by Michael Rowe
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Adrian said, and this time there was an edge to his voice that thrilled Mikey. “I told you to move.” He leaned down and moved his face inches from Chad’s face, placing both of his forearms on the hockey player’s desk. “Was there some part of that you didn’t understand?” For an impossibly long and challenging second, the two young men stared into each other’s eyes.
Chad dropped his gaze first. He muttered something under his breath and gathered up his books, then stood up and walked to the back of the classroom where there was an empty desk next to Dewey Verbinski. Mikey dared to turn his head to follow Chad’s progress to the back of the class. He saw that both Dewey and Jim were staring in disbelief as Chad made his way between the two rows of desks. He sat down heavily next to Dewey, refusing to look left or right.
Adrian slid gracefully into the empty seat next to Mikey and winked at him. He leaned back in the chair and put both hands behind his head. When he said, “You and I are going to be great friends, I can tell,” Mikey’s world seemed to tilt and go white at the edges.
“People, I’d like to introduce Adrian Johnson,” Mrs. Wood said, looking up from the folder in front of her. “Adrian has transferred to our school from—” She paused and looked down again. “Connecticut.” She smiled brightly. “Adrian, what brings you all the way to Auburn, Ontario for your senior year?”
“My father is from here,” Adrian said with another dazzling smile at Mrs. Wood, who blushed under his direct gaze. “He sent me on ahead. He’ll be moving back here at the end of the month. Until then, I’m on my own.”
“Well, we’re very glad to have you. Auburn is a lovely town. You’ll be making friends in no time.”
“Oh, I’m already making friends, ma’am,” Adrian said with another sideways grin in Mikey’s direction.
[28]
What happened in the cafeteria at lunch was something that Mikey—even in his wildest romantic daydreams or revenge fantasies—would never have dared to conjure.
One minute Dewey Verbinski was standing in front of him and Adrian in the lunch line making a comment about ass bandits and boyfriends; in the next, Dewey had been pitched halfway across the lunchroom. He lay sprawled on the floor with his hands pressed to his face. Blood gushed through the protective interlock of his fingers, and the gurgling whine that issued from behind his hands sounded like he might be drowning in his own blood. Someone had shouted Whoa! as Dewey crashed into a grouping of empty chairs, sending nearby trays and plates smashing against the concrete floor. The sound of Adrian’s fist connecting with Dewey’s face had been sharp and clear.
Mikey gaped. Adrian didn’t even look back.
“Where do you want to sit, Mikey Childress?” Adrian’s strong voice carried through the now-silent cafeteria. He placed his hand in the middle of Mikey’s back and propelled him gently forward. “Do you have a favourite seat?”
“I usually eat outside,” Mikey said. His throat felt dry. “I don’t usually like it in here.”
“Well, we can go outside if you like. Whatever you want. I don’t think your buddy back there is going to bother you for a while, so if you want to sit in here, that would be cool, too. I think I broke his nose.” Adrian’s laugh was genial. “What an asshole. Is he usually like that?”
“No,” Mikey said darkly. “He’s usually much worse.”
Adrian looked nonplussed. “So, inside or outside?”
“Let’s go outside,” Mikey breathed.
In the noon sunlight, Adrian and Mikey sat beneath a maple tree that was already losing its leaves. A gust of wind sent a handful scattering into the air, cascading down over them as they sat on the grass.
“Can I ask you a question?” Mikey said.
“Sure.” Adrian bit into an apple. He’d taken off his leather jacket and laid it on the ground beside him. Mikey caught a whiff of the leather as the sun baked into it. Adrian’s pale arms were corded with sinew, and Mikey watched rapt as they flexed easily, even in the simple gesture of raising an apple to his lips.
“Why did you do all this for me today? I mean, you didn’t have to, you know. No one has ever hit Dewey Verbinski before, and no one has ever stuck up for me.” Mikey suddenly thought of Wroxy and felt another spasm of guilt, which vanished as he stared into Adrian’s blue yes. “You could be friends with anyone here. Why are you having lunch with me, of all people?”
Adrian shrugged. “I think you’re cool. I like you. I hate it when these people pick on you.”
“You hate it?” Mikey was puzzled. “You’ve never seen it before. This is your first day at school.”
“It makes me angry to see bullies beat up on people who can’t defend themselves. I’m a bit of a defender. “ Adrian smiled. “I’m a bit of an avenging angel, to be honest. Always have been.”
Mikey persisted. “But why me?”
“You and I are a lot alike,” Adrian said. His fingers grazed Mikey’s hand lightly. “I like you a lot. And if anyone wants to start shit with you anymore, they can take it up with me first. I’ll protect you,” he added playfully. “Don’t worry.”
“Hey,” Wroxy said. She had come up behind them but Mikey hadn’t heard her approach. He turned around. She stood with her weight shifted to one side. Idly, she tapped her foot on the ground. “What happened to you? I waited by the front door for half an hour.” She looked down at his tray and her eyes widened. “You went into the cafeteria? We were supposed to meet and talk!”
“Oh, hey, Wroxy!” Mikey said excitedly. “This is Adrian Johnson. He’s new. Adrian, this is my best friend Wroxy.”
“Hello, Wroxy, “Adrian said easily. “Any friend of Mikey’s is a friend of mine.”
“Yeah, whatever, dude. I don’t even know you. We’re not friends yet, and if you just met Mikey, you’re not his friend yet, either.”
“Wroxy, what the fuck?” Mikey was shocked. “That’s so rude. I can’t believe you said that. I’m so sorry, Adrian, she didn’t mean it.”
“Don’t apologize for me, Mikey,” she said coolly. “Okay? You and I were supposed to meet for lunch and talk about what’s been going on with you lately, and instead I find you here on the grass with a perfect stranger. No offence—what did you say your name was? Adam? It’s just that Mikey and I have a long history here, and we have some business.”
“No offence taken, Wroxy. And it’s Adrian, not Adam.” He stood up and brushed off his jacket before casually slipping it on. “Look,” he said to Mikey, “if you two have things to talk about, I’ll catch up with you later. I’m going to go have a smoke behind the maintenance shed. Take care, Mikey,” he said with a private smile. “I’ll look for you in a bit. If anyone gives you any trouble over what happened in the cafeteria, let me know, okay?”
Wroxy watched Adrian lope across the football field behind the school toward the outbuildings on the edge of the property. “You want to tell me what that was about?” In spite of herself, her eyes were drawn to Adrian’s strong, thick legs in the blue denim, the way the sunlight gleamed off his leather jacket, and the breadth of the shoulders it encased like black armour. Wroxy felt a warmth and dampness building inside her. She turned away from Mikey so he couldn’t read the unfamiliar desire in her face.
“Isn’t he gorgeous?” Mikey sighed. His eyes, too, were riveted on Adrian’s retreating figure. “He’s exactly my type. Did you see his body? Big, but not too big. And that leather jacket, oh my God. He told me he’s nineteen. He’s from the States—Connecticut, I think, or Colorado. One of those places that starts with a C. Can you believe it? He moved from the States to come here! What are the odds? American guys are so hot. He just moved here last week. His dad’s away on business, but I guess he’s from here and they’re moving back or something.” Mikey’s eyes shone. “He just punched Dewey Verbinski in the nose,” he added gleefully. “I think he broke it!”
“He did what?”
“Dewey came up to u
s and called us faggots, basically,” Mikey said. “Me and Adrian. So Adrian punched him in the face. He stuck up for me!”
Wroxy was silent for a moment, then she said, “Mikey, he probably just didn’t like Dewey calling him a faggot. It probably had nothing to do with you. Don’t go blowing this up into something it isn’t.”
Even as she said it, Wroxy felt vile. She wanted to be happy for Mikey, who seemed transported by bliss, but she realized that she was also tasting jealousy in her own right. On one hand, she had always prized her primacy in Mikey’s life, had based a substantial amount of her own identity on that sense of importance, and was sensitive about protecting it. On the other hand, the news that a tall, handsome blond knight in shining black leather had strode onto the battlefield of Auburn High School and redeemed Mikey’s honour with one knockout punch was an uncomfortable reminder than no boy—or indeed, anyone else—had ever done that for her.
“Do you think he looks Goth?” Mikey said tentatively, attempting to reestablish their connection. He’d never seen Wroxy act this way and he was vaguely hurt and baffled by her unwillingness to allow him this moment of joy. “I mean, with the leather jacket and all? Is that the way those guys look in the clubs on Queen Street?”
“Yeah, Mayberry Goth,” Wroxy sneered. “Your buddy looks a little too wholesome to be full-on Goth.” She couldn’t bring herself to add how much Adrian’s clean blondness—the opposite of the darkness she herself cultivated—combined with the sheer, sure masculinity, excited her. Adrian was clearly not a jock in the Shawn Curtis and Jim Fields mould. Everything about him—from the serene blue gaze, to the leather jacket and the chains on his wrist—exuded autonomy and fierce independence from convention. Whatever he was, he wasn’t a team player. And in spite of what she had said to Mikey, she was stunned that this nineteen-year old boy, who could not only move, but triumph, in any milieu he chose, had defended Mikey physically, and in public.
Jesus, am I jealous of Mikey? Impossible! The essential Wroxy was appalled at this absurd notion. But the seditious, jilted-girl part of her, the one she hadn’t realized she had, was far from sure. During the tenure of their friendship, neither of them had been courted by others. The notion of one of them falling in love, let alone the notion of anyone falling in love with them, wouldn’t have occurred to either Wroxy or Mikey.
“Okay, so how about that talk?” Wroxy said. “How about you tell me what’s been going on with you lately? We still have time before the bell rings. How about it?”
Mikey eyed her strangely. “You know what, Wrox? I think I’d like to be alone for a bit now. I don’t feel like talking about bad stuff, or thinking about it. I’m going to try to focus on the future and think about positive things. I don’t want to dwell on the past. It’s been too ugly.”
“Are you saying our friendship is in the past?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying at all. It’s just that all you seem to want to do is talk to me like I’m ‘poor Mikey’ who can’t seem to get his shit together, who cries all the time. You act like I’m pathetic.”
“That’s not fair and you know it,” she said fiercely. “I’ve always been there for you.”
“I know you have, and I’ve always been there for you, too. But look what happens when a guy comes along who puts some muscle between me and that asshole Dewey Verbinski. You act like there’s something wrong with me for being happy about it. You act like the guy doesn’t think I might be worth liking on my own or sticking up for. I would have thought you’d be happy for me that I have—”
“Have what?” Wroxy shocked herself as well as Mikey with the shrillness she heard in her own voice. “Are you about to say ‘a boyfriend’? Because,” she said, sounding shrewish, even to herself, “you don’t. Look, I’m glad he stuck up for you this once, but don’t count on it happening all the time. Look at how much trouble your stupid crushes have already gotten you into.”
“A new friend,” Mikey said quietly. “I was about to say I would have thought you’d be happy for me that I have a new friend, that’s all.”
He gathered up his books and walked in the direction of the maintenance shed, leaving his lunchroom tray behind, as Adrian had done. He didn’t look back to where Wroxy was standing open-mouthed, wondering what had just happened between them.
[29]
Adrian was waiting for him after school. He was leaning up against the wall next to the front entrance, smoking a cigarette in plain sight. The fact that this was against the rules, and that Adrian didn’t seem to care about rules, excited Mikey.
“Hey,” Adrian drawled. “I thought I should maybe walk you home. Especially with what happened at lunchtime with Verbinski. Do you mind?”
Do I mind? Not in this lifetime. Aloud, Mikey said, “No, I don’t mind. That’d be great. Thanks.” He thrilled to the sound of Adrian’s voice and was immediately suffused with warmth as he stepped into his protective shadow. Mikey felt very small and vulnerable, and for the first time didn’t feel those things to be liabilities. He glanced down at Adrian’s large, capable hands. They were neither bruised nor scratched in spite of that collision with Dewey Verbinski’s face hours earlier. “It’s funny to hear you call him that, ‘Verbinski.’ Just his last name, like he was a nobody.”
“Why?” Adrian flicked the cigarette butt onto the ground. “He is a nobody.”
“People either call him ‘Dewey’ or ‘Dewey Verbinski.’ It’s almost as though he’s their god or something, not someone you’d ever call by his last name. Like, it would be disrespectful.”
Adrian laughed shortly. “He’s a weenie.” He took Mikey’s books from his arms and leaned them against his own hip, carrying them as they walked. “I think the world would be better off without him and people like him, don’t you?”
“More than anything,” Mikey said fervently. “I wish he were dead, or gone. He’s a terrible person.”
“Who’s that friend of his? The other one, with the black hair? After they sent Verbinski to the nurse’s office, he and some other guys were looking at me and whispering.” Adrian smiled. “I don’t think they liked the fact that I hit their . . . what did you call him? Their ‘god’? I think they’re going to try to mess with me. Likely more than one on one, too.”
“Oh God.” Mikey gasped. “I didn’t even think of that. I hope I don’t get you into trouble.”
“I can handle myself.” Adrian shrugged. “Don’t worry. Hey, speaking of getting into trouble, what’s the deal with that girl, Wroxy? Your friend? Hope I didn’t cause a problem there. I didn’t mean to.”
“She’ll get over it. She’s been a bit weird lately.” Mikey felt like a traitor saying the words. “We’ve been best friends forever. Some stuff happened to me last month with those guys. They hurt me a little, and she’s been worried. She’s way overprotective.”
“Those guys? The same ones?”
“Yeah.”
“Why do they hate you so much?” Adrian looked straight ahead. The sun was beginning to yield to shadows, and his blond-stubbled profile was outlined in late-afternoon light. His jaw was clenched, giving him an impassive look, like the photographs Mikey had seen of the marble sarcophagi of fallen paladins in the cathedrals of Europe. Mikey yearned to press closer to Adrian, to feel the stiff leather jacket through his own nylon windbreaker.
“They call me things, you know? I dunno.” Mikey felt suddenly ashamed of the words he would have to use. He couldn’t bear to say them. “They say I’m . . . well, you know. Not like a normal guy. More like a girl, you know?”
Adrian reached over and put his arm around Mikey’s shoulders, pulling him in close. Mikey felt a stirring below the waist as the beginning of a painful erection strained against the front of his jeans.
“That’s not such a bad thing, Mikey,” Adrian said. “Sometimes it’s kind of nice to be with a different kind of guy. Girls aren’t everything, trust me. Do you know what I mean?”
“Do you have
a girlfriend?” Mikey asked. His voice cracked. “I mean, here or back in Connecticut?”
“No,” Adrian said. “Not right now. Let’s not talk about that, okay?” He reached up and caressed the outside of Mikey’s neck. The touch of Adrian’s fingers against the sensitive skin of Mikey’s throat was like an electric current of nearly unbearable pleasure. He closed his eyes, only dimly aware that they were still walking and Adrian was guiding him. He had no doubt that Adrian wouldn’t let him fall. He was also aware that he was being touched in public by another boy, in plain sight of anyone who happened to be looking out their front picture windows. For once, he didn’t care. His entire world was reduced to those fingers on his neck and the throbbing heat that flowed upwards from his groin.
Adrian leaned down and whispered in his ear. “Are your parents home? Can we go up to your room?”
Mikey shook his head in answer to the first question, then nodded in answer to the second, completely incapable of verbalizing.
Adrian seemed to understand. He moved his hand down Mikey’s back, resting just above his ass. He propelled him gently forward.
They turned onto Webster Avenue and walked halfway down the street to Mikey’s house.
“This is where I live,” Mikey said. The windows were dark. His parents weren’t home from Windsor yet. Then Mikey remembered the telephone message from his mother telling him that they weren’t due home till later tonight.
The hallway was very dark.
Adrian put his arms around Mikey’s waist and pulled him in close. He turned his head to the side and gently lowered his lips to Mikey’s, kissing him hard. Mikey felt the pressure of Adrian’s teeth beneath his chapped lips, the unfamiliar scrape of Adrian’s stubble against his soft cheek and the insistent pressure of Adrian’s mouth on his. Mikey tasted cigarette smoke and spearmint. Adrian slid his hand down the back of Mikey’s jeans. His index finger teased the uppermost part of the cleft of Mikey’s ass, then his whole hand slipped in, cupping the cheek possessively.
