The Locker Room (3 page)

it had been a big furry deal the year before and it loomed no less glorious

now. Varsity. Harder games, harder players—a chance for Xander to run

and run and run and pound out the pain of the everyday on the court with

more fierceness than ever. Varsity. It even
sounded
sexy.

And then it hit Christian. Xander could see the moment that it hit

him, and he almost felt bad for his friend. “Omigod!” He sounded like a

little kid. “Xander, I don"t even know where you live!”

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11

Xander"s bruised lip quirked up, and the entire swollen side of his

face gave an enthusiastic throb of pain.

“You think there might be a reason for that?” he asked simply, and

Chris clapped his hand over his mouth.

“You never said,” he muttered, devastated. “It was so bad, and you

just showed up at my door, and you never said—”

Xander yanked his shoulder around protectively and shoved his

stolen glasses up on his face. “You"ve got a good life, Christian. You"ve

got a good family. Didn"t want them to think I was too much trouble,

"kay?”

“No!” Christian was honestly in pain, and Xander didn"t know

what to do. His hands actually fluttered, until they ended up on his

friend"s shoulders, and he looked around anxiously. He and Chris always

went early, but there was always the chance that someone would catch

them acting like fags on the street corner, and there would go… well,

basketball. He couldn"t imagine playing basketball and having that sort

of thing bouncing around. There would go his teachers" respect and all of

the shit he"d worked for so hard the year before. No. No. He would just

calm Chris down, and they could go back to walking, side by side, on the

way to school.

“Look, man,” he whispered, furiously. “Just calm down! Calm

down! Usually I"m smarter, okay? But I got home late, and he spotted

the money in my backpack, "cause I got paid last night, and, well, I don"t

know what the fuck to say! I was stupid! I got caught! It won"t happen

again!”

But somehow, that just made Chris cry more. “You weren"t

stupid,” he muttered, his voice clogged, and Xander looked around

frantically.

“What?” he asked, distracted. Damn, Chris and his happy family. If

he"d ever had to hide anything about himself at all, he"d know better than

to fall apart on a street corner where anyone might see.

“I said you weren"t stupid!” Chris all but yelled, and Xander would

have smacked his hand against his forehead, but his whole face still hurt.

“Well, we"re being stupid right now!” he hissed, and Chris, being

open, easy, trusting Chris snapped back, “Well someone needs to stand

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up for you!” And Xander saw some more students coming up the walk,

far enough away not to see them, but coming their way.

Dammit! He
knew
they couldn"t see him, but that didn"t stop him

from turning around and grabbing Chris"s hand, hauling him up around

the hedge and dragging him to the little hollow between house and hedge

and the gate to some poor slob"s backyard. They were probably

trespassing, but Xander didn"t give a shit. They were hidden from view,

behind a bus stop bench and behind a hedge. They were safe.

They stood there for a moment, panting, glaring at each other,

while Chris wiped his pretty face with his sleeve and tried to pull himself

together.

“You don"t deserve this,” he said after a moment. He was looking

at the ground, and perversely, Xander missed that moment when they

were glaring at each other.

“It"s not about deserving it,” Xander told him fatalistically. “It"s

about getting it. My mom"s a drug whore, Christian. I don"t know what

else to tell you. My apartment"s a pit. I have to sleep under the stairs by

the dryer if I want some goddamned peace. My best meals are at school

and—” His voice caught, because he couldn"t be defiant and defensive

when he was talking about Christian"s family. “And at your house,” he

finished, embarrassed. “What do you want me to say? I still gotta go to

school. I still gotta play.”

Chris looked at him, outrage sparking those night-dark eyes. “Play?

Play?
Godd
ammit
, Xander! Shouldn"t you be worried about something

else? A place to sleep? A foster family?
Jesus
, how you let me just run

you around this last year, dragging you into the fucking team and

nagging at you about your fucking homework!
Fuck
the game!”

“Don"t you say that!” Xander was horrified.

“I mean it!”

“Don"t you say it!”

“
Fuck the motherfucking game!
”

“Shut up!
Shut up! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
Xander realized that

he was shouting, but he couldn"t seem to help it. Xander
never
shouted.

He
never
shouted, and he
never
got angry, and he
never
let shit bother

him. He just did what the teachers asked and did what Coach told him

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13

and followed Christian blindly into the lunchroom and onto the court and

into hell if he asked him, because Christian and basketball were the two

things Xander had locked into the laser scope of his brain that he would

never change up for another target. Ever. And Chris was just going to

smear those images, throw them away, take away the only two things

that had ever meant a fucking thing, because Xander hadn"t been able to

sneak quieter or duck quicker, and it wasn"t any fucking fair.

“Shhh!” Chris said frantically, looking up at the small window

above their heads. With any luck, Mr. and Mrs. Side-yard had already

gone for work, but you could never tell.

“You can"t take it from me!” Xander half-gibbered. “Dammit,

Chris… you… the game… it"s all I got!” He meant “You and the game”

but he was never sure if Chris heard that part.

“But… your face, Xander! Dammit, your face, man! Have you

even seen it?”

Xander shrugged, trying to ignore the tears pooling in his glasses.

“Wasn"t that pretty anyway,” he muttered.

“Shut up,” Chris snapped, and his complexion grew even blotchier.

Xander watched in wonder as, in the midst of everything else they were

doing in this stranger"s side yard, Christian Edwards blushed.

There was an awkward, flustered, and blushing silence between the

two of them, and Xander looked away. He was surprised when Chris

reached out with two fingers and pulled his chin back, forcing Xander to

look at him.

“Now take off your glasses,” Chris commanded, and Xander sighed

and did it, because he really would follow Chris into hell. Chris"s thumb

came up, gently grazing Xander"s ravaged cheek, and Xander, about to

snap “Get off me!” or something equally macho, brought up his hand to

yank Chris away.

That"s not what happened, though. What happened was that he

trapped Chris there, and then his hand started trembling, and then…

then… his eyes locked with Chris and they were frozen, Chris"s hand

against his bruised face, his own hand keeping it there.

“I"m not pretty,” Xander whispered, unable to let go. He knew he

wasn"t. He had high, Slavic cheekbones, an overly long jaw, and a broad

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forehead. At fifteen, he had to shave every morning, or he"d be

shadowed by the afternoon, and his chest already had a patch of hair in

the middle, between his nipples and running from his belly button down

under his jeans. He often thought he would look good as one of those

cavemen in a comic strip; all he had to do was bend his back and carry a

club. But that"s not how Chris was looking at him now. Not even a little.

“You"re my friend,” Chris whispered back, and his other hand

came up so he could rub Xander"s lower lip with his thumb. “That makes

you beautiful.”

They stood there, transfixed by each other, until they heard the

voices coming up the walk. The kids that had sent Xander running for

this private spot in the first place had finally wandered down, desultorily,

and were passing their spot, chatting loudly.

Xander and Christian froze, staring at each other in fear of

discovery and wonder at what it was they were doing that would be

discovered. It was Chris who made the first move; maybe he knew that

Xander wouldn"t put up a fight when they were so close to other people.

Maybe it was the way Xander was staring into his eyes with wonder and

hope and terror all mixed in. Xander had never asked him, not even in all

the years that followed, what made him do it, for fear that his answer

would be that it had been a whim, or a game, or for the hell of it. It

would have been just too cruel if the most magical moment of Xander"s

life had happened for the hell of it.

Slowly, Chris raised himself on his toes and pulled Xander"s head

down for a kiss.

It was nothing, at first. Just a bare brush of lips to lips. Xander had

never kissed a girl, and to his knowledge, neither had Chris, so at first

just the taste of the other"s breath as they rubbed lips was enough. And

then Chris pressed a little harder, and Xander"s lips parted, and Chris"s

tongue slipped in, gently, licking at the inside of Xander"s mouth until

Xander had no choice. He opened his mouth fully, and welcomed Chris

in.

And Chris, for all he was six inches shorter than Xander, groaned,

pushing at Xander until his back was pushed up against the gold stucco

of the house. (Xander would be wiping pale yellow stucco dust off the

back of his gray sweatshirt all day.) The inside of Xander"s mouth was

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15

tender and sore, and Chris was inexperienced. A clumsy foray by an

enthusiastic tongue made Xander whimper and had Chris pulling back,

looking both exhilarated and frightened.

“You… you don"t want?”

Xander"s chest was heaving and his hands were shaking, and

without meaning to, he clenched his fingers even tighter over Chris"s

hand. “I want,” he muttered, shocked. His life had been… running.

Running, finding shelter, finding food. Brushing his teeth had been a

challenge. Clean laundry had been a difficult priority. Taking a shower

was a matter of stealth and strategy.

In all of this, he"d not been listening to his body"s other priorities.

He"d followed Chris because he had to, because Chris was all that was

light and kindness, and Xander craved him. He"d never thought that

Chris"s body—his
male
body—was something else to crave.

Chris"s smile was blinding then. “You want? Me? It"s—” He

flushed. “I mean, you know, that means we"re… you know—”

Yeah, Xander knew. He knew the regular word and the street

words. He knew the word the teachers would use and the word the

students would use. But none of those words mattered, not the politician

word and not the taunts that would be leveled at them if anyone found

out. All that mattered was Chris.

“Chris,” he said, marshalling his thoughts, his runaway heartbeat,

the aching surge in his groin. “You understand, right? A foster home

would mean I"d leave.”

Chris brought his shaking hand, the one that had been cupping

Xander"s chin, to his own mouth, and he shook his head. “Aww…

Xander. Christ. You… you can"t stay… not if—” His eyes started to

water, and Xander
finally
dropped their clenched hands to his side and

brought his other hand up to wipe away Chris"s tears with his thumb.

“I can do anything if it means I don"t have to leave you,” he said

honestly. “If I can play basketball, it will all be okay.”

Christian leveled him a mutinous, angry look, and Xander

recognized it. He"d shown it to his parents when they told him that if he

didn"t bring up his math grades he"d have to quit the team. He"d shown it

to their dumbfuck World History teacher (
soooo
much less cooler than

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Amy Lane

Coach had been the year before) when she"d commented on Xander"s

torn and oft-worn jeans. He"d shown it to kids at lunch when they

suggested (none too subtly) that maybe he"d want to stop tagging along

with the poor kid, when they had better parties to go to.

“You can"t live there, either,” he said with determination, and

Xander looked at him helplessly. Chris"s parents probably
would
let

Xander sleep on their couch for forever, but Xander didn"t want that.

Chris… Chris sort of
respected
him. Xander didn"t want to be some