I grab my camera and head out to the parking lot to get my bike. I’m taking a personal day.
Berlin
BASKETBALL IS a shit show, with everyone out of sorts and missing baskets after Trent and Hiro’s fight. The guys on our football team keep glancing between Trent and me, trying to figure out whose side to take. Trent won’t even look at me. I might get my ass kicked before the day is over. I don’t care about my team’s loyalty as much as I care about protecting Hiro. If I hadn’t been there, Trent would have destroyed him.
I try texting Hiro during lunch but get no response. Out in the parking lot, I see his bike is gone, which means he must have left school. I know Trent will be all over me about interfering in the locker room, so I eat my lunch on the tailgate of my truck, hoping to see Hiro pull in at some point. No such luck.
Practice that afternoon sucks. Trent doesn’t say two words to me, but I can feel his rage simmering just beneath the surface. It messes up his game too. Coach calls us off the field midway through and demands an explanation. Neither of us says a word, so he makes us run laps for the rest of practice. Trent stays just ahead of me on the track, which is fine by me. He was such an asshole. There’s nothing gay about that video. Trent was just picking a fight.
I text Hiro again that night but get nothing. I think about driving over to his house, but I don’t want to cause a problem with his parents. It seems I’ve done enough damage already.
I hope it will blow over, but both Trent and Hiro ignore me for the rest of the week. My texts and calls to Hiro go unanswered. He also doesn’t show up to Team Sports, though I see him elsewhere during the day. He must be skipping third period to avoid Trent.
Or maybe it’s me he doesn’t want to see.
On Thursday I can’t handle the silent treatment anymore. I drive over to his house after practice and knock on the door. Mrs. H. opens it and glances behind her at the stairs. Hiro must have given her instructions, but she seems torn.
“Please, Mrs. Hayashi, I just want to talk to Hiro for a few minutes.”
“Hiroku,” she calls from the door, then goes to the base of the stairs and calls again.
“Come in,” she says and points to the living room, then heads upstairs. A few minutes later she returns.
“He’ll be down,” she says with a smile and offers me tea.
“No, thank you, ma’am.” I stare at the stairs until, finally, Hiro slouches down. His face is expressionless, but I know he’s still pissed at me. How much? If there’s any way to make it up to him, I want to try.
“Come on,” he says glumly and leads me out to his backyard. He sits on the back steps, and I stand on the ground in front of him so I can see his face. Apologizing seems like a good place to start.
“I’m sorry for what I said the other day in the locker room and for the way Trent’s been treating you. It’s messed up and I know it. I wish I knew how to make him stop.”
“Okay.” He studies his hands and says nothing else, always a puzzle.
“What does that mean?”
He sighs like he’s bored, but I know it’s only a front. Hiro cares the most when he acts the least interested.
“It means I heard you,” he says.
“And?”
“And nothing. I appreciate your apology, but it doesn’t change the situation. Living in this town is hard enough without Trent’s bullshit. I’m out of Team Sports. I changed my schedule. I’m staying the hell away from Trent, and you should too. He’s a live grenade.”
This isn’t fair. Trent gets his way again, but I’ve been telling Hiro all along to back down too. I’m just as responsible. “You shouldn’t have to do that,” I say miserably.
“Yeah, well, I don’t think Lowry will be flying the rainbow flag anytime soon, so until then….” He drifts off, grinding his fist into his open palm.
I should just suck it up, come out to Trent, and deal with the consequences myself. Hiro shouldn’t have to take this abuse. And at least if Trent knows about me, he’ll have a new target.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say.
He glances up with a frightened expression. “Don’t, Berlin.”
“Why not?”
He presses his hands together and rests his lips against them like he’s trying to stop himself from saying anything more.
“Talk to me, Hiro. What is it?”
He shakes his head, so I urge him again, gently, though. With Hiro, you get more with sugar than vinegar. Finally he looks up at me. “Ever wonder why Trent goes off anytime someone calls him gay?”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”
“Sometimes, when he thinks no one is watching, he looks at you, Berlin. The way you look at me.”
I swallow. Trent looking at me? Like that?
“No way,” I say.
Hiro nods but doesn’t say anything more about it.
I step back from the situation and try looking at it as an outsider. Trent does tend to get affectionate with me after a few beers. He also talks all the time about his exploits with Madison, almost to the point it seems like he’s trying to prove something. “You think Trent’s gay?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
I bet he does know; he just doesn’t want to say it. “You knew about me.”
“That was different. But imagine if Trent is gay, and how dangerous it would be if that got out. Trent would want to silence anyone who suspected it. This is a land mine we’re walking on.”
“I’m not afraid of Trent.” He might end our friendship and get me kicked off the team, but if he stepped to me, I’d destroy him.
“Maybe you should be.”
I honestly don’t give two shits about Trent right now. All I care about is whether or not Hiro is still mad at me. I lay one hand on his arm. “What about us?” Hiro shakes his head, and I worry he’s going to try to end it with me. “Come over this weekend. Please? I’m dying over here.”
He stands. “I’ve got homework to do.”
“You’ll come over, though?”
He gazes across the yard, avoiding my eyes. “I’ll think about it.”
I nod. I don’t want to push him. “Okay.”
The next morning Trent resumes his before-school post on the tailgate of my truck. I greet him with a nod and he does the same. We’re stiff with each other, and silent. I keep thinking about what Hiro said, reviewing all the awkward moments in my friendship with Trent over the past few years, unsure if it’s just typical best friend behavior or if it’s something more.
Trent chews his tobacco like cud and goes over the plays Coach wants us to execute at tonight’s game. We strategize about which ones might work against the Cavaliers’ defense.
Hiro pulls into the parking lot, and I try not to notice.
“Haven’t seen Faggy in class,” Trent says like he doesn’t care about it one way or another. Like he’s baiting me. I could act like I don’t know anything about it, but I’m still pissed about Trent’s bullshit and Hiro having to drop Team Sports because of it.
“He switched classes.” I don’t say because of you, but that part is obvious.
“How the fuck do you know that, Berlin?” he asks, his face all pissy. When did he become so angry all the time?
“He told me.”
“I didn’t know you guys were so close.”
I shrug. “We’re friends. I didn’t know I had to ask your permission.”
“Friends, huh?”
I say nothing, and Trent spits again, a squirrely look in his eyes. “You a fucking faggot, Berlin?”
I decide to put it back on him, see how he likes the question himself. “Are you, Trent?”
He gets real quiet then, his eyes focused on Hiro’s back as he puts away his helmet. I don’t like the way Trent’s looking at him.
“Fuck, no,” he spits. The hatred in his voice makes the hairs raise on the back of my neck. “Now, how about you?”
Here’s my moment of truth. I
f I admit to Trent I’m gay, I can forget about finishing the football season, and with it goes any chance for a scholarship, which means I’ll be going to community college, if my dad can afford it. No more football practices or games, no more hanging out with the team. I don’t want to give that up just yet. If I wait a few more weeks, I know I’ll get recruited. Scouts are already showing up to our games. All I need is a little more time.
I straighten up. “I’m not gay, and not everyone who pisses you off is a faggot. Sometimes you’re the asshole.”
Hiro passes in front of us with his eyes straight ahead. I know he’s seen me with Trent, and that must bother him. My loyalties are being tested just like he predicted. Even though I know which is the right side, I can’t join him there. Not yet.
“Sure about that?” Trent asks. “If I find out that you’re lying to me, there’ll be hell to pay.” He spits a tar-blackened loogie at my feet.
I hop off the edge of my truck. “Don’t threaten me, Trent. That shit may work on other people, but it doesn’t work on me. I’m not scared of you. If you’ve got something to get off your chest, you know where to find me.”
As I walk away, I realize Trent is reminding me more and more of his dad every day.
I’m really starting to hate him.
Hiroku
CHANGING MY schedule around was a major pain in the ass. It meant I had to drop Digital Arts, the best part of my school day. Having to drop Team Sports also sucked, because it was my only class with Berlin. Even though we couldn’t really acknowledge each other, it was guaranteed time together.
When Mrs. Potts asked me why I wanted out of Team Sports, I told her Trent Cross and I weren’t getting along.
“I see,” she said, and that was all. I expected her to ask more questions, really get to the bottom of it, but from the expression on her face, it seemed that was all she needed to know. It pisses me off. It’s like everyone at the school knows Trent is a homophobic psychopath, and they just let it slide because he’s quarterback for the football team. And not even a good one.
Whatever. By my estimation, I’ll be dual enrolling by the end of this semester anyway, which means I can give Lowry the one-finger salute. That thought alone is what keeps me going for the rest of the week.
When I see Berlin palling around with Trent on Friday morning, I suspect their little spat is over, which is irritating, but also a relief. If they’re chummy again, then Berlin is still in the closet, and safe, which means the situation has deescalated, at least for now.
I skip the game Friday night, but I can’t resist texting Berlin after it’s over, because I miss him like crazy and still want to be with him in spite of everything.
Score any goals?
We lost, 17-7
There’s a long pause then, and I wonder if he’s going to ask me to meet up with him. I hope he will.
Want to make me feel better?
I smile, feeling the familiar flush I get whenever he says something the least bit suggestive. With Berlin, I thrive on subtext.
Yes.
Meet me at the fence in an hour.
Don’t you have a barbeque?
Change of plans.
I shower and shave even though I don’t really need to. I pick out my favorite black shirt, the one with hot pink lettering that says “Save the drama.” It’s actually my second-favorite shirt. Seth stole my first favorite, an original Petty Crime band shirt that I designed when they were just starting out. Suddenly I realize I don’t give a shit about the shirt anymore. Seth can have it. He’s in the past where he belongs. Berlin is the present, and maybe even my future.
I tell my dad I’m going out, and he grunts from behind the computer in his study. I kiss my mom good night.
“Are you meeting Berlin?” she asks with a smirk.
“Yeah,” I say, my chest expanding a little.
“He makes you smile,” she says to me in Japanese, so I scowl at her for good measure.
I hop on my bike and ride over. My palms are sweaty on the handlebar as I arrive at Berlin’s property. My heart is kind of fluttery in my chest, the way I always get at the prospect of seeing him. Usually he’s there already when I arrive, but it looks like I’ve gotten here first. I punch in the gate code, roll my bike inside, and pull out my phone to text him. I smell something like charcoal burning and figure he has a bonfire going somewhere.
Here now. You?
I’m about to hit Send when I hear footsteps galloping toward me. I spin around and someone slaps my phone out of my hand. My cheek explodes with a force that lifts me off my feet and makes my head spin. I land on my ass in the dirt, pain rocketing through my jaw, and grasp at my face to make sure it’s still a face. I’m dizzy and disoriented from the blow. I’ve never been hit that hard in my life. I paw at the ground, trying to work up the balance to stand and get away from the fuzzy, hunched shadows surrounding me.
A million hands grab me, clutching at my wrists and ankles, pinning me down. I try to curl into a ball, but they force my limbs apart. I’m an open target, I think as terror rips through me. A boot descends on my chest, one that could crush my rib cage or my skull. I go wild, fighting against their vise-like fingers. I finally get my hand free, grab the booted ankle, and yank, hard.
“Hold him down,” a voice commands. Trent’s voice. Someone else slams my wrist back to the ground and leans on it with his full weight. I know then that Trent—the whole team, probably—is going to break every bone in my body. I scream for help. I sound like a wild animal.
Someone stuffs a cloth into my mouth, jams it so far down my throat I gag. I feel the shirt being ripped off my back, then wrapped around my face so I can’t see them. I smell the charcoal again, a sooty, smoky odor, then hear something hiss as I feel heat, like from a fire. I scream into the gag, choking on my own fear and panic.
“Better bite down on that jockstrap, faggot,” Trent says calmly. “This shit is going to hurt.”
I scream again, twisting as something burning hot plunges into my chest—a red-hot iron poker, the fucking pitchfork of the devil himself. They’re carving out my heart with a razor and setting me on fire at the same time.
I scream incoherently into the gag, delirious, my mind exploding from the pain. I must black out then, because when I come to, I’m being dragged across the ground by my wrists. I can only feel one hand. My chest is on fire. I can’t catch my breath or hear anything above my wild, beating heart.
“Tie him to the fence post,” Trent tells someone, then thumps me on the shoulder. “What’s the password to your phone, Faggy?”
I’m still blindfolded as my head slumps forward. Waves of dizziness and nausea come over me as my hands are clamped behind a wooden post. I hardly feel the rope cutting into my wrists. The pain from the burning hole in my chest overrides everything else. I’m going to pass out again.
“What’s your password?” Trent shouts.
“Fuck you,” I moan into the gag. Someone rips it out of my mouth and punches me in the gut. My legs finally give out and I fall back against the wooden post.
“Tell me your fucking password or we’ll brand your ass too,” he says.
It takes me a second to process his words. They branded me? It has to be a joke—a sick, twisted joke, but the pain in my chest is unlike any I’ve ever experienced before, an ungodly burn. I can smell it too. Burnt flesh. My burnt flesh.
“Your password,” he says, and follows it with a blow to my temple.
“Fuck you,” I say weakly and give it to him.
“Text Berlin from Faggy’s phone and tell him where to find his boyfriend,” Trent says to someone else. I feel his breath, hot and foul on my neck as he whispers in my ear, “This here is what we do to faggots.”
For once I have no clever comeback.
Berlin
AFTER THE game, which we lost thanks to Trent throwing a record five interceptions, I’m more relieved than disappointed when the team barbeque gets cancelled. Hiro agreed to meet me and I
can’t stop thinking about it. Driving home from school, my truck starts pulling to the right, then the ride gets rough, and I realize I have a flat. I get out and inspect the tire to find a nail sunk in deep. Just my luck.
It takes me about half an hour to replace the flat with the spare tire I have stored under the back of my truck. Right when I’m about to text Hiro that I’m running late, I get a strange message from him.
Come get me at the fence post, you fucking faggot.
I stare at my phone, then scroll back to read our earlier texts, trying to figure out what’s going on.
Trent.
He must have stolen my phone while I was in the showers after the game and guessed at my password, my mother’s birthday.
I’m white-knuckled the whole drive to the fence, dreading what I might find. My breath catches when my headlights hit Hiro. Tied to a fence post, his head covered with a black cloth, shirtless and slumped over like he’s….
“Hiro!”
I slam it into park, fall out of my truck, and sprint over to him. He lifts his head and I can’t help praying, Thank you, God. Whatever Trent’s done to him, he’s alive.
“Hiro,” I call again. My voice cracks and I can hardly get out his name. The panic and terror have cut off my breath.
“Don’t come any closer,” Hiro shouts, his voice muffled by the cloth. I slow my pace, confused. “Give me your knife,” he says, his voice raspy and low. “Put it in my hand, then get the fuck out of here.”
“I’m not leaving you. I’m going to kill them. All of them.” My mind feels like it’s exploding. All I can see is my fists on their flesh, beating the living shit out of them.
“Please listen to me, Berlin.” He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears.
I pull out my pocketknife and approach him cautiously. Instead of handing the knife over to him, I grab on to his hands, squeezing to reassure him and me too. He pivots on the fence post so that his back is to me, maybe to give me a better angle to cut him free. I don’t want to accidentally slice him, so I gently saw away at the rope. As soon as his hands are free, he yanks the cloth off his head and grips it to his chest.
The Bravest Thing Page 13
