The Way You Are (8 page)

Leon checked his watch. “We’ve got two hours. Plenty of time.” He stood and cut a dramatic pose. “To the bathroom!”

A faint smile tugged at Rook’s lips. “I take it you’re going to badger me until I give in and come?”

“Pretty much,” Leon said. “Do I win yet?”

Rook shook his head and slowly pulled himself to his feet. “I’m not sure if I’m relieved or disappointed that I’m not dating you.”

“You can commiserate with Warrick later,” Leon said. “I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you exactly how much grief you’re missing.”

“Warrick? You two back together?”

“Um, yeah.”

“Well, that’s great. I think. Is that great?”

Leon couldn’t help the self-satisfied smile that stole across his features. “So far, yeah.”

“Okay, I will keep all snarky comments to myself, then.”

“Very funny, mister,” Leon said. “Now march!”

Given the need to wrap Rook’s leg cast in a garbage bag to prevent the plaster from getting wet, it took a fair amount of time to get him presentable—and a baggy pair of light black slacks to cover up his cast. All in all, it took them the better part of their two hours to get to the Bar on the Hill
{18}
, where the dinner was taking place.

The Bar on the Hill was a fair bit more than just a bar. Officially known as the Hunter Union, most Novocastrians still called it “the Bar on the Hill,” although some liked to call it “the Ar on the Hill,” hearkening back to days when someone nicked off with the B. The building contained not only the aforementioned bar but also an auditorium that was
the
place for live music on campus. After pulling into the car park, Leon helped Rook up the stairs to the bar proper, where long tables with white tablecloths had been placed on the wooden parquet flooring, overseen by the giant TV screen that Leon had always thought was really a projector. The scrum in front of the bar was as dense as always, although Leon was able to catch Warrick’s eye, and he soon came over with three pots of beer.

“This place is packed,” Rook said as Leon ushered him in the front of the room.

“It’s an important event,” Warrick said with a shrug as he placed the beers down in front of them before leaning in to give Leon a quick kiss.

“It is?”

“Of course,” Warrick said, sitting down next to Leon. “End of exams, start of the holidays, a bit of Christmas cheer.”

Rook grunted. “Well, okay, I might be feeling a bit ‘bah humbug’ about all that—but thank you for the beer.”

Warrick winked. “There’s a tab.”

“Then I thank the Queer Collective. Although I’d prefer it if everyone stopped staring at me.”

“That’s not likely,” Leon said. “You’re sort of famous in this club, you know.”

“I am?” Rook asked as a slim, fair-haired man rose and tapped on his bottle of Smirnoff Ice with a spoon.

“Don’t look so surprised,” Leon murmured as the room slowly quieted down.

“Who’s he?” Rook hissed.

“Seth Francis. He’s the president of the Queer Collective.”

“Cute,” Rook said.

“What happened to you being straight?” Leon asked.

“I can be straight and think a guy’s cute,” Rook said, and Leon would have responded, but Seth was already clearing his throat to speak.

“Earlier this year, there was an attack on a student in town,” Seth began. “You all know him, and you know that he was injured defending the freedom of sexual expression—or perhaps even the existence of nonheterosexual people. You of course all know of whom I am speaking. So Travis Rookford, we thank you.”

Here Seth paused until the applause died down.

“Those of you who have been following the news will also know that the trial hasn’t seen much justice so far, with the perpetrators getting a reprieve. Of course, despite this, we still want to thank you all for coming along. I know we did originally plan to have the proceeds of the night go toward covering Rook’s medical costs—”

“What?” Rook whispered.

“It’s a fund-raiser,” Leon whispered back.

“I got that bit,” Rook hissed. “Whose idea was this?”

Leon shrugged. “It was sort of a group decision.”

“—but I have it on good authority that Medicare is covering those, so instead we will be donating the funds to The Pinnacle Foundation in Rook’s name. And I’m happy to announce that we’ve raised just over two thousand dollars, which, to be fair, probably wouldn’t have gone too far in hospital,” Seth said, to the chuckles of more than a few guests.

Rook glanced between Leon and Warrick, his mouth slack. “You guys did all this for me?”

Warrick smiled. “Consider it a token of thanks for being awesome.”

Seth looked poised to continue speaking, but a commotion at the door made everyone turn as a curvaceous woman barged into the room in a stunning dress of electric blue.

“Put on the news!” the woman shouted, waving a matching blue silk clutch as she stormed through the tables.

“What?” Seth asked, momentarily nonplussed.

“The news. Turn on the TV. Now!”

Shrugging, Seth turned and raised a remote from the lectern, turning on the screen that normally played music videos and sporting matches. It took mere moments to find the channel showing the news and a few more to find the mute button.

“…appears to have been leaked onto the Internet and shows the mayor of Newcastle’s son and two unidentified men attacking a fourth man. Due to the graphic nature of the video, we can only show you these stills. We understand this video footage has been sent to the Attorney General’s office with a demand that the case be prosecuted as a hate crime, as well as accusations of corruption in the judicial system of regional New South Wales. The state government has pledged a full inquiry. So far, the mayor of Newcastle has been unavailable for comment.”

As the room erupted into cheering, drowning out the rest of the news story, Leon glanced over at his friend. “I’m sorry…. I—”

But Rook was grinning, his wide smile more than slightly vindictive and very relieved. “I’m not,” he said. “I could kiss whoever got hold of that footage.”

“Present and available,” Krissy said, sauntering up to the table, and Leon noticed in passing the streaks in her hair now matched her dress.

“And how did you get your hands on it exactly?” Leon asked.

“It’s not my fault the evidence was on a laptop with no encryption and an open Wi-Fi connection.”

“I thought those hearings were closed?”

“Wi-Fi, Leon,” Krissy said. “It goes through walls.”

“And who exactly might you be?” Rook asked.

“Kristina,” Krissy said. “Nice to finally meet you.”

“You as well! Leon’s told me a lot about you.”

“Well, he hasn’t told me nearly enough about you.”

“Leon, are you hiding all your good-looking female friends from me?” Rook asked, although his gaze never left Krissy’s.

“No, just the straight ones,” Leon said. “Honestly, she’s been working,” he added hurriedly as Krissy looked as though she would aim a kick at him.

In the meantime, Seth had banged on the lectern for silence. “Well, I think that tops any speech I was going to make,” he said with a grin. “Merry Christmas, ladies and gentlemen.”

“Merry Christmas!” the crowd thundered back.

“Okay, that’s enough from me. Let’s eat!”

Space was made to squeeze Krissy in at the head table, and the four friends partied well into the night, following the crowd to The Gateway Hotel when campus security came by to close the building.

T
HE
following morning, Leon rolled out of bed and went in search of clean underwear, leaving Warrick to sleep in. Rubbing sleep from his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, he was greeted by a familiar figure perched on a chair, cast sticking out and crutch off to one side.

“Hello,” Leon said. “I see you and Krissy got to know each other a bit better.”

Rook blushed. “Not that well. We were both drunk and, well…. Hey, looks like the footage made news just about everywhere,” he said, holding up his phone. “I’m betting the
Herald
wishes it published a Sunday paper now.”

“Well, that’s a start at least,” Leon said, as he headed for the fridge. “Want some juice?”

Rook raised a mug. “Nah, I found the coffee. I’m good.”

“I can’t believe you’re not hung over,” Leon said.

“I don’t get hung over,” Rook said severely. “Just occasionally depressed—in a nonclinical fashion.”

“Good for you,” Leon said, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. “Warrick is decidedly under the weather.”

“I think he just had a lot to celebrate,” Rook said, raising his mug toward Leon.

“So do I, come to think of it,” Leon said. “Oh, we had something else for you.”

“More?” Rook asked. “How can there be more? Don’t tell me, you worked out how to achieve world peace?”

“Kill all the humans,” Leon said promptly. “But I’m not advocating that.”

Rook chuckled. “Okay, what is it?”

Leon walked into the lounge and returned with a Nexus tablet. “This,” he said.

“I think I have an iPad at home, you know.”

Unlocking the screen, Leon started a video and sat back. “No, not the tablet. This is you,” he said. “Given your amnesia, we thought, well, Warrick and I….”

Rook’s eyes were already glued to the small screen, which was showing a small boy riding a bright blue-and-yellow tricycle around a small courtyard. “Where did you get this?”

“Your mum gave us that one,” Leon said. “And that,” he added as the video faded to an old family photo of Rook’s parents, a small child that Leon knew at once to be his friend, and a small, newborn infant. “We also got a fair amount from Facebook. You need to check your privacy settings, dude.”

“Who’s that?” Rook asked as another photo came up on screen, this one of a gap-toothed boy with bowl-cut brown hair. “Wait—isn’t that you, Leon?”

“Not me. That’s your brother, Kent.”

“Kent?”

But now another video was showing two boys on the beach playing cricket in the sand, the older boy obviously Rook, probably age fifteen or so, the smaller, wiry boy smiling happily as he chased after a battered tennis ball. “Wow, he’s emo,” Rook said. “An emo who smiles. I like that.”

“Good at eyeliner, though,” Leon said. “And that’s him with carrot sticks at Taronga Zoo, I think.”

“You mean dropping the carrot sticks and running away from the kangaroo,” Rook said.

“Same thing.”

Then a photo of a photo, of an almost smiling Kent in a school uniform, his hair brushed out of his eyes and the sun glinting off a goldish frame as it sat before a carved stone next to a bouquet of red roses. Rook’s gasp was audible.

“He died when he was fourteen,” Rook said.

“Yeah,” Leon said quietly. “I’m so—”

“He… couldn’t cope,” Rook went on, his eyes welling with tears. “He—you remind me of him so much. I look at you, and I see what he could have been if he hadn’t… if people hadn’t….” He reached out and traced the curve of his brother’s cheek on the screen, which also caused the video to pause. “I remember.”

“Did you want to see the rest?”

Rook nodded and tapped the screen again. The rest of the images showed parties and shots of campus, girls, and face paint at rugby games. Happier, more recent times, Leon thought. No, not happier. Just more recent.

“Thank you,” Rook said as the video faded to black.

“You’re welcome,” Leon said. “It wasn’t all me, though.”

Rook nodded. “I’ll remember to thank Warrick when I see him.”

“I should go wake him,” Leon said pensively. “I’m hungry, and my stomach wants pancakes.”

“I’m sure you can make your own pancakes, Leon,” Rook said with an indulgent smile.

“Not as good as Warrick’s. Plus he gets annoyed if I mess up his kitchen.”

“But it’s your kitchen.”

“Not when Warrick’s here, it’s not.”

A melancholy smile passed over Rook’s features. “I wish Kent could have met you.”

“I wish I could have met him too. He seemed like a great guy.”

“When you were younger, did you ever feel like…? I mean, did you ever consider…?”

Leon shook his head. “Not really. I don’t talk to my parents anymore, but that’s my choice. I always thought things would get better. And then I met Krissy, and well….”

“Yeah, she’s pretty amazing.”

“And it was nice to know I could be gay and still have straight friends.”

“What about straight male friends?”

“Hey, you’re the one sitting in my kitchen in his boxers and leg cast,” Leon said.

“So in your professional opinion,” Rook asked, his voice taking on an officious tone, “it is possible for a gay man to have straight friends he’s not lusting after?”

“Not if they’re hot,” Leon said lightly. “But if anyone questions me, I’ll just tell them you kissed me first.”

They both laughed at that, a free, easy laugh that filled the room. “To friends,” Rook said, raising his coffee mug. “Wherever they fall on the Kinsey scale.”

Leon raised his glass. “I’ll drink to that.”

M
ATTHEW
L
ANG
writes behind a desk, in the park, on the tram, and sometimes backstage at amateur theater productions. He has been known to sing and dance in public and analyze the plots of movies and TV shows, and is a confessed
Masterchef
addict. He has dabbled in film, machinema, event management, and even insurance, but his first love has always been the written word. He is suspected of frequenting libraries and hanging around in bookstores, and his therapists believe he may be plotting some form of literature.

Matthew can be reached on Twitter: @mattlangwrites and on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/MattLangWrites.