Jerkbait (10 page)

17

I
don’t think I’d ever slept better in my life. Being free from hockey was a relief. I wouldn’t be compared to Robbie. I could focus on my acting and actually have the time to take the
pro bono
lessons. For the first time, I was an individual. Not nameless, disappearing on the ice, a replaceable player.

My stomach did a flip as I pulled into the parking lot and watched the students walking in and out of Briar Rose’s front doors. Things would change today. I wasn’t a hockey player; I was an actor, one in the musical, one who had an insanely hard tap routine to learn within a few months.

I turned the ignition off, locked my car behind me, and walked into the building. Everyone stared at me. Not just a few looks in the hallway. Literally
everyone
was watching me. I fought to keep from vomiting as I walked down the hall toward my locker. Word got around fast. I wasn’t Robbie’s winger anymore. I was an individual, standing on my own feet.

And it was terrifying.

When I turned around the corner, a large crowd had formed in a semi-circle around my locker. They parted like a corridor as I approached. I heard my name through whispers of white noise and giggles.

I weaved between them until I stood dead center and froze.

The top of my locker to the bottom was covered with paper and pictures. Not just any papers and pictures, but of musicals. Musicals I’d never intended for anyone to discover I liked.
Mary Poppins, The Lion King, Shrek, Seussical the Musical, Annie Get Your Gun, Legally Blonde, Starlight Express, The Secret Garden, Cats.

Worse than that were pages of fanfic I wrote. I picked off one of the papers and looked at it. Silenced1 was circled in red, an arrow pointing to it that read TRISTAN. GlitterB0mb was scratched out in black, permanent marker so it wasn’t visible.

Everyone around me began to laugh. Or maybe they were already laughing, and I only realized it at that moment. Like I was in a void—just me and the incriminating papers—and that void dissipated into reality: I was at school, and people were laughing at me.

Although pointless, I ripped down as many papers as I could and crumpled them together. The only people who knew about me liking musicals
and
writing fan-fiction were the theatre people and Robbie, sort of. My heartbeat quickened. Maybe Robbie staged an elaborate prank. He would have done shit like this a year ago. Would have thought it was hilarious. I doubted Robbie even knew the names of most of these musicals, but nixing Robbie left Heather, and it couldn’t have been Heather. She was ignoring me, but she would never go out of her way to be that cruel. She had nothing to gain from my downfall.

With papers in hand like a bouquet of weeds, I opened my locker. The inside was stuffed with printouts, pictures, and children’s activity books that tumbled to the floor. I stared at the mess. There was only one person besides me who knew my locker combination.

Heather.

On the inside of the locker door, someone wrote in permanent marker:
GROW UP TRISTAN!
Underneath that, an underlined word: FAGGOT.

I didn’t recognize the handwriting.

I scooped the papers together in my arms and threw them in the garbage can. I thought about rebutting, about yelling at the voyeuristic students to knock it off, or claim that I was set up, but that wouldn’t make a difference. The damage was done. Irreversible. No one forgot anything in high school. Teachers and parents always talked about people forgetting with time, but they didn’t. Once a person became a target, they were a target for life. Years would pass, and I’d graduate with a bunch of “kiddie musicals
” on my back.

My thoughts collided like cars on the New Jersey Turnpike at rush hour in a blizzard. I wanted to vanish like I’d never existed. More than that, I wanted to erase all my years of friendship with Heather. If it weren’t for her, I probably never would have even gotten into musicals in the first place, or written fan-fiction, which was what
really
embarrassed me. Guys didn’t really write fanfic. At least none I knew about. Maybe, instead of fan-fiction, I’d have spent more time on my original stories, or maybe I would have been content with hockey. I could stop listening to musical soundtracks altogether and beg to rejoin the hockey team again and be a healthy scratch the rest of the season. I could pretend that I’d had a psychotic breakdown, and Coach Benoit would say he understood. I could go to college for sports management. Or why even bother with college if I’d just be Robbie’s personal assistant, living off his charity?

No. I couldn’t do that. If Robbie wasn’t even hospitalized after his second attempt, no way would I be able to pull the crazy card.

Even if I returned to hockey, I’d still be teased. Bullies never let things go. Nor did the people who wanted to be friends with bullies. No one ever let things go until someone died. Then the bullies were magically the recently deceased’s best friends.
I’m going to miss him so much. He was like a brother to me. We were just joking, you know?

Because everyone always joked when it was all over. No one wanted to accept responsibility, accept the blame when things became permanent, irreversible.

Suicide.

18

B
y the time I got to Acting, barely anyone looked at me except Keisha. Her eyes were sympathetic, but she remained silent. I stopped in front of Heather’s chair. She was texting on her phone.

“I didn’t do it,” she said, not even looking up.

“You’re the only person who knows my locker combination.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are—” I stopped myself. Then I took a step back. “Did you give my combination to Durrell?”

“They were just messing with you. It’s just a prank.”

“It’s more than a prank, and you know it.”

I turned my back to Heather and sat on the other side of the room. Durrell orchestrated this? Maybe he and Heather were together, but that didn’t explain why I was a target. I’d never been a threat to their relationship.

Craig sat next to me, sheet music in hand. “Are you all right?” When I didn’t answer immediately, he lowered his voice, “Want me to talk to Heather?”

“No.”

He gave a sympathetic smile and extended the sheet music. “Elisa’s not in. Booked a role in
Orange Is The New Black
. Some high school flashback. Soooooo . . . I need a partner. Mind going over this with me if you’ve got a moment?”

I took the sheet music from him. It was the “I Am Aldopho” song. “You want me to be the Chaperone?” I asked, unable to keep an amused smirk off my face. “Wouldn’t you want to choose someone like Keisha instead?”

“Gorgeous as she is, I’d rather pretend to seduce someone with rippling abs,” Craig said, throwing a hand over his heart. But then, he became more serious again. “You sure you don’t want me to talk to Heather? I mean, it’s even making
me
uncomfortable. You two were supposed to be like conjoined.”

“It’s fine.
”

“You sure?” Craig asked. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“A little late for that.”

“Well, more hurt than you already are. Seriously, you’re one of my besties, even though you’re, you know, straight.” He paused, over-dramatically leaning toward me, wiggling his eyebrows. “Then again, maybe that’s why I’m so unusually attracted to you.”

I snorted, “You are not.”

“
You’re right. I’m not. Your twin’s the hot one.”

“Craig!”

We burst out laughing. I pulled Craig into a headlock as he made kissy faces at me and tried to wrestle me to the ground. Ms. Price interrupted us, “Are you two rehearsing? Because the words out of your mouths don’t sound like they’re from
The Drowsy Chaperone.”

Despite the shitty morning, I brightly said, “Would you believe us if we said it was an interpretive ballet of
The Drowsy Chaperone?”

“Crossed over with
The Book of Mormon,”
Craig joined me.

“But politically correct! Sort of. Only not really.”

“Complete with a WWE brawl, which we’d be more than happy to demonstrate.”

“But we’ll need a lot of props first, and a good fight captain. Anyone here know
tai kwon do?”

Although Ms. Price laughed, Heather’s voice filtered through the commotion, a voice only I was meant to hear. “Maybe if you learned how to dance half as good as Craig, people would take you more seriously.”

I stopped laughing.

“
What’s wrong?” Craig asked.

“Nothing,” I mumbled. I stared at the sheet music just so I wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

Heather was right. I’d never be taken seriously. I was a senior. Learning choreography from Heather and Youtube videos wasn’t enough to make up for such a late start. Those guys at the audition were just being nice. She was probably right—I was cast as Robert because I could skate. Hell, if Robbie auditioned, he probably would have been cast as Robert before me.

By the end of class, I’d gone through “I Am Aldolpho” twice with Craig and had sweat through my spare T-shirt as learning the tap choreography for “Cold Feets” in a pair of borrowed shoes, which would be my biggest number. I was so exhausted I almost forgot what would face me once I left the sanctuary of class. But it came back to me fast the moment I was shoved against a locker hard enough to knock the breath out of me.

19

M
y sides ached from people shoving into me any time I walked down the hall. Someone tried to trip me on the stairs. I barely caught the railing in time. I continued to the cafeteria, stopping outside its doors and wondered whether it was worth it.

Hesitantly, I entered the cafeteria. I wanted a hot lunch, but I grabbed a yogurt, small bag of Fritos, and a bottle of V8 so I could avoid the line. I passed Heather on the way to our old table. Durrell and the guys didn’t even look at me. I thought I heard Keisha say my name, but when I turned my head she was staring at her lunch tray.

As soon as I sat down, I was pelted with crumpled paper balls. Noticing a little bit of pencil on the lined paper, I opened one up—
MUSICAL FAG.
Then another—
R U A PEDO IF U LIKE ANNIE?

I shrank down in my seat like I could fold myself and disappear. Maybe it was time to start taking a paper bag lunch to school and seeing if I could eat in the music room with the band geeks. Even though Craig and his self-dubbed Gay-Bros were fun in acting, I couldn’t sit with them. Not unless I wanted to get the shit kicked out of me.

I finished my yogurt and was just about to open the bag of Fritos, when I noticed some of the football jocks across the cafeteria. Several of them glanced in my direction, then they got up and walked toward me. Durrell wrapped his arm around Heather’s shoulder and pointed at me. Heather looked me dead in the eye, smirked, and kissed Durrell.

The football jocks came closer. I shoved the bag of Fritos and the bottle of V8 into my backpack so I could make a getaway.

“Relax,” one of the guys, Eric, said. His smirk was the cruelest. I picked up my backpack anyway and stood to leave, but he forced me back down. “No, stay.”

I looked at the exit. Could I outrun them? Possibly, but that would only make things worse the next time.

I looked around the football jocks to the Gay-Bros’ table. Craig and I made eye contact. I mouthed a plea for help. But Craig shook his head apologetically and looked away. Just like everyone else at the table.

I looked toward Durrell’s table, tried to make eye contact with my former teammates. They refused to look at me either. But Heather stared at me dead on. Beside her, an empty chair where Keisha normally sat.

“Why don’t you dance? Do some of that gay ballet stuff,” Eric taunted.

“I don’t do ballet,” I lied.

“Or do you just dance alone in your bedroom when you think no one’s watching?”

I thought about Heather, about rehearsing with her. I thought about the Youtube barre exercises I practiced. How the hell did they know about that?

Eric’s hand closed on the back of my neck, gripping tightly enough for it to hurt.

“You know what’s going to happen next,” Eric said quietly. He was right; I knew what was coming. I clenched my fists. I’d never been in a single hockey fight, and now I was to go against football players who towered over me. In the corner of my eye, I saw people pull out their cellphones to take video. A lunch aid slipped into the hallway.

I braced my body and swung my fist out. I barely caught his side before Eric’s friends forced my arms behind my back. I tried to kick free, back arching as Eric took a swing. The harsh pain of knuckles collided into my stomach. His class ring dug deep in my side. I gasped for breath, my body wriggling to break free.

With a knee to my back, they forced me to the ground, slamming my face against the floor. A boot connected with my ribs moments before I was flipped on my back. Eric held a banana in front of my face. “Suck it, musical fag.” I turned my head to the side, teeth grit, trying not to cry. “Suck it like a dick!”

“Leave my brother alone.”

The pressure around me eased. I was freed. I scrambled to my feet, gripping a chair for support as the cafeteria spun.

Robbie stood at the end of the table, hands balled up in fists. His hateful glare was locked on Eric. He might have been shorter than Eric and the football guys, but he made them look small, carrying himself large. His elbows bent out, muscle definition clear. He’d be faster than the football guys, more wiry and quick on his feet. Football guys might have known how to tackle, but hockey guys
fought
. They policed the ice, righting wrongs. I was being wronged, and Robbie rarely lost a fight.

Behind Robbie, at his table, I saw Raiden stand up, prepared to jump in if things got out of hand.

The football guys almost shrank back. I had never seen Robbie look so dangerous. He never looked this scary when he was on the ice. His fake lip ring made him look more intimidating, and his bleached blond hair made his brown eyes even darker. Like they were black, fiery coal or molten lava.

“We were just joking around,” Eric tried to explain, still trying to laugh, to smile, to say anything to pacify Robbie.

“Didn’t look like joking to me.” Robbie took a step closer. “Tristan, you okay?”

I couldn’t even wheeze an answer. Robbie stepped up to me and gently pressed on my shoulder until I eased myself on the chair

Eric tried to laugh again, each guffaw breaking up his nervousness. “It was just a joke. Chill. I mean, you used to haze him all the time.”

“I never made him try to choke.”

Eric swallowed.
“I mean, you have to admit that listening to musicals is a faggy thing to do.”

“I don’t have to admit
anything
.
”

I sank deeper into my chair, completely limp, hurting, and mute from fear. Robbie’s face contorted the same way it always did when he was figuring out what to say. “Some straight guys like musicals. And some gay guys—” Robbie’s voice cut off. There was something I couldn’t place in his expression. Like he was going to throw up, or scream, or something.

“Some gay guys,” he repeated.

My brother shifted his weight. He was breathing fast and heavily. He was trying to stand tall, to look intimidating, but I could sense his fear. While seconds ago, he gave the appearance of towering, now he looked small. So small.

Robbie said, “Some gay guys play hockey.”

My chest restricted harder than when I was punched. I stared at my brother. Everything became startlingly clear. How many times had Robbie talked with me, saying, “they don’t know,” again and again and again? Robbie’s pleas in the kitchen with the knife. My intestines twisted into knots, hurting more than the bruises that would form.

Eric laughed. “What? You’re saying all these fags are wanting to play hockey in pink jerseys?”

“Oh, because being gay means pink and sparkles and unicorns. Yeah, real mature, Eric,” Robbie snapped.

“Jesus, Robbie. Chill. It’s not like you’re some homo,” Eric said defensively, holding up his hands.

Robbie’s eyes narrowed into thinner slits. My throat tightened. Robbie wasn’t considering doing here and now what I feared . . . could he? Not in front of everyone, just to protect me?

“Robbie,” I finally whispered. He broke his glare to look at me. Maybe we weren’t super close, but I couldn’t let him do this. I wasn’t worth him losing his future. More than his favorite sport, his life. “Don’t.”

I thought he might have faltered. There was a sheen over his dark eyes. I extended my hand toward him, but he didn’t reach for me.

Instead, Robbie turned his full attention to Eric. I gripped onto the bottom of my seat. Felt dried chewing gum brush against my knuckle.

Robbie leaned toward Eric. His voice lowered in pitch. “Actually, I am.”

And then, in an even deeper growl, Robbie said, “Get the hell away from my brother before I break your fucking jaw.”

There was a dead silence throughout the cafeteria. Hundreds of eyes and cellphones were fixed on our table. On Robbie.

Eric looked stunned, opening and closing his mouth a few times before he turned his back to the table. Some of the hockey guys stared wide-eyed. Durrell’s face turned a sickly color, the pallor of guilt. Raiden left the cafeteria in a hurry. I swore I saw Heather smile.

Robbie continued glaring at Eric until he was across the cafeteria, even mouthing, “I will break you,” when it looked like Eric might return. Only when Eric was far enough away did Robbie drop into the chair directly across from me. He rested his face in his hands. “Damn it.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, trembling slightly.

He didn’t look at me. “Yeah, I did.”

“But your career—”

“
Yeah,” he said, barely audible. “I know.”

Desperately, I tried to make eye contact with my twin. I reached out across the table to touch his arm, but he yanked it away from me. The bell signaled the end of lunch. Robbie got to his feet and slung his backpack over his shoulder.

“I’ll see you after practice.” He started to the cafeteria exit then paused. “If anyone, and I mean
anyone,
gives you crap, promise to tell me?”

“But—”

“Promise me, Tristan. Right now. Or I swear to God, I will make you get dentures.”

Firm. Non-negotiable.

I nodded. Robbie looked relieved and continued out of the cafeteria. My mind was reeling. My twin outed himself in front of the entire school just to protect me.

Me.

And it worked.

For the rest of the day, people left me alone. No papers were thrown at me, no taunts about musicals and needing to grow up. People barely even acknowledged me. Just like before. All at once, it didn’t matter that my former-best friend betrayed me. Now I had a closer bond with someone who mattered. Someone I thought I barely knew, or would ever get to know. Someone who had desperately been trying to get my attention for years, and until now I completely ignored.

My brother.

My twin.

Robbie.