A gunshot rings out, startling me. I pin Trent to the ground and find Coach Cross aiming his shotgun at my chest.
“You touch my son again, I’ll kill you and call it self-defense.”
I slowly unclench my fists and stand to face Coach Cross. “It’s your fault he’s such a hateful son of a bitch,” I shout. “You beat this into him over the years. You twisted him into this spineless piece of shit. He branded another human being tonight, Coach. The football team helped. You proud of that? You proud of the hate and fear you’ve brought down on your team?”
Coach angles his shotgun at my face. “Get off my property, Webber. And in case you don’t already know, we don’t let faggots on the football team.”
“Fuck you and your football team,” I spit. I love football, but I’ve seen the depths of their hatred. I don’t want any part of it. If that means walking away from my passion, I’ll live with that. “You’ll get what’s coming to you,” I say to Coach. I glare down at Trent on my way out. His face is a mess, and he doesn’t look so cocky anymore. “You too, motherfucker,” I growl at him. “This isn’t over.”
I storm off to my truck, climb in, and head for Hiro’s house. What can I even say to him? To his mother? There’s nothing I can do to fix this, but I have to make sure he’s okay.
They branded him like an animal. There will be justice for what Trent did to Hiro. I’ll make sure of it.
HIRO ISN’T at his house when I get there twenty minutes later. His mother answers the door, a worried look on her face. She invites me inside, sits me down, and offers me tea. Mr. H. joins us. My knuckles are bloody and swollen, and Mr. H. keeps asking me questions. Rapid-fire. I don’t know what else to do, so I tell them what happened. His father interrogates me while his mother keeps pouring tea, and I keep drinking it to have something to do with my hands. At one point she starts to cry, and Mr. H. quietly lays his hand over hers. I excuse myself to use their bathroom and wash the blood off my hands. When I come back, they’re looking at their phones and speaking to each other softly in Japanese. I stand in the doorway to give them privacy, though it doesn’t matter much because I don’t know what they’re saying.
“We have to go to the police,” I say from where I stand. “We can’t let Trent get away with this.”
They glance over at me, then speak again to each other. I wait. It seems to turn into an argument.
Mrs. H. stands, snaps at Mr. H., then comes over and lays her soft hand on my wrist. “It’s late, Berlin. You go on home. We’ll wait up for Hiroku.”
“You know where he is?” They exchange a look. “Are you going to call the police?”
“We’ll handle it,” Mr. H. says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
“I should be here for the report.” Hiro needs someone to back up his story, and he needs a friend. “Where is he?” I figured he’d gone for a ride, but this seems too long, even for him. I think of the quarry, and my stomach drops. What if he went there?
“You go, Berlin,” Mrs. H. says again and pulls me gently toward the door. I let her see me out, then stand behind the closed door like a dog that’s been put outside. I get back in my truck and ride out to the quarry while imagining the worst. I don’t see his bike, so I jump the fence and poke around, calling out for him. He isn’t there, which is a relief, but then I wonder where else he might have gone. Maybe to that redheaded kid’s house?
I drive back to Hiro’s, figuring I’ll wait it out. Their garage door is open and his bike isn’t inside it, so I park on the street. I don’t care how late it is; I want to be here when he gets home. He has to know I’m on his side. I should have been with him the whole time instead of trying to defend Trent’s behavior and point out his good qualities. For the life of me, I can’t remember any of them now. This is worse than a mistake. I chose to be ignorant, even when the facts were staring me in the face, even when Hiro was pleading with me to acknowledge what we were up against.
I slam my fist against my steering wheel, then pound my chest a few times. I should have been there. I could have done a million different things, and instead I did nothing.
I keep imagining Hiro’s face—his big, sad eyes, the tilt of his head when he’s thinking on something, and his smile. With all that he’s been through with his addiction and Seth, he needed someone to protect him, and I failed him in the worst possible way.
If he hates me, I can live with it. I just pray he’ll come home safely and soon.
Hiroku
THE FIRST hit is always the sweetest.
I sink back into the chaise in Seth’s living room, floating on clouds, drifting farther away from reality, my body feeling good in the most glorious way, my mind not giving a shit, at least for now. Meanwhile Seth makes promises. It’s something he excels at. Sticking to his word, not so much, but in making promises, he’s aces.
“In two weeks the band’s going out to the desert to record our next album,” he says in his melodic voice, his instrument of seduction. With his words he spins a silken cocoon for me to nestle deep within. I need a place to hide. “You can come with us, film the band, write a few songs, maybe shoot a few videos. Whatever you want, Hiroku. You don’t have to worry about money. I’ll pay for everything.”
What he doesn’t say is what my payment to him will be—my body, for one; my creativity; my freedom. The details of our arrangement are somewhat irrelevant. Seth changes the rules to fit his mercurial wants and desires. There’s no use in negotiating with him up front.
“When you posted those pictures on Instagram, were you hoping I’d see them?” I ask.
“Yes,” he says without hesitation. “I wanted to make you jealous so you’d come back. Then I started hooking up with guys who looked like you to see if I could get over you. That didn’t work either.”
Seth can admit things like that. He’s truthful in many ways. He tells me every little demented thought in his head.
“I guess you were hooking up with that hillbilly by then,” he says.
He assumes I behaved the same way after our breakup. For me, it was the opposite. I lived like a monk the whole summer. Rehab helped with that. I know Seth’s waiting for me to confirm or deny my relationship with Berlin. I used to get off on making Seth jealous, but that was with guys I didn’t care about. Berlin feels sacred. I don’t want Seth to wrap his dirty mind around him. Lowry is an inbred, two-bit town anyway. I’m already speeding away from it. Like it or not, that means Berlin too.
“No comment, huh?” He takes another hit from his bong. The weed is to help stabilize his mood. Xanax for anxiety. Alcohol to help him decompress at night, and an occasional upper to get him through a show. Not too much, though, or he starts singing faster than the beat. Painkillers are for pleasure and to ward off withdrawal. He’s a walking medicine cabinet. He’s careful about dosage, though. It’s me who needs portion control, which is why Seth always holds the drugs, so I don’t overdose. Last spring I wanted to get back at him for hooking up with another guy, so I snorted the rest of his stash and woke up in the hospital.
“Did you know I was in rehab?” I ask him.
“Sabrina mentioned it. Made me feel like shit.”
“Really?”
“Of course. Rehab fucking sucks.”
I chuckle darkly. I can’t help it. Rehab did fucking suck.
“Thank God your funny bone’s not broken,” he says and nudges me with his bare foot. Then he gets quiet. “It’ll be different this time, Hiroku. I hated you not being here, but I thought a lot about the way I treated you, the way I should have treated you. You were always too good for me. I want to be better, for you.”
I glance over at an old couch sitting in the corner of the room. It’s from the garage where the band used to practice, evidence of Seth’s sentimental streak. So many of my firsts happened on that old couch. The dreamer in me wants to believe that Seth’s changed, but the realist knows he’s just saying whatever he needs to get me back on the line. I think back to earlier that nigh
t when he coldly dismissed his latest hot dish. He can turn that same cruelty on me in a heartbeat, only it won’t be so cool or indifferent.
I don’t need any of Seth’s promises or bullshit stories. His actions will prove himself one way or another. And maybe if I disappear, Berlin won’t get kicked off the football team, and he can still get that scholarship and get the fuck out of Lowry.
“I’ll go with you to the desert,” I tell Seth. “I can’t wait two weeks, though. It’s got to be sooner.” I’m not going back to school. I don’t want to face the bigot brigade again on Monday. If I ever get to feeling sentimental, I have this huge fucking atrocity on my chest to remind me.
“We can leave tonight,” he says. His eyes glow with anticipation, like some cartoon villain, Jafar from Aladdin.
“I need to say good-bye to my mom.” Somehow I know this isn’t going to be a short trip, that if I come back, things won’t be the same. The nail in my coffin, as it were. My mother’s heart will be broken all over again. What small shred of familial regard my father has toward me will be severed. Mai will be pissed at me for being weak and selfish and putting our parents through hell again.
“Monday morning,” I tell him. I’ll have the weekend to hang out with my mom. I’ll take off after they go to work, leave a note so they’ll know I haven’t been kidnapped or anything. I don’t want any needless drama.
“Monday morning,” he says. “I’ll let the band know we’re getting there early to set up. I should tell you, though, I want it to be as more than just friends.” He lays his hand on my knee, and his eyes search mine. The terms are implied already. He’s testing me to see if I’ll submit.
“Were we ever friends, Seth?”
He shakes his head slowly. His lips curl into a smile. “My sweet Hiroku, I think we’ve been everything but friends.”
In my drug-induced haze, I see Berlin, my light at the end of the tunnel. Only I’m heading in the opposite direction and the light is getting dimmer.
Berlin
I STARTLE awake in the cab of my truck to the keen of Hiro’s motorcycle. It’s the middle of the night, and I stumble out of my truck and catch up with him as he’s rolling his bike inside the garage. The shirt I gave him is gone, replaced by a Petty Crime T-shirt. There’s only one place besides his closet he could have gotten a shirt like that.
“What are you doing here?” he asks me. He doesn’t seem angry, just exhausted.
“I wanted to see how you were.” He looks as stoic as ever, but I can tell from the way he’s walking he’s in a lot of pain.
“Fantastic.”
“I know what they did to you, Hiro. I’m so sorry. I should have done something. I should have—”
“It’s late,” he says, and holds up one hand to silence me. I reach out to him, but he shrugs me off, then winces in pain. It should have been me, not him. I should be the one with the brand on my chest. I’m the coward, not Hiro. “Did you say anything to my parents?” he asks quietly.
“They kept asking questions.” I only wanted to help.
He raises both arms in the air, then slumps forward, placing a protective hand over his chest.
“Jesus, Berlin, how do you think my mother’s doing right now, knowing a pack of ignorant rednecks attacked her son and fucking branded him? I never wanted her to know, and now you’ve taken that from me too.”
He’s like one of his mother’s impossibly delicate bowls, and I’m trying to hold him without breaking him. “How would you even hide something like that?”
“Like everything else. By not fucking talking about it.”
“I’m sorry,” I moan, feeling stupid and useless. The last thing I wanted is to make it harder for him.
“Stop apologizing.” He glances away, then back at me. I see the pain in his eyes, the loss, like he’s given up. I want to ask him about Seth and the glassy look in his eyes that tells me he’s been using, but I don’t want to kick him while he’s down.
“Can we talk tomorrow?” I ask. I hate leaving things this way between us, but I know he’s had a horrific night.
He shakes his head slowly. “No, we can’t. Just forget you ever knew me, Berlin. Whatever we had, it’s over. I’m sorry, but your friend Trent killed it.”
He climbs the stairs to his house and shuts the door quietly behind him. I shuffle back to my truck with my tail between my legs.
I might never be able to make it right, but I’m not going to give up without a fight.
I CALL Hiro the next day and again on Sunday, but my calls go straight to voice mail. He ignores my texts too. The Crosses aren’t at church on Sunday morning, and I hope it’s because Trent is still hurting from the ass-whooping Friday night. On the way home from church, I tell my dad everything—Trent, the branding, the fact that Hiro and his family didn’t go to the police.
“What should I do?” I ask.
“Give him some space. He’ll come back around when he’s ready.”
“What about telling the police? It’s a hate crime. Trent can’t get away with this.”
“You want me to talk to Hiro’s parents?”
Hiro was so angry when he found out I’d spoken to his parents. “No, I don’t want to make it worse.” My mind goes in circles thinking about what happened, what I should have done, and what I can do now to make things better for Hiro.
“I beat Trent’s ass Friday night,” I tell my dad as an afterthought. “And I quit the football team.”
“We’ll figure out another way to get you to college,” he says, which is the least of my concerns right now.
On Monday morning, Anderson’s truck is parked in my space, and he and Trent are sitting on the tailgate. He can have it—my parking spot, Trent’s friendship, my starting position—all of it. I want nothing to do with them or the rest of the football team. Trent taps a baseball bat against his open palm, no doubt trying to intimidate me, and Hiro too. Hiro isn’t here, though. Who knows if he’ll ever come back?
“What are you looking at, faggot?” Trent says as I pass them in my truck. His right eye is still swollen and there’s some bruises on his face. I wish it were worse.
If Trent comes at me, I’ll fight back, but I’m not going to egg him on—he’d enjoy it too much. I find a spot in the underclassmen parking lot and arrive late to first period.
In the hallways everyone is staring at me and whispering, and not in a good way. No doubt they know I’m off the football team. I can’t speculate beyond that. Kayla finds me after second period and asks if I’m coming to church that Sunday. I’m so grateful to have someone speak kindly to me that I practically sing out, “Yes.”
“Good,” she says brightly, “because I spoke to Pastor Craig, and he wants to meet with you after services.” She gives my shoulder two quick pats, then pulls her hand back.
“About what?”
“Oh, you know.” She pauses and looks at me with intention. “Things.” She smiles awkwardly and hurries away.
Does Kayla know I’m gay? Does Pastor Craig? The whole school? My sexuality is my business, not my church or my classmates. I want some say over who knows it, but Trent has ruined that for me, the same way I took the story of Hiro’s assault away from him by telling his parents. Shit.
In Team Sports I find my gym clothes in one of the shower stalls, soaking wet. I can’t dress out and play soccer, the new sport, so I sit on the sidelines in my jeans and boots and get a sunburn. I don’t bother telling Coach Gebhardt about my clothes. He didn’t do anything when the same thing happened to Hiro.
I eat lunch alone on the tailgate of my truck. I think about skipping, but I’m not going to punk out so soon. Hiro endured this abuse a lot longer than half a school day. When I go to get my books for fifth period, someone has scrawled FAGOT in bold black letters across the top of my locker. Probably Trent, since he can’t spell for shit. I try to erase the word with my shirt, but it’s some kind of permanent marker. Behind me, people are snickering. One of the linemen shoves me into the locker
s as he passes. I don’t react. In a way, I deserve it. All the times I stuck up for Trent, all the times I told Hiro to back down—how shitty that must have felt for him. As to finding out who my real friends are, it’s zero.
Since I no longer have practice after school, I head straight for my truck, only to find the windshield is cracked and my tires are slashed. Trent and his baseball bat.
“Dammit,” I shout in frustration. I kick the rim of one of the tires so hard it feels like I broke a toe. When I report it to the school’s resource officer, he says there’s not much he can do about it, since all I have is a hunch and no witnesses. He’d probably try a little harder if it weren’t Trent Cross I was accusing. I call a tow truck operator who’s a family friend and sit out in the parking lot stewing in my own juices until he shows up. I think about heading down to the football field to confront Trent and the rest of the team, but I’m outnumbered and outgunned.
“Looks like you got on someone’s bad side,” the driver says to me as he’s loading up my truck. “Cheat on your girlfriend?”
“It’s a long story.” And one I don’t want to tell to a friend of my dad. Then I realize I’ll have to tell my dad about this. I dread it. I wish I could just have it fixed without him knowing. Then I think of Hiro and his mom and how I screwed everything up for him. I pull out my phone and try calling him, but get his voice mail again.
I leave another message.
Hiroku
MY MOM wants to go to the police about the assault. We argue into the early morning over it. I lay out all the reasons why it won’t work. When that doesn’t convince her, I tell her that if she forces me, I won’t talk. The same thing happened with Seth. She wanted me to press charges, but I wouldn’t, because I didn’t want Seth to get in trouble. This time it’s different. I don’t think it will matter. And I don’t want a bunch of strangers poking and prodding me, asking me questions, getting all up in my business and making me defend myself.
The Bravest Thing Page 15
