Jack scowled and sat up. Maybe he shouldn't be holding the blanket up to his chin if he didn't want people to think he was scared, but damn it, he wasn't.
Matt smiled at him and eased down to sit beside him on the cot. "I'd like to play a game with you." His voice was quiet and intimate in the dim room that smelled of laundry soap and clean clothes. The girls from the village had just delivered the laundry freshly pressed yesterday, so the room smelled clean and nice.
He put his hand down to rest on the mattress and bounced a little, testing its springs—or lack of springs. His hand was very close to Jack's thigh. He stared down at them, sitting so near each other.
"Where did they put you, anyway?" Jack looked up, raising his gaze to meet Matt's.
Matt stopped bouncing and grew very still. His cheeks reddened. "In a big room in the house. It's not fair, is it? Why don't you stand up for yourself?"
He shrugged and looked down. "I'm lucky to be here at all. They could send me away if I asked for more."
Matt's hand moved to rest tentatively on his back. "I'm sure they wouldn't. It seems like they rely on you a great deal."
He shrugged. "I guess." The hand felt nice, but the words felt nicer. "Maybe." He smiled at Matt then. "I'll take you along next time there's baseball. But don't blame me if anyone who's there wants to fight you for arriving with me."
Matt smiled, his full lips curving up with a look of delicious enjoyment. "I think I can handle myself."
"You better hope so." Jack dived for him, aiming a playful punch at his shoulder. Matt laughed, and they dived at one another and play-wrestled, enjoying their high spirits.
For some reason, scuffling with Matt made Jack feel both content and excited.
He started out the day in a good mood, but it didn't last long. The cook found a reason to bawl him out for several things—usually loudly, and the girls from the village were there so they heard every unpleasant word.
Fortunately Matt was hard at work in the garden and probably out of range.
Matt often worked on his knees, yet he seemed to stay neat throughout the week. Even the bath every night couldn't account for it. Jack watched him closely, and he always saw Matt looking neat and tidy.
And yet the garden was already starting to look different, in subtle ways that Jack was hard pressed to put a finger on, but could feel. The garden began to look less regimented and more artistic.
Matt even ate nicely and could keep up a conversation during the meal. Whereas before, meals had been taken separately, or occasionally together with Adrienne serving and eating, the wizard reading and occasionally dropping a bite of food on himself and looking down to tsk in dismay, and Jack eating as quickly as he could and keeping his head down, hoping he could get thirds before anyone noticed, things were different with Matt here.
The wizard occasionally put aside his musty old texts, and Adrienne was nicer, too. They both talked to Matt, answering him as if he was a real person. Jack was torn between being impressed with the way Matt managed it and offended that they never seemed to think of him the same way. He was about Matt's age, wasn't he? Why couldn't they look at him like he needed to be taken seriously? The wizard even put his utensils down once to answer one of Matt's quiet questions.
Once, the wizard came down from his tower and took a walk in the garden, smoking his pipe and examining everything. Each huff of approval was accompanied by a bigger puff of smoke, going up like signals to the world that Matt was a better gardener than Jack had ever been, and far more worthy of notice and approval.
By the end of the week, Jack was furious with Matt just for being there, with his smooth conversation and his artistic work and his perfect, perfect body and neatly arranged hair.
"You need to speak up," said Matt, playing with a small bit of bramble vine he must've cleaned out of the garden. "I can't carry the conversation by myself."
Jack turned to stare at him coldly.
"Don't look at me like that." Matt shifted on the hard edge of machinery he sat on, scowling. "I lobbed you two easy ones last night, but you couldn't inject a word."
Jack tried to remember what inject meant. He thought it meant stick something in. Stick a word in during a conversation at the meal? With the wizard there being so clever, and Adrienne quick to jump on anything he said wrong? He shook his head slowly. "I want them to take me more seriously, but I don't know what to say."
"Well, you could try instead of just stuffing your face with bread."
Jack turned and gave a slow blink, meeting the gardener's gaze.
Matt reddened. "Sorry. That came out wrong."
Jack turned around again, put down his wrench carefully, and stood up. He moved away from the garage, keeping his breathing even and his steps measured, his hands calmly at his sides, neither clenched nor hugged round his chest.
"Jack," called Matt, sounding halfway annoyed, halfway apologetic. "Come back."
He walked down to the garden and stared at it broodily. There were things planted now, and other places where the earth was ready to grow something, even if it hadn't sprouted yet. Weeds were gone, cracked earth had somehow softened, and whimsical shapes had replaced the even harshness of Jack's shrub-cutting skills.
Damn him.
He hugged his arms around himself and his throat felt abominably tight. He was not some child who needed to cry.
"Jack," said Matt, from closer behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound so… so rude."
"Well, you did." He wouldn't turn to face him. He wouldn't.
He turned to face Matt, glaring at him, trying to be angry before he could be hurt enough to cry. But the low blow was like a pain in his chest.
"What's the big deal?" Matt spread his hands and shrugged. "I was a bit rude about your eating habits, but surely… I mean, most boys our age can be a bit greedy."
"You think that's what this is about?"
Matt blinked, reassessing, watching Jack as though he didn't understand. "Um. Yes. I do. I said something rude, and now you won't accept my apology."
"No." Jack shook his head. "I'll accept your shitty apology. But you don't get it. You seem to think you can—and should—improve me. But who the hell are you? You have no right to tell me I have to talk more and eat less. I get hungry. And when we eat with the wizard it's one time I can usually eat as much as I want and nobody stops me. Adrienne makes plenty when the wizard eats supper downstairs, and she doesn't scold me about food when he's around. So I have extra. Yes, I stuff my face with bread. But it's nice not to be hungry or have to buy extra food later. It's really damned nice, so maybe you should shut your stupid mouth for a change. I know it's easy for you to talk, but maybe you should try not talking for once, how about that, huh?"
Matt's mouth fell open during this speech. At the end of it, he closed it, giving a slow, offended blink that made his beautiful long, pale eyelashes sweep down and then up, as if to be one final reminder of how perfect he was and how ugly and wrong Jack was. He felt like such a troll next to the beautiful blond gardener, and even more so now when he was angry and scowling.
"Fine. If that's how you feel." Matt turned on his heel and stalked away.
Jack watched him go, and then hunched his shoulders a little lower and stuffed his hands into his pockets. For once in his life, he'd won a verbal fight. It didn't feel as good as it should've. Besides, was it really winning if the other guy just walked away?
He kicked at a bit of dirt on the ground and looked down at it, wishing he could make sense of things—why he felt so weird, for one. Not quite happy and not quite sad—let down and regretful that he'd hurt Matt, but still hurt and angry and feeling outclassed. And somehow strangely heart-lifted that Matt could be affected by anything he said. Could care at all what Matt thought of him.
Maybe he doesn't just think of me as nothing, if that's true.
He headed back to the garage and got back to work.
Things were chilly between the boys, and they barely talked to one anot
her. Neither mentioned baseball, and neither went. Jack knew he could still be in bad with the other boys, so he was glad to skip it, and glad to let Matt skip it, too. It was the closest he could come to punishing the other boy.
Not that he thought it was actually a punishment—probably Matt had simply been going to try to make friends with him, he thought sourly. Well, it was time the gardener learned that he didn't get to look down on Jack—or fix him. Or make him feel worse about himself than he already did.
He was cleaning the gutters with a ladder propped against a wall when some of the boys went past, hooting and hollering. "Hey, gypsy!" called one. A stone pinged off the side of the house where he stood, and skittered down to fall off the slanted roof. Jack jerked a little, and then stood very still, heart hammering, not daring to turn around. If he moved too quickly—
Jack was sure-footed, but the roofs were steep, and cleaning gutters was dangerous work.
"Hey." Someone shook the ladder.
Jack grabbed hold of the roof and let out a string of profanities. "Stop it!" He hated how his voice came out pleading and scared.
"Teach you to mess with my cousin." Somebody laughed, not a nice laugh, either.
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, terrified. Maybe the wizard would save him. He hated that he needed saved in the first place, but he didn't want to fall and break a bone. Please…please notice! Help me!
"Hey!"
It was the voice of a furious, blond, avenging angel. "Get out of here!"
Matt's footsteps took him at running speed up to the baseball boys, Casey's cousins. Jack didn't dare open his eyes or move enough to look down, but he heard furious scuffling and grunts and punches.
Then suddenly the ladder was being held firmly in place by strong, garden-toughened hands. "Quick," said Matt breathlessly. "Hurry down before they come back."
Jack skinned down so fast he almost hurt himself. His hands were still trembling, his breath a little too quick as he turned to reluctantly thank Matt. It was humiliating having to be rescued, but better than the terror of being attacked up a ladder. "Thanks." He tugged awkwardly at his shirt.
One of Matt's eyes was puffy from a blow, and he had a trickle of blood at his mouth. "Never mind. Let's get indoors, till we're sure they're not coming back."
He shepherded Jack protectively towards the door, one arm around him, not quite touching, but as though he wanted to.
Jack took a quick look at him, then drew back, shaking his head, biting his lip. "You go on ahead." He turned and walked back down the path, his strides long and angry.
"Jack!" called Matt after him, despair in his voice, and a complete lack of understanding.
"I'll be all right," said Jack, turning and walking backwards for a moment. He raised one hand in a quick wave. The gardener stood there a moment, a look of fearful hesitation on his face, wavering. Then he started after Jack in a loping run.
Jack turned around and ran, a quick grin catching his features. He'd never let Matt see, but he was so happy. Two against three was much better odds!
He caught up with the Keenes round the next bend, laughing and telling each other coarse jokes. They were a little scuffed up, but not badly. Not, at least, till he plowed into them, all fists and feet and elbows and teeth.
Jack fought dirty: it was one thing the orphanage had taught him. Get your licks in early and often, because there'll be somebody coming soon to stop the fight and beat you all, not caring who was right or wrong. The idea had always been to make whoever had started it too scared of him to ever try anything again, make 'em think he was crazed.
And, too fierce and single-minded even to spare the breath for cursing, he made that quite clear to the Keenes now, too.
He left one of them on his side, holding his arm, blubbering, the other two scrambling away, cursing fearfully, and Matt dragging on his arm, pulling with all his weight against Jack, to keep him from running after them again.
"Cocksuckers!" yelled Jack, cupping his hands. He spat blood on the ground, and turned to look at the one scrambling away now like a crab. He aimed a kick, not one to connect, just to scare, and the boy scrambled faster. "Coward!" he snarled down at the bleeding boy.
"You broke my fucking arm! Ahh!" The boy scrambled and ran as Jack fake-lunged at him again. But he was all done now, and he subsided, grinning a fierce, angry little grin, proud of himself, not caring about the blows he'd taken. See if they tried shit like that on him again!
"Jack," said Matt, looking appalled. In the end, he hadn't helped much in the dirty, punishing fight. He clearly didn't have the stomach for a big fight. Outrage and concern for Jack had pushed him to fight the three boys and chase them off to protect Jack, but he was looking at Jack now with different eyes, as if he was a little bit afraid for him, a little bit afraid of him. "Jack," he repeated, his eyes wary.
Jack spat in the dirt again, and it was bloody. He wiped his hand on the back of his mouth. He ached a lot of places, and his head pounded with pain, but blood-pumping triumph still rode him, leaping high inside.
He gave Matt a quick nod and moved away, moving jauntily to cover his own hurts.
Matt hurried, running to catch up with him. "You could get in trouble."
"They started it. Can't let anybody get away with doin' that to me."
"No, I mean, you could get in real trouble. Jail or something, if that guy's arm is really broken."
Jack turned to look at him. "What, you think he'd squeal when it's his own fault?" He snorted. "Deserves to look like the coward and the bully he is, if he does! Three against one, and me on a ladder." He shook his stinging fist again, remembering the punch. "Should've hit him harder."
Matt drew away from him, with something like a shudder. "I understand you were angry—"
"Too right. I still am."
"But you need to be more careful. You—you can't live like that, brawling in public, getting revenge, breaking people's arms—"
"He was just kicking up a fuss. I'd've heard if it broke."
"You mean you've broken bones before?"
Jack was silent, remembering a time in the orphanage. It had stopped the bullies for a while, even if it had been an accident.
"Jack," said Matt again, sounding appalled.
"You goin' to tell me how I'm not good enough, not doing things right again, aren't you?" He scoffed at Matt, who looked startled and uncertain, and a little afraid. "Well, guess what, pretty boy, we don't all have rich families to protect us, or magic, or anything but our own fists and guts. You see if they ever dare pull that shit on me again now. You won't always be around to rescue me. Nobody will." He spat on the ground again, horrified to feel dampness at his eyes. "Now I'm goin' home to have a bath, and you can stand here and feel sorry for 'em if you want!"
With that, he moved ahead at a faster clip, almost a run.
Matt let him go.
Matt didn't offer to heal his wounds, and he was too proud to ask. So that night, which was an eating-with-the-wizard night, he had to sit through supper with dark bruises visible on his face, bloody scabbed knuckles, and a wince every time he moved his shoulder.
The wizard gave him a cold look, chewing his cabbage with deliberation.
Jack held his gaze as long as he could, then looked back down at his plate, moving the food around. His heart began to hammer and pound with fear, as he imagined the wizard saying, "That's it, out you go. We've put up with you long enough. I've no need for a ruffian." Adrienne had already tsk'd and scolded and scowled, and then washed his face for him with careful hands, even as her words were as harsh as lemon juice in a cut.
"Bread and water," said the wizard finally, and Jack looked up, freezing, not daring to breathe. "One week, I think. See if it's worth fighting again next time."
His attention moved back to his food, and he ignored Jack again.
Jack looked down at the table, feeling sick. His heart pounded harder than it had during the fight. He'd have to obey, or the wizard would know. He'd have his w
ays, and if he ate anything but bread and water for a week, the wizard would probably punish him or fire him, both awful choices.
He felt a little dizzy suddenly, and angry that he could be this afraid. He hadn't even been this afraid while fighting the three bullies. He got up slowly and left the table, trying to look dignified instead of lightheaded and trembly.
"That's not fair," said Matt behind him, raising his voice in a reasonable-sounding protest. "You didn't even ask what happened, just blamed him."
Jack stopped, shocked by this turn of events. Matt had been afraid of him, disgusted by him. Now he was defending him?
"Oh?" rumbled the wizard. "And just what do you have in it?" But he sounded almost as amused as annoyed, and Matt didn't seem afraid of him. But then, he didn't know what the wizard could do.
"You treat him like the scapegoat for everything bad that happens here, and—and give him all the chores, and make him sleep in the laundry room when you have all those good rooms going spare. You treat him like an animal, and now you're going to starve him too?" His chair scraped back loudly. "You should be ashamed of yourselves. Goodnight."
And he marched from the room. The wizard gave a half a laugh behind him, and Jack remembered to unstick his feet from the ground and follow Matt's indignant, retreating back.
"Children," said the wizard in an amused tone. "You may as well finish eating."
Matt stopped with his hand on the door, not looking back. "I couldn't eat another bite," he said, and his voice was low and held an undertone of disgust.
The wizard snorted and his utensils scraped on his plate as he continued to eat.
Adrienne said, "Well!" in an offended tone.
Matt and Jack escaped from the room. Jack didn't look at Matt. He didn't want anyone to see his face.
"I'm sorry," said Matt, turning on him, still clearly wound up. "I didn't mean to make a scene or e-embarrass you, but the way they treat you—"
"Never mind," said Jack in a hoarse little voice, not sounding like himself at all. He kept his head down and moved past Matt, or tried to.
His Kind of Home Page 3
