by K. Z. Snow
I felt paralyzed.
“Jake? If I’m wrong, I’m really, really sorry. I swear I’ll never do anything like that again.” When I didn’t answer, he said, “So, um… if you’re warming up, I’ll just….” Turning away from me, he slid toward the edge of the mattress and started sitting up.
I grabbed his arm. “Don’t go. You’re not wrong.” Did he hear that? My voice was nothing more than harsh-sounding air. I pulled him toward me to make my message clearer.
Rider settled back onto his left side and looked into my eyes. “Are you sure?”
I didn’t answer. Actions spoke louder than words. So I moved my head forward and pressed my lips to his. Another shock rippled through me. It was kind of embarrassing to hear my breath coming so fast through my nose, like I was scared or excited. Both of which I was.
Before I knew it, my hands were netted in his hair. Tentatively, then more boldly, our tongues touched. This time Rider made strange noises. I think we were both scared and excited. Now that I’d started kissing him, I didn’t want to stop.
Rider eased back and held my face. “I want you.” His voice was ragged. “And not just as a friend.”
“As what, then?” Oh man. Another moment of duh. When would they stop happening? I felt cursed.
“As a boyfriend, I guess. I’m not sure what else to call it.”
My heart skipped. Could this really be happening? “But… how do we do that? There aren’t any other boyfriends on campus. Not that I know of.”
“It isn’t like we have to go around holding hands or hanging on each other. We’ll know it in our hearts.” He smiled. “And we’ll do the touchy stuff when nobody else is around.”
It all seemed so logical, so natural. Here. Now. Rider thought we belonged together. I thought we belonged together. But the school wouldn’t think that. Everybody around us, students as well as staff, would think we were sick to crave this kind of closeness. Wouldn’t they?
“I hate having to hide,” I said, lifting his hair to my face, feeling it, inhaling the scent of it—something I’d wanted to do for over two years.
“So do I.” Rider kissed my hand.
“But if we don’t hide, everybody’ll think we’re—”
“Queer.”
Hearing the word jolted me. I’d been avoiding just thinking that word. A phrase I’d heard or read somewhere came with it: We’re here; we’re queer…. “Are we, Rider?”
“You don’t want to admit it to yourself, do you.” He was fingering my curls, tenderly touching my face. I’d never felt so treasured. Every time any part of his body made contact with any part of mine, the very marrow of my bones trembled. Rider added, as if sensing my fear and trying to take the edge off it, “Hey, don’t freak out. Maybe you’re bi.”
“Are you?”
He hesitated. “I have reason to doubt it.”
“What does that mean?”
The question seemed to bother him. “Because I’ve had… occasion to test myself. So to speak.”
He was being cryptic again. Nobody did cryptic better than Rider. I’d learned not to pressure him for clarification when he got like that. “So you think if I test myself, I’ll know for sure?”
“You might. Maybe you should do it tomorrow. With Della.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. Why did he have to mention her? It blew the whole mood. “Oh man, I really don’t want to go through with that stupid date. Not after this.”
“You can’t back out now, Jake. And maybe it’ll give you a better idea of what you really want. I mean, shit, you haven’t exactly had a ton of experience with sex and romance.”
“And you have?”
Rider gave me an impish smile. “More than you.” He rolled half on top of me. Our robes parted; skin touched skin. A luscious weakness swept through me, except for one part. And that part got real strong real fast.
“You have to get off me,” I said breathlessly. “Something’s going to happen.”
“Shhh.”
Again Rider kissed me. My body writhed and warped, bowing into his, and I clutched at his back, digging my fingers into the solid, gliding planes of muscle. I’d never before felt what I was feeling, both inside and outside and especially below the waist. I didn’t know what to do. Rider was breathing hard, which only turned me on more. Oh God, the noises I was making! Whines and whimpers and strained groans. But I was beyond being embarrassed.
Until someone knocked on the door….
Chapter Five
RIDER SWORE. We were all dueling knees and elbows as we scrambled to pull apart.
“Stay there,” Rider whispered. “Pretend you’re asleep.” He swore again when he got up. The reason was pretty obvious. As he tied his robe closed, a tent appeared—and I don’t mean in the middle of the floor.
Another knock. I watched, aching with need, feeling all wormy under the skin. I wanted relief so bad I had to bite into my lower lip to keep from beating off.
Rider hurried over to the door, unlocked it, and cracked it open. I burrowed under the covers.
“Hey, we were wondering why you didn’t come to dinner.” It was Brody.
Rider feigned a yawn. “We crashed, man.” He lowered his voice. “I found Jake passed out in a snowbank and had to guide his ass back here.”
“Is he okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Sound asleep.”
“Hope he recovers by tomorrow. He’s got that date.”
“I know,” Rider said. “Don’t worry. I’ll get him into shape.”
I smiled.
Go away, Brode. Go away, go away, go away. I inhaled the scent of Rider’s shampoo on my pillow. I recalled the feel of his mouth on mine, of his smooth, warm skin beneath my hands, of his erection poking at my hips and belly while his softly furred legs stirred restlessly over and between my legs.
I needed him. Bad.
Finally, Brody went away.
As soon as I heard the door close and the lock click, I timidly said, “Rider?”
When I resurfaced, he was standing beside my bed, his bathrobe pooled around his feet, his hair cascading over his chest and shoulders. He had a beautiful body, hard and trim. And it was ready. He was ready.
Barely able to breathe, I flung the covers aside. “Help me out, okay?”
And he did. He sure did.
RIDER WAS in his own bed when I woke up the next morning. Smiling wistfully, I tiptoed over to him and, as lightly as possible, kissed his hair. I had a powerful urge to crawl in beside him but tamped it down. I didn’t want to be a pest.
Instead, I raised my head and inhaled deeply. The scent of him, rising in soft waves from his sleep-warmed skin, conjured another memory. The summer before I came to Ben Raphael, I’d hung out with a neighbor kid named Rolf Schroeder. We’d skated and boarded and biked together, went swimming in his parents’ pool or mine. The smell of him—nothing special, just a summer-boy smell—had been intoxicating to me. And I’d really liked the way he looked in swim shorts. When we sunbathed after swimming, I’d always made sure my chaise was close to his.
How long, I wondered, had I been muffling the truth about myself? How long had I refused to admit how much I liked boys—their tight, round butts and flat bellies and little bead-hard nipples; the hair that streamed gossamer soft over their arms and legs… and, when they passed puberty, thatched in their armpits and above their crotches; the heady aroma of their hormone-rich sweat?
After forcing my gaze away from Rider’s curled body and spill of hair, I slipped on my crumpled robe, gathered some clothes along with my bath kit, and grabbed my phone. I had to call Della, but I didn’t want to disturb Rider. Or talk to her in front of him.
Shower over and clean clothes on, I went into one of the toilet stalls and parked myself on a lowered seat. A few other guys wandered into the bathroom and gave me funny looks before they went about their business. “You better not plan on dropping a deuce with the door open, McCullough,” said Brian Richards, a pimply junior. “Or is that something virgins do
?”
I rolled my eyes, wondering how long we’d have to endure these kinds of taunts and whether Brody’s scheme was worth it. “I’m only making a call,” I assured him. “Can’t you see my pants are up?” Warthog.
Except, whoops, I’d grabbed the wrong phone. Rider’s and mine were virtually identical.
My mind began an evil ticking.
I thought of that girl’s voice I’d heard Thursday evening and the subsequent text Rider hadn’t read until… when? I didn’t know, but he’d obviously wanted to read it in private.
The devil on my left shoulder was more persuasive than the angel on my right shoulder. Usually the angel won—and probably would have again, if what happened last night hadn’t happened. But if Rider wanted us to be boyfriends….
I accessed his messages. That wasn’t right, I knew that wasn’t right, but I told myself not to freak out about it. I wasn’t on some kind of jealous rampage. Idle curiosity spurred me on, that was all.
Because of its time stamp and the fact Rider didn’t do much texting, the message wasn’t hard to spot. It had come from “The Nanny.” Unless a female student was into some kind of cosplay kink (although I was pretty sure Rider wasn’t), a real nanny must’ve sent it. I knew Rider had a six-year-old half brother named Casey.
I read on. The answer came in a sickening flash.
Wish u coulda come over 2nite. Srsly miss u, baby. Need 2 cu soon—Monday? Am dying 2 get close again. U always do it 4 me.
As I stared at the message with its studiously “hip” abbreviations, I fit it together with other clues. The scent of perfume on Rider’s history essay. Meaningful glances. That weird after-class scene. His uncharacteristic blushes and self-consciousness. “The Nanny.” Nancee. The older woman. “Baby.” The younger man.
I tried rationalizing away all the evidence. When I realized I couldn’t, I wanted to throw up.
The son of a bitch had a thing going on with Ms. Anderson.
“Maybe you’re bi.” Why had he said that? Because he was, and just didn’t want to admit it?
I was so shaken I almost left the bathroom without calling Della. Then I remembered I couldn’t call Della because I had Rider’s phone, not mine. He was still asleep when I got back to our room, but I’d lost all desire to be considerate. Besides, having a phone conversation would be a good way of waking him up without making a point of waking him up.
I called her—she was ridiculously happy to hear from me, which gave me the guilts—and we agreed to go skiing after lunch. I figured that was better than hanging out in the lounge and inviting snuggles. When Rider awoke, I thought maybe I should have invited intimacy with Della—maybe it would have put me on a straighter track—but even after what I’d discovered, I honestly couldn’t stomach the thought.
Rider got out of bed and stretched. Damn, he looked delectable. He stood with his back to me, and my breath quickened as I took in the perfect symmetry of his ass, the strong, tapering lines of his back. His hair was a wild torrent.
After pulling on his robe, Rider turned and mimed a question. He pointed at me, held an invisible phone to his ear, and finally made a curving motion out from his chest. I frowned at him in confusion. It was only when he mouthed Della’s name that I realized he’d been indicating breasts. I sealed off a snort.
Rider was in the bathroom by the time I got off the phone. I hustled to the cafeteria to grab some breakfast and, thank God, didn’t run into the other guys. It was probably too early for them to be up and about.
Meals on the weekends weren’t as regimented as they were during the week. They were laid out buffet style. Students and staff ambled in and out of the dining hall when they felt like it, except during the three-hour break between brunch and dinner. That was when the kitchen workers cleaned the cafeteria, finished washing up, and changed out the buffet food.
I was so hungry from not having had dinner the previous evening that I wolfed down four pancakes, two servings of scrambled eggs, a half dozen pork sausages, and a big glass of orange juice. Rider, I figured, must be starving too.
Fuckaduck. What was I going to say to him? Should I say anything? Yes, probably. I needed some answers. If I didn’t get them, the mystery of his relationship with Fancee Nancee would eat me alive.
He entered the cafeteria with Tim, Carlton, and Brody as I was about to leave, and he gave me a private smile. I got all squishy inside. Nervous too.
“You going to join us?” he asked before heading to the buffet. His hair was still slightly damp, and its fragrance made me want to crush myself against him.
“No,” I said, “but I would like to talk to you when you get back the room.”
He studied my face. “Everything okay?”
Carlton breezed past us, singing, “Jakey’s got a da-ate, Jakey’s got a da-ate.” He playfully pulled my hair. I was so on edge I wanted to swat his hand away. Hell, I almost wanted to cry.
“We’ll talk later,” I said to Rider once Carlton was busy filling his plate. Then I blew out of there and stalked back to the dorm. I could feel Rider staring at me as I retreated, could feel the honey of his eyes sketching a warm spot between my shoulder blades.
Back in our room, I tried to edit the American history essay that was due the next day. Good thing I’d been cobbling it together all week, because I sure wouldn’t have had time to write it over the weekend. Focusing on it was hard. Nearly impossible. I kept seeing Ms. Anderson sashaying around the classroom, kept imagining what went on when she and Rider were alone together. Those mental pictures didn’t aid my digestion any more than they did my concentration.
When Rider came into the room, I jumped. He shot me a glance and dropped onto the edge of his bed, hands linked between his knees. Silently, he watched me and waited.
I got up from my desk, cleared my throat, and sat on my own bed. “I have a confession to make.”
His eyebrows pulled together by a fraction of an inch, but he still didn’t say anything.
“I grabbed your phone by mistake this morning when I went to the bathroom. I was going to call Della and didn’t want to wake you.”
Rider didn’t get my point. I could tell by his expression. He unlinked his hands and spread them apart. “That’s it? That’s your confession?”
“No. That’s the setup for my confession. I saw something on your phone….”
He stared at me a few beats longer, then dropped onto his back and crossed his arms over his face. “Oh fuck, Jake.”
Immediately I felt like shit. He knew what came next. He knew. I sat forward, desperate to exonerate myself however I could. “I realize I messed up. God, do I ever. But I just… I remembered that call you got Thursday evening, how you were all, like, uneasy and kind of secretive about it. I could hear it was a female voice, which made the whole thing even stranger. But honestly, Rider, I would’ve forgot all about it if last night hadn’t happened. I would’ve forgot the other stuff too.”
He lifted his arms from his face. “What other stuff?”
“The perfume on your Reconstruction essay. Your staying after class.”
“Oh Christ,” he groaned. “Jake—”
“I’m really sorry for snooping. I’ve never done it before, I swear. So please don’t think I’ve turned into one of those women’s-movie-network psychos who spends one night with someone and thinks You’re all mine now, mine-mine-mine. It isn’t in me to think that way and be all possessive and shit.”
“I believe you.” Rider pitched forward and got off his bed.
I watched him warily and kept babbling. “But I would like to know, and maybe I deserve to know….” He sat beside me. When I spoke again, my voice had dwindled. “Rider, has something been going on between you and Ms. Anderson?”
Although he must’ve anticipated the question, it still made his face pale. After a couple of blinks, he dropped his head to his hands. “Not anymore. I’ve never even been attracted to her.”
Numbly, I watched him. “Then why did you risk it to
begin with?” Of course I’d heard and read news reports of pretty female teachers seducing male students. The stories never ended well, or at least didn’t end well until everybody involved suffered through a lot of legal hassles, heartache, and psychological trauma.
I never thought such a thing would happen here, at the idyllic Ben Raphael Academy, where every teacher was a model of proper behavior. And I certainly never thought it would happen to my roommate, who hadn’t ever hounded after any female.
Sighing, Rider lifted his head. “At first I was flattered when I realized she was flirting with me. It made me feel special. Even sophisticated. You know? But I didn’t take it seriously ’cause she’s flirty with a lot of guys.”
“So when did you take it seriously?” I asked, half-appalled and half-fascinated.
Rider played with his fingers. He couldn’t seem to look at me. “When she asked me to stay after class one day and offered to write an excuse for my being late to comparative culture.”
That was Rider’s fifth-hour class. Each of us knew the other’s schedule by heart. “What happened?” I whispered, wanting yet not wanting to know. I held my breath.
“Let’s just say she made her intentions known.” His voice had curdled.
I didn’t press for details. Breathing was hard enough. “But you didn’t have to follow through! It was wrong as hell for her to do that, Rider!” I sounded like a whiny little kid, but I couldn’t control my voice.
He nodded. “Yeah, I know.”
“Then why’d you give in?”
“Because I thought the relationship might… change me.”
“Change you how?”
Finally, Rider looked at me. His smile was wan. “Come on, Jake, you can figure it out. Why did you agree to hang out with Della?”
I dug up my motives. “I thought being attracted to guys was just a phase, and I wanted to get over it.”
“There ya go.” Rider turned forward again. “No dude wants to be gay. Not at first, anyway.”
Gay. We hadn’t yet used that word. It shuddered through me like an epiphany, and one that came bundled with dozens of memories. All at once I recalled feelings and incidents that either hadn’t seemed significant at the time, or were so significant I’d tried to bury them.
