by Jay Bell
* * * * *
As if to prove him wrong about the guest room, Tim’s aunt and her husband came to visit the following week. As aunts went, Emily was all right. She was usually good for a laugh, unlike her stoic brother, but as the 24th of August rolled around, Tim began to worry. Like a rare eclipse, his mother’s obsessive focus on her husband ceased briefly on one special occasion, but his aunt’s visit threatened to ruin that.
As it turned out, he had nothing to fear.
On Tim’s birthday, balloons and streamers invaded the house, turning the perfect décor garish. There was cake and ice cream and only one present—but holy shit—it was a big one! The wrapped gift was no larger than a ring box, and inside was a key. Tim knew what that meant. He was out the front door in seconds, his family close behind.
“Oh, wow!”
The car was sleek and black, its curves designed for minimum wind resistance. The three diamonds on the hood screamed Mitsubishi, and that company made only one sports car this boner-inducing: The 3000GT!
Tim jumped and punched the air. “I can’t fucking believe it!” His mom’s eyes went from bright to flat in the fraction of a second. “Oh, sorry, mom. It’s just so fu- freaking awesome! Thank you!”
“Happy birthday!” Aunt Emily chirped. “We pitched in on the rubber floor mats. They’re a godsend on a muddy day, believe me. Oh, and the air freshener. Ha ha!”
“Just be careful,” his father warned, but his cheeks were flushed, perhaps from the memory of his own first car.
“Thank you so much!” Tim opened the driver’s side door and jumped in. He couldn’t get the key turned quick enough. The engine roared to life with a ferocity that would make a lion piss its furry britches. Tim checked out the dashboard and was about to adjust the seat when he remembered his family standing outside. Finding the right button, the passenger’s side window lowered.
“Wanna go for a ride?” he shouted.
He watched them debate over who would go, surprised when his father got into the car with him. He hadn’t let Tim drive him anywhere since a few basic lessons last year.
“I have an errand to run,” Thomas said.
Tim grinned. “Hold on tight!”
He put the car in gear and hit the gas, the car’s engine more powerful than he was expecting. He nearly ran over some guy who was gawping at him instead of walking his dog. Tim couldn’t blame him. The car was pure sex. He turned the steering wheel before committing involuntary manslaughter, then zoomed down the street and around the corner, laughing with mad power. When he looked over, his father was holding on to the door handle for dear life, complexion even paler than usual.
“Let’s take it easy, son!”
“Sorry.”
Tim brought the speed down before turning on to the main road. This was too cool! Maybe his parents were a little preoccupied most of the time, but they sure knew the right way to compensate.
“Thanks,” he said again. “I honestly wasn’t expecting this.”
“I hope not,” his father said, but added, “A man should have his independence. Turn here. I need to go to my office.”
Tim was dying to gun it, but he didn’t want his dad to regret giving him such a souped-up car. He stayed on his best behavior all the way to the generic office building where his dad’s company was located. The parking lot was empty on the weekend, so he pulled right up to the door. Tim wanted to wait in the car while his father went inside, unwilling to be separated from his gift. Hell, he might even sleep in the backseat tonight! But his father wanted him to come along, so Tim grudgingly killed the engine.
Once inside, they walked past the reception area and a row of cubicles to a hallway where the real offices were. When they reached a door as nondescript as the others, Thomas dug a key from his pocket and handed it to Tim.
“As I said. Independence.”
Tim’s stomach sank. His father was giving him a job. He could see through the window in the door that the room beyond was empty, but he took the key and used it anyway.
“This is more a necessity than a present,” Thomas said.
Tim opened the door and stepped inside, unsure what to say. His father filled the silence for him.
“This was your mother’s idea. I had the carpet taken out so you wouldn’t get paint on it. We can always lay it again when you move out, but try not to get paint on the walls.”
A studio? Tim felt so relieved that he laughed. He wasn’t against getting a job, but he didn’t want to work for his father. “Cool! So I can move all my stuff in?”
“Anytime you want.”
Tim turned in a circle, viewing the space in a new light. “Can I cover up the window in the door? I don’t want people looking at what I’m doing.”
“That would be fine.”
Tim stopped short of asking if he had the only key. He could always go through his father’s keychain sometime and snag any duplicates. Tim was never fond of showing his paintings to other people, and he was planning one that would raise uncomfortable questions if anyone saw it.
“Ready?” Thomas asked.
“Yeah. Thanks. This is really good.”
They talked cars on the way home, conversation coming effortlessly. Once back home, the adults poured drinks and discussed subjects that bored Tim to tears, but this made it easy to slip away.
Loading up his car with painting supplies, and feeling more free than ever, Tim headed toward his new studio. He could hardly wait. There was so much he needed to get out of his head, ideas that hounded him until they were released on canvas. Or in some cases, images that he needed to exorcise for his own well-being.
In the backseat was a canvas with a rough sketch. The dark eyes were apparent, but the shape of the face around them was drawn in light lines hard to see. If someone were to look close enough, they would discover the features were male, even though they shared traits with his ex-girlfriend. Except in the drawing Corey was older, enough so that when he made a pass at Tim, it wouldn’t have felt like his kid brother was hitting on him. Old enough that Tim might have given Corey a different answer.
Chapter Three
Tim shifted in the hard plastic seat and resisted moaning in miserable boredom. Had he really wished for the school year to begin? At the front of class, a thin woman with wiry gray hair read passages from a book. The idea was to entice them, since they were about to read it themselves, but so far nothing much of interest seemed to happen in Holden Caulfield’s life.
The words blurred together, Tim’s mind turning to sex as it always did when he was bored. When his brain checked out and left his body in charge, it only ever wanted a few basic things. This class was almost over, and getting hard now would be inconvenient when the bell rang, so Tim tried to find something else to occupy his attention.
He covertly eyed the other students. The guys didn’t look so different from those back in Kansas, except for a handful who dressed like cowboys. The hats weren’t there, at least not in class, but the picnic-patterned shirts and massive belt buckles were. Girls in Texas favored more makeup and often wore their hair up. Literally. Hairspray must be in constant short supply here because a lot of the hairdos—especially the bangs—were sculpted to defy gravity.
Tim felt someone watching him and caught them in the act. A girl, and a pretty one at that. She had a little of the heavy makeup and sprayed hair, but it worked for her. Ramrod thin with pale blonde hair, she wore an open expression that made her appear timid, like a woodland creature. Their eyes still locked, Tim gave a tentative smile. She smiled back, adorable as a doe.
Beyond her was a bear, a hulking package of muscle squeezed into his desk chair. The guy looked like he belonged in college, maybe as a linebacker on the football team. He seemed annoyed at the exchange Tim and Little Miss Doe had shared. The guy had blond hair and green eyes too—not the same shade as the girl’s, but he could be her brother. Or boyfriend, since they didn’t share any family resemblance. Tim returned his attention to the teacher, kee
ping his eyes averted even when the bell rang and he left the class.
Time for lunch. Tim strolled around the cafeteria, checking out the vending machines full of sugar-free drinks. He got a lemonade, and though he was hungry, he didn’t line up for food, not wanting to be the pathetic new guy sitting alone at a table. Making new friends was more daunting than he’d expected. In Kansas he’d been around the same people all his life and knew who everyone was, even if he never interacted with them. And he had been popular. Here, he was a nobody.
But that anonymity was what he wanted. Tomorrow he would swallow his pride and sit alone, but today he went outside and walked around the school, enjoying the weather. When the bell rang, he went back in for his other classes. In U.S. History, the teacher didn’t seem interested in starting the year quite yet and let them “get settled,” as he put it. This meant everyone could talk. Tim had a conversation with a girl who was nice enough, but her cheeks kept flushing like they were on a first date or something. They didn’t have much in common.
When the school day finally ended, he was eager to get to his car and head home. The new house was close enough that he could make the trip a long walk or a short jog, but today Tim had driven. He wanted to make a good first impression, and this didn’t go unnoticed.
“Nice car.”
Tim turned, his hand on the Mitsubishi’s door handle. The guy eyeing his car like it was a naked woman was stocky, bordering on chubby. But his clothes were all designer-label, and his hair might have been highlighted, since it was darker underneath than on top. One thing was for sure: No common barber had ever touched those locks.
“Thanks. Just got it for my birthday.”
“Sixteen?” the guy asked.
“Seventeen.”
“Ah. Well, that’s what I got for my sixteenth.”
The guy pointed to a cherry-red Porsche. Several people were gathered around it, most of them watching Tim and the guy talking. Little Miss Doe was there, as was her huge companion and a number of other beautiful people. High school royalty. Farther away was their court, the people not quite in their inner circle but desperate to be.
“You new here?”
“Yeah. Just moved down this summer.” He held out his hand, giving the other guy a firm grip. “Tim Wyman.”
“Darryl Briscott. Hey, we’re having a party to help wipe today from our minds. You want to come?”
Tim nodded. “When and where?”
Darryl’s smile was smug. “My place, right now.”
Before they went anywhere, Darryl walked Tim over to the group for a round of introductions. His woodland creature was Krista Norman, the tower of muscles Bryce Hunter. Definitely not brother and sister then. The other names and faces Tim would have to catch on the sly because he had already forgotten most of them.
He followed Darryl’s Porsche to a neighborhood that made his own look destitute. A lot of his friends in Kansas were rich, so his mind wasn’t blown, but for the first time in his life he wondered if he was going to make the cut. This invitation was obviously the beginning of an interview. Tim had the looks and he had the car, but there were still plenty of ways to fall out of grace, as he had learned back home.
Three other cars were in their convoy, and once parked, Darryl’s driveway looked like a sports car showroom. The inside of the house was spacious. Rich homes either had a ton of rooms or scaled-up versions of the normal amount. Darryl’s home was of the latter variety. Every room was like a cathedral, the ceilings so high they could have easily supported an additional floor halfway up.
“This way, my man,” Darryl said.
He led Tim through the house to a room that nearly made his jaw drop. He supposed it wasn’t so different from his father’s den, but taken to a whole new level. Instead of a big-screen television, the room had a movie screen and a projector built into opposite walls. Beneath the projector was a long L-shaped couch that could seat at least ten.
Instead of a mere wet bar, the far wall looked like it had been stolen from a British pub and teleported to Texas. Set against a giant mirror were shelves and shelves of liquor bottles, all lit tastefully from below.
In front of this was an ebony bar with brass accents and half a dozen empty stools. Tim happily plopped down on one. Darryl played bartender, switching on some music as everyone got settled. Then he turned to Tim and asked a question that sent his mouth watering.
“What’ll it be?”
“A beer.”
“A beer man, very good.” Except Darryl didn’t open a fridge and pull out a bottle. Instead he grabbed a mug, held it tilted under a nozzle, and pulled a handle. Tim died and went to heaven. They actually had beer on tap! In their home! He needed to have a serious talk with his dad. Of course his father wouldn’t be cool about it, even as a joke.
Darryl set the glass on the bar, but it was only two-thirds full. “Beer isn’t very strong, especially for the first day of school. Ever had a depth-charge?”
Tim shook his head. Darryl grinned and grabbed a bottle of whiskey. He filled a shot glass full before dropping it straight into the beer mug. The beer fizzed and foamed, but didn’t overflow. Pushing the mug toward him, Darryl started taking other orders. He certainly knew his stuff. He whipped up everything from cocktails to daiquiris, always knowing a way of making the requested drink stronger. No wonder he was popular!
“What do you think?” he asked, nodding toward Tim’s beer.
The foam had died down enough for Tim to take a sip. It tasted like someone had pissed in his beer, but he nodded appreciatively and lied. “Fucking delicious!”
Darryl was having the same and clinked mugs with Tim before nodding to the room. “Looks like you have a fan.”
Tim turned around. A dozen other people were there, but he only remembered the names of two. Doe-eyed Krista Norman was staring at him, but laughed and looked at her friend like she hadn’t been. And that friend of hers was something else! Krista was pretty, but the brunette next to her was beautiful. Dangerous too, judging from the power Tim felt behind her gaze. Unlike Krista, the brunette offered no bashful flirtation. Instead she sized him up in seconds and looked away again. Tim, feeling a little uncomfortable, did the same. He spun back around in the stool, catching a hulking giant glaring at him as he did so.
“A fan, huh?” Tim said. “You mean Bryce?”
Darryl guffawed. “Don’t worry about him. Not only is he big as an ox, but he plays like one too.”
“Football?”
“That, and women.” Darryl gestured to the room with his mug. “He thinks all these cows belong to him.”
Charming.
“The problem is,” Darryl continued, “everyone here has dated everyone else. Some of us have a harder time letting go, is all.”
“So you talking to me is making Bryce jealous?”
Darryl laughed again. “He’s nothing to worry about. He’s with Stacy Shelly now, and believe me, she’s the kind of girl who keeps you in line.”
“The brunette?” Tim asked as if disinterested.
“Yeah. That’s Krista’s best friend. Speaking of which—” He nodded over Tim’s shoulder. “What do you think?”
“Krista? I think she’s hot.”
“So do I, but no one ever gets anywhere with her. She’s a prude.”
“Or maybe none of you guys have the right moves.” Banter. It was so damn easy.
A cocky smile spread over Darryl’s face. “All right. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
They went to join the others on the couch, Darryl telling people to move over, making room for Tim to sit next to Krista. When Tim put his mug on the long coffee table, he noticed it was more than half-empty. That explained the warm feeling inside.
“Hey,” Tim said, focusing on Krista. She turned bright red, like he had asked to see her panties.
“Hi,” she managed.
Stacy leaned forward on the couch to get a better view of him. “So, Mr. Tim Wyman, where exactly are you from?”
&
nbsp; Tim managed to meet her gaze, but only just. “Kansas.” He could see her tallying the points in her head. Had he been from somewhere cool, say California, he would have earned more.
“Trying out for any of the teams?” she asked next.
“Yeah. Not sure which, though.”
“How about football?” Bryce said.
Right. Like Tim was looking forward to getting crushed beneath him during practice. Tim had given football a shot in freshmen year and hated it. People in Kansas were fanatics about high school football, especially the teachers. While it was an easy way to get good grades—since failing meant the team lost a player—Tim hated the intense pressure. Basketball was out too, since being six feet tall didn’t amount to much on the court. That left cross country in the fall, which they probably wouldn’t care about, but in the spring…
“I’m thinking about baseball,” he said.
“Wait, there’s a baseball team?” Darryl said sarcastically.
Stacy played off this, sounding bored. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard of one.”
“Trust me,” Tim said, looking her in the eye. “When I’m on the team, it’s all you’ll ever hear about.”
Most people chuckled at his joke, but Stacy’s eyes lit up with scored points. Darryl hopped up to get more drinks, and the rest of the party was much more relaxed. Tim was in. For now. They would never stop watching and judging him, but that was high school. The wine flowed like wine, and so did the depth-charged beers. Considering he had skipped lunch, every beer felt like two, maybe four including the whiskey. Soon enough, Tim had his arm around Krista, and she was either flushing or giggling in response to everything he said.
At some point Darryl’s parents were mentioned, which was the alarm that sent everyone scurrying for their cars. Tim knew he shouldn’t drive, but he couldn’t crash at Darryl’s place. The streets were a distorted blur, and he managed to get lost a few times, but an army of exhausted guardian angels guided him home safely. The last of them helped him up the stairs and to his bathroom. Tim barely managed to get the toilet seat up before he puked his guts out.
