The Boy I Love (23 page)

I could see Allie, sitting with Ginny and Jesse at a table in the corner. She waved us over. Tim looked in that direction, then started heading toward Devon and Rachel's table. Caroline grabbed his shirt before I had a chance.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” she said. “Let's not take this too far, okay?”

Tim stopped for a moment, then gave in and let us pull him over to Allie's table. We sat down, all of us still sort of looking around to see if things had died down.

“So,” Jesse said to Tim. “How's your first day out of the closet?”

“Harrowing,” Tim said, and we all laughed a little. Tim sipped from his water bottle but didn't look ready to eat the lunch my mother had packed for him, which I noticed had a lot more food than mine. She apparently thought feeding a boy would be similar to feeding a grizzly bear.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, it seemed to me things got a little normal. The chatter in the cafeteria went back to its usual decibel. Jesse told us he liked the play, and Ginny made a joke about Allie at the cast party. Allie rolled her eyes, then said to everyone, though I had a feeling it was especially to me, “But guess what?”

“What?” I said.

“As anyone could have predicted, I am grounded for two whole weeks. Have to go home directly after school,
no going out on weekends, double chore load, etc. etc. But when my parents sat me down to give me my punishment, they also said they'd been talking about their reaction to the whole modeling thing, and they decided they'd been unfair. So after Christmas they're going to let me sign up with the local agency and just see what happens. Just local stuff, to see if I like it and if I get hired.”

I looked at her from across the table. For the first time I noticed she wasn't wearing any makeup, her hair was long and loose, her eyes were huge. She looked like her old self, and I thought anybody would be nuts not to see she was meant to be a model.

“And something else,” she said. “I'm going back to Cutty River School.”

“Next year?” I said, not bothering to mask the surprise in my voice.

“No,” Allie said, glancing around the table for maximum dramatic effect. “After winter break.”

We all stared at her. Ginny looked like she might start crying. “Maybe I can go back too,” she said, in a small voice.

Allie smiled at her and said, “That'd be great. We could carpool. My parents are none too happy about making that drive. The whole reason they moved to Williamsport was so they wouldn't have to!”

“Well,” I said. “It's only for a couple years, anyway.”

“Six months,” Allie corrected me. “Then I'll have my license and I can drive myself.”

Her parents were slightly less maniacal about things like that. Still, it hit me what I'd said before. High school was just only for this short period of time. I looked over at Tim and I could tell he was thinking the same thing, and that maybe it comforted him a little bit.

Unfortunately, we didn't get a chance to discuss this, or even ask Allie more questions about going back to Cutty River School, because out of nowhere three football players were standing around our table.

“Hey, Greenlaw,” one of them said to Tim. “I see you're hanging out with faggots now.”

Jesse slumped down in his chair a little. Tim looked up.

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I guess I finally figured out where I belong.”

“Too bad it took you so long.”

Tim shrugged. I could tell he couldn't think of anything to say, but I felt so proud of him, how brave he looked, sitting there, staring up at his old friends. I looked across the room to where Devon just sat, watching.

One of the guys shoved Tim's shoulder. His chair tilted a little. “Don't you have anything to say, faggot?”

I stood up and said, “Hey. Why don't you just leave him alone?”

Allie stood up too, right beside me, so she was practically
eye to eye with the guy who'd shoved Tim. “Why is it any of your business anyway?” she said.

I guess because he couldn't think of a reply, the guy grabbed Tim by the collar and pulled him out of his chair. Tim was just as big as he was but didn't fight back as the guy pressed him against the wall.

“You know,” the football player said to Tim, “I was pretty pissed when you ditched us to be a little leprechaun. But that doesn't compare to how I felt when I found out what you really are.”

At that moment, despite his size, Tim suddenly looked smaller—vulnerable. Really vulnerable. “Hey,” I said again. My voice didn't come out at all like I wanted it to, more pleading than confrontational. “Leave him the hell alone!” I tried pulling at the guy's arm, but he shrugged me off like I was no more than a pesky fly. In that motion I could feel how strong he was, and how mad. My heart pounded away, and I waited for a teacher to step in, but so far all a couple of them had done was step closer, waiting to see how things would play out.

Luckily, one person in the cafeteria was a little braver—and a lot bigger—than this. He flew across the cafeteria in such a blur that I hardly recognized him until he'd grabbed the guy who had hold of Tim and threw him on the ground. The guy kind of half lay there, clearly surprised, looking up at the other football player who'd sat out that season: Tyler.

“You about done here?” Tyler said. When one of the other guys started to answer, Tyler interrupted him and said even louder, “YOU ABOUT DONE HERE?”

The guy pulled himself off the floor and brushed himself off, even though he didn't look as if he'd gotten very dirty. Then the three of them walked off. Tyler clapped Tim on the shoulder and said, “You doing all right, Og?”

“Yeah,” Tim said. “I'm doing all right. Thanks.” He kind of raised one shoulder and then the other, like making sure everything still worked. Then he sat back down, and Tyler took the seat next to him. We all kind of stared at one another for a minute, and then all the kids at the other tables went back to eating and talking. Everyone at our table—Tyler, Allie, Jesse, Ginny, Caroline, and me—sat there, just kind of shell-shocked.

And for a moment I had this fantasy: that I would climb up onto our table and yell out to the whole cafeteria:
How many of you care that Tim is gay? Raise your hands!
And there would be this tiny smattering of raised hands. Then I would say,
How many people couldn't care less if Tim is gay?
And then almost everyone would raise a hand, and some people would even cheer, and everyone would start clapping.

But I couldn't bring myself to actually do it, even though I am an extroverted and outspoken person who never minds a spotlight. Instead I just sat there, staring
across the table at Tim, glad that a bodyguard had turned up and wishing there were something more I could have done to help.

*   *   *

On the bus ride home Tim started talking about baseball. With everything going on, you'd think that might be the last thing on his mind. But he was so bummed about it. “What sucks is knowing I can't play ball again,” he said. “I love it so much. Especially football. It kind of breaks my heart that I can't ever play again.”

“Maybe you could,” I said, though I knew my voice sounded doubtful. I couldn't help thinking of Jay. That big huge guy! Not safe in the locker room.

“No way,” Tim said. “Not worth it. No matter how much I want to, it's not worth it. Tyler can't watch out for me round the clock. Hell” —he put his hand up to shade his eyes, like he was blocking the sun—“maybe he'd feel different too if I were in the locker room with him.”

“Well,” I said, trying to think of something comforting, “you can still be in plays. There's no locker room there.”

“And my parents think God hates me,” Tim went on, as if I hadn't said anything. He turned and looked out the window. Whatever tears he'd been battling had gone away, but he looked so wiped out. I couldn't stand to think he had to wake up and do it all over again, again, and again, every day, not to mention figure out what he was going to do about his
parents. He couldn't stay at our house forever, after all. Even we couldn't do that.

Then I had a thought. A good thought. “God couldn't hate you too much,” I told him. “He sure made you good at everything. Plus, you know. Kind of gorgeous?”

Tim gave me a small smile. And I thought, here we are, our cover blown. And Tim probably knowing, at least a little bit, how I'd felt the whole time. But still we sat right next to each other, close as could be. Best friends. That's what I'd be left with after everything was said and done. And I thought that as long as I could see him, safe and well and surviving, that would be just fine with me.

As if he could read my thoughts, Tim reached out and took my hand, his fingers drumming lightly against all that scar tissue on my palm, just some of the remnants of this fall that would stay with me forever.

That night after dinner, when
Tim had gone upstairs to do some homework, my parents called me into the living room. “We haven't really had a chance to fill you in on what's going to happen,” Mom said carefully. “What with everything that's been going on.”

I sat in the middle of the couch. The two of them each sat in an armchair, facing me, but a little ways away from each other so I had to keep turning my head from one to the other as they tried to explain. The bank hadn't approved the sale yet, but they expected it would. They were hoping to stay in the house till the end of June; the buyers were sympathetic, they said, so they didn't think it would be a problem. Then when I finished tenth grade, we'd be moving to New Hampshire. We were going to live at the Hillsdale School in one half of a big house. The other half was a dorm where a bunch of girls lived. I would go to Hillsdale—a really,
really
,
good school! they said about a million times—as a student free of charge.

“Are there guys there too?” I asked.

“Yes,” Dad said, sounding disappointed. “It's coed.”

“Do they put on plays?”

Mom said that she'd looked into it, and they did, and that the drama program was strong. I could even take drama as an elective class for credit. That sounded not so bad, I let myself think. While she ran the riding program, Dad would look for work, hopefully with the US Forest Service, but also at colleges. “It's not too far from Boston,” Dad said. “There are lots of possibilities.”

I sat there quietly. Every word spelled out the end of life as I'd always known it. At this point, though, there wouldn't be much good in screaming about it. My parents hadn't created this situation on purpose. They'd done their best, and were still doing their best: to make things right, and to take care of me as best they could. So I just sat there, listening to them, these two people who had always loved me no matter what. Who always would love me no matter what. That last part used to feel like a matter of course, and nothing to be grateful for. Needless to say, I now knew the reverse was true.

“And, honey,” Mom said, her voice suddenly sounding fake bright. “Part of the deal we worked out includes the board of one horse. We can take one horse with us. And I've decided that's going to be Pandora.”

I felt my heart give a leap—I got to keep Pandora! Then, just as quickly, it sank like a stone, as I realized that keeping Pandora meant not keeping Sombrero. Tears filled up my eyes. I couldn't believe Mom would give up Sombrero, and from the look on her face, neither could she. She rubbed her hands across her knees, like now that she'd said it there was no turning back, and she needed to comfort herself.

“Mom,” I started. I didn't want to say what had come into my head. The thought that she'd agree terrified me. At the same time, I knew that she
should
agree. After all these years, after everything she'd done for these horses, the one we kept should be her favorite. Not mine.

So I knew what I had to do. Take a deep breath. Gather up every little bit of courage I had, and say it as fast as possible, before I had a chance to change my mind.

“Mom,” I said. “I think the horse we take along with us should be yours. It should be Sombrero. I really think that.”

By the last word my voice had started catching, so “that” almost sounded like a little sob. Mom's mouth twitched a little at the corner. I could see her resist looking over at Dad, who had shifted a little, recrossing his legs and taking off his glasses.

“I'm proud of you for saying so,” Mom said. “But my decision is final. It's Pandora we're taking with us.”

Probably a better person—a more grown-up person—would have argued the point a little longer. But I must admit that relief and sadness washed over me at the very
same time. I got off the couch and threw my arms around her. “Thank you, Mom,” I said. “Thank you.”

*   *   *

Since that first very bad night, Tim had slept in the guest room. Now I went upstairs and knocked on the door. He wasn't doing homework, just sitting on the bed, staring out the window with his phone in his hands. I plunked down next to him.

“I called Jay,” he said. “His parents are going to homeschool him for the rest of the year. They wanted to press charges against the guys who beat him up, but he talked them out of it.”

“Maybe he could go to Cutty River,” I said.

“His parents are going to try to get him into Ezra Lion.” Ezra Lion was this program they had at the college, where you could go to high school and your first two years of college at the same time. Mostly geniuses and social misfits ended up there.

“You could go to Ezra Lion too,” I said.

“Not without my parents enrolling me,” Tim said. “At least I don't think I can. And I'm already giving up sports. Am I supposed to give up drama, too?” Ezra Lion didn't have extracurricular activities.

We sat there a minute, and then his phone buzzed. Tim looked at it. “My mom,” he said. “She keeps calling, but she doesn't leave any message.”