Hank’s bashes turned out to be a lot of fun. We picked a west-side neighborhood, grabbed up baseball bats or rocks or chains or whatever else we could find, and bashed stuff after dark. It felt good, like I was part of a strong and powerful group.
First it was mailboxes. We smashed ’em. Then it was cars. We bashed a bunch of those. The next step was easy. Hell, it was even logical. I mean, you go out after dark when there’s been a lot of gang activity, and what do you expect, right?
So yeah—this kid was outside on the street. Only we decided it was our street, at least until the cops showed up and we scattered. Hank saw him first, but we all caught on fast. The kid was maybe a year younger than me. He had brown hair, like me, and these really big eyes. He looked like a baby bird.
I don’t really remember everything that came next. It seemed like the kid didn’t even try to run when we surrounded him. I do remember thinking my baseball bat was really heavy, and tiny bits of glass stuck in the wood glittered like diamond dust. The kid was so scared, he was panting.
We were all waiting for someone else to start. It was weird, but no one really wanted to go first.
Then Hank said, “Hit him, Kev! Cream the little faggot!”
I was holding my bat high, ready to hit a home run. This kid was rich and had everything I didn’t. And Hank, tall and handsome and strong, was telling me to do it. And I was pissed.
Hank shouted, “What are you waiting for? Do it!”
The kid put his hands up to his head. I won’t lie. I wanted to do it. But I couldn’t quite make myself.
Hank said, “He wants to suck your cock.”
Something in that sent me over the edge. I swung my bat and hit the kid in the arm. He screamed. The gang laughed, and they swung too. Chains and rocks and hands and feet. I couldn’t stop. I was hitting everything that made me angry, everything I hated.
Everything that was me.
That was when the cop cars showed up, with lights that slashed the dark like blue knives. Everyone scattered, but one cop took me down in a football tackle and got me in handcuffs so fast I didn’t even have time to understand what was happening. I’ll never forget the awful, sad look on my dad’s face when he came down to the station to get me. I wanted to flush myself down the toilet.
The kid almost died. He was in the hospital for three weeks. He was released the day I got sentenced. Because I had a clean record, the judge gave me two years’ probation instead of jail. She said I couldn’t see or talk to any of the people I used to hang out with. If I see them or get into any other kind of trouble, I go straight to juvie.
She also gave me a picture of the kid I beat up. It’s this one here.
“His name is Robbie Hunter,” the judge said. “He’s fourteen. He has an older sister and a younger brother. He likes reading and playing video games. He loves woodworking and built his little brother a treehouse last summer.”
Every word beat me black and blue. I couldn’t speak or think. All I could do was stand there with my head hanging down. If she had swung an axe to chop it off, I wouldn’t have stopped her.
“You beat up a person, Kevin. A person with hopes and feelings and a family who was terrified he would die. You aren’t allowed to forget that.” And she hit her desk with that hammer thing.
What? No, I’ve never talked to Robbie. But I keep him on my nightstand and knock the frame three times before I go to sleep so he knows I haven’t forgotten him.
So no… he’s not my first boyfriend. Or maybe, in a weird way, he is.
MY HANDS were twisting in my lap like a nest of spiders. It was the first time I’d ever said any of this stuff out loud, and it was both easier and harder than I thought. I was sweating a little and was glad for the box fan churning damp air in from outside. The rain had slowed to a trickle.
Peter was still sitting next to me on the couch. I faced forward; he faced sideways. “I don’t know what to say,” he told me.
I shrugged. More words swarmed inside me. I didn’t want to let them out, but I was already leaking. “You don’t have to say anything.”
“No, I feel like I should have something profound to say, but I can’t think of—”
“I deserved it,” I said.
There. The last of the words were out. All of a sudden, I wanted to take them back. My chin trembled, and I worked my jaw.
“What?” Peter asked.
My mouth moved by itself. “That thing in the park. I deserved it.”
Peter put his arms around me then, though I didn’t move. “That’s not true, Kevin. Absolutely not.”
“Yes, it is.” The words rushed around, faster and faster, trapped in the circle of Peter’s arms. “I beat up Robbie Hunter, and then that guy… attacked me. I’m being punished, and I deserve it.”
“The universe doesn’t work that way, Kev.” Peter’s voice was soft. “No one’s trying to punish you.”
“Yeah, whatever.” It was nice to hear, but I didn’t believe it. Why else would it have happened? Shit, because of what I’d done to Robbie, I’d gotten involved in the theater program, and that put me in the park that night so Les could attack me. It was all so obvious.
Peter leaned in closer and pecked me on the cheek. I was too wrapped up in inner blackness to respond. He pulled back a little. “Six?” he said hopefully.
Okay. That made me smile. A little.
The front door banged open. Peter jerked away from me. I nearly smacked the ceiling as Dad stomped into the trailer. His hair was tousled, his work shirt and jeans filthy, his boots muddy. And he was wet.
“I’m home!” he shouted. “Whose car is that in the driveway?”
“Dad!” I bolted to my feet. “Hi! How was work? Are you hungry? Boy, you must be tired! I could make you a sandwich!” I almost ran the five steps to the kitchen. “Put up lots of drywall? You look like you’ve been slaving pretty hard! Are you working tomorrow too?”
Dad set down his lunch bucket. His eyes were narrowed. “What are you up to, Kevin?”
“Me?” I answered too loudly. I couldn’t seem to help myself. “I’m not up to anything. Why would I be up to anything?”
“The only time you babble is when I’ve caught you at something.” He jerked a thumb at Peter. “Who’s your friend? Is he involved? That his car out front?”
I had out bread and a knife and no idea what to do with either one. “Uh….”
“Hi, Mr. Devereaux.” Peter got to his feet, elegant and smooth, and held out his hand. “I’m Peter Finn. Kevin and I are in the play together. We got out of rehearsal early today, so I gave him a ride home.”
They shook hands. A too-wide grin had plastered itself across my face, and I reined it in. If Dad suspected anything….
“I see. Nice to meet you, Peter.” Dad dropped his hand and looked at him. “Is that Kevin’s shirt you’re wearing?”
My heart collapsed like a dead balloon.
“Yeah.” Peter slid his hands into his back pockets and smiled that perfectly charming smile, the one that could stop a charging jaguar. “I fell and got soaked through when we ran in from the car, so Kevin loaned me some stuff. We hung my clothes in the bathroom. I hope that’s okay.”
“Sure, that’s fine. Glad Kevin has a friend.” The last bits of suspicion fell away from Dad’s face, and I thought I might faint with relief. “I’m ordering pizza for supper. You can stay if you want.”
“No, thanks. I should get home. Is it still raining?”
“Not as hard.” Dad was rummaging around one of the end tables where we kept takeout menus. I shoved the sandwich bread aside—pizza!—and snagged the umbrella from the little closet near the front door.
“I’ll walk you to your car so you don’t get wet this time,” I said.
“Thanks,” said polite, charming Peter.
“Nice meeting you, Peter,” Dad called as we walked out. “You’re always welcome.”
We huddled under the too-small umbrella and avoided puddles out to Peter’s blue Mus
tang. Rain drummed on the cloth above our heads. His hand and mine held the handle together, and I suddenly wanted to keep on walking down the driveway, onto the road, and into forever with him.
“Thanks for coming over, Peter,” I said as he opened the door. “I… I feel kinda better.” And it was true.
“I’m glad.” An odd look came over his face. “Look, Kev, I wanted to tell you….”
“Tell me?” Our hands were still on the umbrella handle. “Tell me what?”
He broke away and dropped into the driver’s seat. “Never mind. I gotta go. Earnest forever!”
I waved as he drove away, wondering what he had wanted to say but not wanting to think too hard about it.
Dad was on the couch, pulling off his work boots, when I came inside. “Pizza’s on the way, kiddo. They paid me pretty good, even for a short day.”
“Cool. I’m suddenly starving.” I put the umbrella away and headed toward my room.
“So what is Peter to you really?” Dad asked.
The whole world stopped. For a moment I couldn’t move. Oh shit. Had he seen something? What did he know?
“What do you mean?” I forced a casual note into my voice. Algy would have been proud.
“You haven’t had a friend over since… since before court.” He unlaced his other boot. “He a good friend?”
Oh. Jesus. It was okay. Probably. The ice was still thin, though. Dad wasn’t looking directly at me, and that meant he was keeping things too casual. “Sort of. I mean, we have a lot of scenes together in the play, and he’s pretty cool.”
“He has a car. And he’s a couple-three years older than you.”
“Sure, but we get along.” I needed to change the subject, and fast. “You gonna take a shower before the pizza gets here? Drywall dust doesn’t mix with mozzarella.”
Dad stretched and headed for the bathroom. “Yeah, I better.”
I let out a relieved sigh when he got out of sight and then almost hit the ceiling yet again when he shouted, “Kevin!”
A shirt and a pair of shorts flew through the air and fwapped on my head. “Your friend left these in here.”
I restarted my heart, then took Robbie’s picture and Peter’s clothes into my room while the shower hissed in the bathroom. Robbie’s picture went onto the nightstand, and Peter’s clothes went onto my bed—old boyfriend, new boyfriend. I sat cross-legged and crumpled Peter’s damp T-shirt to my face. It still smelled like him. I lay back on my bed, and for a moment I forgot about Robbie and Les and was back on the couch with Peter’s arms around me.
ACT I: SCENE VI
PETER
IN HIS own room, Peter peeled off Kevin’s shirt and crumpled it to his face. It still smelled like Kevin. He lay back on his bed for a moment. What the hell was he doing? Kevin was sixteen, for god’s sake, barely a junior in high school. Peter was nineteen and starting his sophomore year in college this fall. Sure, when they were old, like in their thirties, three years wouldn’t be any big deal, but right now those few years yawned like an abyss.
But when they were together, that abyss melted away. Kevin had been through a lot, and he didn’t act like other high schoolers Peter knew. At the audition he had barely glanced Kevin’s way. And then Kevin walked on the stage and become Algernon. The transformation was so quick, so complete, it left Peter staring, and he almost dropped his lines. And shit, the guy was good-looking. That tousled brown hair and those merry blue eyes yanked Peter straight in. Peter rarely shied away from risks, but it took all his courage to touch Kevin’s knee during that first rehearsal and take his hand later in the parking lot. Now everything was moving so quickly. Peter had been in love before, but never this hard or fast. And then he learned some whack job had raped Kevin.
Fury bunched the shirt in his hands. It had taken all his self-control not to… what? Yell? Shout? Scream? Go hunt the guy down? He didn’t even know who the asshole was. But if he ever found out….
Peter stuffed Kevin’s shirt under one of his pillows and followed them with the borrowed shorts. Then he got out shorts and a shirt of his own from the walk-in closet. The french doors to the deck outside his room showed the rain was ending at last. Most of the trailer where Kevin lived with his father would have fit into Peter’s room, where hardwood floors scattered with heavy throw rugs stretched to walls of molded plaster. One section was more like a living room, complete with a plasma TV set into the wall, a fireplace, and comfortable furniture scattered with an array of video games. Peter’s desk and computer took up surprisingly little space, and the shelves sported a respectable book collection, though nothing close to what Kevin’s dad had amassed. A door led to his bathroom. Peter wondered what Kevin would think of the place and exhaled hard at the thought. East-sider and west-sider. Romeo and… Romeo.
Someone rapped sharply at the door. Peter recognized the knock. “Come in, Mom.”
Helen Morse entered the room. She wore her business clothes—conservative gray dress suit and flat shoes. Her silvering hair was pulled back into a bun. An unhappy expression creased her face, and Peter tensed. Now what?
“I thought rehearsal ran until ten,” she said.
“Schedule change. No biggie.” He pulled on his shoes. Kevin’s had duct tape on them. Peter hadn’t even thought twice about dropping a thousand dollars on his. “What’s up?”
Mom brandished a piece of paper. “You got a letter from the chair of the architecture department. It says they’ve approved your request for a change in major.”
“You opened my mail?” Peter got to his feet in both surprise and outrage.
“Your father and I are paying for that education.” Mom pointed an accusing finger under his chin. “If it comes from the school, I’ll damn well open it. I checked your schedule too. All the classes you’ve signed up for are in either architecture or theater. You’re supposed to be studying business.”
Peter stubbornly folded his arms. He’d known this argument was coming, but he didn’t want to have it right then, not with what had just happened to Kevin looming behind him. “I hate business. It’s frustrating and boring, and I’m no good at it.”
“Your grandfather didn’t found Morse Plastic so you could—”
“—fritter my life away drawing pictures of buildings and parading around on a stage. I’ve heard it before, Mom.” Peter dropped back to the bed. “I’d ruin Morse Plastic if I took it over. We both know it.”
“You’d do no such thing, Peter Finn. You’re a Morse, and being a Morse means you get respect.”
“Whether it’s earned or not,” Peter said wryly.
“Don’t talk that way. You’re an intelligent, talented young man who’s a natural leader. All you need is a push in the right direction.”
“How do you know what the right direction is, Mom?” Peter countered. “Look, I don’t want to talk about this. I was in a good mood until now.”
“Peter Finn—” Mom reined in her temper with obvious effort, though her foot tapped the rug with firm little thumps. “I’m not going to be around forever. Your grandfather wanted Morse Plastic to stay in the family, so the next CEO has to be you or your sister, and you know it can’t be Emily.”
“She’d do a better job than I would.” Peter’s hand crept under his pillow to touch Kevin’s shirt for reassurance. Kevin was strong. Peter could be strong too. “Maybe it’s time to take the company public, Mom. You know what an IPO would do. It’d be the biggest thing to hit the market since Google.”
“There, see?” She came over to stand near Peter’s bed, and he smelled her perfume. “You do have a head for business.”
“Two classes don’t make me a CEO,” Peter sighed.
Mom strode for the door. “I have a business thing over dinner. We’re not done discussing this, Peter Finn.”
“Sure, sure,” Peter said to her retreating back. “Would you tell Dennis that my car needs to go in the garage?”
Mom paused at the door. Without turning around, she said, “Emily’s been
asking for you. You should go see her before bedtime.”
She shut the door. Peter sat on the bed for a long moment, then dropped his head into his hands for a moment longer. Shit. He hated arguing with Mom. He hated it even more when she was right. Better to get it over with.
He left his room and followed a long, wide corridor through the mansion. A number of the help stood aside to let him pass, and Peter nodded absently to them. Eventually he came to a heavy oak door. He steeled himself and knocked exactly twice.
“Enter,” called a musical voice from within.
Peter opened the door. “Hi, Em.”
“Peter Finn!” she called. “Peter Finn, come in! I want to see you so much, Peter Finn!”
He shut the door behind him.
KEVIN
A NEW guy was at rehearsal, huge and bulky, with bowling-ball arms and a shovel beard. He made me nervous, but not nearly as nervous as Les did. It took all my nerve to stand on the stage with him there, even though I took care to stay far away from him. Les took up his usual place near the curtains at stage left with his notebook. My stomach grew cold and tight at the sight of him, though he ignored me. I thought about dropping out of the play, but then I’d be in trouble with my probation officer, and I wouldn’t see Peter anymore. So I made myself go. Peter stood next to me, of course, and I was glad about that. Thad and Joe hovered around Meg, and Melissa stood some distance away from Les with her back pointedly toward him. I wondered if there was something going on there.
Even more furniture was on the stage now, along with a partially built staircase at the back. Iris was downstage—the part closest to the audience. She gestured at the big guy.
“This is my brother Wayne, everyone,” she said. “He’s designing the set and will be helping out as assistant director.”
Wayne gave a curt wave. “Hey.”
The Importance of Being Kevin Page 6
