The Importance of Being Kevin

by Steven Harper

“Two!”

  “One!” people called out. Peter shifted his weight and put his palms on the floor behind him, but he didn’t move his knee. I couldn’t have moved if a Tyrannosaurus rex had burst through the door.

  “Two was the lie.” Iris grinned. “I definitely don’t listen to reggae. Melissa, you’re next.”

  The round blonde girl waved to us, and most waved back. “I’m Melissa Flackworthy, and I’m playing Lady Bracknell. I’ll start with this. One—I’m the oldest of four sisters.”

  I decided it was time to take some action. What the hell did I have to lose, right? I mean, it might be an accident, and I could just apologize. Still, tell that to my adrenaline levels. They zoomed off the chart. I casually leaned back like Peter was and put my hands flat on the floor behind me, close to Peter’s.

  What the fuck are you doing? said my nasty inner voice, but for the first time in my life, I told it to shut the hell up.

  “Two—I was born in Germany. Army brat.”

  Everyone was watching Melissa, and my body blocked the view anyway. My hand crept closer to Peter’s like a shy inchworm. Just be cool.

  “Three….”

  My little finger touched his. I felt his skin on mine, and a little jolt shoved my heart into my throat. My shorts felt too small. I didn’t dare look at Peter.

  “Hmmm…,” said Melissa. “I’m not sure.”

  What felt like a long moment passed. I was dead. Peter would freak out, pull his hand away, and shake it like I’d given him a disease. His arm muscles tensed, and I braced myself for it. Then he pressed the side of his hand more firmly against mine. My heart flew from my body like a released falcon and shot into the sky, screaming its joy.

  “I know. I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was ten. Which one’s the lie?”

  A chorus of guesses followed, but Peter and I stayed silent, our hands pressed secretly together. I risked a glance at him, and this time he smiled fully at me, and I smiled back. A hundred suns flashed into existence and went nova.

  “It’s three. I never did learn to ride a bike.”

  Some laughter and a little conversation among the cast followed that one. By now my arms were cramping up from the way I was sitting, and I was forced to shift, which pulled my hand away from Peter’s, but I made eye contact with him so he would know it was okay. He nodded. It felt amazing good that someone else might feel—

  “Kevin! Yo, Kevin!” My head snapped around. Les was pointing at me with his pencil. “Your turn, man.”

  The suns and novas and falcons evaporated with a fwoop. “Oh! Sorry. I’m Kevin Devereaux, and I play Algy. Lemme see.” I thought fast. “One—I have family in New Orleans.”

  One—I’ve figured since I was twelve that I’m gay.

  “Two—I’m really good at chess.”

  Two—I’m sitting next to the greatest guy I’ve ever seen, I think he likes me back, and my heart is pounding so hard I can barely talk.

  “Three—I ran away from home once and didn’t come back for almost a month.”

  Three—I’m a loser who lives in a white-trash library with an ex-con, and I’m turning out just like him.

  “Three!”

  “One!”

  “One!”

  “Three!”

  Oops. One of those was supposed to be a lie.

  “It’s two,” I said. “I don’t even know how to play chess.”

  I saw Les looking at me for a moment. He pushed his hair out of his eyes with a long-fingered hand, winked at me, and went back to scribbling on his clipboard. What was that all about? A pang hit me—had he seen me touching Peter’s hand?

  “Okay, Peter,” Iris said, which snapped my head around again. “You’re next.”

  Peter ticked his off on his fingers. “I’m Peter Finn—Jack Worthington. One—I’m a licensed pilot. Two—I’ve dated someone who was ten years older than me. Three—I’m going to be an architect. The lie is number one.”

  “Hey!” Iris shook an admonishing finger at him. “You’re supposed to make us guess.”

  “Sorry. I don’t like guessing games.” Peter raked a hand through his hair and looked straight at me with eyes that stopped my breath. “And that’s not a lie.”

  Les tapped his pencil hard on the clipboard.

  After that Peter and I carefully pretended nothing was going on. The others went through their truths and lies, and then we read through the script. That was kind of fun, though with everyone just sitting in a circle, I didn’t really feel like Algy. It was the first time I’d actually read The Importance of Being Earnest all the way through, and I decided I’d have to look up some stuff about Oscar Wilde, the guy who wrote it.

  When we were done, Iris gave us all a copy of the schedule, a list with contact information, and a website where we could get updates. I shoved it into my pocket and didn’t tell anyone I didn’t have a computer. I met some of the other cast members, but I was a little shy around them. Melissa seemed nice, and two of the guys in the show—Joe and Thad Creeker—were brothers.

  Once we were done, everyone scattered, and I lost track of Peter. A little disappointed, I headed out back to the tiny parking lot, which was nearly deserted. I didn’t see Peter’s Mustang. It was ten o’clock, and a gibbous moon coasted over silvery treetops. When I was little and Mom was still around and we lived in a real house, I thought it was gibbons, and that a gibbon monkey lived up there, making the moon more and more full. The dark, warm night lay soft between streetlight puddles, and hidden crickets peeped as I unchained my bike.

  Footsteps scuffed on the cement. I whirled. It was Peter. My heart kept on whirling.

  “Hey,” he said. “I didn’t see you leave.”

  I shrugged. Suddenly the touching game seemed dumb and distant, probably a mistake. “Yeah. Are we the last ones?”

  “Except for Les. He has to lock up.”

  “I missed your car,” I said.

  “It’s in the front lot. You’re riding your bike home in the dark? Kind of dangerous.”

  “Nah. I do it all the time.” I wrapped my chain around the seat post. “I like riding at night. It’s peaceful.”

  Peter stepped closer. “You were really good during the read-through. Everyone else was stumbling, but you were really smooth.”

  “Really? Uh… thanks. I thought you did pretty good too, Jack.”

  “Algy.”

  We both kind of grinned, and uncertainty hung in the air between us, unclear as cracked glass. Neither wanted to move closer, and neither of us could move away. Peter’s breath smelled like chocolate. My hand was on my bike seat. Silence stretched. I didn’t know whether to run like hell or fall at his feet.

  “Do you go through the park when you ride home?” Peter asked at last. “I can show you a cool shortcut.”

  I couldn’t say anything for a second. Then I managed, “Sure. But… how come? It’s kind of out of your way.”

  “You heard me at the icebreaker.” And then he put his hand on top of mine on the bike seat. It was warm, and that touch made my crotch go tight. “I don’t like guessing games.”

  The stupid little voice in my head said, He’s toying with you. Get the hell away. Be safe! Run! A sick feeling tried to come up through my stomach like sewage.

  I opened my mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking about, that he was making a huge mistake. But then it was as though funny, confident Algy pushed me aside and took over my body. From my mouth came the words “You don’t have to guess,” and I flipped my hand around to take his.

  There was a tiny moment when nothing happened and I thought I had fucked it up. Then Peter gave a heavy sigh and grabbed my hand tighter. “Oh, thank god. I was terrified that you were screwing with me.”

  “Holy shit! So was I.” We both laughed then. It felt really good to do that with someone.

  Peter’s head came around, and he dropped my hand. “What was that?”

  I looked around too but didn’t see anything. “What?”

 
“I thought I heard—never mind.” He led me away with my bike. “Come on. It’s a damn beautiful night.”

  “It damn sure is,” I agreed, and we laughed again.

  We wandered down the fake country lane past the huge houses with their tea-party trees to the park. The summer night was a cloak drawn soft around us, giving us a private world overseen by the moon, and she wouldn’t say anything. I walked between Peter and my bike, and our shoulders touched as we moved. It sent happy little shudders through me. How could such a small thing as a touch make me so happy? It didn’t seem real.

  “So was that really true?” I asked. “You really dated someone ten years older than you?”

  “Yeah.” Peter ran his hand through his hair again, and I admired the gesture. “I was fifteen. It broke all kinds of laws. But man, it was great while it lasted.”

  “Er… just so we’re on the same page… it was a guy, right?”

  Peter halted on the sidewalk. I stopped too, suddenly afraid. What had I done wrong? Shit. Was he still…?

  “Dude,” he said, “the last girl I kissed was my cousin Shelly at her wedding, and I way wanted to kiss the groom instead.”

  More laughter. I felt the tiger retreat. Peter could do that.

  We crossed the bridge and wandered into the park. Peter’s arm came slowly around my shoulders. I had never felt the weight of another guy’s arm there. It made me feel secure, like the world would never touch me again. It also made me excited. My shorts felt too tight again, and I swallowed hard.

  “Did you always know that you were… that you liked guys?” I asked him.

  “No way.” Peter snorted. “It took me forever to figure it out. Well, forever until I was fifteen.”

  The river flowed like a silver snake under the gleaming stars. I could feel Peter’s body heat like the summer night around me. I could jump over the trees. I could walk on the moon. I wanted… I needed….

  And then Peter’s arms went all the way around me. Before I completely understood what was going on, he was kissing me. I dropped my bike. His mouth was warm on mine, and every part of my body melted and froze at the same time. Even as it happened, other thoughts—

  This is it! My first kiss!

  You don’t deserve this, asshat.

  Is that his dick pressing against me?

  —crowded through my head, trying to ruin it.

  We parted, but our foreheads were still touching. His breath moved across my face.

  “Jesus, you’re gorgeous,” he whispered. “From the second you walked on that stage, you were beautiful, you know that?”

  A shadow moved at the corner of my eye. Was it a person? I backed up and turned away a little, feeling weird and heavy all of a sudden. My left hand stole around and clasped my right elbow. “Don’t call me that. I’m a frigging loser.”

  Peter looked mystified. “You’re not, Kevin. You’re so talented and smart. Anyone can see that. Iris sure did.”

  “I’m a loser, okay?” The tiger was growling again. “Just like my…. I’m a stupid loser.”

  “Because I kissed you?” Peter put his hand on my shoulder. “Oh my god—I didn’t mean to—”

  “No!” The stupid anger flashed back. I had thought Peter could help me keep it away, but he couldn’t. “It’s not you, Peter. You don’t want me. You can’t want me.”

  I snatched my bike from the ground and started to leap on it so I could pedal away. Anger and fear drove me, and I couldn’t stop moving.

  A hand grabbed my arm. Peter’s hand. Hot as a chemical fire. “Hey,” he said. “What I want is to find out for myself.”

  Run, I thought. Flee. Hide.

  But I stayed. For a little bit.

  I barely remembered riding home after we left the park. Dad was still up and waiting for me in the stuffy living room, book in hand.

  “I thought rehearsal got out at ten,” he said narrowly. “It’s quarter after eleven.”

  “My bike chain popped off.” I held up my grease-stained fingers, which I had thought to wipe across said bike chain before I came in. “It was a bitch to fix in the dark.”

  “Language,” he said. His eyes were hard, and I knew he was suspicious, but hey, my story was plausible. My bike broke down all the time. And it wasn’t like I was out dealing drugs or getting drunk.

  No, said my stupid inner voice. You were kissing a guy.

  “I’m gonna wash up and go to bed,” I said, and I fled before he could say anything else.

  In the bathroom I scrubbed my hands with soap. My reflection above the tiny sink duplicated my movements. Did Dad really know something? Or was he just still mad at me from before?

  I stared at the mirror. Blue eyes stared back. Did I look different? I brushed my hair away from my forehead with damp fingers. Wow. He had kissed me. And I had kissed him back. It was hard not to spread my hands and shout. I never thought it would feel like this, like I was touching everything in the whole wide world.

  I slipped into my room to undress for bed, though I wanted to spread my wings and leap into the air. I wanted to shout and sing. I had a boyfriend! A significant other! A BF! Maybe! Probably! But who could I tell? If word got around that Kevin Devereaux was queer… shit. Some of my euphoria slipped away, and I tapped Robbie’s picture three times. This was so bad.

  But it felt so good.

  It took a long time to fall asleep.

  The boy huddles on the ground in a circle of male figures. The others shout and yell and pump their fists.

  “Kick his ass!”

  “Smash his face!”

  “Bash his nuts!”

  “Come on dude—fight!”

  “What are you waiting for? Come on!”

  A fist falls. A foot kicks. A chain swings. A rock crushes.

  The boy shrieks, “Leave me alone!”

  I shot awake. The sheet was bunched around my waist, and my hair was stuck to my scalp. More sweat ran down my stomach. My heart beat terrible rhythms inside my chest.

  The dreams wouldn’t go away. I didn’t know what to do. I really wished that Peter—

  No. The darkness pressed in around me. I was glad Peter wasn’t there. He’d know I was a loser for sure.

  I curled sideways in my bed and waited for the next dream to come.

  ACT I: SCENE III

  KEVIN

  “OKAY, FOLKS, let’s try it this way.” Iris pushed her glasses up and waved her script at us from the audience, which I learned was called the house.

  Onstage, a girl named Krista Benson sat on a couch. She was playing Gwendolen, and she was supposed to be crazy in love with Peter—Jack, I mean. Someone had dragged a bunch of furniture onto the stage and put down masking tape where the stage crew would build the walls and doors. I could have saved myself a lot of agony by just volunteering to work crew—they took anyone—but I hadn’t known that. Course, then I wouldn’t have run into Peter.

  I was offstage with Les, the tall, blond stage manager guy. He carried a big loose-leaf notebook with Master Script written on the cover in Sharpie. On the other side of the stage was the round blonde girl, Melissa, who was playing my character’s snotty aunt, Lady Bracknell.

  Peter was also onstage. He was sitting beside Krista/Gwen with her hand in his. Their scripts lay on the couch. Next to me, Les was scribbling stage directions—blocking—in the master script.

  “Peter—I mean, Jack—let’s have you kneel in front of Gwen and take both her hands,” Iris called from her seat in the house. “But stay in profile—don’t turn your back to us.”

  Peter obeyed. I shifted next to Les, who continued to scribble.

  “Now lean in close. Closer. You’re in love.”

  Krista/Gwen ducked her head a little and smiled as Peter moved in. She was pretty, and I suddenly didn’t like her very much.

  “Don’t do that,” Iris admonished. “I know it’s uncomfortable, but this is the man you love. Lock eyes with him. A marriage proposal is the biggest moment of a Victorian woman’s life.�
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  Gwen did so. Peter stared back, and I saw a spark between them. Weird. I knew it was just a play, that they were only acting, but it made me nervous to see Peter look at Krista that way.

  Les tapped his pencil against the notebook. I glanced at him, and his eye caught mine. I gave a little half smile. He shrugged nonchalantly and went back to writing again. The margins of the script were filled with Ls and Rs and Xs in circles with arrows going all over the page. It was gibberish to me.

  “Enter Lady Bracknell,” Iris said.

  Across the stage, soft, blonde Melissa puffed stiffly into Lady Bracknell and stalked between the masking tape marks, script in hand. “Mr. Worthing! Rise, sir, from this semi-recumbent posture. It is most indecorous.”

  “Mamma! I must beg you to retire,” Gwen said. “This is no place for you. Besides, Mr. Worthing has not quite finished yet.”

  Les stopped writing and dropped his hand as though it had cramped up, but I was too caught up in what was happening onstage to pay much attention. Some curtains were half hiding me and Les from the stage, so it was hard to see. Peter was still holding Krista’s hands and leaning close.

  Lady Bracknell looked shocked. “Finished what, may I ask?”

  How dumb was it to be jealous of—

  A hand caressed my left buttcheek. Cold water crashed over me. I jerked my head around. Les pulled his hand back with a weird smile.

  “I am engaged to Mr. Worthing, Mamma.”

  For a second I couldn’t move. Nausea squirted through my stomach. I all but jumped sideways a few steps and turned away. I didn’t know what to do.

  “Pardon me, you are not engaged to anyone. When you do become engaged to someone, I will inform you of the fact.”

  Les went back to scribbling in the notebook again, though he looked a little pissed off. No one seemed to have noticed anything. They were all watching the stage, and we were mostly behind the curtains. What the hell had that been about? Did I give off some kind of gay radiation? Did everyone know?

  “For goodness sake, don’t play that ghastly tune, Algy. How idiotic you are!”

  My stomach turned again, and I stared down at the stage floor. When Les touched me… it felt… gross, like he was squeezing a roll of toilet paper at the store. Was it always gross? I liked it when Peter touched me, but he didn’t grope me like that. Did I just attract weirdos?