Boys Don't Cry

by Jennifer Melzer

  He’s got his head tilted back as we walk, studying the interior of the house as if he’s always wondered what it looked like inside. If it lives up to his expectations, I can’t tell. He’s ducking his head around to look up the stairs, peering through the long hallway that leads to the dining room. Thank god we at least got rid of the smell, or at least I hope we did. My guts clench nervously as I wonder if maybe my senses have just become so accustomed to the odor I’m oblivious to it.

  I need to stop. I really do. He’s distracted by our surroundings, which is kind of nice. By the time I convince myself to stop worrying about how our house smells, I realize his observational silence gives me a chance to find the inner-peace I promise myself I am going to enjoy during this date…or outing… or whatever it is we are doing together.

  By the time we step into the parlor to find my entire family sitting together on the couch grinning like it’s picture day at Sears, I’ve managed to calm myself enough that my voice doesn’t shake when I clear my throat and say, “Mom, Dad, this is Nate.”

  Gwen holds her fingers out and shrieks, “Cookie!”

  Nate bows at the waist for Gwen’s benefit, genuinely smiling as he remarks, “It’s lovely to see you again, Your Majesty.”

  “Nate works at the grocery store,” I explain when I realize my parents are giving each other that weird look. “I ran into him the other day when Gwen had an epic meltdown. He gave her a cookie so she’d chill out.”

  “That was very sweet of you, Nate.” Mom beams over at him, and I can tell she’s already convinced he’s some kind of saint. Dad, on the other hand, will need a bit more evidence before he makes a solid decision.

  “Taliesin tells us you live across the street.”

  I hope Nate doesn’t catch me rolling my eyes at Dad for using my full name, but from the sound of his audible gulp I realize he’s probably more nervous than I am. “Yes, sir.”

  “Great, and now that we’ve seen you I’ll know how to describe you to the police if my daughter goes missing.”

  “Dad!”

  I expect his eyes to widen, wait for all the telltale signs of a man about to jump ship to appear, but his face remains placid, even as the corner of his mouth twitches with amusement. “I’ll bring her home safe and sound, sir. You have my word. Does the lady have a curfew?”

  “Sunup,” I shrug before either one of my parents can interject with some absurd time to embarrass me.

  “And sober,” Dad adds.

  So close, I think. So very, very close.

  “That won’t be a problem, sir. I don’t drink.”

  That’s sort of a relief, and I feel myself relax a little. There won’t be any awkward and uncomfortable excuses for me to leave because he’s wasted. Off to a good start. Unless he’s just saying that for Dad’s benefit. I glance sidelong at him and can’t tell.

  “Excellent. Have fun then. And don’t forget,” he pauses for emphasis, then says, “I know where you live.”

  It’s not until we’re outside, the door firmly closed behind us, that I feel almost like I can breathe again. I don’t even realize I’m holding my breath until I let it out and my lungs ache as they rejoice.

  “Sorry about that,” I mutter, following him down the steps and onto the sidewalk.

  “About what?”

  “My family. They’re a bit much, I know.”

  “Nah, they’re cool. Just looking out for you. I respect that.”

  I follow him across the street and he gestures toward the teal Geo Metro that’s definitely older than we are. Sliding into the passenger seat and pulling the door closed, the inside smells like vanilla, and body wash, and fabric softener and I’ve taken at least three breaths before I realize I really need to stop sniffing things and committing them to memory. It’s probably really weird to other people, but I can’t help it. He smells really good.

  “How far is it to the river?”

  “About fifteen miles.”

  I reach back and grab the seatbelt, pulling it over my lap and clicking it into place as he starts the car. He glances into his mirrors before turning over his shoulder to make sure we’re clear, and then he pulls out onto the street. We’re quiet—again, totally not like me at all. Usually I don’t stop talking long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise. Even with people I don’t know. But something about Nate makes me so anxious it’s hard to find my voice, and some part of me is nervous I’m going to say the stupidest things on the planet.

  Things like, “I’ve heard you playing your guitar.”

  Yeah… I just said that. Out loud.

  “Oh yeah?” He doesn’t exactly sound surprised.

  “Yeah. You’re really good.”

  Yep, said that too. My God, my ears are probably lollipop red, and my face feels so hot I think I might need to jump in the river when we get there just to wash the shame away.

  Making conversation isn’t this hard. And I don’t really think what I’ve said is all that bad, but come on. I can do better than this.

  “How long have you been playing?”

  “I picked it up when I was in junior high.”

  “Are you in a band?”

  “No.” He clears his throat and I watch from the corner of my eyes as he glances up into the mirror before returning his gaze to the road. “I mostly just play for myself, you know? It keeps me… centered.”

  “Video games do that for me.”

  I wait for the reaction that usually comes when I say something like that. Incredulous disbelief, scoffing laughter, the hidden eye roll, but nothing in his expression changes, not even when he asks, “You ever play Heart of the Dragon Online?”

  Okay, I know it’s a bit soon for declarations of love, but he can’t possibly know how easily he just won my heart with that question. Unless he’s been spying on me too, but without an Internet connection I haven’t exactly been playing, so that’s out of the question. Either way, I’m in my element now and all the tension I built up around this outing bleeds away.

  “Shepard’s Flock,” I inform him almost haughtily. “Guild master and co-founder.”

  “You’re Commander Bard?”

  How weird is it that he already knows me in some capacity? My online moniker precedes me, and while that should be a little disconcerting, I almost feel less self-conscious about stalking him while he plays guitar on the front porch. Almost.

  “In the flesh.”

  “No shit?” he balks, intrigue turning those dark blue eyes across the front seat of the car. “Defenders of D’artagnan. Second Commander BlackSunMerc. Do you know how many times I’ve cursed your name, Commander Bard? And I’m… wow. Suddenly I feel really sorry about the things I said about your mom.”

  I’m flattered, sincerely, and the boost in my confidence makes it so much easier to relax. “Wow, really? You said bad things about my mom?”

  My brow furrows because seriously? What are the odds? I know the Defenders of D’artagnan—well—and the name BlackSunMerc is definitely familiar. That guild is pretty much my arch-nemesis, complete with shit-talking at every encounter and threats to have each other thrown off the server because we know real competition when we see it.

  “I think you might need to stop the car and let me out.”

  For a second Nate can’t tell if I’m serious. I’m not looking at him, but I feel his eyes on me so I slap on a playful grin and turn in my seat.

  “For the integrity of my guild. If they ever found out I was in a car with you…”

  “I think I’ll hold you ransom instead,” he chuckles, the mirthful sound enough to assuage the nervousness that plagued my life all day long. “We have been trying to pass you guys in the leaderboard for months. It wasn’t until last week—”

  “Seriously?” I moan. “How far have we fallen?” Malik’s texts have been nervous, but I had no idea.

  “Uh… seven, as of this morning?”

  “Seven? Are you shitting me? We sat in the number five slot for over a year, ever since
last summer’s Guild Wars. Damn it! I need to get my Internet back up and running, whip those bastards back into shape before July.”

  He’s laughing, genuine amusement, and even though I’m raging just a little bit on the inside the sound is uplifting and I’m laughing too. I had a lot of friends in Austin, but not many who understood my passion for the game.

  “How cool is this? I’ve got Commander Bard in my passenger’s seat. What are the chances?”

  “I know, right? That’s so…weird. Like we already know and hate each other? Maybe this was a bad idea?”

  “A bad idea?” he snorts. “I’ll be a legend when Jekyll hears about this. BlackSunMerc: the guy who took Commander Bard out on a date and widdled all of her secrets out of her.”

  It’s the first time he calls this a date, but I try not to lose my head over it. Throwing back my head, I laugh. “Ha! You’ll get nothing outta me.”

  Pulling up to rest at the red light, I glance across the car at him again and wonder how many times we’ve faced off online. If he’s ever tested any of the mods I’ve created. If he thinks they’re any good.

  “Your accent,” he starts, “it’s almost southern. Where’d you come from?”

  “Austin before here”

  “Ah,” he nods and then with an exaggerated southern twang says, “deep in the heart of Texas.”

  “We lived in Maine before that.”

  “You move around a lot?”

  “Every few years. My dad has this thing for busted up old houses.”

  “Huh.”

  Suddenly we have plenty to talk about, and I think whatever this is, a date or two new friends hanging out and getting to know each other, we’re off to a beautiful start.

  NINE

  It takes about twenty-five minutes to drive fifteen miles, not that I was counting down the seconds out of boredom, or anything. The ride is easy, much easier than I thought it might be, considering my sudden personality shift to the dreadfully shy and awkward. We chat about game mods, special mounts, guild politics and rumors about the upcoming expansions DigiSaurus is releasing in August.

  In that twenty-five minutes I more or less fall in love with the sound of his voice, which is deep and thoughtful, almost casual, even when he gets excited about something. We achieve thoughtful, amicable silence right around the time he begins navigating a dusty road full of muddy gouges and pot holes that threaten to tear the undercarriage right off his little hatchback.

  I’m kind of glad I didn’t eat a lot at dinner—thank you, nervous stomach—because too much more of this and I’ll probably barf.

  We drive by dozens of riverside camp sites, tents, pop-up campers and RVs overlooking the swiftly rolling Susquehanna below. Campfire glow lines the bank, filling the moist air with wood smoke and the smell of cooking meat. Nate drives courteously through, passing them and heading deeper through a shaded canopy of thick trees. On the other side of that little tunnel there are more campers and he pulls into a sandy lot to park between a Honda motorcycle and a Ford pickup truck.

  “Good, they’re already here,” he notices, leaning back in the seat and resting his hands on the steering wheel. I study the tattoo on his right forearm, seeing it clearly for the first time. They are words in elegant, flowing script, and when I tilt my head to look at them as the muscles tighten with his grip, I see the Latin word: Facta, but then he drops his arm into his lap so it’s the only one I can see. The engine is still running, and he takes a deep breath, as if he’s trying to convince himself to get out of the car, but it’s not really working.

  Through the open windows I hear a shout echo out to meet us, a guy bellowing, “Nathaniel Thorne! Come on down!”

  The corner of Nate’s mouth tightens, pinching almost painfully, and then he reaches in to turn off the car and drag the key out of the ignition. He pulls more air into his lungs, glancing across the car at me as he exhales, the loose strands of his hair catching in his breath.

  During the ride over, I forgot about the infinite sadness I noticed in him the very first time I saw him, the sorrow that infiltrates every one of the songs I spy upon from my bedroom window, but there it is in his eyes as he looks at me, and I wish there was something I could say to make it go away.

  Then he blinks, offers me a small smile and says, “These people are loud, obnoxious and they don’t know the meaning of the word boundary at all. Gretchen is a total bitch, and she pretty much hates me, and Cody’s hands can’t be trusted, so if at any time anyone makes you feel unwelcome or uncomfortable, just say the word and I’ll get us out of here faster than you can say help.”

  I wonder why he would purposely come and hang out with people he doesn’t want to really hang out with, but I don’t ask. He must have reasons. The thing is, I’m not nervous about meeting his friends, which probably seems weird. Ninety-nine percent of this new perspective on anxiety I seem to have developed revolves around Nate. Everyone else will be cake.

  “Got it.”

  “Cool, let’s go.”

  We both get out, and he waits for me at the front of the car while my flip-flops slip through damp, sandy earth when I walk. Falling into step beside him, I look up just in time to see a tall blond guy with shoulders like a linebacker taking long strides to meet up with us on the road. He looks like he just walked out of a soap opera, his gold locks cropped close, save for a forelock in the front that bounces with every step. He’s built and tan, and when he grins his teeth are absolutely perfect.

  Nate stops before crossing to allow a truck to pass slowly by, and by the time it’s gone the linebacker is upon us, his long arms sweeping around the guy beside me and lifting him off the ground to spin him around obnoxiously.

  “Dude, I barely even recognize you!” Dropping Nate back onto his feet, he remarks, “I told Gretchen you would come. She didn’t believe me. Gretch, you owe me ten dollars!” he hollers over his shoulder.

  I don’t take my eyes off Nate, who looks as though it’s taking everything he has inside him not to turn and run back to the car, and I wonder what that’s all about. He said these were his friends, so why is he so eager to get away from them?

  It’s this moment when Mr. Built-in Shoulder Pads notices me standing there, his carefully sculpted blond eyebrows rising curiously as he asks, “And who’s this lovely little morsel?”

  Nate swallows before introducing me. “This is Tali. Her family just moved in across the street.”

  “No shit! In the witch house?”

  “I haven’t seen any witches,” I assure him, extending a hand in greeting before adding, “no ghosts either, but my little brother swears there’s a black cat ghost that watches him brush his teeth every night before bed. I think he’s full of crap, though.”

  “Bummer.” He takes my hand, squeezing it like I’m some delicate little porcelain doll that’ll probably break if he shakes it properly. His green eyes survey me, a disconcerting hunger rising to the surface right before he lifts the back of my hand to his lips and presses them softly to my skin.

  “Tali, this is Cody Reynolds.”

  “Well, well, what have we here?” A girl in cut off shorts and a bikini top marches toward our gathering. She’s shading her eyes against the late sun burning just behind us, squinting through her sunglasses to make us out, and as she comes into view I imagine she must be Cody’s girlfriend. Couples like that are so obvious, with their pretty faces and perfect teeth and manicured nails. “Nate Thorne plus one?” She seems shocked by this, and that makes her pick up the pace. Within seconds she’s standing beside Cody, leaning against him possessively and tipping her shades up to rest on her forehead so she can inspect us both. Her eyes are dangerous, her face impassive as she scrutinizes me until Nate introduces us.

  “Gretchen, this is Tali. Tali, Gretchen.”

  Gretchen’s got the most beautiful red hair I’ve ever seen, an asymmetrical bob that clings to her freckled, heart-shaped face. Pale blue eyes peer back at me, roving over me as if I’m up for inspection, o
r maybe a candidate for assassination.

  “Nice to meet you,” I nod, offering her my hand.

  She just looks at it for a few seconds and then accepts it, but I can tell by the slackness of her fingers she’d rather not. I notice she’s giving Nate these weird little looks, like she’s using ESP to poke him for some kind of explanation, and when he doesn’t respond she starts sending mental daggers that make me shift uncomfortably beside him.

  “Mom and Frank just left, so we have the lot to ourselves for the night,” Cody explains. “You guys want something to drink?”

  “Just water for me.” Nate tosses me an uneasy smile as we begin walking toward the lot behind Cody and Gretchen.

  “Me too.”

  “Lightweights,” Cody laughs. “The night is young and the time for Red Bull is now.”

  “Whoa there, big guy,” Nate holds up a hand, “let’s not get crazy.”

  The sound of their amusement is light, Cody reaching back to gather his arm around Nate’s neck to draw him forward as if they’re the only two people in the world. “Do you have any idea at all how much I missed you, you piece of shit.”

  I find it a little refreshing that he’s pushing Red Bull on us, rather than beer, but realize the night, as he said, is still young. When he yanks open the lid of the cooler beside the camper, a sea of brown and green bottlenecks clank through the melting ice. He drags out two dripping water bottles and tosses them both to Nate, water sluicing out to speck my legs and tank top when he catches them. He wipes the condensation on his t-shirt before handing me a bottle, and then we join Gretchen and Cody around an already blazing fire pit. There’s an iPod docked in a speaker station on the plastic table beside the camper, hits of the nineties spilling into the air.

  “Sean and Hunter will be here after Sean gets off work,” Cody tells Nate. “And Syd’ll probably bring Kayla and Lauren over later.”

  “Then it’ll get loud,” Nate laughs before tipping his water bottle to his lips and taking a sip.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gretchen glares at him before turning her eyes to me. She’s slouched in her lawn chair, her fingernail absently pulling across the tab on her diet soda and making loud clangs every time she pops it loose. Her scrutiny makes me uncomfortable, and there’s a moment I actually consider leaning over and whispering the word ‘help’ into Nate’s ear, but then she smiles and declares, “I love your hair, Tali. I always want to do something like that, but my mom would flip out. She thinks I won’t be able to get a job looking like some kind of freak.”