he asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Why does something have to be wrong?” I asked, hating that he could know there was a problem from one syllable.

  “You want to go three rounds about why I’m asking what’s wrong or you want to just come out and tell me?”

  Sighing, I began to explain the whole gym thing to him.

  “Oh,” he said when I got to the end.

  “Oh?” I asked. “Just oh?”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re in a place to hear what comes after the oh.”

  “How am I wrong?” I asked, anger creeping into my voice. “You know the guy who owns the gym is just cruising him.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not what you’re upset about,” he countered.

  “Yes it is.”

  “No it’s not.”

  He sounded so fucking sure, I got madder.

  “Well then, oh wise one, tell me why I’m actually upset.”

  “Okay, oh whining brat of little patience. You’re upset ’cause you’re threatened by the fact other people are finding your guy attractive. You’re imagining him at a gym with strangers hitting on him, and you can’t do a thing about it.”

  I said nothing in response.

  “See, in Foster you were safe. There were no other gay guys except Tyler, and God knows he doesn’t like his chicken still in the egg. Now you’re out in the big, bad world and you think Brad is going to realize he’s dating an overbearing control freak who thinks too much and has come to the highly intelligent decision that Brad is going to leave him.”

  My eyes were actually stinging from his words.

  “Now here’s the good news. Moose isn’t that stupid; he knows you’re an overbearing control freak, and against all odds he loves you for it. This has so little to do with Brad and so much to do with you, and I should know because I did the same thing.”

  “You did?” I asked, wiping my eyes.

  “Fuck yeah,” he said, laughing. “When we got to Foster, I spent the first few weeks there just waiting to be dumped by Riley.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” he scoffed. “Look, you might not be aware of it, but the guys that come from Foster are ridiculously hot. No, not all of them, but when people like me stand next to people like Tyler, people like me tend to get forgotten, and I got paranoid about it.”

  “What did you do?” I was shocked to hear a new story from Robbie.

  “Riley got fed up and called me on it. He told me that if he wanted to date Tyler or someone like him, then he would have, but he didn’t. He fell in love with me and I needed to accept that fact, because it wasn’t other guys who were going to cause us to break up. It was going to be my issues.”

  That sounded exactly like what was going on with me.

  “But I’m right about the gym,” I pointed out weakly.

  “Look, Pinocchio, you have a choice. You can be happy or you can be right, but in this case you can’t be both. So what if the guys at the gym drool over Brad? You’ve seen him naked, they haven’t. You’re going to have to trust that he loves you as much as you love him and let the rest of the drama go.”

  “Easier said than done,” I muttered.

  “Easier said with a couple of glasses of wine.” He didn’t say much for a few seconds, and then I could hear him sigh. “Look, Kyle, being with someone isn’t about being right all the time. It isn’t talking about every single little thing the other person does that bugs you, and it isn’t about keeping score. Brad does things that bug you. You do things that bug Brad. What you need to ask yourself is if you love him enough to put up with that aggravation. If you have to think about the answer to that, then you’re in a relationship with the wrong guy.”

  “What if he leaves me?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  “Do you think Brad would ever leave you?”

  The million voices in my head all screamed different things, but my heart said no.

  “Then get off the phone with me and go get your man back,” Robbie ordered. “You cannot leave a boy that hot and that clueless to wander around a big city for long. Someone will come by and offer him candy or something, and then you’re fucked.”

  I smiled, and I could feel the storm clouds fade from my mind. “Are you okay?”

  “Go!” he screamed through the phone and hung up.

  I threw my shoes on and ran for the front door.

  When I opened it, he was standing there looking miserable.

  “I don’t want to—”

  “I’m an idiot,” I said, pulling him inside. “I’m sorry.” I kissed him. “I’m sorry.” I kissed him and slammed the door. “I’m sorry.”

  His arms moved
around me. “I’ll quit the job if you want me to.”

  God, did I want him to quit that job.

  “I’m crazy,” I said. “And you knew that when you decided to leave town with me. So please, ignore most of what comes out of my mouth as just that. Crazy.”

  “I don’t want to do something that’s going to upset you.” His eyes were so wide, he looked terrified.

  “You won’t,” I said, kissing him. “I trust you.”

  I should have told him to quit the fucking job.

  Brad

  AFTER A bout of crying, some dinner, and another round of sex, we finally went to bed.

  I lay there staring up at the ceiling as Kyle drifted off to sleep. What was happening to us? One second we were perfect and the next, it was like we were two cats thrown into a pillowcase. I was still hurt by the fact he didn’t think I could earn the responsibility to open the gym, but I let it go because there was no point to arguing anymore. I used to know how to make him happy; now I wasn’t even sure how to make it through the day with him.

  For the first time since I’d kissed him, I wondered if I had made a mistake falling in love with Kyle.

  Kyle

  WHEN I woke up, Brad was gone.

  There was a flash of panic as my first thought was he had finally left me. Not even a month, and I had succeeded in driving him away. That had to be a world record somewhere. As I got up, my mind kicked into gear and I remembered he was opening the gym today.

  And my panic morphed into guilt just like that.

  Robbie was right. I was a possessive asshole and I needed to either trust Brad or just break up with him. Punishing him for imagined slights was unfair to everyone. I took a quick shower and threw on some clothes before heading out. I stopped by a deli and grabbed two bagels and headed over to where he’d said the gym was. I couldn’t erase my mistake from yesterday, but I could at least try to make it better.

  It was a little bit of a walk, and I was frustrated by the fact Brad jogged there and back every day like it was nothing. It was easy to find the gym since it was adorned with a huge rainbow decal and silhouettes of muscle men on every window. If it wasn’t a gay gym, then it was a gym that was dealing with its sexual identity in a big, bad way. I crossed the street and caught a glimpse of Brad in the window….

  Talking to a fucking model.

  This guy made Josh Walker with his perfect skin and no body fat look like a burn victim. He had a chest you could park an aircraft carrier on and his arms looked like he was a He-Man figure come to life. He and Brad were laughing like they were old friends, and I felt my stomach plummet. Every single fear I had ever dreamed up manifested into reality right in front of me. This was the guy Brad should have ended up with; this was the mate the world at large would assume he would gravitate toward. They were both sweaty, looking like they had just finished having crazy monkey sex and were now doing a few reps on the bench press to keep up appearances.

  I resisted the urge to barge in there and yell, “Aha!” because I had nothing to aha except my own paranoid delusions. But watching him stand there, shooting the shit with another of his kind….

  Just reminded me of everything I wasn’t.

  I tossed the bagels in the trash and walked home before I was late for class.

  Brad

  SO COLT was there bright and early at six o’clock, waiting like a puppy that had been left outside overnight. A puppy that was pumped with steroids and had been waxed smooth, wearing a tank top that barely counted as a shirt, but a puppy nonetheless. I had opted for a pair of basketball shorts that weren’t as tight as the ones Kyle had torn but were comfortable enough for me to move around in for the day.

  “What happened to the sausage factory?” Colt asked as I unlocked the door. I looked over at him in confusion and he added. “It was what we were calling your shorts yesterday. Dude, no joke. You have a great cock.”

  I sighed and pushed the door open. I had been there less than a minute and my junk had already been brought up. It was going to be one of those days. Colt followed as I turned on all the lights and switched the TVs on. I made sure the door was locked again and the sign said Closed facing out. I wanted to work out in peace—well, as much peace as I could with Colt there.

  “So I’m going to run for about forty minutes and then start on my chest,” I said, not waiting to see if he was going to agree or not. “Not sure what you’re going to work on, but the gym is yours.”

  “I’ll run,” he said, putting his gym bag down. “I drank too much last night. Might be good to burn the alcohol out of my system.”

  I shrugged and slipped my earbuds in as I turned on one of the treadmills. I saw out of the corner of my eye Colt taking the one next to me; he seemed to be watching what I was entering carefully. “You always do that steep an incline?” he asked when I was done.

  “Yep,” I said, turning on my music. “Helps build my calves.”

  He paused and looked at my legs for a second. “They are nice.”

  Sighing, I stopped the treadmill and turned off my music. “Okay, look, man. You said you wanted to really work out. Not make cracks about my dick and my legs. If this is just some lame attempt to chat me up, you’re wasting your time.”

  His eyes went wide and he stared at me for a long second.

  “No! I was serious, man,” he said, recovering quickly. “I mean, yeah, you’re gorgeous, but I work as a bartender and the better I look, the better my tips. Also I want to try stripping at some point, so I really need something to get me to the next level. Looking at you, you’re already there, so this isn’t me trying to come on to you. Promise.”

  I wanted to say more, but honestly, this was just left over from last night’s fight with Kyle so I dropped it. Instead I nodded and turned the treadmill back on. We jogged in silence for a few minutes, our bodies adjusting to the pace.

  “Bad night last night?” he asked once we got into a groove.

  “Kinda,” I said, not wanting to say anything but badly needing to talk to someone about it.

  “Girl problems?” he asked, and I said nothing. “Boy problems.” I gave him a sideways look, and his mouth fell open. “I knew it…,” he began to say but then vanished from view. I heard a loud crash as he tripped, hit the treadmill face first, and went flying off the machine.

  “Holy shit!” I cried, turning my machine off to help him up. “Are you okay?”

  “I knew it,” Colt said, shaking his head slowly. “I knew you were at least bi.”

  “Dude, didn’t that hurt?” I helped him to his feet.

  “Yeah, but fuck that. You’re what? Bi?”

  “Gay,” I said and saw the smile start to come to his face. “But in a relationship,” I blurted out quickly.

  “Holy shit,” he said, looking me up and down again. “You’re gay? Damn, I thought I was the only one.”

  “Only gay guy?” I asked, confused.

  “Only gay jock,” he amended.

  “You have to play a sport to be a jock, man,” I pointed out. “Not just a gym bunny.”

  “I play softball!” he protested.

  “You do?” I asked, my interest piqued.

  “Yeah, there’s a gay league here. You play?”

  “I was offered a full ride to A&M and turned it down,” I said with more than a little pride.

  “Oh snap, why?”

  “Because they wanted me to hide being gay. So I told them to fuck off.” I got up on the treadmill and began running again.

  “If it’s that important, then why not tell Todd?”

  I paused and looked back at him, realizing I didn’t have an answer.

  “It’s cool, man. I tend bar at a gay club up in Walnut Creek, and I tell most of the guys I’m straight. They tip like a mofo trying to get into my pants, so I get where you’re coming from. These old fags will do anything for a chance at a straight-looking guy like you.”

  “I just don’t want to explain to every single person I meet I have a boyfriend an
d that I’m not interested. Easier for them to think I’m straight and leave me alone.”

  “You mean Todd.”

  “I mean a lot of people. You included,” I pointed out.

  “Fair enough,” he said, nodding. “You’re taken. I get it.”

  “Good.” I began to jog again.

  We said nothing for the next forty minutes as we worked up a sweat.

  When I got off my machine, he stumbled off his too. He was breathing hard and his face was red as a beet. “Dude, don’t you do cardio?”

  “Not”—he gasped—“for forty”—another gasp—“minutes uphill”—hands on his knees as he tried to take a deep breath—“after drinking.”

  “Well that’s how you get to the next level,” I told him as I headed out toward the weights. He followed, gulping down an entire bottle of water. Which, if he wasn’t careful, he was going to hurl during his first set.

  I put a towel down on one of the press benches and grabbed a couple of forty-five-pound plates. Colt leaned against one of the machines and tried to catch his breath. “So let me see him,” he asked me after a few minutes. I glanced over at him, and he added, “Your guy. Let me see a pic.”

  I unlocked my phone and pulled up my photos, most of which were of Kyle.

  “Oh,” he said scrolling through the pics. “He’s cute. Kinda small and skinny, though, isn’t he?”

  “What’s wrong with skinny?” I asked, my voice almost dropping to a growl.

  “Nothing,” he said, closing my phone. “Just not who I’d expect you to be with, that’s all.”

  My common sense told me to drop the subject and not engage, but honestly. In all the time you’ve known me, have I ever used my common sense?

  “And who am I supposed to be with?”

  Colt shrugged and tossed the empty water bottle away. “Someone more like you, I guess. Beefier, jockish. I mean, he’s cute in a skater way and all, but he doesn’t look like he works out.”

  “He doesn’t. What does that matter?”