“Ice cream sounds really good right about now, doesn’t it?”
An image of Mark licking his way around an ice cream cone flashed in Lucas’s mind. Lucas wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts.
Reminding himself to keep his eyes open, he watched Mark hit the ball to him one last time. It slapped against his hand, but as he attempted to close his fingers around it, it bounced back and hit the court with a thud.
Lucas blinked back tears as he scrambled to collect the tennis balls, tokens of shame littering the court. He returned to Mark and his dad with his head down.
“No worries, buddy,” Mark said. “If you want to be good at something—anything at all—it takes perseverance. You take a licking, you get right back up and try again. Remember that.”
Lucas nodded as Mark peeled off his wet T-shirt. Lucas watched out of the corner of his eye as Mark wiped his chest and armpits with the balled-up shirt. He tossed it over by his bag, where it ricocheted and flopped to the ground.
“See that?” Mark said.
Lucas blushed, realizing he’d been caught staring.
“Even I’m not perfect.” Mark peeled off his armbands and turned to face Lucas. “Now hold ’em up.”
Lucas felt his heart thump. Was this half-naked man really going to slip his sweaty armbands around Lucas’s wrists? He turned to look at his dad, who stood behind him, but his dad just shrugged and said, “A deal’s a deal, kiddo.”
Lucas nodded and held out his arms. It must have taken mere seconds, though it felt like an eternity as Lucas forced his hands through the tight, stretchy bands. They were saturated.
Mark tugged and snapped at them until they were properly seated, and Lucas felt a tingling heat spread through his body.
“There ya go,” Mark said. He wrapped his hands around the armbands, then gave them one last squeeze. When Mark let go, Lucas dropped both his arms, and Mark’s eyebrows rose.
Lucas looked down and realized in horror that his arousal was noticeable. He froze. All thought vanished, leaving only fear in its place.
Mark squeezed his shoulder. “Why don’t you go on ahead, buddy? Hit the head before we go.”
Lucas bolted. By the time he reached the bathroom, his not-so-little problem had resolved itself, but he stayed and splashed cold water on his face anyway.
When he met his dad and Mark at the car, he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with either of them. He was worried about what Mark thought of him, but Mark didn’t say anything. He acted as though nothing had happened. When Mark stopped by the next day to say good-bye to the family, Lucas hoped he’d forgotten the whole incident.
Then his dad opened his big mouth. “Lucas? Did you give Mark his armbands back?”
“No worries,” Mark said.
Lucas figured he didn’t want them back after what had happened.
But then Mark reached out and ruffled Lucas’s hair. “You keep ’em,” he said, smiling. Then he winked. “Something to remember me by.”
Lucas did keep them. In fact, he still had them tucked away in a dresser drawer. He now winced at how silly he’d been, sleeping with them under his pillow for those first two weeks.
Ted was the only other person who even knew about that. Not that Ted was a person. Lucas loved him nonetheless. When he was little, Lucas called him Teddy Beddy, because he slept with the bear every night. Over time, as they both grew older, Teddy Beddy became Teddy, and later, just Ted. Now Ted stared back at him blankly.
“I mean, what do Chris Robins and I even have in common?” Lucas said to Ted. “What are we gonna talk about?”
Music. That’s what had brought them together in the first place. It was a start anyway.
“Wish me luck, Ted,” Lucas said on his way out.
AS HE pulled his Honda Civic into a space at the far side of the lot, Lucas glanced at the dashboard clock. He was ten minutes early. He didn’t know what kind of car Chris drove, if he drove at all. There was no way to tell if Chris was already here. Why hadn’t Lucas asked him for his phone number? Lucas wondered if he should wait a few minutes before going inside. If he waited in the car, someone might see him sitting here. That would be awkward. If he went in now and Chris wasn’t there, he’d be standing around. That would be even more awkward. At least in the car he could pretend to be using his phone or listening to the radio. He decided to stay put, using the last few minutes to run through possible topics of conversation one more time: music, movies, books (though he doubted Chris was an avid reader), vacation plans, and if the situation became desperate, he’d stumble through sports talk.
At seven on the dot, he pushed his way through the noisy entrance of Bay Burgers. His stomach growled in response to the smell of hamburgers sizzling on the grill. The jukebox played “Hungry Like the Wolf” by Duran Duran, a song he recognized from childhood. He was familiar with a lot of ’80s music. His mom used to buy sheet music of her favorite albums for Lucas to play.
The restaurant was crowded. It was a popular hangout since it flanked the arcade. Bay’s had open seating, with booths lining the perimeter and tables filling the interior of three separate dining areas. Customers seated themselves, then placed their order at the main counter when ready.
Chris wasn’t waiting at the entrance, so Lucas walked around to see if he was sitting at a table. As Lucas meandered through the dining rooms, he spotted familiar faces. He tried to avoid eye contact, afraid of drawing attention to himself. He hated being recognized in public, especially by kids from school. The last thing he wanted was for Chris to overhear someone taunting him. Chris was nowhere in sight, though. Lucas checked his phone. It was only 7:09. Maybe Chris was running late.
Lucas returned to the front of the restaurant where he ordered a drink. Then he grabbed a seat in the main dining area. He felt awkward sitting alone, so he busied himself with a game of Scrabble on his phone. For someone who so often struggled to find words in conversation, he was surprisingly skilled at word games. He found it difficult to concentrate on Scrabble tonight, though. His gaze drifted toward the entrance every few seconds.
He was adept at tuning out background noise, especially when he had a lot on his mind, so the nearby conversations barely registered in his ears. Not until he heard the shrill cry of “Cyndi Lauper!” followed by an eruption of laughter. He glanced toward the source of the ruckus and identified six kids he knew from school. They were squeezed into a neighboring booth, from which they were looking in his direction, pointing and laughing. He felt his face flush and glanced toward the entrance, hoping Chris hadn’t walked in just then.
He’d known that outburst in his music class would come back to haunt him the minute it had escaped his lips.
He told himself to ignore them. He was pretty sure the kids in the booth were friends with Chris, though, and it made him wonder if they would’ve done it had Chris been sitting with him. Lucas played out the scenario in his mind, imagining Chris would stick up for him. He’d tell them all to fuck off. He’d tell them how he’d heard Lucas play earlier that day. He’d tell them how amazing Lucas was.
Who was he kidding? Chris would have laughed along with them. Lucas supposed he deserved it. He had squealed, after all, which was a girly thing to do. Even so, he was tired of being the butt of everyone’s jokes.
His phone now showed 7:25. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Chris wasn’t going to show. Chris had stood him up. Maybe his other friend had changed his mind and they’d gone to the arcade together after all. Maybe he’d gotten in trouble at home, and his parents wouldn’t let him go out. Maybe he was sick. God forbid, maybe he was in an accident. Lucas knew he was being ridiculous again, but he clung to the hope that wherever Chris was, he was sorry he’d missed their date.
BY THE time he got home, Lucas had worked himself into a frantic state. What should he do at school on Monday if he saw Chris? Should he ask him what happened? Should he act pissed and wait for Chris to apologize? Or should he pretend it hadn’t fazed hi
m at all? One thing he was fairly sure of was that Chris wasn’t sitting around obsessing over the events of the night the way Lucas was.
As Lucas climbed the stairs to his room, his phone vibrated in his pocket. His first thought was that maybe Chris had somehow gotten his number and was calling to apologize. But when he looked at the screen, he froze midstep. It was a Facebook notification.
Chris Robins has tagged you in 2 photos.
Lucas’s heart raced. When had Chris taken his picture? His phone vibrated again.
Jessica Thomas has commented on a photo of you.
Another buzz.
Chris Robins has commented on a photo of you.
Andrew Brooke has commented on a photo of you.
This couldn’t be good. Jessica and Andrew had been sitting in that booth at Bay’s.
With trembling fingers, Lucas booted his laptop and logged into his Facebook account. By the time he clicked on the first notification link, his phone had vibrated several times more. Each buzz caused his chest to constrict further. Tears threatened to break as he waited for the screen to load. Please, don’t let it be anything bad.
The link took him to a photo album on Chris’s Facebook wall. The first photo showed Lucas playing piano at the harbor. Lucas let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t a great shot. Several heads obstructed the view of the piano, but Lucas was in the center of the frame, plain as day. Below the photo several comments had been posted.
Jessica Thomas: Cyndi Lauper!
Eight people “liked” the comment.
Chris Robins: Stop picking on Lucy. Girls Just Want To Have Fun!
Lucas choked out a sob. Twelve “likes,” followed by several more comments, all poking fun at him.
He clicked to advance to the next photo, which had also been taken at the harbor. In this one, Chris stood with his friends, the same kids from the booth at Bay’s. He had his arm around Jessica.
How could Lucas have been so stupid?
The next photo had been taken at Bay’s. It showed Lucas sitting alone at a table. The caption: Like a Virgin.
It was too much. Lucas slammed the lid of his laptop shut and pushed it away as tears continued to flow. He curled up on his bed—clothes, shoes, and all.
Why did they hate him so much? What had he ever done to any of them?
After a while, he sat up, wiped his eyes, and kicked off his shoes. He stared at Ted, who even in silence, seemed to offer sympathy. Lucas felt the urge to reach for him. He knew it was childish. He was too old for that kind of stuff. Imagine what Chris would say if he saw Lucas holding a teddy bear. Lucas flipped his pillow over to the dry side and lay back down. He rolled over, turning his back to Ted, and waited for sleep.
Chapter Three
Beautiful Boy
LUCAS was halfway finished with his Lucky Charms when his mom entered the kitchen. His dad stood at the sink, rinsing his coffee mug.
“How is my beautiful boy this morning?” his mom said. She smiled at Lucas as she popped two slices of cinnamon bread in the toaster.
“Fine.”
“Sharon,” his dad warned. “You’re gonna give the boy a complex.”
“Well, he is beautiful.”
“Sharon, I thought we agreed—”
“Fine. How is my ridiculously good-looking boy this morning?”
Lucas chuckled. “I’m fine, Mom.”
He did have a bit of a complex, though. He hated when people used feminine words to describe him. But he knew his mom meant it as a compliment. She always called him her beautiful boy, and coming from her, he liked it.
His dad gave his mom a quick peck and then left for work.
“How’s school?” she said, turning her attention back to Lucas.
“It’s fine.”
It wasn’t fine. It was hell. It had been almost two weeks since the Facebook incident, and people were still humming Cyndi Lauper tunes when he entered a classroom. Chris Robins hadn’t spoken to him, and Andrew called him “Lucy Liu” whenever he passed him in the hall. When he wasn’t being mocked, he was being ignored. There was no middle ground.
But he couldn’t tell his mom about any of that. For one thing, it was humiliating. For another, his mom had a tendency to filter out negativity and put a positive spin on even the most miserable situations. Thermonuclear war couldn’t get that woman down. “It could be worse” was her mantra.
He’d come home from school once with bruises on his left arm. When his mom questioned him about it, he’d admitted to being harassed by a boy at school. The boy had tried to shove Lucas into a locker. His mom’s reply to his teary-eyed confession was, “At least he didn’t hit you.” It was followed by, “If you tried a little harder to make friends, honey, things like this wouldn’t happen.”
She meant well, but her look-on-the-bright-side attitude wasn’t what he wanted or needed. He wanted comfort. Sympathy. Reassurance that he wasn’t a freak. But his mom was more concerned with keeping the peace and avoiding unpleasantries.
When Mason wandered in the kitchen, his mom greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, sweetie.”
Mason grunted and grabbed a box of cereal from the pantry.
“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Lucas said.
Mason failed to acknowledge him, as usual.
“Lucas, would you mind starting dinner tonight?” his mom said. “I have a lot of showings booked this afternoon.” She was a real estate agent and often worked odd hours. Evenings and weekends were her busiest times. “There’s ground turkey in the fridge if you want to make stuffed acorn squash.”
“Eww,” said Mason. “Can’t we just have spaghetti?”
“It’s up to Lucas.”
Mason groaned. “Acorn squash it is.”
“Sure, Mom,” Lucas said. “I’ll make the squash.”
Lucas used to love cooking with his mom. When he was little, she’d let him help stir the pots or mix the ingredients, even if it meant she had to pull out a step stool so he could reach. By the time he was in middle school, he knew how to make most of the dishes in her repertoire. She was in charge of chopping, and he took care of measuring. His mom had a way of making it fun. She turned meal prep into a cooking competition, where they worked in the kitchen side by side. He made one portion, and she made three. She always ate the portion Lucas made, telling him it was the most delicious of all. They didn’t cook together much anymore. His mom was a lot busier these days.
His mom sat at the table with her coffee and toast. “Why aren’t you wearing a costume today?” she said to Mason.
It was spirit week at Providence High. During spirit week, each day was assigned a different theme, and students dressed in costume to show their school spirit. Monday was Toga Day, Tuesday was Wacky Tacky Day, and yesterday was Pajama Day. Mason had dressed up for all three, but today he was wearing his usual shorts and T-shirt.
“Or is it Be Yourself Day?” she teased.
Mason shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”
“What’s the theme today?” she asked.
Mason hesitated, then glanced at Lucas. “Gender Bender Day.”
They finished their breakfast in silence.
GOING to school on a normal day was bad enough, but going to school on a spirit day was unbearable. It was a blatant reminder to Lucas that he didn’t fit in. The athletes dressed up. The cheerleaders, the theater geeks, the band fags—they all dressed up too. Even most of the teachers dressed up. It was ironic; the one time it was socially acceptable to play dress-up, he didn’t dare. He shuddered to think what would’ve happened if he’d shown up to school on Monday wearing a toga.
He remembered how much he loved playing dress-up as a kid. When he was little, his mom would sometimes allow him to wear her jewelry. He’d sit next to her on her vanity bench, inspecting all the wonders laid out before him while she got ready for work. He’d pick things up, one at a time, and say, “Can I try this one, Mommy?”
“No, Lucas,” she’d say. “That’s for girls.”
“How come it’s for girls?” he once asked.
“Because girls like pretty things.”
“I like pretty things.”
“I know, sweetie.”
Lucas had picked up his mom’s pearl bracelet, laying it gently in the palm of his hand. “Pretend I’m a girl, Mommy. Can I try this one?”
“You’re a sweet boy, Lucas. It’s okay to like pretty things.” She helped him slip the bracelet around his wrist. “It’ll be our little secret.”
After that she let him try on her necklaces, bracelets, and rings, but she drew the line at lipstick. “Only mommies wear lipstick,” she insisted. She’d given in once and let him wear some blush. “Now I’m gonna call you ‘happy cheeks’,” she teased.
His eyes watered at the memory of how happy he’d been, sitting next to his mom, brushing his hair with her hairbrush while she powdered her face. Meanwhile, a group of rowdy boys shoved past him in the hallway wearing wigs, gaudy makeup, and dresses.
ALEX readjusted his artificial hair as he walked into last period. The oversized wig was hot and itchy. He couldn’t wait for the day to be over so he could get out of this ridiculous costume. Only fifty-five minutes to go.
He received a few catcalls as he wobbled over to his desk in patent leather heels. Brian Kim reached out and squeezed one of his fake boobs.
“Hey!” Alex said, batting Brian’s hand away. “Hands off, lesbo.”
Brian laughed. “What the hell do you have in there? They’re so jiggly.”
“A girl’s gotta have her secrets,” Alex said, smoothing his hands over both breasts.
“All right, all right, settle down,” Mrs. Jacobs said. She was wearing a man’s suit, several sizes too big, and a paisley necktie. “How about we get a picture before we start class? You guys all look so good. Everyone in costume, come on up front.”
About two-thirds of the class went up for the photo. Mrs. Jacobs waved her hands around, trying to squeeze everyone into the frame. “Closer, closer. Don’t be shy.”
Play Me, I'm Yours [Library Edition] Page 2
