Don't Read in the Closet volume one

by Various Authors

  “Dude, just get in. It’s brutal out here. You can worry about stabbing me in my sleep another day.”

  “You’re the violent one,” I grumbled. He didn’t answer. I chose to take my chances with Brooklyn, though, and tossed my bike in the back of his truck before I climbed into a cab that was on its way to being blissfully air-conditioned. He was messing with the dials on his stereo. Soon, the distinct guitar style of one of my favorite alternative bands was pouring through the speakers.

  “What? No Taylor Swift? Brooks and Dunn?”

  Brooklyn shuddered. “Naw, man, I’m not into that stuff. Besides, that Swift chick—she’s a Yankee.” I looked over at him. He was grinning. Oh my God. Brooklyn Thorn is teasing me… not torturing but honest to god teasing.

  I smiled back hesitantly. “Can’t trust us Yanks, can ya?”

  “Yeah, you’re all trouble.”

  We rode in silence after that, but it wasn’t horrible and awkward, neither one of us glared or plotted, just listened to the music until he pulled up in front of my house. I didn’t ask how he knew where I lived. It was a small town, and I was still the new kid even after all the years I’d been there.

  “Hey, you know… good luck next year, wherever you are.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  It was weird as hell. He’d actually been nice and I’d been kinda nice back. I had no idea what alternate world I’d entered where we could both be grown-ups with each other. It was a bit disconcerting. I reached into his truck bed and pulled out my bike. I waved goodbye as I wheeled it down the sidewalk and into the shed where I kept it.

  Salvatore had hired both of us to work nights, stocking, pricing and doing inventory. Wouldn’t you know? Me and Brooklyn Thorn stuck together again. What a shock. Mister Salvatore said he needed someone who was good at cataloguing and calculating inventory and someone to be the brawn to lift boxes.

  I shook my head as I hung up the phone, irritated by those categories on both our behalves.

  I wondered if Brooklyn ever got tired of being categorized as brainless muscle outside of school. I knew I got sick of being cast in the opposite role. I almost told the grocery store manager that Brooklyn was actually pretty good at math—he’d gotten a better grade in calculus than I had, which still kind of irritated me. But that might have been talking myself out of a job and my only excuse for getting out of the house. There was no way I was going to do that, injustice or not.

  All I could think about was the smile he’d given me as I shut the door of his truck earlier. It changed his face completely. Maybe it was time we tried to get along with each other. We’d kind of have to anyway. I could just picture the carnage if we got up to our old stuff, rolling around and punching among jars of spaghetti sauce and cartons of milk. It would be a disaster.

  The next night I showed up for work a few hours after dinner. I’d tried to take a nap in the afternoon, but my body was still wide-awake so I made myself a giant pot of coffee and hoped that it would last until we got off early in the morning. Brooklyn was waiting when I got there, sipping nervously at his own iced coffee courtesy of the one coffee drive-through in town.

  “Hey, Yank. Looks like it’s you and me again, huh?”

  He didn’t seem to be hostile so I gave him a small smile. “As usual,” I answered.

  “Do you think we can manage to last the summer without hitting each other?”

  He looked kind of concerned so I laughed. “I think so.”

  It felt kind of strange but for the first time since we’d met, I didn’t look at Brooklyn and see the biggest asshole in the universe. I just saw a regular guy and it was kind of a relief.

  We waited in congenial silence for Mister Salvatore’s night manager to come back and start our training for the first night. When he did show, he had a long list of chores for us: lifting, hauling, stocking the shelves, using the thrilling price sticker gun to put tags on all sorts of items. It was exhausting and the coffee started to wear off after a few hours—probably right around the same time as the exciting newness of the job did.

  We worked quietly that night, taking in everything that Jesus, the night manager said. I didn’t have enough time, or energy, to worry about whether or not Brooklyn and I could get along. I was definitely ready to go by the time he handed us our schedules for the next two weeks and let us go.

  The sun wasn’t quite up, but it would be soon. I was hoping to get home before then so I’d have a decent chance of falling asleep. Of course I was so tired that it might happen pretty easily anyway. Brooklyn simply took my bike, after I unlocked it, and loaded it into the bed of his truck. I hadn’t really wanted to peddle the whole way home anyway, even if the early morning was the nicest part of the day, so I tiredly climbed into the cab of Brooklyn’s truck and laid my head back against the seat.

  “Long night, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I couldn’t help sighing. Hopefully it wouldn’t take long to get used to my new sleeping schedule.

  We were quiet again until my street. He turned on his music quietly, just to a level that it would be pleasant in the background. I nearly fell asleep in the truck, with the windows down and the dawn breeze floating over me, but I managed to peel myself up and grab my bike when the truck rolled to a stop. A wave and a ‘see ya tonight’ were all I had the energy for before I locked my bike in the shed and went inside to pass out.

  ****

  “Hey, Dal, you got the Heinz over there?”

  I checked the boxes that were surrounding me and saw the ketchup bottles, red and squished into a box in square military precision.

  “Yeah, I got it,” I called back. “Two boxes.”

  “Sweet! I’ve been looking for that. Can I have it?”

  I scooted the two boxes of ketchup bottles over to where Brooklyn was busily checking inventory. We’d gotten into a comfortable routine the past week. We worked, mostly in quiet, but with more and more comments every night—some regarding work but other times they were random. We never brought up the subject of how we’d hated each other for nearly ten years. It would’ve made everything awkward when it was actually going pretty well between us for the first time ever.

  Brooklyn chuckled to himself when he started counting ketchup bottles.

  “What?” I asked. I was always a bit worried that he was still laughing at me.

  “Oh, this one time, back when my mom was still at home, I dropped a full bottle of ketchup on the kitchen floor and that shit splattered everywhere. My mom tried to be pissed but we both ended up laughing forever. I swear we were cleaning ketchup out of little cracks and crevices for weeks.”

  His smile was huge and engaging. I couldn’t help but catch my breath. The last thing I needed was to notice that the guy who’d been my nemesis and sparring partner for more than half of my life was, well, hot. I tried to smile back casually and act like the world as I knew it hadn’t just been dumped on its head.

  “Um, your mom is gone?” Good work, dork. Bring up something painful.

  “Yeah. She left when we were in eighth grade.”

  Come to think of it, he’d been quieter than usual that year. I’d noticed it since, of course, we were in all the same classes like we’d been the two years before.

  “I, uh, think my mom is about to fly the coop too. Her and my dad are in the middle of getting divorced and it’s getting more awkward and painful by the day.”

  “Sorry, dude, that sucks.”

  I shrugged. “I’m kind of over it. They’ve been fighting for years. I just want her to be happy, you know? My dad is kind of a douche—you were right all those years ago.” Brooklyn smiled sympathetically. “Besides, I’ll be out of here at the end of the summer anyway.”

  Brooklyn nodded in exaggerated agreement. “Me too. I can’t fuckin’ wait.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “Baylor. I liked their sports medicine program.”

  I choked. “You’re going to Baylor?” I looked up cautiously from where I’d been regard
ing the ketchup with unnatural concentration.

  “Yeah.” He started to laugh. “Don’t tell me.”

  I nodded. “You already know.”

  “Hey, at least we’ll have different majors, right?”

  “And we won’t be in all the same classes.” I was laughing along with him.

  “Watch we end up in the same classes anyway.”

  He had a point. If it were possible, then somehow it would happen. “Yeah, there’s gonna be some cosmic university mix up.”

  We were both laughing by then. “Aww, shit. I lost count on the ketchup bottles.”

  “I won’t say anything until you get them counted. Promise.” I crossed my heart with my finger and made a dumb face.

  Brooklyn grinned at me. “You know….”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.” He looked down at the ground and kicked at the box of ketchup bottles.

  “No, really. What?”

  “It’s just, I actually...like you. It’s too bad we were never friends.”

  I couldn’t help smiling. “Yeah. I know.” I shrugged. “We can be friends now—especially since we’ll probably be sitting next to each other, uh-gain, in all of our accidentally scheduled classes next year.”

  He chuckled again then nudged me with his shoulder. “Quiet, you. I need to get these stupid bottles counted.”

  I made a locking motion on my lips and threw the invisible key over my shoulder. Then I went back to my own shipping box of spaghetti noodles and began a count of them. I had to tally, since I wasn’t as good at keeping numbers in my head, but I did get them counted correctly and stamped with a price sticker ready for the shelf.

  Jesus, the night manager, poked his head in the back room right when I was finishing and reminded us to take our lunch. I sat down at our little employee picnic table and pulled out the container of pasta salad I’d made earlier that day. Brooklyn had a somewhat anemic looking peanut butter sandwich and an apple that had seen better days. From what I could tell, they were both barely edible.

  “Uh, you want some of this?” I asked. He looked at it suspiciously.

  “What’s in it?”

  I shrugged casually. Same stuff I ate most of the time. “Pasta, basil, tomatoes, grapes, feta, olives, olive oil... spices.” I petered off before he looked at me like I was an even bigger alien.

  “What’s feta?”

  Oh yeah. He lives with his dad. They probably eat peanut butter and Easy Mac every day... and Honeypots. Gross. I hated those damn things after all the years of my dad bringing home samples all the time.

  “It’s good. I promise. Here, try.” I loaded some of the pasta salad onto my fork, making sure to add a little of everything, and held it out to him. Brooklyn steadied the fork with his hand, fingers brushing against mine just barely. Then he opened his lips (when did they get to be so perfect and soft looking?) and took every last crumb off of the fork. He got a bit of feta on his lip and snaked it up slowly with his tongue.

  I had to hide my shudder. Watching him moan and chew was like porn.

  He closed his eyes and swallowed. “I’ve never had anything like that. What did you do to it?”

  “I just like to cook, that’s all.”

  “Can I have another bite?”

  I chuckled. “Go get one of those forks from by the microwave. You can have half.”

  “Really?” He shoved his sandwich aside and booked it to the microwave cart for a fork. I couldn’t help grinning and feeling a little sorry for the guy at the same time. There weren’t a lot of options for good food in Sugarcreek other than barbecue (which I kinda hated). The rest of it was pretty lame. I shoved the Tupperware into the middle of the table and we spent the rest of our break happily sharing my pasta. It was weirdly intimate.

  I liked it way too much.

  ****

  The doorbell rang as I was scrambling to get my shorts zipped and my flip-flops on after a hasty shower. Brooklyn and I had actually decided to go through with our decision to hang out (don’t think the complete and total weirdness of him and I becoming friends was lost on me). My mom and dad were at one of those marathon meetings where they paid lawyers like a million dollars an hour to watch them fight. I had no idea what was taking so long with the divorce. It seemed like they both wanted the hell out so in my opinion they should just go for it and skip all the torture.

  At least I got some benefit from the meetings. I knew they’d be gone for a few hours at least, then dad would go back to work and mom would come home and sulk in her room. Brooklyn and I would have the house to ourselves for hours.

  I pounded down the stairs from the main level to the front door. Opening it let in the brightness of late afternoon on a wave of punishing heat. I swear I could see mirages on the sidewalk, like we were in the middle of the Sahara—more like the humid, sticky weed crusted Sahara that was my front yard.

  “Ugh, it’s awful out there. Come in, come in.” I ushered Brooklyn through the door. “Downstairs is mostly my area. If you wanna go chill for a bit I’ll get lunch.”

  “You made lunch?” Brooklyn looked excited.

  “Sure. Gotta eat.” I smiled at him. “I’ll be down in a second and we can decide what we want to watch, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Um, you want soda or apple juice?”

  “Juice please.”

  I chuckled. “So polite.” Then before he could answer I booked up the stairs to grab the grilled sandwiches I had warming in the oven and chips, grapes, brownies, and the jug of apple juice.

  Brooklyn smelled appreciatively when I put it all on the table. “This is way better than what I would’ve had.”

  “Mac n’ cheese?”

  He blushed. “Yeah, probably.”

  “It’s okay. Here.” I looked at the middle of the sandwiches. “This one’s yours.”

  “How is yours different?”

  I hesitated. “Um, no meat on mine.” I waited for judgment. In Sugarcreek, vegetarianism was probably just about as popular as gayness.

  Brooklyn only shrugged. “That pasta you made last week was awesome. If you don’t like meat, you don’t like it.”

  I sprawled on the couch next to him with my eggplant and grilled mushroom sandwich. It had marinara and cheese like his, just no meatballs. I watched Brooklyn take his first bite, listened to those damn porny chewing noises that made me so hard, then realized I had to distract myself with my own sandwich before I made a fool out of myself by drooling or something.

  We decided on Shutter Island and I hopped up and closed all the blinds and curtains to block out the sun. I liked it there in the dark with him. It was comfortable and cool in our downstairs, we had tons of snacks, a creepy movie, and when he leaned back and crossed his ankle over his knee, his leg brushed against mine. He probably didn’t notice, but I did. Heat ran up my neck and I had to concentrate on looking casual when all of a sudden all I wanted to do was hold his hand.

  Oh, shit. Where did that come from? Watch the damn movie.

  Shutter Island turned into a Lost marathon, which eventually just became background noise as we played speed on the coffee table and gorged ourselves on my mint brownies. Our feet and knees kept bumping and fingers rubbed when we were gathering up the cards. My body was on edge waiting, wanting, hoping for something it wasn’t going to get.

  Brooklyn looked up and smiled as he dealt another game. My stomach dropped. Part of me wondered if it would be easier if I still hated him.

  “Ready?” He asked, hand poised over the first card to flip.

  “Yep.” Let’s start this game. Distract me before I do something insane like kiss you.

  We were in the middle of that hand when I heard the front door slam open and running steps on the stairs towards the upstairs of the split-level house. My mom. I looked uncertainly at Brooklyn.

  “Go,” he said quietly. “I’ll wait unless you want me to leave.”

  “Can you stay for a little bit?” Oddly enough, he was the first
person I wanted to have near me.

  “Of course I’ll stay.”

  I gave him a grateful smile and sprinted up the stairs to see what was happening. My mom was in her room (which used to be the guest room) slamming things into suitcases and muttering words like asshole and fucking jerk. Based on her vocabulary choices, I imagined that the meeting went even worse than the ones that’d come before it.

  “Mom?” I nearly whispered.

  She looked up, startled. “Dallas. I didn’t know you were still here.”

  “Yeah, I don’t work tonight. I have a friend over watching movies.”

  She looked embarrassed. “Is it Jeffie?”

  “No. It’s, um, Brooklyn Thorn.”

  That was enough to get her attention, even in the middle of her rant against my father. “You can’t be serious. You two have hated each other for years.”

  “I know, but he’s kinda cool now. We work together. Doesn’t matter anyway. What’s going on, Mom?”

  “I can’t do this anymore, hon. I’m going to go stay with grandma and grandpa until I have the money for my own place.”

  My grandparents couldn’t take Sugarcreek, but they’d moved to Houston from Philadelphia to be closer to their only daughter and her family.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “It’s up to you. I know you’re leaving soon and you have a job. You know grandma and grandpa would love to see you before you go off to college but it’s totally your choice.”

  I didn’t want to go. Things were different. “I don’t want to be irresponsible, Mom.” It had come out of my mouth easily but while I could kind of lie to my mother about my reasons for staying, I couldn’t lie to myself. It wasn’t the job. It was Brooklyn. And I was the biggest idiot in the world.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “Now. I don’t want to be here when your father gets back. You have my number and your grandparents’ number. If you change your mind and want to come for a little while….”

  I nodded. It might happen if I managed to make a fool out of myself and do something stupid. I watched her pile clothes into bags and cases, my stomach getting more and more heavy. My mother was leaving. No matter how much I wanted to be out on my own, I hadn’t felt so much like a little boy in years. She must’ve been able to see it in my face.