by Sam Cameron
Nothing happened except that Laura made little happy noises and Danny’s body remained uninterested, maybe even repulsed.
She broke off with a grin and drew him backward toward the bed. “I’ve been waiting for this,” she said. Light from outside the house illuminated her as she pulled her blouse off and revealed a lacy pink bra. “You and me, and haven’t we waited long enough?”
Danny swallowed hard, his throat tight. “We haven’t done barely anything.”
“I know!” Laura grabbed his hands again and darted in for a kiss. Her tongue touched his. “But I’ve got a condom and I’m ready.”
He almost laughed. Not at the sincerity in her voice (even if she was a little drunk), or the way she was stripping off her jeans now. None of that was funny. But he’d convinced himself, since moving to Piedmont, that he could fake it. That he could spend his high school years dating girls and no one would know the difference, not even himself. That was practically hysterical.
Still, he had to find a way to turn her down without letting her know the real reason why.
“You know I want to,” he said, but his voice cracked in the middle of it. Stupid conscience. “Laura, now’s not the best time.”
“Sure it is.” She kicked her jeans away and stretched out on the bed, one hand lifted toward him. “Come on.”
He sat. She curved upward, kissed him again. Danny wished that his phone would ring, or someone would barge in, or maybe an asteroid would plummet through the ceiling.
No such luck.
“I can’t,” he said as her fingernails curled around the button of his jeans. “Not tonight.”
“Boys can do it anytime,” she insisted.
A brilliant solution popped into his head. “I’ve got that thing. You know, jock itch.”
Laura’s fingers stopped moving. She gave him a disbelieving look. “You’ve got what?”
“It’s all red and sore,” he said, trying to sound embarrassed. “I’ve got this cream, but it’s contagious until the doctor says so.”
She giggled. “You do not. I don’t believe it. Let me see.”
“You’ll get it under your fingernails,” Danny insisted. He made himself kiss her on the lips and then said, “Or get it somewhere else, and you’ll have to tell the doctor how.”
Her head was tilted back now. He could see she didn’t want to believe it. He felt bad she’d built up this special night, if only in her own head, and here he was, ruining it. But then she sank back on the pillows and giggled again.
“Jock itch,” she said. “Poor baby.”
Danny helped her get her clothes back on, and let her cling to his side, and maybe there were some more kisses he could tolerate, and then he tugged her out into the hallway. Some kids out there gave him a knowing smirk. Everyone knew, or thought they knew, what had been going on. It occurred to him that this could work to his advantage for a little while, but sooner or later, his fictitious rash was going to clear up and then what? He couldn’t fake medical incapacity forever.
“Let’s get more drunk,” Laura proposed.
Before he could disagree, a girl’s angry voice cut through the noise and din around them.
“I said no!”
Danny turned to see Rachel storming out of another bedroom, her blouse half-pulled off her shoulders. Her hair was disheveled and she looked furious.
“But, honey!” The boy following her wasn’t Junior, but instead a Piedmont Prep football player named Buddy Hunt. Danny didn’t like Buddy, but lots of people did. He was number two on the team, but would have been number one if it weren’t for Moon Conway’s fame.
Rachel spun around in her high heels. She wagged her finger at Buddy. “Don’t even say it! Don’t even think it!”
Buddy spread his arms wide, no doubt aware of all the spectators around them. “But you wanted it!”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Rachel said, and stormed off toward the stairs.
Danny tried to follow her, but the crowd was too thick and Laura was tugging him in another direction. The party had grown larger in the short time Danny had been upstairs. Some of the new kids had a hard look about them, as if they were just out for themselves and whatever free booze they could score. They were the kind of guests who stole stuff or jammed up the toilets just for the fun of it, and would maybe throw a sofa into the pool, or damage the property in other ways.
Surely, Junior was accustomed to throwing the kind of parties where opportunists came knocking.
Or maybe he wasn’t. Maybe Junior didn’t know how to tell the difference between friends and hangers-on, the kind who would take advantage of a rich star’s son.
“I’m getting more beer,” Laura said, and slid away in the confusion.
Danny’s phone rang.
“I’m outside,” Kevin said. “Where’s the toy?”
“Meet me by the garage,” Danny said.
The fresh air outside was a big relief, as was the solitude. The garage was a monstrous, six-bay building, locked tight but lit up inside to show off Moon Conway Senior’s car collection. Kevin was standing at one corner, hands jammed in his pockets, looking like someone who’d rather be anywhere else in the world. Just seeing him was a relief. Here was someone who wasn’t drunk, wasn’t even drinking. Someone Danny didn’t have to lie to, at least not when it came to jock itch. For a very brief moment, he wondered what it would be like to bring Kevin inside, to hold his hand while other people watched, to dance one slow dance in the middle of the room.
But that was like wishing for the impossible.
“You’ve got lipstick on your face,” Kevin said.
Danny wiped at his cheek. “Someone tried to kiss me.”
“And on your neck, too,” Kevin said. “She must have been pretty interested in your heterosexuality.”
Danny grimaced. “Can you shut up about that?”
Kevin shrugged. “You said you saw 2KEWLE?”
“By the cars in the lawn,” he said, deliberately leading him away from the last place he’d seen the buggy.
*
Kevin had told Ford and the rest of the team that Danny had questions about the Ruins, nothing more.
“Tell him you’ll answer tomorrow,” Ford said.
“No, it’s okay,” Kevin replied. He didn’t want to tell them that Danny was calling about 2KEWLE; otherwise, they might all want to come along. “It won’t take long.”
“You sure you’re up for it?” Ford asked.
Kevin rolled his eyes. “Dad, I didn’t fall off a bridge, I almost fell off. Big difference.”
So now here he was, at this big fancy mansion on the hill. He hadn’t expected how many people would be here or the sheer awfulness of the country music blaring from inside. He almost wished he’d put on nicer jeans and a cleaner shirt, but it wasn’t as if he was going inside. He didn’t need to make a fashion statement out on the dark lawn, under hazy clouds and scattered stars, as he scanned cars and trucks with his FRED.
“You sure you saw it?” he asked Danny.
Danny was standing right behind him “Pretty sure.”
The blue pickup in front of Kevin registered 15. The white SUV beside it was a 23.
“Can I ask you something about the Ruins?” Danny asked, still very close behind him.
“What about them?”
“Like where they come from. What they want. I mean, has anyone ever asked them?”
Kevin almost dropped the FRED. “Ask them? Like you ask a rabid dog before it bites you?”
“But maybe they’re not rabid,” Danny said. “Maybe they’re just misunderstood.”
The next truck registered 35. Kevin paused to rescan it. “That’s ridiculous. They’re like fleas. Mindless. Just jumping around and carrying diseases. Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years.”
Up at the house, the music changed tempo, to something slow and romantic.
Danny wasn’t giving up on his idea, though. “Maybe the thing that’s in 2KEWLE is different f
rom the others. Maybe it’s not a flea or a rabid dog but just got stuck here and is trying to help.”
“Ruins don’t help,” Kevin snapped. “Ever. They kill.”
He turned around. Danny was so close behind him that they collided, and Kevin had to grab his arms before Danny went stumbling backward. But he dropped his grip quickly, because he remembered the whole not-officially-gay thing.
“Sorry,” Danny said, but Kevin didn’t know if it was for standing so close or for his silly ideas.
“Did you really see that buggy or did you just want to ask me stupid questions?” Kevin asked.
Danny’s chin lifted. “They’re not stupid. The questions or the Ruins. Since when does the government tell the whole truth about anything?”
Kevin shook his head. “Now you sound like some conspiracy nut.”
“It is a conspiracy! The government knows something that can get people killed every day,” Danny said. “How do you know that there’s not more to the story?”
Kevin pocketed his FRED. He really didn’t have time for this, and he’d been foolish to come. “I’m going back. There’s no King here.”
He stalked off a few feet before Danny said, “Wait! I need to tell you something.”
Kevin wasn’t particularly interested, but something in Danny’s voice caught him and made him turn around. “What now?”
“It’s just—” Danny faltered. He looked miserable, but also determined not to back down. “You were right. About the thing that I’m not. Officially.”
Kevin waited for more.
“I realize that it’s stupid to pretend otherwise,” Danny said tightly. “I don’t think I can tell anyone, though. Not in this town. It’s not like San Francisco was.”
Kevin gazed past Danny to the mansion and then back again. The wind was kicking up, the clouds growing thicker overhead. “So you lied to me.”
Danny squared his shoulders. “I lied to myself first.”
Kevin thought about that. “There’s got to be other gay kids around this town. You’re not alone.”
“I don’t know how to tell my mom,” Danny said. “Or what my stepdad will say.”
“I don’t have a lot of advice,” Kevin replied. His father had always been good with it. They’d never lived anywhere long enough for any neighbors to notice or care, or for classmates and teachers to give him hell.
Danny stepped closer. “I think I could have pretended a lot longer if you hadn’t come to town.”
Kevin felt a little thrill of pleasure at that. Carefully, he asked, “Are you saying it’s my fault?”
Danny said, “Yes. Your hair’s too long and that leather jacket is too…leathery.”
This time, Kevin’s smile slipped out. “I don’t think that’s a word.”
“I made it up,” Danny said. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yeah,” Kevin said.
But before they could, a girl’s voice spoke snidely from nearby. “Well, lookie here. I knew I was right.”
Rachel.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Danny was mortified.
“What are you, spying on me?” he demanded, glaring at his stepsister. Of all the times to interrupt! And of all the things to interrupt, too. His first official guy kiss ever, and she’d ruined the whole thing.
“I don’t care about your love life,” she said, annoyed. “I need a ride home and someone saw you come this way.”
Danny said, “Ask one of your friends!”
“They’re all drunk,” she said. Her gaze switched to Kevin. “You could drive me.”
“No spare helmet,” he said.
Rachel’s eyes went right back to Danny. “Find Eric. Tell him you want to go now. I’m so sick of these people I want to throw up on them.”
“Not my problem,” Danny said defiantly. But a moment later, he realized it would entirely be his problem if Rachel blabbed her big mouth.
Kevin patted Danny’s arm. “Go on, take her. I’ve got to get back to my dad before he starts worrying I’ve fallen off a bridge again.”
“Again?” Danny asked.
“Long story,” Kevin said. “Call me later.”
He slipped away through the cars. Rachel said, “Finally,” and turned to march back toward the mansion. Danny followed her reluctantly, irritated and worried at the same time.
“Are you going to tell people?” he asked.
“That I caught my stepbrother trying to kiss a guy?” Rachel asked flippantly. “Who cares?”
“I care!”
“Your secret is safe with me, Romeo,” she said.
He didn’t know if he could trust her and was halfway sure he couldn’t. Danny almost pressured her for more of a promise, but as they reached the house, a girl’s shout cut off any chance of conversation.
“They’re going to race!” the girl cried out. “Junior’s going to race!”
A tide of onlookers carried Danny and Rachel to the big circular driveway. Junior was behind the wheel of his yellow Porsche, revving the engines. Buddy Hunt was gunning a cherry red Corvette.
“What are you doing, Junior?” someone shouted.
“Defending the family honor!” Junior yelled back.
Rachel stalked out to the middle ground between the two cars, her hands on her hips. “Moon Junior, you get your butt out of that car. You’re drunk.”
“We ain’t racing far, honey! Just down to the old barn and back.”
Danny could see the barn at the far end of the Conway’s property, at the very end of a slope. The dirt lane looked barely wide enough for one car, never mind two. He could already imagine one or both of them sliding off the embankment and flipping in the grass, maybe catching fire and exploding.
Laura and Eric had come out of the house and were standing in the crowd behind Danny. Laura said, “They’ve got to be crazy.”
Junior said to Rachel, “Drop the flag, darling!”
Rachel had to be aware of everyone watching and judging her. He was relieved when she shook her head and snagged the keys from the Porsche’s ignition.
“You’re an idiot.” She flung the keys away, far into the bushes.
The crowd booed, but she didn’t appear to care. Instead, she stalked over to Danny and said, “Let’s go.”
Danny turned to Eric. “Can you drive?”
Eric fumbled for his keys. “No problem! But I’m a little drunk.”
“You drive,” Rachel said. “I won’t tell. It’s only a few miles.”
Eric burped. “Good idea! I won’t tell, either.”
“I want to leave, too,” Laura announced. “All the fun part’s over.”
Danny hesitated. Rachel was right. It was only about three or four miles to home. If he drove with perfect attention to traffic lights, didn’t break the speed limit, and had the best luck ever, he could drop Laura off, return Eric and his car to Eric’s house, and walk home with Rachel before his mom and Roger got back from their party.
“Get in,” Danny said.
Eric claimed shotgun. The girls got into the backseat. Danny slid behind Eric’s steering wheel and relished the feel of it under his fingers. For three years, he’d missed this.
“It works better if you turn it on,” Eric said.
Danny turned the ignition. Slowly, he eased the Camaro off the grass and down the road. Moon Senior’s estate receded into trees and moonlight.
“You drive like my grandma.” Eric burped. “What happened to Captain Carjack?”
“Who’s Captain Carjack?” Laura asked from the backseat.
“Him.”
“Shut up,” Danny said. There was a stop sign at the end of the street. He wanted to run it, but instead he slowed down. “He’s delusional.”
“Captain Carjack of California!” This time Eric’s burp was accompanied by a ruder noise.
Rachel was already on her cell phone, messaging her friends. “Will you drive faster? He’s going to stink up everything!”
Eric made another noise. “Beer
makes my stomach upset.”
Laura was hanging on to the back of Danny’s seat. “You carjacked someone in California?”
“No,” Danny said. He crossed the intersection and started down the hill. No other cars were out, for which he was grateful. He could feel his foot drawn to the gas pedal and had to move it aside before his worst impulses took over. “Don’t listen to him. He’s delusional.”
Eric leaned forward between the front seats. “No, honestly. Honesty is important, right? Be honest with her. You can’t drive because you’re a felon.”
“Tell the truth, Danny,” Rachel said. “She’s going to find out sooner or later.”
Danny gritted his teeth. “I’m not a felon.”
Which was sort of true. To be precise, he was a juvenile offender. But if wanting to open the passenger door and abandon Eric and Rachel in the middle of nowhere was a crime, he was already convicted.
“Danny,” Laura said, drawing out the syllables in a most annoying way. “Did you tell them about your jock itch?”
Before he could answer, a twin pair of headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. Junior’s yellow Porsche raced up behind them and pulled alongside Danny, smack dab in the incoming traffic lane.
“Oh, crap,” he said, because that was just what the night needed—Junior chasing Rachel down or looking for a fight.
Eric belched. “Looks like he found his keys.”
Junior rolled down his window and yelled. “Hey, Rachel! Come on! Don’t go away mad!”
Rachel refused to look over at him. She said, “Just ignore him. He’ll go away.”
“I think he wants to race,” Eric said. “Floor it!”
“No.” Danny rolled down his window. “Junior, go home!”
“I want Rachel!” Junior yelled.
Danny kept going down Turkey Hill. The road was straight and long. Junior’s Porsche kept pace as he beeped and yelled. Danny went faster.
“You’re going to kill us,” Laura said, bracing herself.
“Don’t kill my car,” Eric said.
Danny protested, “I’m not the one doing anything!”
