“Hiroku Hayashi,” she says when I answer, as if I’m somebody important. “Tell me about your first day.”
I give her the highlights: the football coach who harassed me for wearing eyeliner and then, when I refused to remove it, sent me to the front office. The slurs from Lowry’s finest. Team Sports, which should have been the absolute worst but actually wasn’t too bad, mainly because that hot farmer boy Berlin was in my class and we were playing basketball, which I’m pretty decent at. Except that asshole, Troy or something, called me a faggot in the locker room while he might or might not have been checking out my junk. I leave that last part out, though. TMI.
“This town is so small, Mai. There’s nothing to do. Nowhere to go. I’m trapped in hillbilly hell.”
“Any hot cowboys?” she asks, ignoring everything I just said. She’s always had a thing for cowboys. Her boyfriend Terrance couldn’t be further from it. He’s kind of an egghead. A nice one, though.
“None,” I say, though that’s not entirely true. That kid Berlin is cute, and I bet he’d look good in a cowboy hat. I made him blush in the front office, but maybe I misread it. He’s probably a homophobe like his friend Troy. Just my luck.
“Don’t be so negative, Hiroku. It’s only your first day. How can you know for sure?”
I’ve done the math already. There are six hundred kids at Lowry High. If we go by the national average, that means about thirty of them are gay or lesbian, which means maybe fifteen gay or bisexual guys. Judging by my first day at Lowry, most of them are probably still in the closet, which means exactly zero of them are available. I share the breakdown with my sister.
“There will be no black-tie ceremonies for me,” I tell her with a dramatic sigh. My sister, my mom, and I watched The Bachelor and The Bachelorette religiously before Mai left for college. Now it’s Finding Prince Charming, the all-gay version. How progressive are we.
Mai sighs sympathetically. “Well, don’t give up just yet. I know leaving Austin sucks, but this is a good change for you. He was toxic, Hiroku. You know that, right?”
“Yes,” I say, which is obligatory.
“You haven’t tried seeing him, have you?”
“They’re on tour.” Unless I show up at one of Seth’s shows, which I’ve thought about doing, it’s impossible for me to see him.
“Have you talked to him?”
“No.” Though I do check Seth’s Instagram about ten times a day. Ever since we broke up, he’s been posting pictures of himself with other guys. It’s uncanny how much they all look like me, as if he’s trying to tell me how replaceable I am. But he doth protest too much.
“Stay away from him, Hiroku,” she warns me, yet again.
“I got this, Mai,” I tell her, yet again.
We talk a little more, then say our good-byes. As I mount my bike, an old, battered truck rumbles up. I recognize the driver as Berlin from Team Sports. His arm rests on the driver’s-side door. The rust-colored hairs catch the sunlight. The hair on his head is blond and longish with a curl at the ends, perfect for getting your fingers tangled in. I consider saying hello, if only to make him blush again. He glances my way and looks startled, like I’ve offended him by coming to this gas station. Like there are more than three gas stations in this tinyass town. Forget it. I make my face blank, don my helmet, and ride off.
When I get home to our empty, ticky-tacky house, I pull up Seth’s Instagram, scroll through the pictures, and imagine it’s me there with him. But I know the price of being his beloved—body, mind, and soul. I didn’t break my mother’s heart and spend my summer in rehab just to fall down that rabbit hole again.
I hoped living in Lowry would be an improvement over life with Seth. Judging by day one, the two aren’t so different.
That’s the problem with me—I like pain.
Berlin
ANDERSON THROWS another kegger Saturday night. Everyone’s there. The football team. Cheerleaders. Some of the more popular band kids and color guard. I never understand how popularity works. It’s like some algorithm that chews you up and spits you out. Maybe because I play football, I’ve always come out on top. I keep thinking about the new kid, Hiroku, wondering if he’ll be at the party. Kind of hope he will. He isn’t, though. I guess it takes longer than a week to establish the new standard of cool.
The party is full of the usual mischief—keg stands, wrestling matches, chicken fights in the huge inground pool. I drink, but not too much. I can’t risk getting drunk and doing something stupid, like make out with a dude or admit I’m crushing on the new kid. I can’t lose control, ever.
Toward the end of the night, Kayla and I wind up in one of the bedrooms. Her idea. Cuddles are usually enough to satisfy her, but she’s had too much to drink and keeps reaching for my pants.
“Come on, Bear, let’s do it.” She tugs at my belt like we’re playing flag football.
“You’re drunk, baby. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
She groans. “I want you to.”
“You say that now, but you might regret it tomorrow.” Usually this works, but she isn’t listening to me tonight. She undoes my belt buckle, then fiddles with the button of my jeans.
“Kayla.” I try to guide her hands away, but she’s like a heat-seeking missile for my crotch.
“Come on, Bear, we’ve waited so long. Don’t you want to?”
Kayla reaches into my pants and starts working me over with her hand, but I can’t get hard. I fumble around with her boobs. She glances up like something is wrong. That something is me.
I think about the new kid. Hiroku Hayashi. His name sounds like a sexy sports car or an expensive liquor. Something smooth that goes down easy. I imagine unbuttoning his tight black jeans, slipping my hand into his underwear—what kind does he wear? Something expensive. Something you can’t buy at Walmart. Silky and black, like his hair.
“Bear,” Kayla purrs, pleased at my erection. What kind of jackass makes out with his girlfriend while imagining someone else? I pull Kayla’s hands out of my pants and hug them to my chest. They’re small compared to mine, like tiny birds. I sit her down on the bed, stuff my junk back in my pants, button up, and belt in.
“We need to talk.”
Last year, I thought all I needed was a girlfriend to turn me straight. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop thinking about guys. Something is wrong with me, and I’d rather be alone than fake it with Kayla. And besides, Kayla deserves someone who really loves her.
She crosses her arms and legs and pouts while she waits for me to say something. But what can I say? She believes gays are misguided and in need of rehabilitation. Our church believes that too. I don’t know what I believe, but I’m pretty sure no amount of Bible school or counseling from Pastor Craig is going to straighten me out.
Kayla would tell the whole school. I’d be done for. No football, no friends, no life. It’s a lot to lose and not much to be gained.
“Something happened while you were in Dallas,” I say.
Her body shifts, her eyes narrow, and she seems to sober up instantly.
“I was with someone else.” I hate lying to her, but I don’t know what else to do. At least this way she can hate me and move on.
“Who?”
I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Who the fuck was she, Berlin?” For a Christian girl, she sure can curse like a sailor when she gets riled up.
“It was nobody, Kayla. I’m really sorry. You were away, and it just happened.”
Kayla’s lower lip trembles and she starts crying, big fat tears dripping down her cheeks, smearing her makeup. She kind of sniffles and honks at the same time. I want to hug her, but that seems wrong, so I sit there on the edge of the bed and wait for her to break up with me.
“I cheated on you too,” she says in between wiping her face. I almost don’t catch it.
“You what?” With all the lying I’ve been doing, her confession shouldn’t hurt so much. But it does. It d
ownright stings. “When?”
“Last year.” She pauses. “And again this summer.”
“Twice? Really?” If I hadn’t lied about cheating, she’d have never told me. She lied to me this whole time too.
“Like you said, it just happened. Can’t we start over? I promise I’ll never hurt you again.”
I pace in front of the bed while she continues to apologize and make promises, but I can’t think straight or recover fast enough. I can’t believe she cheated on me. Sweet, innocent Kayla. Who was it? I want to know, then think, No, I don’t. I also can’t believe she still wants to be with me. Someone has to be reasonable here.
“It’s over, Kayla. I cheated. You cheated. We’re not right for each other.”
Kayla springs at me, yelling and beating her fists against my chest. It doesn’t hurt, so I let her have a go at me. I’m not going to change my mind, though. It’s the right thing to do.
“You can’t do this to me, Berlin. You cheated too. You have to forgive me. I love you. We were meant to be together. Don’t you care about me at all?”
I hug her while she cries into my shoulder. I do care about her, but I can’t give her what she wants. Maybe some part of her knows that already and that’s why she strayed. “I’m sorry, Kayla. Want me to drive you home?”
She pushes me away. “Just go.”
I leave the party soon after. I’m tempted to call her over the weekend, just to check in on her, but I don’t want to confuse things.
At school on Monday, Trent can’t wait to tell me Kayla hooked up with one of the guys on our football team as soon as I left the party.
“What the fuck is that all about?” he asks me.
“We broke up,” I say. I really don’t want to hear about who she’s hooking up with. Makes me kind of angry she couldn’t even wait a day.
“She broke up with you?”
I shrug. “More or less.” I don’t like discussing my love life with Trent, and not just because of the whole maybe-being-gay thing. I’m a pretty private person.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. It just happened. You and Madison break up all the time.”
“Yeah, because she’s fucking insane. Kayla, though, she’s a sweetheart. Is it because she wasn’t putting out?”
“I don’t know, Trent. I just wasn’t feeling it.” I stop there and worry I’ve already said too much.
I glance across the parking lot to where Kayla’s getting out of her car. She and Madison link up. Kayla looks at me with a long face. Madison glares at me like I ran over her dog. I still feel bad about it. We’ve been together so long it feels weird to think that I won’t be walking her to class or hanging out with her on the weekends. She came to all our home games last year. It was nice looking up into the stands and seeing her there with a big smile on her face. I hope she still wants to be friends. Still, it’s better this way. Even if it is a little scary to be alone. Even if it means people might get suspicious.
Trent punches my shoulder lightly. “Don’t stress about it, Bear. They’ll be lining up around the corner for you. Maybe next time you’ll get one that puts out.”
Hiroku’s motorcycle careens into the parking lot then, sending a surge of adrenaline through me. There’s nothing stopping me now, I think. A panicked feeling rises up inside me, or maybe it’s my breakfast, and I resist the urge to glance over at him. Trent doesn’t try to hide his fascination.
“Fucking faggot.” Trent spits on the asphalt, a big brown loogie. Dipping on school grounds is illegal, but Trent gets away with it. Teachers look the other way where Trent’s concerned.
“I’m going to nail that kid’s ass to the wall,” Trent says, shifting the wad of tobacco from one side of his mouth to the other. I wonder if he knows how homosexual that sounds.
I hate it when Trent messes with people, but the thought of him messing with Hiroku makes me kind of crazy. My back tenses up and my pits start to sweat. I have to play it cool, though. I can’t let Trent know I care either way.
“Whatever, man. He’s just a freak. Not worth getting suspended over. Think of the team.”
Trent grunts. “He was checking out my package the other day in the locker room.”
That’s a lie. I was there in the locker room with them. Hiroku keeps to himself, and we have stalls for showering, so it isn’t like some peep show either.
“I heard he got expelled from his last school,” I say. Maybe if Trent thinks he’s dangerous, he’ll leave him alone.
“Probably for being queer.”
“You can’t expel someone for that.” Though they’ve probably tried, maybe even here in Lowry.
“Too bad.” He leans over my tailgate and spits again.
I glance over at him. I thought making fun of guys he thinks are gay was just an outlet for Trent, like a group of people who are easy to prey on, but sometimes it seems he truly hates gay people. Like now. I never understood hating people just because. It isn’t like gays are going around making trouble or picking fights. They’re not hurting anyone, and they don’t deserve to be punished for something they can’t even control.
I don’t deserve to be punished, do I?
The warning bell sounds, and I grab my stuff to head to the office, relieved to get away from Trent. It feels strange not having Kayla to walk to class, but it’s one less act to put on. As I’m passing through the school gate, Hiroku cuts in front of me. My eyes focus straight ahead, but I can’t help noticing the bend of his neck where his hair is short on one side, and the tawny color of his skin. Like a palomino. Wondering what it might be like to follow that smooth curve with my fingers, or maybe even my lips.
Hiroku
IT’S ONLY a matter of time. I know this Trent kid is hot about something when I keep scoring on him in basketball. He says it’s because I’m such a fucking fairy I’m able to fly in my layups. I tell him I hope he’s better at football, because he fucking sucks at basketball. Coach Gebhardt tells us to play nice. Despite Lowry’s No Bullying policy, the faculty sure does let a lot of shitty behavior go by.
“Nice shot,” Berlin says to me after a sweet little hook shot.
“Thanks.” His eyes linger on mine, and I think maybe he’s feeling me in a gaytastic way, when Trent comes up and knocks my shoulder, hard.
“Watch it,” Trent says, like it’s my fault he ran into me, and throws the ball to Berlin harder than necessary. Berlin doesn’t talk or look at me for the rest of the game.
After class, I’m getting ready to shower when someone comes up from behind and slams me into the lockers. I catch myself just in time. My palms smack against the cold metal and save my nose from being smashed. My mother loves my face. She’d be beside herself if anyone messed it up.
I spin around to find Trent and his groupies staring me down. A whole mountain range of assholes. Berlin isn’t with them.
“Let’s see what moves you got now, you fucking faggot,” Trent says. His henchmen close in on either side, trying to look intimidating. It’s working. My heart rate spikes and I can hear it throbbing in my ears. I imagine I’m trapped in some low-budget PSA about school bullying. It helps me get on top of the fear.
I drop my shirt on the bench between us and square my shoulders, thinking maybe I can reason with him. “Why don’t we try transcending stereotypes, Trent? You can do better than the small-minded, homophobic jock, can’t you?”
“You like to suck dick, faggot?” he asks.
I’m guessing that’s a no.
“Not as much as your mom,” I answer back because I clearly know how to take the high road.
Trent shoves me again, hard enough that the back of my head bangs against the metal locker, rattling my brains and causing me to bite down on my tongue. I taste the coppery tang of my blood. Hello, old friend.
The masochist in me wants Trent to hit me. Ever since I overdosed and then painfully and some days regrettably got off painkillers, I’ve felt so little that even a good punch in the face seems like a welc
ome change. And maybe too I want Trent to confirm exactly who he is.
I recognize the primal desire in Trent’s eyes. To wound, maybe even kill. Seth has it too. They get off on the thrill of beating someone else into submission. Domination.
“You know what we do to faggots around here?” Trent says.
“No, but I’m pretty sure I know what you do to the goats.”
Trent swings, and I turn to take it on the side of my face. My bottom jaw feels like it popped out of place and my lower lip is on fire. I taste more blood. A surge of adrenaline rolls through me, heightening my senses. Turning me on. Like a maniac, I grin.
“You like that?” Trent seems bewildered and maybe a little disturbed I’m not trembling in the corner. I didn’t even try to block his blow, though I probably could have.
“You hit like a girl,” I say, spitting blood on his T-shirt. Like a girl boxer on steroids, I should add.
At that same moment, Berlin enters the locker room, still wet from the shower, bare chested, with a towel around his waist. A new kind of arousal takes hold of me. He’s built like a gladiator, all muscle and athletic grace, but not too beefy like some of the other guys on the team. Curly blond hair and blue-gray eyes. Ben-Hur. That’s how I imagine him during my me time.
His eyes lock on mine, and he looks like he’s going to shit his pants, if he was wearing any.
“Trent, man, what the fuck?” he says.
Trent turns, and I know Berlin is going to blow his cover. I heard he broke up with his girlfriend over the weekend, though I try not to read into it. I’m a little ashamed I let an asshat like Trent hit me just to feel something. How messed up is that?
I rush Trent and grab his right hand, his throwing arm, and give him a jiujitsu handshake. He cries out and goes up on his toes to alleviate the pressure I’m putting on his arm. With one blow I could break it and ruin his football career forever.
Lucky for him I’m not that kind of person.
“Listen to me, fucktard,” I say quietly, because this message is for his ears only. “I’m a faggot and you’re a homophobic prick, and while you may feel it’s your God-given duty to beat the gay out of me, I can assure you, it won’t work. Touch me again and I’ll break this arm before you can say the word touchdown. You feel me?”
The Bravest Thing Page 2
