Paint It Black

by Amy Lane

  Right now, Aubrey was taking a hit of weed right in the middle of the empty locker room. Cheever had seen him do this before. He’d blame it on the high school students and totally get away with it.

  Aubrey exhaled, grinning wickedly, and tried to pass the joint to Cheever, but Cheever held up his hands. “Naw, man. My mom would kill me.”

  Aubrey rolled his eyes and pinched off the end, then hid half the blunt in a baggie in the bottom of his gym bag. “Baby.”

  Cheever shrugged. The thing was, his mom showed up for dinner every night at the expensive boarding school his brothers paid for. He wasn’t sure why she was so damned excited about being there all the time—it had been Cheever and his brothers on their own while she worked her ass off, until a little more than a year ago, and that had been just fine. But Heather May Sanders would spot the red eyes and bad breath that went with pot in under a second. The only reason his brothers had gotten away with so much shit was that they’d been unsupervised. His mom had always been working.

  “I like my free time,” he said mildly, and Aubrey batted those blue eyes at him again.

  “You like to draw your little cartoons,” he teased. “Yeah, I know.”

  Well, that was the whole reason Cheever was going to boarding school.

  “Is this all we’re doing?” he asked, reluctance in his voice. If all he was going to do was watch Aubrey get halfway stoned, he should probably go to gym.

  Aubrey smirked. “Wanna make out?” he asked.

  Cheever’s heartbeat sped up, and his palms started to sweat.

  Oh shit.

  Yes. Yes, he wanted to make out. He’d wanted to make out since he and Aubrey had met last year, when he’d started going to Tyson/Hepzibah Prep!

  But Aubrey had never said anything like that before, and God, if he was just joking and Cheever said yes, he would be toast.

  “Your party,” Cheever managed to say, trying to sound bored. “I’m just saying, we should probably get to—”

  Aubrey’s lips on his were sweet.

  Cheever inhaled, and Aubrey kissed him again, this time adding a little bit of tongue. Oh wow. Oh wow, he was kissing Cheever, and that’s all Cheever had ever wanted and—

  Cheever brought his hand up to Aubrey’s shoulder, just to steady himself, when the sound of the door opening split them apart.

  “Sanders! Cooper! Are you two still in here!”

  “Yes, coach!” Aubrey sputtered.

  “Sorry, coach!” Cheever managed to croak, thanking God they’d both changed into their gym clothes before Aubrey had pulled him aside.

  Coach Richards strode in, blue polyester tracksuit only stretched a little over his forty-something belly, white-blond hair thinning enough to reveal the way his head flushed patchily when he was in a hurry. “Why aren’t you two out—you know, never mind. You’re both wanted in the office.”

  Cheever blinked in surprise. “Because—”

  “Well, Sanders, your mother’s here. Apparently she needs to blow town and was signing the weekend stay-over paperwork. Cooper, you’ve got a note from your father.” Coach Richards grimaced; he wasn’t a bad guy, really. Just clueless. “Whatever it is, it must be totally messed up, because the secretary did not like taking that. So anyway, both of you, go to the office and figure shi—erm, stuff out, then come back to class. And Cooper!”

  “Yes, coach!”

  “If I search your locker, is there anything you don’t want me to find?”

  Aubrey shook his head. “No, coach!”

  “Good! Take your track bag with you, dump whatever is making that stench out at the trash cans, and make that a true thing!”

  “Yes, coach,” Aubrey said, looking a little bit green, like he’d had a close call.

  “Now both of you, vamoose!”

  They managed to get out the door without making eye contact, but as soon as it swung behind them, they both let out a chuff of air.

  “Oh my God,” Aubrey rasped, digging through his gym bag, then disposing of the incriminating baggie in the nearest trash can that wasn’t overflowing with juice boxes and french fry trays.

  “That was close,” Cheever muttered, not even sure if they were talking about the same thing. Aubrey’s tongue had been in his mouth!

  “I know, right?” Aubrey winked at him. “But we can always pick up where we left off!”

  Cheever didn’t even know where that was. Literally, where did they pick up from Aubrey’s tongue in his mouth?

  Oh my God, Cheever was dying to find out.

  But first he had to go talk to his mom and figure out what had brought her out of the tiny town of Tyson.

  He found her in the counselor’s conference cubicle, filling out the paperwork in tears.

  “Mom?” For a moment, he was terrified. God. His brothers. He hadn’t seen them in a year. There’d been cards from them, texts, but they’d been on tour during Christmas last year. Mackey had been beat up—that’s what he’d thought, anyway. Everyone said “attacked”—but that had been a month ago, and he hadn’t thought of it since. Which was weird. For his entire life, they’d been his everything, but for the last year, they’d completely disappeared. Were they hurt? Was that why they hadn’t come?

  Heather Sanders shook her head and grabbed a tissue. “Cheever, honey, we’re going to have to have a real important talk, really quick, okay? Because your brothers live public lives, and when this hits the press, everybody in your school’s going to be talking about it. So you’re gonna need to be strong, okay?”

  Oh God. “Are they hurt?”

  She grimaced. “Yes, and no. Mackey—he’s not doing so well right now. He’s apparently been doing coke to get up in the morning and pills to go to sleep. Right now he’s in a world of hurt.”

  Cheever knew he was gaping. “He’s a… a druggie—”

  His mother grabbed his shoulder and shook it, hard. She was tiny, and at thirteen, he was about two inches taller than her, but he was still young and small enough to be intimidated by her.

  “He’s an addict,” she said simply. “But he’s recovering. He just bared his soul to me. Do you understand? He was so worried about me not loving him—of course I still love him, but that’s not gonna be the hard part.”

  Oh God. All the kids were gonna be talking about it. This boarding school, with all these rich kids outside these two tiny towns…. They chewed over gossip like old gum!

  “What’s the hard part?” He was damned afraid to ask.

  “He’s gay, honey. And it shouldn’t be hard. It shouldn’t be hard for anybody, and it shouldn’t hurt anybody, but it hurt him. And it’s been eating him up inside, and I gotta go make it right.”

  Cheever gaped at her, the vision of Aubrey’s mouth on his flashing before his eyes.

  His brother was gay. Dimly he remembered being about five years old, walking in on Mackey and Grant Adams—Kell’s best friend—making out on his mom’s bed when they were supposed to be watching him.

  Wait, aren’t I gay?

  His brother was gay, and it was eating him up inside.

  Is there something wrong with me?

  His mother had to go make it right.

  Aren’t you supposed to stay with me?

  He thought of all the times he’d rolled his eyes when she’d shown up to have dinner with him.

  How would she know that, dumbass?

  His mother loved him, though. She patted his cheek softly. “Oh, honey. Don’t look so panicked. Mackey’s going to be fine.” Her lower lip wobbled, making a lie of her words. “I worry about what your school will say when it gets out.” She shrugged. “It’s never been easy on you boys….”

  Well, four boys, four different fathers. It was a small town. Word spread. Everybody knew Jefferson’s dad was Willis Jefferson, who’d moved up to Oregon after Heather had broken up with him. And Cheever’s dad, Enos Cheever, had been given a restraining order. He’d moved to Redding, just to stay far away.

  There weren’t many people wh
o didn’t know about Cheever’s family—including the way the three older boys plus Stevie Harris had gone on to make a big name for themselves as Outbreak Monkey.

  But still…. “Can I come with you?” he asked plaintively, and she patted his cheek again.

  “I love you for asking,” she told him, kissing his forehead. “But you’d be missing school, and I’d be concentrating on the bigger boys. Everybody’s gonna be talking about grown-up stuff, hon, and you’d be bored shitless. But I should be back in a week, okay? I’ll text or call you every night, but I gotta hurry. Their manager is having a plane come to our little airstrip, and it’s gonna be here in—oh my God! An hour!” She grimaced. “You’ll have to stay here for the weekend, but I promise, you’ll come home for the next one.” She managed a little smile. “I’ll be back in time to make your Halloween costume, okay?”

  His class was dressing up as old movie actors from the ’30s and ’40s—he’d actually been sort of looking forward to it because it made Halloween, which he should have been too old for, into something grown-up and sophisticated. It was like they knew all these actors that the babies in the sixth grade didn’t.

  “Okay,” he whispered. For the first time, he realized how much he looked forward to his mother visiting. His brothers had left him, but she hadn’t, and he’d forgotten how much that meant.

  But she kissed his cheek and left, giving a little wave behind her as she did. Cheever walked out of the conference room and went looking for Aubrey, who he was pretty sure would have waited for him after he got his note from home.

  Aubrey wasn’t in the office waiting room, so Cheever ventured to the outside hallway, calling his name softly. “Aubrey? Aubrey? What was your thing about? You will not believe—oof!”

  “See this?” Aubrey snarled, shoving Cheever up against the brick wall of the school. “Do you see this?” He waved one of those little yellow attendance slips in front of Cheever’s nose, the kind they used for messages.

  “What the—”

  “It says we can’t be friends anymore!” Aubrey’s voice quaked for a moment, then firmed up. “Your brother’s a druggie faggot, and my dad threw your mom out on her ass!”

  Cheever somehow doubted that. “My mom didn’t care enough about your dad to even mention it,” he snapped.

  Aubrey’s slap, hard across his nose, his lips, his teeth, was a complete surprise. Cheever had never been in a fight in his life.

  “Fuck! Aubrey!” Cheever’s voice escalated to a whine.

  “Shut up!” Aubrey sputtered. He was crying. “My dad says I’m not supposed to have anything to do with you!” He slapped Cheever again. “Shut up! Dammit, I hate you! I hate you! My fuckin’ dad—”

  “Your dad who’s dating my mom?” Cheever asked, baffled.

  “Not any fucking more!” Aubrey snarled. “Your brother’s a fag, and she dropped his sorry ass, and now we can’t talk no more!”

  He broke off and let go of Cheever’s collar, turning his head to wipe off the tears and the snot.

  Cheever’s face ached, and his heart ached. And all he understood—really understood—was that his brothers, who hadn’t been home for a year, and who sent him and his mom presents and cards and flowers but never any company, had apparently just fucked up his life.

  Aubrey ran off, leaving Cheever trying to pull his shit together outside the principal’s office. By the time he’d gotten a towel from the bathroom to staunch the bleeding in his nose and got back to gym class, the entire school knew.

  Not that Aubrey and Cheever had kissed.

  Not that Aubrey had hit Cheever and screamed at him and cried.

  No, the entire school knew that Cheever’s brother, Mackey, was a druggie and a faggot.

  Cheever really missed his mom that next week. He spent breakfast, lunch, and dinner sitting at his own goddamned table in the cafeteria, wondering who was going to dump a tray of food on him next.

  His mother showed up at the school the following Sunday to take him home for a little while and to tell him how things had gone.

  “He’s going to come out to the press,” she told him, sighing.

  “That sucks.” Cheever shuddered. He couldn’t think of anything worse than this last week—but then, he hadn’t been trying hard.

  “No,” she said firmly, piloting their new SUV. “It does not. Cheever, your brother looked like a good stiff wind could blow him away. Kell and Jeff and Stevie were—well, they were worried. I couldn’t get much out of Kell, but Jefferson told me that it got bad. Like, ‘being afraid to check in his room’ bad. If coming out to the press helps him live his life so he’s not that unhappy, then it’s going to be a good thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s ’cause he doesn’t have to fucking live here!” Cheever snarled, about done with his brothers’ feelings. “They’re out there, living the high life, and we’re supposed to feel sorry for them because they fucked up—Mom!”

  Heather had veered off the road and onto the shoulder. The face she turned toward him was tearstained and furious.

  “Your brothers….” She shook her head and shuddered. “Your brother was nineteen years old when he signed that contract. The first thing he did was buy us a house. And a car. And your school tuition—”

  “I fucking hate it there!”

  “I don’t care!” she shouted back. “Because you didn’t have to go to the other middle school, so you don’t know how many fights those boys got into. You think it’s bad now, because the kids give you shit? Mackey wasn’t the only one who came home with bruises. Kell, Jefferson, Stevie—God help me, even Grant Adams—they spent their lives trying not to get beat the hell up. I’m not going to let that happen to you!”

  “Well, it would be a damned sight better than what they’re doing now,” he muttered.

  His mom sniffled and wiped her face on her shoulder, just like Aubrey did. “I’m sorry about that,” she said, her voice muffled. “You have no idea how much. And I’m sorry you couldn’t have been born rich, like all these kids who knew each other from the cradle. I’m sorry me and Aubrey’s dad aren’t seeing each other anymore. I know you liked him, and I’m sure that makes things awkward.”

  Cheever rolled his eyes—but he didn’t say anything because he couldn’t.

  “Or worse,” she added. “But don’t you see? Whatever you’re going through now? It would be about a thousand times worse at the local school. And if I took you down to LA, us rednecks wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  Cheever let out a groan and thudded his head back against the seat. “Mom!”

  “Honey, it’s like… it’s like Mackey and Blake in rehab. They look like hell. Blake practically cried when I hugged him. I think they had to make an effort to shower, they both looked so tore up. But they’re sticking with it because they know it will be worth it in the long run. You’ve got to eat some shit, and I’m sorry. There’s nothing I can say that will make it taste better. But when this meal is done, you know oatmeal won’t taste half bad.”

  Cheever grunted, done with the conversation, and his mother started the car again. He went home and sat down to a meal in peace, and thought she might be right.

  This was going to suck. But in first grade, his mom’s car had broken down, and Kell had given him a ride to school every day in his shitty pickup truck. Kids had laughed at Cheever because getting out of that thing had been a laugh riot—he’d slid down the seat, off the runner boards, and onto his ass every damned time.

  And it hadn’t been a picnic.

  But it hadn’t been walking the two miles to school either.

  So Cheever would tell himself it was like that.

  Couldn’t be that bad, right?

  AUBREY’S SHOULDER hit Cheever hard in the back, and he went slamming into the bank of lockers with a bang.

  “Watch where you’re going, faggot!”

  Cheever could have—oh God, he could have said, “You’re the one who shoved his tongue down my throat, motherfucker!”

  But he did
n’t.

  “What the hell’s your problem?” he demanded, tired of just taking this shit. It didn’t get any better tasting—not after the last week.

  “Your fucking brother, flashing his little twink bod on TV. You think I want to be associated with that shit?”

  Cheever scowled. His mother had told him the press conference was coming, but he just hadn’t put two and two together. “Man, what in the fuck does my brother have to do with me? I have not seen him in over a year, do you get that? I show up here, and I’m thinking I get to start brand-new. It is not my fault he’s doing whatever he’s doing!”

  “Your whole fucking family is out there, telling him he’s okay! Why the hell should you be any different?”

  Cheever’s brows knit together. “Even Kell?” Because Kell was the oldest, and he hadn’t seemed that liberal when he’d lived in Tyson. Cheever couldn’t imagine how that had changed.

  “He was standing there, looking all tough and all, but your brother just came out, wearing some fag getup like it was all good.”

  Cheever thought he’d try for reason. “But he’s not hurting you, is he?”

  Aubrey had kissed him!

  And Aubrey’s eyes grew shiny, like he remembered that.

  “Fags breathing my air hurts me,” he said. Was Cheever the only one who heard how automatic that sounded?

  But Aubrey was getting a crowd.

  “Sure,” he said, turning away. “You are that weak.”

  He walked away, his back straight, his heart turned to ashes in his chest.

  That night, when he was walking from the cafeteria to the dorms in the chill of late October, he heard a voice behind him. He whirled, scared for the first time in his life, and was surprised when a young man with a scruffy beard and a hipster sweater held up his hands, looking around surreptitiously.

  “Hey, little man—no worries. I’m not gonna hurt you.”

  “Who the hell are you?” Cheever snapped, blood roaring in his ears.

  “I’m just, you know, spreading the word. I’m Rob Kirkman. I work for Celebratation—you’ve heard of us?”