Freakboy (19 page)

His eyes are deep.

And damp?

            “I love you

            more than anything.

            “You have to trust me.”

I want to believe him.

I close my eyes.

Breathe

and breathe

and breathe

into the quiet.

I want to trust him.

I need to trust him.

I decide to trust him.

“I'm sorry,” I say.

(BRENDAN)

My Heart

didn't beat for

ten minutes.

My    worlds            colliding.

Angel            Vanessa

Vandalizing    trans    boyfriend.

It took all I had

to act casual,

and then annoyed.

All I had

to turn

to Vanessa

after she apologized

to kiss

to cuddle.

And when she fell for

my Brendan-the-everyday-guy routine

I became the ugliest hypocrite

in the universe.

“Trust me,” I told her.

But my lie is so much bigger

than anything

she could imagine.

Trust me not to cheat

    trust me to treat you well

      trust me to make love to you

        trust me to guard your reputation

afterward.

Just don't trust me

to be who I say I am.                        I lie.

Guilt Is Beach Sand

on a second-degree burn

keeping you up

at night

no comfortable

way to rest.

            
Be honest

            
with people

            
you care about.

Impossible,

right?

But maybe

there's a

guilt-lessening

trade-off?

Sort of

aloe vera

on a sunburn.

Not honesty

about everything

but there is something—

a position that will

allow for sleep.

(Angel)

1 a.m.: The Phone Rings

Fish it out of my purse

at the end of my bed.

Denai groans, covers her head

with her pillow—she has work at seven.

Caller ID says
Bren
.

Phone to ear

I stumble into the bathroom

so D can get back to sleep.

“Brendan? Everything okay?”

And he's off and talking so fast

my sleepy head can't hardly keep up.

          “… can't stop thinking about

          what you said about honesty

          and I have to tell you something

          but first I want you to know I'm

          already making up for it by

          sending money.”

“Huh?”

          “Every week I send

          money to Willows.”

And now I'm wide awake.

“Twenty-five bucks cash?

Blue envelope?”

          “Yeah.”

He takes a breath.

I hear it.

          “And I promise I'll keep sending

          it until the window's paid for.”

I'm all the way alert

but might as well be asleep,

can't think of one word to say.

          “Angel?”

Find my voice.

“You the one broke it?”

He starts talking fast again.

          “I'm sorry and

          I'm making it up

          because I really am sorry—

          I feel so bad.”

“Why?”

          “Because I broke the window!”

“No, I mean why'd you break it?”

And now he's quiet

like he's the one can't

think of a thing to say.

        “I don't know.”

It's an effort, keepin' my voice low

so I don't wake up everyone

in the apartment.

“You mean to tell me

you threw a rock through a window,

freaked a lot of people out, making

'em think it was some kinda

asshole hate crime and

You Don't Know Why?”

        “No.”

At least he sounds miserable.

          “But I'm paying for it

          and if there was anything more

          I could do, I would.”

Which gets me to thinking.

He could come in and apologize

to the community like Liberty had to—

let everyone see the monster

under the bed was just some

punk-ass kid …

Only one problem with that.

Dr. Martina might not appreciate me

bein' friends with Brendan.

I been tellin' myself it's okay—

technically he's not a client

but he was a potential one

when he stopped by.

It's a lot to explain.

          “Angel? You still there?”

“I got a lot to think about, Brendan.

I gotta go.”

He's quiet.

          “I understand.”

I know I'm the first one

to hang up.

“No Idea What to Do,”

I say to Marcus.

We're drinkin' coffee

at his favorite place

and I'm tellin' him about Brendan,

the broken window, his sending money,

and how I'm not sure I can tell

Dr. Martina what happened

without explaining how I met him.

The Bean Scene has kick-ass mochas

and beaded curtains and jazz.

My favorite thing about it

is that Marcus is comfortable taking me

to places he likes to go.

Means he's not ashamed.

          “But he doesn't seem

          like a hater?”

                  Marcus asks.

I swallow whipped cream.

“Nuh-uh,” I tell him. “Even though

he practically threw me out

when his girlfriend came over.”

          “Maybe he has a crush on you—

          didn't want her to find out,”

          he teases.

That makes me smile.

Marcus here's thinking

I'm so crush worthy and all.

“Nah, nothin' like that.

I know there's something

goin' on with him,

just don't know exactly…”

          “You're so worried about him,

          you can't stop thinking about it.”

          Marcus's cocoa eyes crinkle; he

          leans forward—

          kisses me. “I like that about you.”

He leans back again

and I just can't

stop smiling

even though

that's not what

I was thinking at all.

One of my favorite things

is hearing what Marcus likes about me—

and tellin' him what I like about him.

I decide to focus

on that for now … Brendan later.

(BRENDAN)

Angel Was So Pissed Last Night

she practically hung up on me.

I don't know what I was expecting.

I spent the day

kicking myself.

Was I expecting some

weird kind of

absolution?

          
No problem, Brendan.

          
Thank you for confessing.

          
You're a vandalizing thug

          
but at least you're an honest one

          
and I'm thrilled to be your friend.

My heart's

a dried-up walnut

that only opens

at night

when I'm Larissa.

Hazardous

An unlocked door should never be.

Even with parents at rehearsal.

The door should be locked.

Even with Courtney asleep.

The door should be locked.

When it's time to be myself.

The door should be locked.

It's not about girly clothes.

The door should be locked.

It's about having this silhouette.

The door should be locked.

It's how I let go of worry.

The door should be locked.

It's how I forget about trouble.

The door should be locked.

It's how I like to do homework.

The door should be locked.

I concentrate better.

The door should be locked.

Words flow amazingly well.

The door should be locked.

Until they stop.

“Dude.” Andy bursts in.

The door should be locked.

“What the Fu—”

He can't even finish

the word.

He's gaping

at

                    me

          sitting at my desk

          in a green satin padded bra.

          No excuse.

          Nothing to say.

          This
is
what it looks like.

His expression

would be funny

if it didn't mean

the end of my life.

                                            He bolts.

Will He Tell?

We've been friends

since seventh grade.

He wouldn't

ruin my life.

            He won't tell.

But there's Lindy,

who squeals when she comes.

He tells me

intimate details

about his
girlfriend
.

            Of course he'll tell.

Awake All Night

I consider ditching

in the morning

but there's AP testing.

Throat dry

I go to school.

Andy and I don't have any

classes together.

Keep

away        from      each other

in the halls.

After fourth period

I see him with Flannigan.

They're looking at me

and when I hear them laugh

I know it's out.

My blood

pools

around my ankles.

I knew he'd tell.

And after school

I know my life is over.

Brendan Chase Is a Fag

Thick, black Sharpie screams

across blue locker room tile.

The hair on

my neck, my wrists, stands up.

I glance around the room,

metal doors clanking open

slamming shut.

            “What are you looking at?”

            Gil snarls.

“Nothing.” Duck my head

focus on opening my lock.

A voice comes out of

a bathroom stall.

            “I'm changing in here, so

            the fag doesn't get a free show.”

Laughter.

Then one    by    one

my teammates go into the stalls.

Rudy shoves me from behind

on his way past.

Stomach squeezes

ears pound

fingers fumble

with a knot.

I give up

yank my wrestling shoe on