“Oh! Weeping Water has some folklore of its own too you know.”
“That’s where you’re from?”
“Well, I’m originally from London,” Michael explained.
“Really?” Ronan said. “Keeping secrets, I see.”
Flustered, Michael tried to explain. “No, not at all, it’s just that … well, I didn’t have a typical upbringing either. I, um, moved with my mother to Weeping Water, Nebraska, when I was three.” Michael reached up to grab a leaf for himself, but when he pulled, the leaf proved too strong and wouldn’t break off. He tugged harder while trying to continue his story. “We moved in with my grandparents.” Finally, Michael gave up and let go of the branch but used a bit too much force, so instead of it bobbing gently back into place the way it did when Ronan released it from his grip, it bounced hard, hitting Michael on top of the head. “Ow!”
Hurt and embarrassed, Michael grabbed his head, knowing he looked like a klutz. Ronan thought he looked cute. “Are you okay?” When he reached over to try and soothe Michael’s head, Michael flinched and ducked a few inches. Oh God, what am I doing? Ronan was very impressed with himself that he didn’t laugh. He wanted to, but he could tell that Michael didn’t find his slapstick as humorous as he did. Instead Ronan put his arms behind his back and crossed his ankles. “So tell me about this legend.”
The sun was shining directly into Michael’s eyes, so he took a step closer to Ronan, just a step and for practical reasons, but may be it would look like he was finally flirting back. Better late than never. “Well, um, the ’Ballad of Weeping Water’ is a poem that tells of a fight between these two Indian tribes. It was so bloody that all the squaws from both tribes wept for days,” Michael said. “Their tears formed a stream, which was named Weeping Water, and that’s, well, that’s how the town got its name.”
Ronan didn’t move, but his eyes studied Michael. God, he’s beautiful. Could he think the same thing about me? Should he? Ronan didn’t know. All he knew was, now that Michael was standing so close to him, so close that he could smell the freshness on his skin, it was starting to drive him crazy. “I like it.”
He likes it. Maybe I’m not such a fool. Then again, just because he likes the story doesn’t mean he likes me. “We both seem to come from a bloody heritage.”
It looked like a shadow passed over Ronan’s face. Might be sadness, might just be the rustling leaves blocking out the sun for a moment. “I prefer to look at it as if water plays an important part in both our histories.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. I guess you are like Oscar Wilde.”
“An outcast?” Oh, Ronan, come on, he didn’t mean that.
“No, no, I meant that you look at life from a different viewpoint.”
Another shadow. “Of course. I guess I am, then.”
Before Michael could make another observation, the bell rang signaling the end of third period. The boys had three minutes to make it to their next class, and Michael had theology, which was far on the other side of campus. It was Ronan’s turn to sit through Old Man Willows’s take on world history, so his class was much closer. “I, uh, better go,” Michael said. “Don’t want to be late on my first day.” Unable to think of anything else to say, he nodded, looked at the ground, and then started off toward his next class until he heard his name.
“Michael.” Michael turned around quickly just as Ronan took a step toward him. And for the first time the boys touched. Only their hands, Ronan’s left in Michael’s right, but it was electric. Ronan’s hand felt just as Michael knew it would, like cool water over rock-hard stone. And Ronan loved how Michael’s hand was warm and smooth and softer than his. They were so pleasantly and unexpectedly surprised, they held on to each other for a few seconds after they became self-conscious. But even when they let go, they were still connected. So many thoughts were swirling in their heads, neither of them could speak; they could hardly think.
Finally, breathless and hoarse, Ronan told Michael good-bye, and just as Michael turned away, he was compelled to add “for now.” Happily, Michael nodded yes in response before running across campus to get to his next class. Ronan watched him go, sure that he had said the wrong thing, but confident that if he had to repeat his actions, he would say the same words all over again.
The simple truth was that both boys felt their relationship was inevitable, but neither of them knew what truly awaited them.
They also didn’t know that they were being watched.
In the distance, two people were staring at them, both disturbed by what they saw. Ciaran, from the other side of the library, and, hiding behind a tree, a strange, dark-haired girl that neither of them knew but whose main purpose today was to observe.
chapter 7
The two boys had no way of knowing it, but they were both having the same dream.
The only sound that could be heard was their breathing, heavy and quick, as they treaded water in the middle of the lake, above them glorious sunshine, below them miles of cool and even cooler water. But Michael and Ronan didn’t care to look at what was above or what was below; they both looked straight ahead into each other’s eyes, trying to gauge the other person’s next move.
They were playing a game they had just made up. A game whose sole point was to give them an excuse to roughhouse in the lake and feel the nakedness of their bodies, arm clashing against arm, leg against leg. Ronan brought from the shore a stone, perfectly round and white, that they would take turns throwing up into the air between them. They would remain still, eyes fixed on each other, not watching the stone rise, pause, and begin its descent. They would move only when they heard the stone hit the water’s surface. Then the game would begin.
Diving into the lake, each boy would try to grab the stone first and emerge into the sunlight, hand over head, clasping their treasure. Sometimes Michael would find the stone, other times it would be Ronan, but no matter who would wrap his fingers around the prize first, the other would use his fingers to try and pry it free so he could claim victory.
If it was solely a test of strength, Ronan would win every time. His body was bulkier, his muscles more pronounced, his advantage unfair. But in the lake it wasn’t only strength that mattered. Michael was agile and could move and flip around with a bit more ease. Plus, Ronan absolutely loved the way Michael looked when he won. His blond hair plastered down around his face to bring focus to his delicate features, his green eyes sparkling in the sunshine, his full lips forming a wide, happy smile to reveal teeth so white and straight. So incredibly straight. Ronan smiled back at him, but deep within his mind, even in his dream, he thought, What am I doing with him? He’s so innocent, and I haven’t been for quite some time.
While Ronan tossed in his sleep, Michael lay still. He wanted to play this game forever; he wanted to feel Ronan’s power on top of him as he struggled to keep the stone in his hand. He wanted to feel his powerful chest press against his back, Ronan’s cheek with a bare hint of stubble graze against his face, and his hands, those magnificently strong hands, cover his own, smooth and hard on top of his knuckles. Plus, Michael absolutely loved the way Ronan looked when he won. His rugged face brightened like a young boy’s; his eyes filled with surprise as if each win was his first, his arm stretched high overhead creating a deep dimple in his shoulder blade. Ronan could have the stone; he could win every game. Michael just hoped he would never want to stop playing. And then Ronan broke the rules.
He threw the stone up between them, but before it fell, Ronan shouted something to Michael, something he couldn’t quite hear, and dove through the water. What was he doing? He couldn’t have a head start, that wasn’t part of the rules, Michael thought. But he saw through the blue ripples of water that Ronan was diving deeper and deeper into the lake.
Michael dove in next, the white stone swirling near him, now forgotten, its use finished, and he began to swim after Ronan, deeper and deeper until the blueness of the water had turned from pale to dark. But Ronan was nowhere to be found
. Michael felt his heartbeat increase as he looked wide-eyed to the left, the right, but still could not bring Ronan into his vision. Where was he? Where had he gone? No, our game isn’t over, Michael thought, not yet. It’s only just begun.
Feeling his chest tighten, Michael brought his knees up, then pushed down to propel himself back up toward and through the water’s surface. Gasping, he gulped air back into his lungs, spinning around to see if Ronan had emerged in a different part of the lake. No, he was alone. As alone as he was back in Weeping Water, as alone as he had been for the first sixteen years of his life. It wasn’t fair. Why should he meet someone who held the promise of companionship, of escape, of possibly a future, only to have that person taken away from him in a split second? Treading water, his legs growing weary, Michael acknowledged with a full heart that life could sometimes be cruel. Then he quickly learned it could also offer hope.
He felt the placid water next to him turn into a current, then a wave, as something shot past him from underneath into the sky above. It was Ronan. His entire body, his entire naked body, free from the confines of the lake, glistening in the sun, was airborne. Michael was astounded by the sight. Pieces of porcelain-colored flesh, midnight black hair slicked back, droplets of water falling from curved muscle, Ronan looked like a god, and Michael thought he looked at him with godly passion.
Now Michael stirred in his bed, his sleeping mind consumed with new and fantastic thoughts, while Ronan lay still. But in their dream they switched roles. Splashing back down, Ronan’s face was euphoric; he embraced Michael roughly and held him close, their bodies melding into one. Michael held on tightly, a bit afraid to journey into this new territory, but fully aware that Ronan would lead him to his destiny. And Ronan was fully aware that without Michael next to him, his destiny would not be worth reaching.
Ronan unfurled his clasped hand and showed Michael the white stone. Always playing games, Michael thought. But no, the time for games had come to an end. Ronan tossed the stone up and behind him because they no longer needed an excuse to touch each other, to give in to the urge to feel each other’s body. They were alive and they wanted each other. It was that simple. And nothing and no one would make them feel ashamed of their desires.
Ronan kissed Michael deeply and then pulled back and repeated what he said to Michael before he dove deep into the water’s hidden area. “I can’t wait to show you all my secrets.”
Finally, both boys awoke bathed in a mixture of joy and fear.
St. Sebastian’s Gym was the largest building on the entire campus. It housed a basketball court, an indoor track, a weight room, a gymnastics annex, locker rooms complete with sauna and steam room, and, on the far end of the building, an Olympic-size swimming pool. The pool was lined with a series of windows just as in St. Joshua’s Library, but these were larger, floor to ceiling, and overlooked the unpopulated forest that belonged to Double A. Long ago the students had given the woods a mysterious name: The Forest of No Return. Just an attempt to be funny, somewhat grand, they had no idea that truth lay behind that name. The trees were so tall and so close together you couldn’t see more than a few feet into their depth and there were large patches within the body of The Forest that held no sunlight, no opening to the sky. Looking out the window, Michael felt as if he were standing at the entrance to the unknown. It was the same feeling he got when he looked to his right to stare at Ronan.
They smiled at each other but turned quickly away, if only for practical reasons. Every boy in class was wearing the same bathing suit, a skimpy navy blue Speedo with two gold As on either side of their hips. While their suits were perfect for the game of water polo they were about to play, they were not the best for concealing their excitement upon seeing each other. Luckily, they only had to distract themselves for a minute before Mr. Blakeley blew his whistle, which meant the kids could jump into the pool’s, thankfully, cold water.
Actually they were playing a cross between water polo and volleyball since the pool was only three feet deep. Fritz was the captain of his team, which included Michael, Ciaran, and several other students Michael didn’t yet know. Ronan and Penry were part of the opposing team, led by a slender Japanese boy he hadn’t met but had heard Ronan call Nakano. He was one of the few kids wearing protective eyewear, goggles made of bright yellow plastic. His hair was cut razor short, but still maintained its deep black color. Michael thought he looked like a bumblebee. After Nakano served the ball with a swift, aggressive punch accompanied by a loud grunt, Michael changed his mind. Nakano looked like a hostile bumblebee.
“Hey, Nebraska!” Fritz shouted. “You might want to try to return the serve next time.”
Michael heard the words in his head. Shut up, Mauro! But this wasn’t Mauro, this wasn’t Two W, this was new, his new life, and Fritz was just ragging on him. It was no big deal. He had heard Fritz taunt some other guys so it wasn’t like he was zeroing in on Michael. At least not for now. Still, he had to figure out a way to veer Fritz’s comments in another direction or say something that would combat them directly. What did Mr. Alfano say? “Stand up for yourself; otherwise it’s only going to get worse.” He agreed with Mr. Alfano, but for the moment he decided it was best to keep quiet.
He was uncomfortable as it was in gym class, He needed to focus all his energy on playing the game and not trying to come up with a clever retort. Michael looked over at Fritz and shrugged his shoulders, missing Ronan glare at Nakano. Ronan’s glare spoke volumes and as a result Nakano’s next serve wasn’t nearly as powerful. Surprised, Michael almost forgot to react, but at the last second, he clasped his hands together, right thumb into left palm, and was able to bounce the volleyball off his forearms and into the air. Ciaran lunged forward and spiked it over the net. One, nothing.
“Like that?” Michael asked Fritz. It was a bit cocky, but Michael couldn’t help himself.
Neither could Fritz, not when it came to competition. “That’s one score, Nebraska. The game hasn’t even started.”
One score was better than none. Michael felt some of the fear that had been suffocating him for so long being released, breath by breath, and replaced with a feeling that resembled happiness. Sad that at sixteen he was only just beginning to be happy; but no, ignore that, ignore the past and look forward, straight ahead at Ronan. Right into the eyes of his future.
What kind of future can I possibly offer him? Ronan tried to push the thought out of his head, but he was so preoccupied with it, he swung and completely missed the ball when Penry lobbed it right to him. It plopped into the water a few inches to his left. “You’re a bit off your game, aren’t you, mate?” Penry asked, and followed up with his trademark laugh. Just as Ronan arched his thick black eyebrows and shrugged his strong shoulders, Nakano remarked in a low voice, “And onto someone else’s.” Michael couldn’t quite catch what he said, but he saw Nakano’s head tilt slightly in his direction. He was definitely talking about him.
The rest of the game seemed to fly by. Fritz shouted some more and a few times aimed his voice at someone other than Michael, Penry made a couple of excellent saves, and Ciaran proved to be the most graceful player in the water, lunging effortlessly to and fro and never once missing the ball when it came to him. It was quite an unexpected display of athleticism and Michael was impressed. Not as impressed as he was with Ronan’s skill in the pool, but he had already spent the morning dreaming about Ronan’s aquatic prowess, so nothing he did in person was really that much of a surprise. Except when he pushed Nakano harshly into the net.
Immediately, Mr. Blakeley blew his whistle and yelled “foul” partly so everyone would remember who was in charge and partly to prevent the boys from upgrading their push into a scuffle. For a moment, only the water could be heard splashing into the sides of the pool as Nakano and Ronan stared at each other, no one, including them, sure of what would happen next. “Gentlemen,” Mr. Blakeley said, “shake hands.”
It was hard to tell what Nakano was truly feeling; his eyes were blurred by
his goggles, but he stood as if he was ready to pounce. Head tilted slightly forward, fists clenched, his long, lean muscles seemingly on notice. In contrast, Ronan looked calm; he had regained his composure and watched Nakano, waiting for him to make a move. He looked as if he could wait all day. “I said shake hands!” Suddenly, Ronan reached out his right hand, steady and strong. Nakano now had no choice, so begrudgingly he extended his arm and the two boys shook hands. But the whole scene unsettled Michael. He did feel a surge of pride, knowing that Ronan was the first to concede, but there was also a tinge of anxiety. What caused the incident in the first place? And why did Michael have the strong suspicion that it started because of him?
It was clear that something had happened between Nakano and Ronan, but no one could agree on just what that was. Later on in the locker room while they were changing, Penry whispered to Michael that he thought Nakano hip-checked Roman to throw him off balance, you know, just for fun, and Ronan took it the wrong way. “He can be a bit brash, that one.” But Michael heard two other boys, their heads together, tying their shoes, mumble something about Nakano not knowing when to give up. What did they mean by that? And why did it make Michael feel unsettled? And why was Fritz staring at him?
“Well, Nebraska,” Fritz said, loud enough so everyone in the locker room turned around. “You didn’t suck.”
That was a relief. Maybe Fritz wouldn’t turn into a Mauro after all. “No, Howard, you didn’t. You played rather well, actually.” Michael turned to face Mr. Blakeley. Although he was several years younger than Mr. Alfano, he wasn’t as worked out. Physically, he looked more like a proponent of yoga than of weight lifting. However, their eyes shared the same kindness, the same desire to see their students succeed in and out of the classroom. “You swim as well as you play water polo?”
Unnatural Page 9
