His dad walked around to the other side and nodded. "Yeah, the tire's blown." He put a hand on the hood. "We'll have to call a mechanic out." Then he looked at Mikey who had gotten out of the car too. "And who are you?"
"This is Mikey," Pete said.
"I'm – yeah," Mikey mumbled.
His dad nodded curtly. "Right, we'll get the car to the shop and then we'll drop you off at home, if you let me know where you live." He didn't say anything about the eyeliner or the fact that they were holding hands.
When his dad had called a 24-hour mechanic to come out with a tow truck, he snapped the phone shut and looked at Pete, but he didn't say anything and Pete thought maybe it was because Mikey was there.
He was tired suddenly. The heat and the driving and the adrenaline and orgasm and night air were taking their toll and he was almost too exhausted to care about how much shit he was in. Mikey's hand was warm in his and the night sky was full of stars.
Once his dad had made a deal with the mechanic, they crept into the backseat and curled up together, and Mikey was tense at first, trying to unobtrusively hide the way they were touching, as if Pete's dad might not already know, but Pete leaned his head on Mikey's shoulder and slid his hand up under his sweatshirt.
The front door slammed as his dad got into the car too. He looked over at them quickly before he started the car. "You'll have to tell me how to get to where you live once we get to town," he said to Mikey.
"Yes," Mikey said, swallowing nervously.
The car took off and Pete pushed his nose into Mikey's neck. No one spoke; the rumbling of the engine was the only sound. Pete could feel Mikey's heartbeat under his hand.
--
"We'll talk about it tomorrow," was all his dad said when they got indoors.
Pete nodded, toed off his shoes and went to his room. The door to his parents' room was shut and his mom hadn't come out.
It was 2:15 and he wanted to call Mikey. He fell asleep on top of the covers, clutching the phone.
--
The next morning, he woke up and lay for a while, watching the sky outside the window. He thought about the blowjob he'd attempted to give Mikey and wondered if Mikey was thinking about it too.
He reached for a pair of shorts and pulled them on, then flopped back down. He wasn't ready to go downstairs yet, but right then there was a knock on the door and when he looked over, his mom was standing in the doorframe.
"I'm awake," he said, because he didn't know what else to say.
"I can see that." She pushed the door all the way open and came into the room.
He watched as she came around and sat down at the end of the bed. "I'm sorry," he said.
She sighed. He sat up, pulling his knees under him, and looked down at the bedspread.
"You're going to pay for the car to get fixed and then we are going to sell it," she said.
He felt his face get warm, but he just nodded. "Yeah," he said.
"Where did you go?" she asked him then.
"Um, just to listen to some bands play in a club."
"Were you drinking?"
He looked up. "No, I was driving. And… and I wouldn't," he finished lamely.
Her mouth was set. She was really angry and her eyes were a little red-rimmed. "Who was the boy you were with?" she asked.
Pete swallowed. "Mikey. He's my… a friend from school. I mean," He knew that his dad had probably told her that they had been holding hands and sitting close together in the backseat. "We're friends."
"Is he older than you?"
"No, he's," Pete felt his cheeks heat up a little, "He's younger than me."
"You're too young to be dating," she said, almost off-handedly, and then she started talking about the car and payments and his punishment again, and Pete blinked before he blurted out,
"He's really nice."
She stopped talking and looked a bit startled. "Who? Mikey?"
Pete pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. "Yes," he said, stubbornly.
She made a dismissive gesture. "Well, you heard what I said. Anyway, we want to know what kind of club it was."
"Mom," he interrupted again.
She sighed, as if she knew what he was thinking. "Pete, you're not going to be -"
"I'm in love with him."
She met his gaze silently. Then she said, "Look, I know it seems like a big deal now, but."
"I can't not see him, you don't understand." He knew he had raised his voice, but he couldn't help it. "I can talk to him. He's, like, he's like the only one I can be myself with. You - " He finally had to look away, "Whatever. You won't get it, because you don't like it. Aren't you going to start asking me about the make up?" He didn't know what kind of expression she was wearing, as he ducked his head and pressed his face to his knees. After a while she touched his arm.
"Peter," she said forcing him to look at her again. "This is not about make-up."
"Really?" he shot back, sharply.
He hoped he didn't imagine that she looked a bit stricken.
She sighed, wearily. "No, this is about why we can't trust you. And we don't yet know what to do about it, but things are obviously going to have to change."
"Right," he said. He understood in a way. He knew he'd done something stupid and he was half-prepared to accept the punishment as fair.
She stood up. "Come down for breakfast," she said. "And there's plenty of chores for you to do once you're up."
"Okay," he said. "I'll be down in a minute."
He heard her walk towards the door, then there was a pause and just as he was about to look up, she said, "Maybe he could come and eat dinner with us some time."
Pete took a few seconds to decide if he had heard right. "Who? Mikey?" he asked.
She nodded. "He could come and have dinner so we can get to know him. You're still grounded," she added, as if he would have had any doubts about that.
He stared at her. "Yes, okay," he mumbled, a bit shocked, and sort of hopeful. "Thank you."
She didn't smile. "Put a shirt on," was all she said.
He scrambled up from the bed, grabbing a shirt, still half not believing what she had just said.
"Mom," he said just as she was by the door, "He's really nice. You'll like him."
She stopped and turned to look at him. "I don't want him sleeping over," she said and then she left and went down the stairs again, leaving the door open behind her.
Pete smiled and pulled the t-shirt over his head.
**
"If this is a smoochy love song about Frank, I will go on strike?" Bob said, picking up the scribbled sheet music. "Obviously it's okay if it's about Gerard," he continued. Then he seemed to notice that everyone, except for Mikey, was staring at him with shocked and horrified expressions.
" What?" Ray said finally.
"It's not about Frank, why, uh, the fuck would it be – " Gerard started.
"How did you know?" Frank asked, curiously.
"It's not something we all know?" Bob asked. "I thought it was. Sorry."
"Is this a joke?" Ray looked at Gerard.
"No. I mean, yes. I mean, we're not – "
"Apparently we're obvious." Frank laughed. He went to high-five Bob, but Bob only stared at him, so Frank jumped up on one of the amps to high-five Bob's head.
"Are we – is this still a joke?" Ray looked around.
"Toro," Bob pointed with his drum sticks, "You're such a virgin. Look, even Mikey knows."
Mikey hadn't looked up, he kept strumming a rhythm on the string of his borrowed, unplugged bass.
"His room's next door," Frank explained and Gerard covered his face.
Ray put his guitar down and looked at Gerard. "I knew you were gay," he said quietly, "But I didn't know you two..." He looked upset. "It's weird."
"I know, I'm sorry," Gerard said, because he understood why Ray was upset; the band was important, this was important stuff. "I know what you mean, but I can't help it. It's not -"
"Oh, fuck off," Frank said. He had jumped off the amp and came up to them so quickly that they didn't have time to react before he pushed Gerard into the drum stand and looked at Ray, his eyes ignited, a wildfire in them, "I'm not fucking taking that."
And he left.
They all looked after him.
"Sorry," Bob said, even though he looked slightly puzzled at what had just happened, "I shouldn't have brought it up."
Gerard looked after Frank, defeated.
Ray just looked confused.
"You really should apologize to him," Mikey mumbled from the corner, picking up the stand from the floor and unhooking the bass from around his neck.
--
Gerard just stared in surprise when he went into Mikey's room to borrow some CDs and saw him and Pete on the bed. They were on top of the covers, but Mikey was asleep and Pete was propped against the headboard, reading. His arm was resting against Mikey's back.
"What the hell?" Gerard said, genuinely perplexed.
--
"Are you sure?" he asked Mikey later while they were helping their mom out in the garden. Gerard had no interest in planting or replanting, but he sort of enjoyed the feel of cool moist dirt under his fingers. There was something thrilling about it, the wet soaking through the jeans at the knees and the smell of fresh earth.
"About what?" Mikey asked. Mikey was just standing with a rake pretending to be helping, but as Mikey did enough chores inside these days, Gerard didn't grumble.
"Just this thing with Pete Wentz and. You know."
"Yeah," Mikey said. He didn't look at Gerard, just leaned on the rake a bit harder so that the edges embedded deep in the earth next to his feet - sinking into it like soft flesh and Gerard could get really into gardening at this rate – looking like he wanted to be somewhere else and playing with the cord to his iPod.
"I just mean," Gerard wiped his hair out of his eyes, "That he was a dick to you before. Why is he all nice again?"
"I don't know." Mikey pulled a little at the gardening gloves he was wearing that were the only pair and which they were supposed to share.
"Okay," Gerard said, "It's your call. But... I just mean..." He could tell by Mikey's face that he had almost gotten as much out of him as he ever would on the subject of Pete. "He did it before. So."
"He's nice," Mikey said, surprising Gerard a little.
"Okay," Gerard said, hesitantly.
"You don't know him, like, but he's really cool." Mikey changed foot and leaned heavier on the rake. "His parents took his car and he's grounded and stuff, so he can't come over, really. Don't tell anyone you saw him here."
Gerard frowned. "Mom will kill you if she finds out he's staying over," he said.
Mikey nodded. "Yeah. Probably."
Jesus, Gerard thought, they're, like, 15 and 16 and acting like they're high school sweethearts. Pete's going to ask him to prom and they're both going to get killed.
--
"I cannot believe your dweebie little brother managed to nail the soccer star," Frank said again. He giggled so hard he snorted juice through his nose. "Pete Wentz. That's just. Mikey's a sneaky little fucker."
Earlier in the week, Gerard had apologized to Frank for what had happened during band practice and had also told him about Mikey and Pete, which he was feeling a little guilty about, because he'd done it mostly as a sort of peace offering and to divert attention, and it had kept Frank entertained for days. Gerard told himself that Frank would probably have figured it out on his own anyway, and at least this way he wouldn't have to listen to a barrage of questions every time Mikey had a new hickey.
"I don't think they're actually having sex," he said, frowning. He was pretty sure they weren't, because he just had a feeling he would be able to tell. If he had gotten laid when he was 15, the world would have known from just a look.
"Shh," Frank said, "don't take this away from me now. It's just too great."
He was lying with his head in Gerard's lap, legs hanging over the edge of the steps. They were on the front lawn, and Frank had forcibly pushed Gerard down on the steps, not caring about Gerard's nervous jitters every time someone came down the road. "You're acting a bit like an asshole boyfriend, you know, who doesn't want to be seen with me," Frank said, finally, after Gerard had fretted for almost half an hour. Gerard gave up and tried to relax and let Frank touch him.
During the week, Frank had been shoved into a locker and now he had a big bruise on his elbow that he happily showed Gerard to prove that he couldn't avoid getting beat up just because they were careful. Also, Frank seemed to think it made him look hot, he kept his sleeve rolled up.
Gerard was still cautious, but it was Saturday and the sun was shining and he didn't want to do anything else but lean against the hot stone steps and touch Frank's hair and neck.
"It's too bad prom's already been, we could have gone together," Frank said, turning his head to smile up at Gerard.
Gerard gave him a look. "No way."
"We could have gotten matching tuxedos." Frank grinned.
"I'm not fucking suicidal," Gerard said.
"Asshole boyfriend," Frank muttered, but light-heartedly. He seemed to know how far he could push it.
--
Frank and Ray came to a truce: Ray would stop asking stupid questions about Gerard and Frank's relationship and Frank would not jump on expensive band equipment while they played.
--
Friday afternoon, Frank leaned over the desk and said, "Do you wanna come to my place tonight for dinner?"
Gerard nodded eagerly. He had only met Frank's mom and sister twice, but they were nice and it wasn't until they were on their way to the bus that Frank said, "I'm staying at my dad's this weekend."
Gerard stopped. "You are?"
Frank was innocently rifling through his bag. "I'm sure I told you."
"Um." Gerard had a feeling he had been set up. "Is it – how far is it?"
"You can stay over," Frank said, and Gerard had already called his mom to say he was probably not coming home, so he couldn't very well argue.
Dinner turned out to include, not just Frank's dad, but his uncle as well. There was a lot of beer and music trivia, pizza and ravioli, and Frank was teased jovially all through dinner for making a meat-free pizza.
"No wonder you're so scrawny," his uncle said, and pinched Frank's arm.
"Hey," Frank had dropped his fork, "It's healthier. And I won't die of a heart attack."
Gerard wondered sometimes how Frank was able to bicycle everywhere when he didn't drink coffee or really eat very much. He wasn't scrawny, but he was small and wiry; Gerard couldn't stop thinking about Frank's body and he was worried that everyone around the table would be able to tell.
"No wonder you didn't make the football team, if all you eat is vegetables," Frank's dad said.
Frank only grimaced and everyone laughed, and Gerard had a feeling it was no secret that Frank had not tried out for the football team.
"So Gerard," he jumped a little when Frank's dad turned to him, "Do you play croquet too?"
"Yes," Gerard said, "We're, uh, Frank's our best player though."
"I am," Frank nodded, "It's sad but true." His eyes met Gerard's across the table and he grinned.
It was a relaxed and friendly atmosphere, and Gerard felt accepted, even if it was just as Frank's school friend.
"Do you like them?" Frank asked when Gerard helped him clear the table, and they got a moment alone in the kitchen.
Gerard nodded. "Sure." It wasn't a lie. He really did. Frank's dad was a lot like Frank without the twitchiness and his uncle was friendly and easy-going.
"I told my dad I'm into guys," Frank said then, casually.
Gerard almost dropped the plates. Frank rescued them just as they were about to slide out of his grip and hit the kitchen tiles. "What?" Gerard asked, not sure he'd heard right.
Frank nodded. "It's the first time I've seen him since I told him."
Gerard gaped. He threw a glance at the living room. "You – you should have let me know. You can't just – they're going to think – "
He wouldn't spring something like that on Frank while trapped at his house for the night, but Frank did things his own way, Gerard knew that, and the problem was that it was part of why he liked Frank.
"I didn't tell him you're gay." Frank was rinsing the dished with a bit more viciousness now. They clattered as he put them on the rack.
Gerard recognized Frank's tone, but he couldn't help that he was shocked and upset and felt a little naked. "You know that they're going to think we're together."
Frank turned to face him, and Gerard swallowed. He splayed his hands, helplessly. He didn't know what else to say. He'd been sitting with them at dinner, he'd talking to Frank's dad about music and local venues and croquet and the whole time his dad had probably been thinking that Gerard was having sex with his son, and even if it was true, he felt like Frank had sort of just dropped him in it.
"You should have told me," he mumbled.
Frank wiped his hands on the towel hanging by the rack. "I don't know what it is you're upset about, but I tell my dad I'm gay when the fuck I want to," he said and left Gerard standing alone in the kitchen, watching his own reflection in the window above the sink, watching the cars on the road outside pass right through it.
--
He went outside and sat on the steps leading up to the back door for a while. The porch lights were on and attracting bugs. He scratched his arms and watched the sky, not sure what to think or how to feel. After a few minutes the screen door opened behind him, and Frank sat down next to him. "They're asking where you went," he said.
"Sorry." Gerard pulled his knees up and scratched his knee, "I just – "
Frank put an arm around his shoulders. "I know. It's okay." He didn't say anything else, and they just sat quietly for a while. Gerard breathed out and thought that it was a nice night; the balmy air and the two of them sitting there on the back porch under the starry sky with the sound of the bugs and odd cars from the main road, the skin on their naked arms touching; and he thought that these were moments he was going to remember from his Senior year too; he might even miss it; he might look back at it and think 'that evening at Frank's dad's house when he had just told him he was gay and I was so nervous, that was a nice night'.
"You wanna go inside?" Frank mumbled, "I'm being eaten alive by the fucking bugs."
"Okay," Gerard said, smiling.
"It's almost time to go to bed anyway." Frank slid their fingers together and squeezed.
--
Frank bedroom was small and there wasn't as much of Frank's stuff in there as in his room at his mom's house. There was only one Green Day poster on the wall and just a three-drawer dresser of clothes. His bed was smaller too.
Gerard started rolling out the sleeping bag Frank's dad had put in the room with an extra mattress.
"What are you doing?" Frank asked. Gerard looked up at him. Frank was looking a bit put out. "You're not sleeping with me?"
The television was still on in the living room, they could hear it through the door. After they got inside again, they had spent about an hour sitting on the couch talking to Frank's dad and uncle about the direction of their band and listening to tales about the band his granddad was in, and by the end Frank had been leaning against Gerard in a way that must have made it clear to Frank's dad that they weren't just friends. He was a bit shell shocked still; he went over the whole dinner conversation in his head.
He hesitated for a few seconds before he pulled his t-shirt over his head. Frank was watching from where he was sprawling on the bed and he didn't look away, just seemed to wait for Gerard to take off his pants. He undid the top button and the zipper and Frank's eyes were fixed on his hands. Even though they'd had sex a couple of times by now, Gerard still felt nervous and self-conscious in front of Frank.
"Your dad," he said, and walked over, leaving his pants on and trying not to blush.
"Yeah?" Frank looked up at his face again.
"He won't – what if he sees that I am sleeping in your bed?"
"I've slept in your bed every time I've been over at your house."
That was true, but it was different now.
"That was different."
"Not really." Frank snorted. He pulled Gerard down on the bed, slid an arm around his waist and pressed the other hand between his legs.
"Shh," Gerard protested when the bed creaked loudly.
"Don't worry," Frank breathed, "If we're quiet." He squeezed lightly, then not so lightly.
Gerard closed his eyes and pushed into Frank's grip. "Okay. Oh." Their fingers slid together, their palms sweaty and hot.
He was amazed how he could be ready at any moment Frank wanted to have sex; he could wake up in the middle of the night and accidentally wake Frank too and they'd be ready to go, just like that; it was the easiest thing in the world for Frank to get him panting and quietly begging.
When Gerard slid his hand down between them too, Frank moaned and the bed creaked and they both froze for a moment. "Should have used the mattress instead," Frank mumbled. His dick was hot and slick in Gerard's palm.
They came almost at the same time. After, they fell asleep entangled in the sheets and each other, and Gerard woke up with the sun in his eyes, streaming in through the blinds, over the bare walls and Frank's pale back and for a few minutes, he just lay awake, smiling and warm and happy that it was the weekend.
--
Pete was alone in the hall, by his locker. He was shorter than Gerard and two years younger, but whenever Gerard saw him he had an urge to destroy him.
Pete came over, "Listen, they're planning to do something tonight, after your croquet practice. Only you and your - uh, you know, the short one, Frank."
"Why?" Gerard was confident that Pete was speaking low enough so that no one else could hear.
He noticed that Pete stuttered a little. "Because you're – because they think you're - "
Gerard raised an eyebrow. "Fags?"
Pete nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Anyway, you should be ready. Or avoid them."
He decided to trust Pete. He made sure they skipped croquet practise that day and didn't tell Frank why until they were already half way home.
Frank swore at him and kicked the dashboard, annoyed. "Gerard, fuck," he griped, "We shouldn't let them just chase us away like that. They were going to crash our practice."
Gerard looked over. "What, are you afraid we won't make the croquet Nationals or something?"
He could feel Frank's glare.
--
When Mikey came home later that afternoon, wheezing and with his inhaler in bits, and "cunt" written across his forehead, Frank effectively won the argument.
Gerard only stared while Frank sat Mikey down on the toilet seat and started scrubbing his face. "Was it the same guys that are after Gerard?" he asked, and Gerard thought it was almost as if Frank wanted to provoke him.
Mikey nodded. "Yeah," he said, between breaths.
--
Pete was waiting for Mikey after the next band practice, standing by the parking lot, arms folded, looking nervous, and Gerard had to use all his willpower not to tell him to fuck off.
Mikey had told their mom he was going to someone's birthday party later; he wasn't grounded anymore, but Gerard could make it happen again like that if he wanted to.
Pete waved and Mikey went ahead. They started speaking quietly and neither seemed to remember that the rest of them were even there. Mikey had said something about Pete not being allowed out and not being allowed to drive, and Gerard had thought that would make it more difficult for them to hook up and was secretly pleased. Pete was sort of good-looking, he thought, and he really wished Mikey didn't think the same.
"Well, that's just sweet," Frank said, coming up beside him as Mikey and Pete walked off without helping to load up the car or tell Gerard where they were going. "Just think, when they get married, you're going to have to hold a speech."
"Who's getting married?" Bob asked, as he and Ray carried equipment out to Ray's car.
"No one," Gerard said at the same time as Frank said, "Mikey and Pete Wentz."
"What?" Ray looked startled.
Bob shook his head. "So bad taste in men run in the family, then."
When Bob had enlisted Frank's help to load the car, Ray glanced over at Gerard. "Um, isn't it strange that Mikey is... too?" he asked, quietly. "Or," he frowned, "Would be it be more strange if one of you were gay and not the other?"
"I have no idea," Gerard said truthfully. He was worried he would start laughing in Ray's earnest face. They had become closer in the last few weeks, working on music together and he knew Ray wanted to show that he was willing to be helpful or understanding or both.
"Maybe it's because, like, both of you only had a guy as a sibling," Ray asked.
"Frank has a sister," Gerard pointed out.
"Really?" Ray frowned. "How old is she?"
"Oh god," Gerard burst out laughing.
--
Their next croquet practice was booked at the same time as lacrosse practice. "No way," Gerard said, "there is no way, what's the point anyway, you know what will happen." He left it at that. They all knew they wouldn't get much practise in if they didn't reschedule; more than likely they would have to play another game of dodge-lacrosse-ball.
"Come on," Frank told him.
Even Ray looked hesitant. "Yeah, why should we have to reschedule. We're Seniors," he added, as if that would make a difference.
"Mikey's not a Senior," Gerard pointed out, "And do you really think that matters?"
"I know what I could do that would really piss them off," Mikey said from the corner of the grass. Gerard turned around, surprised. They all looked at him. Mikey pushed his glasses up. "Give me twenty minutes," he said.
It didn't take more than fifteen minutes before the song they had recorded just the previous week, mostly for fun, but which they were all insanely proud of, blared out of the speakers, echoing across both fields.
Gerard laughed. He looked up at the sky and he saw that they were all watching the tune reverberating in the air. He knew they should try to pretend to be innocent, but they just couldn't; they were conspicuous as hell and all they could do was stand there listening to how big their sound felt when it was played loud enough to reach the other end of a field.
"They're looking for us," Mikey wheezed as he came back, "the same guys who – " He started taking off his jacket, and rubbed his forehead.
"Right," Frank said, and bent and picked up one of the croquet sticks from the ground.
They all picked up their croquet gear and went to meet them head on. Gerard felt warm and constricted in his shirt and jacket, and the croquet mallet felt dangerously light and slippery with sweat in his hand, but their music was still blaring out of the speakers and he couldn't fucking wait. Let's hear it for sweet revenge, he thought, taking the lead.
**
[Epilogue]
They were all incredibly hurt. Ray had a tooth knocked out. Frank had a big gash across one eyebrow that needed stitches. Mikey's glasses were broken and he had taken a lacrosse stick to the mouth which was going to look worse before it looked better. Gerard was sore all over. He was pretty sure he had a cracked rib. He couldn't see out of one eye. Officially, they had lost, but he couldn't stop smiling.
Дата добавления: 2015-11-04; просмотров: 25 | Нарушение авторских прав
| <== предыдущая лекция | | | следующая лекция ==> |