Go Your Own Way (6 page)

Even-numbered days ended up being better than Lennox expected. All morning, Lennox went from one class to the next with Will. Through English, government and astronomy, Will sat close enough for Lennox to bug him. He had the chance to wink at him from the next seat over and got in trouble more than once for passing notes to Will. For the most part, Will didn’t answer, but complimenting Will’s belt earned him a glance and a small smile. Then he ruined it by replying with a crude suggestion just to enjoy Will’s annoyance. It was fun to tease him like that, to get him riled up and flustered all at once. But it was equally as fun to have those little moments that drew Will towards him, too. A soft smile over the belt compliment, another when Lennox held a door open on the stairwell and a third when Will dropped a book and Lennox picked it up. Lennox still kept himself away from too much sweetness. No future hook up would earn that from him. He didn’t offer that to anyone.

Will didn’t seem too happy about anything Lennox did, but it was hard to ignore the way he kept rearranging himself in his jeans. By lunch that afternoon, Lennox had counted five boners, three abrupt trips to the bathroom and a lot of deep breathing. It was fun to watch him twist in his chair and squirm, but it was more fun to find him in the crowded lunchroom.

Will sat alone in the back corner of the expansive lunchroom. Like Lennox, he didn’t seem to know anyone in this lunch shift.

“I always love a good chase,” Lennox said by way of a greeting. He let his tray, piled high with spaghetti, rolls and several apples, clatter down next to Will’s lunch bag.

Will dropped his head onto his hand as Lennox plopped down beside him and slid right up to his hip.

“What do you want, Lennox?”

Lennox made a move to wrap his arm around Will’s waist, was swatted away and instead sealed their sides together. He flung his backpack onto the tabletop. His backpack was tattered; its original black had faded to a dusty gray, The straps were knotted together. Most of the bottom and the little pouches were held together with strips of hot pink duct tape. It was older than his sister by almost a year and looked as if one good poke would make it disintegrate.

Will crinkled his nose at it and slid down the bench toward the wall. Lennox followed and wrapped his arm around Will’s shoulders. Will shrugged the weight off.

“You really don’t like being touched, do you?”

“Not when I don’t give consent for it,” Will said. He picked up his brown lunch bag. “You have no conception of personal space.”

Lennox snatched up Will’s backpack. They almost head-butted as Will tried to grab it back. As Will stamped his foot, Lennox noticed the boys at a table not too far away. It was the three from the hall yesterday. Michael the mini-mustache, if he remembered right, and the two other goons he didn’t have names for. They were watching Will in a way that made Lennox’s skin crawl.

“Just sit down and eat,” Lennox said, eyes still on the group.

Will looked at them. He frowned before slowly circling the table and sitting across from Lennox. His eyes told Lennox what he’d guessed. These boys were trouble for Will, and potentially for him if he stayed at Eastern High until June.

“I don’t need your protection, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Lennox shoveled a few forkfuls of spaghetti into his mouth before he answered.

“The boner you’ve had all morning is enough proof that you’re a big boy. I figure you can handle yourself just fine. At least, I hope you can. I won’t say no to giving you an extra hand.”

“
I
would,” Will said. “Just shut up and let me eat.”

He tugged a magazine out of his backpack, pulled a slightly squashed sandwich from his lunch bag and ignored Lennox. Or tried to. Lennox caught the name of the magazine,
GQ
, before Will flipped to a dog-eared page. Lennox recognized one of the pictures. Last week, he’d found the same issue in the dumpster behind the grocery store.

“A lot of weird fashion choices this season according to the pictures,” Lennox said.

Will snorted and flipped to the next page. “Oh, please. Like you know
anything
about clothes.” Will eyed him in a way that made Lennox want to squirm. It was a haughty look, a little judg­mental, too. Will’s eyes scanned his clothing. Lennox glanced down. He was wearing the same jacket—his only jacket—from yesterday, the same dark jeans, but a different shirt. He certainly didn’t scream “fashion-conscious” as Will did. Of course, he didn’t have the money, time or inclination to wear fancy clothing either. “You can’t even be bothered to change your pants. I bet you slept in those.”

Lennox’s cheeks grew warm. He
had
slept in them, in the bathtub. By midnight, Crooked Teeth and Neck Beard still hadn’t shut up or left. They’d hung out in Crooked Teeth’s room, door open, lawn chairs in empty parking spaces. This morning Lennox had gone out his bathroom window and over the fence to avoid the slimmest possibility of a run-in.

“And I bet you that your shirt’s J. Crew,” Lennox replied. Will looked up in surprise. “What? Am I not allowed to be the same part of the stereotype as you are?”

The bell ending lunch rang. For the first time, Lennox was glad to leave Will behind. He dumped his tray, pocketed an orange and an apple from the lunch basket rack and headed to his final class.

The gymnasium was small, only big enough to house a basket­ball court and a few stands on either side. Along the walls hung a dozen faded athletic banners from basketball and volleyball championships. The most recent was over ten years old. It was nothing like the posh, newly-built gymnasium at Lancaster or even the older gyms at the public schools he’d attended. Neither were the other students who were waiting. Eight boys and three girls sat in a small group at the far end of the bleachers. Len­nox only recognized one of them as a percussionist in his band class—a hulking boy with a long ponytail.

When he’d come to registration a few weeks ago, he’d picked weight lifting at once. Throughout July, the three drunks from the motel had pestered, hounded and followed him if they ran into each other around town. Lennox had taken to holing up in his room, exercising to try to gain muscle, but without a good diet, he was growing weak. His ribs were starting to poke out one by one along his sides. Six weeks of living on dry noodles, fast-food tacos and cheap, greasy burgers once a day did that to a person. Now that school was in, he had access to more food and a chance to buff up.

Lennox took a seat on the bleachers away from the others and waited. Most of the class sneaked glances at him until the bell rang. The stares didn’t stop when their teacher arrived. Coach Davis was stitched into the front of her polo shirt. She wasn’t very tall, but she looked capable of hoisting him up and breaking him in half over her knee. As she began to introduce herself, a burly-looking girl inched toward him along the bleacher row.

“Hi.”

Lennox slumped against the row behind them and ignored her.

“I saw you with Will earlier,” the girl said. Her smile was wide and her two front teeth were a little crooked. “In the stairwell, I mean. He’s quite taken with you. I can tell these things. He’s totally one of my best friends and I’ve been wanting him to have someone for
years
. I’m Roxanne.”

“I don’t care,” Lennox said.

Coach Davis called for everyone’s attention. “For anyone who doesn’t have a gym uniform—or if you’ve outgrown your old one—I’ve got a bunch here to check out to get your right size and then buy.” She set out several blue shirts with the school’s name across the front. “Shirts and shorts are fifteen each. You can also wear a white shirt and black athletic shorts.”

Great. Another thirty dollars he couldn’t afford. Maybe he could nab a uniform from an idiot who didn’t bother to lock his gym locker. Thirty dollars was two weeks of dinner for him. Maybe three.

“Well, you
should
. You aren’t just pretending you’re interested in him, are you? Because if you are—”

“Then it’s none of your business.”

“But—”

“Roxanne, pay attention.”

“Sorry, Coach Davis, but—”

“If this is about the dance team schedule again, we can talk about it later, okay?” Coach Davis said in exasperation.

“Oh, good, because I’ve got—”

“Later.”

The rest of the class sniggered as Roxanne flushed. Lennox made a mental list of ways to get a gym uniform, from thievery to buying the non-Eastern option Coach Davis had given them: black mesh shorts and a white T-shirt. He had a white shirt, and some store in town would sell the shorts at a cheaper price than the school did.

After giving them a tour of the weight room and the locker room, Coach Davis let them decide between playing basketball in the gym and working on homework for other classes. Lennox ducked under the bleachers away from the others and began to read his English homework; Roxanne didn’t follow. By the time the afternoon announcements started, Lennox was finished with the reading and packing up for detention.

Will would be there, and if nothing else, seeing him was a nice way to end another long day. He ducked into the locker room, washed his face and tried to perk up a little. Sleeping in a bathtub was like sleeping in a cage of dragons—uncomfortable and dangerous. Last night, his foot had caught on the faucet and he’d woken up to gushing, icy water. He supposed that was better than fire, but it burned either way. Maybe tonight would end better.

Mr. Robinette was waiting for him at the band room door. He had a folder in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other.

“You can join Mr. Osborne in the storage room,” he said as Lennox set his backpack down on a chair. “I’ve got you two orga­nizing the percussion lockers.” Mr. Robinette led him toward the sound of something wooden tumbling to the floor. Drumsticks?

Mr. Robinette ushered him through a door in the back cor­ner. The floor was linoleum, and a chalkboard hung along the wall past half a dozen cabinets. Drums and the rest of the per­cussion instruments, from the timpani to a mahogany piano that had been moved back into the storage room, were scat­tered around the little space. Will was squeezed between the xylophone behind him and a large case hanging out of the cabinet he’d just opened. A few more drumsticks clattered to the floor.

“Don’t worry about the sticks,” Mr. Robinette told Will. “Half of them will be broken in two weeks.” He turned back to Len­nox as he stepped through the doorway. “Orga­nize the cab­inets, wipe down the chalkboard and, if you finish that before five, start taping outlines on the floor where everything on wheels will go. If you two don’t get through the cabinets today, I’m adding another day onto your week. No talking, just working.”

Lennox took the roll of duct tape and turned to Will as Mr. Robinette left. “Well, now that we’re alone—”

Will shoved him hard, knocking Lennox back into the piano, which rolled down to the last cabinet and stopped.

“You start down there,” Will told him. “I’ll start here and we’ll—”

“Meet in the middle for blow jobs. Excellent.”

“We are not—whatever. Just leave me alone until five o’clock.”

For the first hour, Lennox did leave Will alone. He started at the cabinet closest to the door with a dust rag and a spray bottle. His first two cabinets were empty. At the far end by the chalkboard, Will wasn’t having the same luck. The first cabinet had dropped that shower of drumsticks on him and the second had been stuffed with old sheet music. Lennox had a good laugh watching Will scramble to catch all of the pages, but on Lennox’s third cabinet, Will got his revenge.

Lennox pried the door open, and then yelped as a nest of spiders hit his face.

Will laughed so hard he fell over, elbowed the xylophone and knocked several of its bars to the ground. Mr. Robinette appeared to see what was wrong. When he spotted Will picking up the bars, he wasn’t pleased.

“No more fooling around,” he said. He eyed the cabinet Lennox was working on, and then Will’s, which was full of mallets. “Finish these last few up and I might let you leave a little early. Don’t forget the chalkboard either.”

He left them alone again as Will put the xylophone bars back into their slots and finished organizing his third cabinet. Lennox left the spiders to do their thing and bumped shoulders with Will at the last cabinet left between them.

“Go do the taping.” He shouldered Lennox aside. “Go away.”

“I don’t want to.”

Will stood up and glared at him. He huffed when Lennox moved toward him and stomped over to the chalkboard to wipe down the tray. Lennox followed after him.

“Hello, handsome.”

Will turned to face him and his cheeks flushed. Lennox watched Will’s eyes roam over his face and body, and pressed him back against the chalk­board. This was the chance he’d hoped for: a moment alone with that desperate look of desire bursting in Will’s eyes. Will’s lips trembled as his back hit the chalkboard and Len­nox ran his fingers up his arm. He could feel the heat, and the shivers that meant want and hope.

“L-Lennox, we’re supposed to be finishing up.”

Lennox paused and looked into Will’s eyes: a magnificent green today that made him ache for Will’s lips against his, to feel his body mold into the space between them until they were panting and arching…

“You’re hard again,” Lennox said. Will shifted, his face flushing. “Don’t be so shy about it. My lips are great with a nice cock. Preferably yours.”

“That’s not—we aren’t—you won’t—”

“I want to,” Lennox said. He brushed his lips over Will’s cheek. He felt Will’s breath catch. “I will if you let me.”

“That’s, well, its—” Will groaned as Lennox pressed his body forward, his thighs nudging Will’s apart. “Lennox, I’m—”

“Hard, yeah,” Lennox said with a chuckle. One hand gripped Will’s hip and the other tilted Will’s head toward his. “Kiss me.”

“We aren’t
dating,
” Will gasped, arching into him reflexively.

“Never said we were,” Lennox said. He rubbed his nose along Will’s neck until Will was groaning in the back of his throat and squirming. “Virgin,” he teased.