The Screwed-Up Life of Charlie the Second (15 page)

Homecoming, as always, was in South's cafeteria, the same crappy crepe paper streamers in the school's green and gold colors, a lame disco ball lighting the makeshift dance floor, standard community college DJ spinning '80s pop (it was the junior class's idea to do a retro theme), girls in too much makeup, guys in their dads' cologne, chaperones swiping Coke bottles spiked with Jack Daniel's. The fat, the ugly, the dateless, and the dorks lining up against the lockers.

I'd never danced with a guy before and I was, like, totally nervous. I was sweating like I had some kind of skin disease. Rob squeezed my hand in his and pulled me past couples who jerked into motion with each flash of the strobe light. A couple of Rot-See Nazis shouted, “Hey motherfucker, get laid, get fucked,” to Billy Idol's version of “Mony Mony.” Rob smiled, tugging me along. He found the DJ, whispered something to him, and slipped him a bill.
Who tips the DJ at a high school dance?

The speakers opened wide with the sound of a twangy electric guitar and hammering drums—Adam Ant's “Goody Two Shoes.” I was caught in a stampede of suit coats and corsages. Some linebacker's foot crushed my toes and it was all I could do not to yelp. He thundered off, leaving me with a sock full of shattered bones. Shannon
yoo-hoo
-ed her date, waving at him. If it hadn't been for Rob twirling me away from Shannon, she'd've knocked the carnation on her wrist and half my teeth down my throat. Rob reeled me back in and we were jitterbugging like old people at a family wedding. He sang along, mouthing the words like a taunt, and slipped his arm around my waist. I was almost out of breath. People watched, probably wondering if the two of us were really gay or if us dancing together was a soccer team dare.

Someone behind me tapped my shoulder. Rob nodded with a big smile. It was Dana. I didn't want her cutting in, but it's not like I had much of a choice. Before I could say no, she shoehorned her way between Rob and me. Shannon stepped in, grabbed Rob's arm, and wrapped it around her waist. He took her free hand and rocked her to the left, their hands dipped low; he kicked, and rocked her to the right. I wanted to break 'em up, but Dana had me in a death grip. I felt like a fox caught in one of those steel-jawed traps and I finally understood why they chewed off their legs. I'd've done the same, only Dana would've sent the hounds after me. Dana led—more like dragged—and smashed her hips into mine. Her tits flattened against my chest and her hair was in my nose and mouth. I felt like Poland in 1939—invaded. A blitzkrieg of boobs and barrettes.
Javol, mein Führer!

I hoped to squirm away when the song ended, but the DJ mixed in the Stray Cats' “(She's) Sexy and 17,” and I was stuck. It was the stoners and the grease monkeys who finally saved me. Some stoner chick started arguing with little Miss National Honor Society about Tom Sawyer being a song, not a book, and that was the start of what turned out to be this huge catfight. Apparently, Stoner Chick had had it with the crap the DJ was spinning and wanted music she could slow dance to with her brother-slash-husband—Metallica or Ozzy. Mood music for climbing into the bed of a pickup truck and making more pinhead babies.

Miss National Honor Society made some crack about cashing welfare checks and drinking strawberry wine from screw-top bottles. Big mistake. Press-on nails flew, and before anyone could shout “catfight!” little Miss National Honor Society was nursing a bloody nose. Stoner Chick waved a bloody clump of blonde hair in her fist. She probably would've gone back for more if the deans hadn't stopped her.

A hand slid across my butt and pinched it. I turned. It was Rob. He was sweating. I brushed the bangs from his eyes.

“Let's get some air,” I said, grabbing his hand and walking to the cafeteria entrance.

Some nosy PTA mom stamped our hands and said how nice it was to see two brothers goofing off and dancing together. We should remember our girlfriends, though, and not hog the spotlight. I expected Rob to haul off and smack her one in the chest like he'd done to Marshall, but he told her he'd pay attention to girls once he started dating them.

We made our way to a concrete bench in front of the school, sat, legs touching, and watched the latecomers straggling from the parking lot to the dance.

“Hi,” Rob laughed.

“Hi.”

He slugged my arm, dimples flashing. “This school's really messed up.”

“You think?” I asked, squeezing his hand. He leaned in and gave me an Eskimo kiss, our noses brushing. “Careful.” I tapped the side of my nose. “This thing can put an eye out.”

“So can something else.” He reached down and grabbed me through my dress pants.

“Cut it out.”

I swatted at him, but he dodged my hand, and then squeezed me.

“Let me see it,” he said, licking my good ear. “I wanna touch it.”

“Now? Here?”

“Sure.”

Rob fumbled with my zipper and worked his hand through the fly of my boxers. We were skin to skin, him holding me at the base. I leaked over the knuckle of his thumb.

“Nice, pup,” he said, fishing me out.

I scooched away, worried somebody'd see. Rob didn't care. His mouth was at my neck, hot and wet. I tried tucking myself back in.

“Un-unh,” I said.

“Uh-huh.”

“Un-unh. Not 'til I'm done.”

Rob moved my hands away and lowered his head into my lap. My dick bounced and Rob's tongue flicked its head. A car horn blasted. I jumped and—thank God—Rob did, too. If he hadn't, my knees would've slammed his jaw and I'd have to do the Heimlich maneuver on him so he'd cough my crank from the back of his throat.

“What the hell?” Rob said.

I crammed my dick back into my pants and tugged the zipper. The horn was still whining. I scanned the lot. In a car about ten yards ahead of us I saw the outline of someone in the driver's seat, forehead slumped against the steering wheel, hands yanking his hair.

Rob smiled, crouched, and motioned for me to do the same.

“What?” I asked.

Rob put a finger to his lips, then crept commando-like across the bus lane and the small patch of grass at the edge of the parking lot.

“What?”

“You'll see.” He duck-walked to the car, waving for me to follow.

We slipped around the passenger side, past the trunk, and squatted at the driver's side. Rob gestured for me to stay low and pointed at the mirror.

Kyle Weir. He had some girl's ponytail in one fist and his other hand was wrapped around the back of her neck, pushing her face deeper into his crotch. She was gagging, but he didn't care. He looked frustrated. Whoever she was, she apparently was an amateur as far as Kyle was concerned. He rolled his eyes, grit his teeth, and forced her head down even farther.

When I bit my forearm to keep from laughing, I lost my balance. My dress shoes scraped against gravel on the asphalt. Panicked, Rob shushed me and waved at me to keep still.

“Damn it, bitch,” Kyle said. “Why'd you stop? Jesus, I was close.”

“I heard something,” Kim Green said, bobbing up from Kyle's lap. I saw her reflection in the mirror. Her lips were smeared with spit and lipstick.

“Just pay attention, okay?” Kyle said, flinging Kim's tiara against the windshield.

“But there's somebody outside—”

“Yeah. You if you don't start sucking.” Kim wiped her mouth, sniffling and looking like she was going to cry. “Screw it. I should get some chick who doesn't use teeth.”

Yeah, Weir's a real charmer, but it's not like Kim was some wide-eyed innocent he'd ruined. She knew Weir was a dick but put up with him 'cuz his folks were loaded and she could make him buy her crap. She stared at the car's ceiling like she was debating losing her gravy train to one of her friends. Her tongue pressed the corner of her mouth and her button nose scrunched up. She wasn't ready for competition.

Her face vanished from the mirror and the slurping started again. Kyle moaned and his body slid against the driver's side door, leaning against it hard. Rob carefully hooked the door handle. When Kyle's face twisted, I grinned and nodded. Rob popped the door's handle, stepping back as it burst open. Kyle spilled out ass over elbows. Kim's bra was wrapped around his nuts and his come pumped past his chest and onto his face. Kim tumbled out after him, her tits dangling above Kyle's face like upside-down teepees.

Rob and I took one last look and bolted, cutting through backyards. We didn't stop until we reached the White Hen on Virginia Avenue. The place was dead.

“That,” I said, “was classic.”

Rob bent over, resting his hands on his knees, and caught his breath.

“Wanna go back to the dance?” I asked.

He shook his head, undid his tie, and folded his jacket over his arm. I found a spot on the curb next to him and draped my jacket across my lap. After the little stunt we pulled on Kyle and Kim, I wasn't gonna risk Rob going down on me in public. I figured I'd pretty much cashed in all my good karma. I felt the watch's weight in my jacket pocket. I still needed to give it to him, but wasn't sure how to do it without making a big production. I rested my head on his shoulder. Rob tussled my hair and kissed the top of my head.

“I could call my mom…have her pick us up.”

“No. This is nice.”

I wrapped my arm around his waist, my fingers counting the knuckles of his spine.

“Yeah. It is.”

I started falling asleep, so I sat up and took the watch from my sports coat. I sorta dropped it in Rob's hands, trying not to make it seem like a big deal.

“What's this?”

He opened the case and slid off the watch he'd been wearing and held the one I'd given him to his wrist. “What do you think?” he asked.

I thought I was an idiot for never noticing he had a watch that was a lot more expensive than what I bought. And I thought he was just being polite until he whispered, “Thank you,” and kissed me.

“I saw it and…I dunno…I wanted to get it for you. I guess I love you.”

Even though I was totally mumbling, my voice cracked. It was the first time I told someone I wasn't related to that I loved them. After I said it, I worried I shouldn't have.

“You
guess
you love me?” Rob asked, hooking my neck in his elbow and giving me a noogie. “You
guess?
You don't know?”

“I know…I know…”

“You know what, pup?”

“I know I love you. I love you. Just watch the ear.”

Rob quickly let go. “I'm sorry…you okay?” He grabbed my chin and tilted my head to examine the bandage. I nodded.

A county squad car crept alongside us. The officer rolled down his window.

“Evening, guys. What's going on?” he asked in one of those don't-I-sound-like-I-know-more-than-I'm-letting-on tones they probably teach everyone at the police academy. All over McHenry County doughnut shops went unprotected, intersections went without crossing guards, and little old ladies had huckleberry pies snatched from their windowsills 'cuz this total Barney Fife apparently got his rocks off on hassling overdressed high school kids for sitting on a sidewalk. I almost told Officer Overly Friendly that Rob and I were gonna knock over the store—we had the nylons and everything, but we didn't know what we were supposed to do with the blue plastic eggs the pantyhose came in.

“Nothing much,” I answered, smiling way more than necessary—like I expected Officer OF to imagine a little gold halo above my head. I didn't want to let him off the hook too easily. He was county bacon, which meant that he worked with First, and that was reason enough to screw with him.

“The homecoming dance was lame. So here we are.”

I watched him eyeballing me. He couldn't tell if I was trying to pull a fast one, if I was slightly brain damaged, or both. Officer OF leaned out the window and looked at Rob. Even though he was still sitting on the curb, Rob followed my lead and smiled back at the cop. Officer OF shook his head. Aggravation creased his face. His eyes narrowed on my ear.

“Get into a fight, son?”

“No, sir,” I said, flashing a smile that showed all my teeth at once. “It's the barber on Williams Street.” And then in a stage-whisper, I added, “I think he, you know…” I pantomimed taking a few slugs from a bottle. “But don't say anything. I don't want my dad making any trouble for him.”

“And who's your dad, kid?” Officer OF said. He was halfway to pissed.

“Charles Stewart. He's assistant state's attorney.”

“Christ.” Officer OF squeezed the bridge of his nose. “You're the Stewart brat? The swimming pool kid? Shit, why'd I have to stop?”

“Something wrong, sir?” I asked, sounding positively bubbly.

“Just shut up and get in.” Officer Now Less Than Friendly stepped out of his car and opened the back door. “You two are going home. Who's your friend and where's he live?”

I lied about Rob being our foreign exchange student from Liechtenstein so Officer NLTF wouldn't drive Rob back to his house. Officer NLTF raised an eyebrow. He wasn't buying it, so I made up a bunch of crap about Liechtenstein being this backwater European country that was so poor it couldn't afford money; how Rob learned to speak English by listening to Doobie Brothers' records at the village church (Rob chimed in with a vaguely European accent, “
Ja
, Old Bleck Vater. I vant honky-tonk”); how he'd never seen indoor plumbing, silverware, or women without armpit or facial hair before he came to America; and then, when Rob finally got to our house, he couldn't sleep for the first few weeks. He missed curling up under the covers with his pet goat on the family's communal mattress, which doubled as the dinner table. Officer NLTF told me to shut the hell up. I was giving him a headache. After he pulled into my driveway, Officer NLTF couldn't get rid of us fast enough. As soon as we were out, he flipped on the siren and tore away.