Go Your Own Way (2 page)

He flicked on the flashlight and walked toward the sink. Some­one rapped on the door.

“Hey, new neighbor! Why don’t you march your queer ass out here and say—
hiccup!
”

Drunken laughter followed, and Lennox flinched.
The door’s locked.
They couldn’t get in to harm him and soon they’d lose interest.

“Come out!” Another man called. Someone knocked on the window. Three faces appeared in the space between the curtains. All three men were pale like his grandfather, but scraggly-looking. The tallest sported a beard and cap. Another had a grin with several jumbled teeth in the middle, and the third was a stringy man shorter than Lennox. Neck Beard, Crooked Teeth, and Shrimpy. Great. His own personal welcoming party.

“Yeah, you! Come out here so we can give your black ass a welcome-to-town gift.”

Lennox yanked the curtains shut. If he ignored them, they’d get angry enough to break in or they’d get bored and leave.

The knocking didn’t stop. Soon enough, it progressed to knob-jiggling and then wobbling. They were going to get in; nothing was going to stop them. He raced to the bathroom to see if it had a window. It did, but it was small and high up. Lennox stood on the toilet to see out of it. He’d probably fit through it, but then what? He could see a tall fence behind the motel, but it was dark outside now. This town was unfamiliar, and if he wandered around, eventually he’d run into a patrolling police car or go outside the inclusion zone for his ankle monitor.

He darted back to the bedroom, flicked the flashlight off and then lifted the mattress. The bed frame was old and cheap—just a simple wooden rectangle with cloth over it. With a quick slash of his pocketknife, Lennox cut through and climbed inside. He took a few fumbling seconds to straighten his legs, but he finally lay down and let the mattress fall over him and the opening he’d made.

And not a moment too soon. A crack echoed around the room and something clattered to the floor. Lennox held his breath as the sound of the men’s footsteps drew closer.

Something made of glass shattered against one of the walls.

“Where the fuck did he go?” Something hit the side of the bed. Lennox bit his hand to muffle his yelp. If any of them were smart, they’d figure out where he was. The room didn’t exactly have a lot of hiding places.

“Maybe the little prick’s hiding in the bathroom,” another voice suggested. This man sounded a little less drunk than the first, but just as angry. “I’ll check.”

Lennox turned his head and pressed his ear to the floor. He heard a sound like something being dragged across the carpet, and then the distinct clicks of the clasps on his guitar case open­ing. He almost vaulted out to fight them.
That guitar had been from his mother! His last birthday present from her and they were going to—

“He’s gone!” Footsteps returned from the bathroom. “Win­dow’s open. He climbed out.”

“Let’s wait for him outside.”

“Or hunt him down. I’ve got my pellet gun in my truck. Couple pops to his ass and he’ll be wishing he was being ass-fucked instead.”

The door creaked and then snapped shut. Lennox could still hear them outside. With the lock broken, he didn’t dare move and risk getting their attention again. Then another voice joined the others: a higher one with a twang.

“Get your damn chairs out of my space!”

“Only if you come over for a good fuck. That ass is begging to be—”

“Go fuck each other before I shove this bat up your asses.”

“Don’t be such a bitch, girl. You know you want to suck our dicks.”

The men chuckled and hooted. Something shattered outside. It sounded like glass again. The woman started shouting and soon the men were yelling too. He heard a few thuds that sounded like something heavy hitting something soft. Then a door slammed shut.

Slowly, Lennox eased the mattress up. He had to find a way to block the door. The doorknob had rolled toward the dresser and the huge pipe—of course!

As quickly as he could, Lennox got out and crept toward the dresser. He pulled the drawers out. The dresser wasn’t very big, but it would work if he used his trunk, too. After he put the last drawer softly on the bed, he lifted the dresser. With a loud scrape, he dragged it over and put it between the pipe and the door. Then he kicked his trunk into place in the remaining space between the dresser and the door just as someone tried to open the door.

“He’s back! Come out, you little shit!”

“I already came out four years ago, thanks!”

The men kept trying the door, but it held. Their little eyes peered into the dark room through the hole where the doorknob had been. They couldn’t do anything else. Even his skinny arm wouldn’t fit through the hole, and unless they had the strength to crack that pipe in half, he was safe. Sort of.

Lennox rushed back to the bathroom, latched the window shut and locked the door. He hobbled into the bathtub and kept his pocketknife pointed toward the door. For a long time, the men continued to pound on the door and windows. Lennox sat and listened, his grip on the knife so tight he was sure his fingers would crack.

Hours later, after Lennox dozed off, he was woken by a faint blip-blip-blip. He glanced down to see the red light on his ankle monitor flashing green. After a few seconds of blinking, it remained steady and bright, its glow lighting up the bathtub.

That was it then. He was on his own.

Will was late. It was a tradition for his first day of school. His dad had started it when he was little since he had to open the store hours before Will went to school. He went to work with his dad and sat on the counter playing with the trophy figurines while his dad got tied up on the phone checking orders. Since his first year of high school, Will had made his own way to school, but hadn’t been able to break the habit his dad had begun. As a six-year-old, it had been funny to watch his dad curse, trip and spill coffee down his front when he noticed the time. Now, all Will wanted to do was sleep until mid-day instead of being forced awake by a trio of alarm clocks.

“Look out! Plowing through!”

Will dodged a television cart and ran past a gaggle of cheer­leaders. His backpack flopped at his hip as he skidded into the Commons and then down the band hall. Only when he shoved the door open and a cacophony of tuning instruments greeted him did he realize that he’d left his own at home. Great. Another year started on the wrong foot. At least this was his last year of high school.

He twisted past the percussionists rolling their big drums in and stumbled into an open seat. Trombone, second chair. If any junior trombone players joined them this year, he’d end up as third or fourth. He was second chair now only because Natasha Eckhart and he were the only trombone players. In middle school, he’d tried to improve, but by eighth grade, he’d been content to hide in the back and pretend he could carry a tune.

“Will!”

He heard a high squeal and then he was bulldozed off his chair. Natasha Eckhart was one of his few friends, and she had been since they were five. Accidentally giving Natasha, the only kid in class with a peanut allergy, a peanut butter sandwich on the first day of kindergarten had solidified their friendship. At the time, she’d insisted that he owed her his friendship after what he’d done, but Will was glad to have her as a friend now. She was one of a handful of people at Eastern who was worth his time.

She also spent every summer far away from here.

“You won’t believe what the Bahamas are like!”

Natasha helped him back into his chair and took the seat beside him. As Will fixed his hair and smoothed his shirt she gushed over the long cruise she’d been on with her parents, and then the second one with her grandparents and then another with the Girl Scouts.

“It’s gorgeous down there,” Natasha said. “I bought you this gorgeous scarf and this really neat belt. I wish you could have gone. Mrs. Walters would definitely let you join. You’re not a threat to us girls.”

“Is it a bandanna scarf? Karen found this online shop that sells a ton of them. And just because I can sew better than anyone else here doesn’t mean I want badges for it.”

Natasha rolled her eyes and opened her instrument case. She was a short girl with a long, messy braid, dirty fingernails and sleeves made of hair scrunchies.

“We could do Adventure Crew again,” Natasha said. “We had lots of fun with that.”

“Yeah, until everyone realized I was gay.”

Natasha propped her feet up on her trombone case and nod­ded. “How was your summer?”

“The usual. Working at the store, playing with Oyster. Karen’s mom came to visit. She still wants them to have a baby.”

“Ew. Your dad’s, like, ancient.”

“He is not. Forty-eight isn’t old.”

“Is so,” Natasha said. “I suppose Karen’s still vibrant and young enough for it. You’re so lucky you have a young stepmom around. Can you believe my mom turned sixty on our cruise? Ugh. I hate being the youngest. It just means watching them wrinkle.”

“Karen doesn’t want to have a baby. She says she’s got no room for a baby in her or in the house.”

“True, your house barely has enough space for you.”

Suddenly, both of their chairs tipped forward. Will caught himself as Natasha tumbled forward and her case went flying. The group’s only tuba player, Jack Hartlett, stumbled into them again; his tuba obscured most of him from view. Natasha snarled as she got to her feet.

“Watch it, lug-nuts!”

“Sorry!”

Natasha glared at him as he lowered himself into a chair on the end. “He’s such a klutz.”

“When did you two break up?” Last he’d heard, they were still texting each other hearts at three in the morning. Apparently, they’d switched back to communicating in English and insults.

Natasha opened her case. “Last week. Something about bubble gum and video games. He’s an idiot. Oh, ew.” Natasha grimaced and held up her trombone’s mouthpiece. “I haven’t cleaned this since last year.”

“I’d rather clean that than take another year of gym,” Will said. Anything was better than another nine months of getting knocked around the boys’ locker room.

“I like the locker rooms. I get to find out where everyone gets the cute bras I like,” Natasha said.

“You don’t get hit or have shoes thrown at you either.”

The band director swooped in from his office. Mr. Robinette was one of the youngest teachers at Eastern, with thick glasses and a side part in his black hair. Will liked him more than his other teachers. He was always willing to go out of his way to help his students.

Everyone settled down into their arched rows. The percus­sionists tapped away on the floor and their sneakers. They weren’t a large band. Last year, they’d just tiptoed over thirty members, but this year, Will could see a significant drop. His fourteen fellow seniors and eight juniors couldn’t fill a space meant for fifty.

“I should have taken up flute,” Natasha said. Just behind them, one of the boys was attempting to stick his drumsticks into his nostrils. “Then I could sit by the piano instead.”

Will glanced at the girls across the room from them. Tiffany, Maggie, Florence. The other two were juniors Will had never met. The piano was closed. No student had been talented enough to play it well as long as Will had been here. A few people had been proficient when he was younger, but never good enough to play for concerts. According to Mr. Robinette, the last person to play that piano in front of a crowd had been a girl who’d gone off to Juilliard when Will was learning to read
The Cat in the Hat
.

“At least Roxanne quit,” Will muttered. The percussionists, despite the continuous tapping, were a lot quieter without their former leader barking orders. It was surprising not to see her in the class, but Will was glad, too. If the last three years were anything to go by, he and Roxanne would share at least half of his classes.

“Miss Perfect Pretty Princess Roxy.” Natasha flipped her hair and batted her eyes until they watered. “Everyone lick my boots, please. Lick them until you’re all hoarse, so I can direct everything!” She rolled her eyes and set her trombone on her lap. “I spent all of that stupid Girl Scouts cruise listening to her swoon over all the boys on deck. She thought all my retching noises were seasickness.”

Will checked the clock. Two minutes until the bell and an­nounce­ments. He dug out his music folder and a note­book and set up the music stand.

“Did you see that new guy earlier? He knocked Otto out cold by our lockers,” Natasha said.

Will’s head swiveled toward her. “What?”

Up front, Mr. Robinette called for silence. Will glanced at him, blushed and ducked his head.

As Mr. Robinette took roll call, Will flipped his notebook open and offered Natasha a pen. Anyone who kicked Otto’s ass was worth finding out more about.

Natasha plucked the pen out of his hand.
Some transfer from a D.C. boarding school. Landover or Lakeside or whatever it’s called. I heard Mrs. Martinello talking about it after the fight. She met with him a few times over the summer. Otto was picking on him, and the guy punched him in the throat. Then his boots made love to Otto’s stupid, ugly face.

He gave her a funny look as she handed his pen back. It wasn’t every year Eastern High gained a new student. The last one had started during Will’s freshman year and had left after winter break. He couldn’t recall anything about that girl except that she’d been in his history class. Why anyone would want to move to this ghost town was beyond him. All he’d ever wanted to do was survive it long enough to leave, but most people weren’t as smart as him. Some kid from a boarding school? A rich brat with a delinquency problem if what Natasha said was true. He was probably even stupider than the rest of the idiots who talked with their fists around here. But the new kid had done what Will had wanted to do since fourth grade.

“Natasha Eckhart?”

“Huh-ere!”

Will scribbled a note back.
He sounds like an ass. I bet he’s worse than Otto’s ever been.

Natasha raised her eyebrows and glowered at him. Her super­nova glare. The one that made his skin crawl as if it were blistering.

She dug her own pen out and scribbled,
So? He’s gorgeous. You’ll be drooling in two seconds flat when you see him.

Will sat back and sighed. What did it matter to him if another gorgeous straight boy was stomping down the halls? The world was full of them. Too many around here.

Natasha jotted down a better account of the fight before the warning bell. Catching Otto off guard wasn’t easy. He was a hulk­ing boy, built as tall as a skyscraper and as wide as a canyon, with limp dark hair that was as long as any of the girls’. The hair probably came from his Native American mother, but Will had never bothered to ask. Normally, he was too busy prepar­ing himself for a new bruise or five when Otto came around the corner.

Will was just skimming over Natasha’s story when the band door opened and the victim clomped into the room. It couldn’t be anyone else. Only Otto wore that stupid red and orange hoodie that was bigger than Will’s bedspread. Otto shuffled up front and thrust a note at Mr. Robinette. An ice pack covered his left eye, and Will could see a dark bruise on his neck.

“Who did that to Otto?”

“Didn’t you see the fight?”

Will frowned. The other kids continued to whisper as the announce­ments began. Otto flung himself into his spot behind Natasha and dragged his chair behind the bass drum.

“Welcome back, Cyclones, to the new school year! Today is Tuesday, September fourth and—”

Will twisted in his chair. Everyone else was trying to get a good look, too. It was important to know how much damage could be done to the biggest kid, and Otto had been the biggest in their class since second grade. He towered over Will and had arms as thick as Will’s waist and thighs as powerful as a compactor. Around Otto’s eye was a dark bruise like a coffee stain; a large gash split his scowl. The injuries made Will twitch in his chair. If someone could do that to Otto, who knew what would happen to him?

Otto was no friend of his, but since Will had finished his gym requirements in sophomore year, they’d lapsed into a habit of making lukewarm conversation. Some days, Will told Otto to get lost. Other days, Otto picked up a pair of drumsticks and drummed on the back of Will’s neck until his skin burned. And if Otto was unfriendly in the morning, then his football buddies planned to corner Will throughout the day.

“Finally got on the wrong end of a fist,” Will said, peering around the drum.

Otto growled and flipped him off. It was a pleasant reaction coming from Otto. Will breathed a little easier. No bloody noses or being chased all the way home today.

“This new guy must be a giant,” Natasha said. “Did he—”

Everyone around them shoved their chairs back to stand for the Pledge of Allegiance. The three of them stood as well. Will kept his eyes on Otto until they finished and then sat down for the regular announcements.

“So he’s about seven feet tall, three hundred pounds, by my guess,” Will said. “The black eye you gave me in seventh grade wasn’t close to this.”

Otto gritted his teeth as though what he was about to say hurt him. “He was about the size of a seventh grader.”

“Everyone settle down!” Mr. Robinette said. “Here’s the syllabus and tentative practice schedule through winter break.”

The door flew open so hard it bounced off the stack of chairs behind it. Everyone jerked around. Will turned too as Natasha gasped.

“That’s him,” she said.

“Oh.”

That was all Will could manage to say as the boy headed toward the front podium. This boy
was
gorgeous. He wore tight jeans, a wrinkled white shirt and a leather jacket. Long, springy curls hung around his face and his skin was a soft brown. His jacket bore a myriad of patches. Will caught a glimpse of a few—the Dead Kennedys, Pansy Division
—
before Jack’s tuba blocked his view. He swallowed. This was beauty like in the stars late at night or on the pages of magazines. Nobody out here in Leon looked as captivating as this boy did. He chanced a short glance as the boy tossed a note onto Mr. Robinette’s music stand. He wasn’t the only one looking. The boy was watching him, too.

“Stupid shithead,” Otto growled.

Otto dragged his chair away as the new boy circled behind Will to the only vacant chair. The kids in the percussion section whispered and clicked their drumsticks. Behind the bass drum, Otto snarled like a cat.

“Everyone,” Mr. Robinette said as he eyed the note over his glasses, “we have a new student joining us this year, Len­nox McAvoy. Mrs. Martinello says here you have experience in percussion.”

“I have a lot of experience banging things,” Lennox said. The words rushed over Will’s head for the entire class to hear. They all understood the implication. What teenager wouldn’t?

“So you can read music, Mr. McAvoy?”

“I read body language, too,” Lennox said. His hand gripped the back of Will’s chair. “You look a little tense, baby.”

“Mr. McAvoy, stay in your seat or I’ll send you back to the office.”

Will swallowed and took the stack of syllabi from Natasha as Lennox’s hand left his chair. He was attractive, but obnoxious, too. How could he be so forward with Natasha? Surely that comment was directed to her, even if Lennox’s hand had been on his chair. No boy around here would ever flirt with him. Of course, Natasha barely seemed to notice. Her eyes twinkled as she winked at Will.

“His voice is like sex,” Natasha whispered. Then she snorted and clapped both hands over her mouth.