He Made Me Stay

by K. Webster

  I want to tell him no. To remind myself I only promised lunch. Instead, I find myself nodding. It’s what Julian would do, right?

  Another quick glance tells me he has every single class with me.

  Every. Single. One.

  What’s happening?

  I shoot Mr. Halston a confused look. He’s a physics teacher. Maybe this is some rule of law we haven’t learned about that pushes this colorful force into my dark void, infiltrating every corner.

  Mr. Halston watches us with an intensity I can’t quite interpret. Hope. I see hope in his eyes. A hope I don’t understand. I’ve been hopeless for so long that it’s staring me in the face and it’s as foreign as an alien being.

  So much hope. And gratitude.

  At first I think he’s smiling at me in a grateful way because he knows I’m taking in this goofball and literally showing him the way.

  His smile isn’t for me.

  It’s for Kit Strong.

  Like he’s the one saving me.

  “Enjoy your day, boys,” Mr. Halston says, waving at us.

  Kit waves back while I frown.

  I start walking toward the door, imagining Kit is walking behind me. But the moment I step out of the classroom, he’s right there next to me. Head held high. Grin affixed and aimed at everyone.

  Happy.

  He’s so happy.

  Julian was happy.

  I clung to that sunny disposition like a lifesaving raft. My brother was my everything. Normally, I would dive down into the grief of my loss, but not now. Not when people are pointing and laughing. Not when they tease.

  “Homos,” Eric coughs out, shooting a hateful glare our way.

  Eric adored my brother. Might have even worshiped him at one time. They were teammates and good friends. Behind the smiles and jokes, I see a familiar pain. One that is an echo of my own.

  “You’re Eric Davidson,” Kit says, stopping right in front of Eric.

  Too close.

  Too close, Kit.

  This bright boy doesn’t understand personal space. He’s invasive. An infection. I want to grab him by his colorful backpack and pull him back a few feet so he’s out of our school’s wide receiver’s punching distance.

  Kit’s smile is too pretty to destroy.

  “And you’re the new nerd.” Eric twitches, clearly uncomfortable under Kit’s close scrutiny. “Welcome to Mountain Grand High.”

  “Thanks,” Kit says. “Are you really going to Notre Dame?”

  Eric’s brows furl. “Yeah, what’s it to you, stalker?”

  Kit laughs. “You call it stalking, I call it learning. Nerd, remember?”

  Eric shifts on his feet, shooting an uneasy glance my way as though I can make sense of the new kid.

  “Your mom works at Mountain Grand Memorial.” Kit cocks his head, his dark curls bouncing. “Right?”

  “Are you threatening me?” Eric asks, his voice shaking with a mixture of anger and confusion.

  “No.” Kit cackles. “It means your mom will work with mine.”

  “She a nurse?” Eric asks.

  “Pediatric surgeon. Five bucks says my mom will befriend your mom. She befriends everyone. Dinners at the Strongs are unforgettable. Do you have siblings? My brothers and sisters don’t know anyone yet since we just moved here.”

  As Kit continues to babble, several kids crowd around us. Eric has lost some of his animosity, trying to keep up with the conversation.

  “We’re going to be late,” I warn, my voice barely a whisper.

  Kit pulls a business card—a fucking business card—out of his pocket and hands it to Eric. “Text me.”

  Eric frowns as he accepts the card.

  Kit finally looks at me, waiting for me to lead the way. I let out a sigh and then keep walking. Kit takes long steps, keeping up with me. We reach our English class with less than a minute to spare.

  I stalk to the back of the classroom and plant my ass down in the last seat, hoping it’ll keep from Kit breathing on me the whole hour. Predictably, he bounces my way, his dark hair zinging with each step. He plops down, turns in his seat, and grins at me.

  Too close, Kit.

  Too close.

  “Can you take me home from school? Mom is still being weird and won’t let me drive. Dad says she’s babying me. Again.” He rolls his eyes playfully and speaks as though I even know what the hell he’s talking about. “Unless you have a motorcycle. Mom will flip if I ride on a motorcycle.”

  I blink at him, unable to form words.

  “I, uh, I have a car.”

  “Cool.”

  He turns back around, leaving me stunned. This kid is a force of nature. He’s intense and in your face. It’s distracting.

  I had plans.

  His smile and voice and apple Jolly Rancher eyes messed it all up.

  There’s still tomorrow.

  I just have to get through today.

  Jasper

  I make it through all of second hour and part of third, wholly distracted by the new boy. It’s like my eyes find reasons to land on him. I note that, contrary to my initial observation of him, he’s not exactly small. Shorter than me, yes. But, sitting behind him in two classes now, I note he has curves to his shoulders, his back, and arms. Just enough to indicate he takes care of his body, but not enough to make him beefy like Eric. I should focus on my Native American history teacher as she explains one of the tribes in Eastern America, but I can’t.

  All I see is him.

  Kit Strong.

  Kit checks his watch several times in a row, then glances up at the clock. With a slight sigh only I hear, he leans over to unzip his bag. He pulls out a banana and begins unpeeling it. I glance up at Mrs. Rowe to see if she’ll get onto him for eating in her class, but she’s busy writing on the board.

  He inhales the banana quickly and with purpose before setting the peel on the corner of his desk to continue taking notes. I watch the clock, counting down the minutes to lunch. Exactly fifteen minutes pass and Kit checks his watch again. Another sigh. Back into his bag he goes, rifling through it until he pulls out a juice box like a little kid. He’s not quiet—his movements jerky and almost angry—as he tries to unpeel the wrapping from the straw. Something in the shakiness of his hand has me reaching past him to grab the straw. I tear the edge open and hand it back. He rips it away, shoves it into the box, and then sucks it down. His gulping is loud, earning a couple of annoyed glances. When he reaches the end, he slurps at it loudly.

  “Lunch is in twenty minutes,” Mrs. Rowe states, her irritated glare burning into him.

  “I know.” His tone is grumpy and annoyed.

  “You need to keep the snacking to outside my classroom—”

  “He doesn’t feel well,” I blurt out, an overwhelming need to protect him washing over me. She hasn’t watched his every movement for hours now like I have. Something shifted in the past half hour and I felt it.

  Her mouth opens as though she’s surprised I spoke. “Very well then. Keep it quiet.”

  As soon as she turns around, his body relaxes. I lean forward, this time the one to invade his personal space, and whisper, “You okay?”

  A slight nod of bouncing curls is the only response I get.

  Fifteen more minutes pass. The bell will ring soon and then we can head to lunch. Before the bell rings, he starts cramming things into his bag. Then, without warning, he stands, shoulders his bag, and takes off out of the classroom. Without thinking, I chase after him, ignoring the sniggers of the class and the teacher barking at us.

  I exit the classroom, my eyes scanning for him. I catch a glimpse of him just as he pushes into the bathroom. That bathroom. I stalk after him, pushing down my grief that’s bubbling up inside of me at the reminder. By the time I reach the bathroom, he’s shaking off the water from his hands at the sink and rushing into a handicapped stall.

  The handicapped stall.

  He unzips something and makes a bit of noise as I prowl into the bathroom. I
don’t think he’s using the toilet, so curiosity has me peeking through the crack of the door. I know I’m a creeper watching him, but I feel like I need to know what he’s up to. For a moment, I’m ashamed at what I’m doing, so I tear my gaze from the crack of the door to stare at my shoes. Several minutes pass and he curses under his breath. My eyes, once again, seek him out.

  My mouth goes dry when I notice his bag opened and a syringe is sticking out. A syringe! I nearly choke on my heart as it leaps into my throat. I’m slammed with a hurricane of confusion and worry.

  This is the stall where I am to end my life.

  Not his.

  I pull on the door, but it’s locked. He messes with a black device that seems to be hooked to him. I don’t know what’s happening, but I’m afraid he’ll go after the syringe next. Panic has me flying into the stall beside him, standing on the toilet, and peering over the side.

  “Stop!” I cry out, my voice several octaves too high.

  A small blush tinges his cheeks as he zips up his man purse, hiding his drug paraphernalia.

  “You have a syringe in your bag. What were you going to do?” I accuse, unable to drag the hurt from my voice.

  Could it be lethal?

  I barely know him and already know he shouldn’t hurt himself.

  “It’s called living,” he grumbles, leaning against the wall.

  “You’re a drug addict? Is that why you’re so happy?”

  “Do I look happy now?” he snaps, fire blazing in his green-blue eyes.

  He looks miserable. Twitchy and angry. Fatigued. A light sheen of sweat on his pale face.

  “What’s wrong? Do you need the nurse?”

  “This is what’s wrong,” he mumbles, shooting me the bird.

  I’m irritated and slightly offended until I see his tattoo on his middle finger. I don’t understand the symbols. They make no sense to me.

  “You said your mom is a doctor,” I say softly. “Should I call her?”

  His brows are furled together as he blinks up at me. “Please don’t.”

  “Can you unlock the door?”

  He nods and reaches over to unlatch it. I hop off the toilet before entering the stall with him. The kid is clearly unwell. I have the urge to hold him up so he doesn’t fall over.

  So, I do.

  I grip his arm, stepping closer. His sunshine and apples scent invades my senses, only now he smells sweet from his juice and banana.

  “How can I help?” My eyes pin his.

  “You’re doing it.”

  The bell rings and people start to flood the bathroom. I close and lock the stall door so no one teases him. As they move on to their next class or lunch, and when the bell rings, I arch a questioning brow.

  His coloring is better and his already familiar smile is taking up real estate on his face. Up close, I notice how long his dark eyelashes are. Just how pouty his lips are. I realize had I taken all those pills this morning, then I wouldn’t have had the insane fluttering in my stomach that makes me wonder just how sweet Kit Strong tastes.

  “You’re gay too,” he says, no judgment in his tone.

  “Yeah.” I don’t fidget or shy away from his assessment. “That obvious?”

  “Your social media has a quote that says, ‘Out and proud,’ so yeah, kinda.”

  A smile tugs at one corner of my lips. “Did you stalk out the entire senior class?”

  There’s only ninety-eight of us, so it’s not impossible.

  “All the teachers too,” he says, beaming.

  “So you know…” I trail off, choking on my words. I shove my hand into my pocket, rattling the pill bottle, needing to have that safety net in my grip.

  “About the accident,” he murmurs, “yes.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut, hating that for the first time in weeks, the tears tease me again.

  “Jasper, I need to go to lunch.”

  My eyes pop back open as I study him. “What’s this mean?” I grab his hand, ignoring the jolt that shoots straight to my dick, and inspect the tattoo.

  “It’s a tattoo with the Type 1 diabetes symbols on it.” He chuckles. “Mom was not thrilled when I got this. Not thrilled at all. Dad high-fived me, though.”

  This cheesy, goofy, too-smiley kid has a tattoo like a badass.

  “You eat too much sugar or something?” I ask, frowning at him. No wonder he’s hyper as fuck.

  “No, dummy,” he says, his grumpy mood from earlier now absent. “I was diagnosed when I was fourteen. Basically my pancreas doesn’t work. I have to do all the work for it. Constant work, too.”

  My aunt Helen has diabetes, but I always thought it was because she liked to bake cakes.

  “You have to prick your finger?” I ask, remembering that about my aunt.

  “It’s a lot more than that.” He runs his fingers through his bouncy hair, his expression still seemingly dazed. “The stuff you saw was my glucagon emergency kit. I had to bolus and Mrs. Rowe was already pissed I was eating in her classroom, so I came here to do it. It’s my fault. Dropped my breakfast sandwich in the grass on the way to school and overcorrected on my carbs. I have a monitor that tells me when my levels aren’t right.” He lifts his shirt to reveal his stomach. “See?”

  The small device I’d seen earlier is definitely attached to his skin. I’m more intrigued with the cuts of muscles into his abs. Or the dark happy trail below his belly button. My dick thickens in appreciation.

  “What’s this?” I ask, my voice husky. I touch the device on his stomach.

  “An insulin pump. Though, sometimes, I have to intervene when things are out of whack. You’d think four years later I’d have it under control.” He shakes his head, his dark hair bouncing. “This disease keeps me on my toes.”

  Disease.

  Disease.

  Disease.

  The word makes my stomach clench painfully. I don’t want him to have a disease. I’m suddenly all-too protective over Kit Strong, who doesn’t seem strong at all. One of his organs has failed him and he manually does the labor to keep his body moving.

  “Are you going to…” My voice cracks. “Die?”

  He lets his shirt drop down and he steps closer. “I don’t plan on it until I’m an old man.”

  Relief floods through me. I sag and let out a sigh.

  “I have to eat, though.” He stands on his toes, pressing a chaste kiss on my lips like we didn’t just meet hours ago. “I’ll tell you all about it over lunch.”

  I’m so stunned he kissed me, all I can do is gape at him.

  I would’ve missed this.

  Had I come to this stall alone, hours ago, I would’ve missed this not-so-lonely moment with a bright boy with a broken organ and a smile as big as Texas.

  My own broken organ—the empty husk that was shriveling away in my chest—starts thudding hard. Blood pumps from it to my extremities, especially to my dick. Heat flames across my flesh as I blatantly stare at his pretty strawberry lips that were soft and sweet as they pressed to mine.

  I want to kiss them again, I realize.

  Next time, I want to part them with my own lips and taste his tongue to see if it’s like I imagine. I want to dive my fingers into his silky, bouncy hair and hold him to me. I want to run my fingertips over his hard abs and then through his trail of dark hair. I want to do a whole lot.

  There’s no time.

  My time ran out.

  All I have is today because tomorrow is my date with Julian.

  “Mom says people can’t help falling in love with me,” Kit says, his green-blue eyes twinkling. “She calls it the Strong Force.”

  “Like in physics? The strong nuclear force?”

  He laughs, his smile widening. “That’s right, quark.”

  I try to run through what we’ve learned about it from Mr. Halston. In a nutshell, the strong force holds the nucleus together.

  I’ve been splitting off and drifting in a million different directions since my brother wrapped his car around a tr
ee. He wasn’t even supposed to be at the senior prom, but an older girl asked him to be her date. After he dropped her off, he was run off the road and hit a tree.

  A drunk driver.

  My brother, on prom night, wasn’t even drinking.

  Another person’s mistake took my twin from me.

  “Let’s go,” Kit says, unlocking the stall door.

  On impulse, I reach for his hand, my fingers grasping onto his like a lifeline. I feel if he leaves me alone in this stall, I’ll finish what I wanted to start this morning. His touch is warm and comforting. I forgot what it felt like to crave another person’s touch.

  His fingers thread with mine as he tugs me from the stall. I get caught up in his sunny apple scent and incessant chattering. Behind me, I leave the grief where it belongs. Alone in that stall. I’ve been haunted by the sadness for so many months that it feels relieving to untether from it. The weight that drags me under is gone. I’m floating. A balloon of lighter emotions as Kit tugs me along.

  We make it into the lunchroom. The chaos pops my balloon of slight happiness, sending me deflating quickly. Kit squeezes my hand as though he knows.

  I’m supposed to take him under my wing.

  To look after him so he won’t get picked on.

  Do the Julian thing and be a hero.

  Turns out, Kit reversed the roles on me.

  He’s taking care of me and I absolutely don’t know what to do about it.

  Jasper

  He’s so…interesting.

  His mouth moves so quickly, I can barely keep up. I’ve learned his father is a microbiologist and the reason for their move. His team is studying a new species of organisms discovered on Mountain Grand Lake. His mother is a pediatric surgeon. He has four siblings, all younger. At his old school, he ran track, was on the debate team, and was in student council. When he graduates high school, he wants to go to college to study engineering because he wants to become an astronaut.

  “Mom says it’s impossible. That I should become a scientist like Dad or a doctor like her.” His pink, pink strawberry lips pout out, reminding me of our quick kiss in the bathroom. “They think because of my disease, I can’t do it.”

  “Can you?”

  He shrugs. “Technically, you have to be in optimal health, which I’m not. But I’m only eighteen. I figure by the time I finish my endless amounts of education, there will be great strides taken for Type 1 diabetes. And then it’s off to Mars.” His grin is infectious, though a twinge of sadness pinches at my heart.