Play Me, I'm Yours [Library Edition] (3 page)

Jessica Thomas has commented on a photo of you.

Another buzz.

Chris Robins has commented on a photo of you.

Andrew Brooke has commented on a photo of you.

This couldn’t be good. Jessica and Andrew had been sitting in that booth at Bay’s.

With trembling fingers, Lucas booted his laptop and logged into his Facebook account. By the time he clicked on the first notification link, his phone had vibrated several times more. Each buzz caused his chest to constrict further. Tears threatened to break as he waited for the screen to load.
Please, don’t let it be anything bad.

The link took him to a photo album on Chris’s Facebook wall. The first photo showed Lucas playing piano at the harbor. Lucas let out a shaky breath. It wasn’t a great shot. Several heads obstructed the view of the piano, but Lucas was in the center of the frame, plain as day. Below the photo several comments had been posted.

Jessica Thomas
:
Cyndi Lauper!

Eight people “liked” the comment.

Chris Robins:
Stop picking on Lucy. Girls Just Want To Have Fun!

Lucas choked out a sob. Twelve “likes,” followed by several more comments, all poking fun at him.

He clicked to advance to the next photo, which had also been taken at the harbor. In this one, Chris stood with his friends, the same kids from the booth at Bay’s. He had his arm around Jessica.

How could Lucas have been so stupid?

The next photo had been taken at Bay’s. It showed Lucas sitting alone at a table. The caption:
Like a Virgin.

It was too much. Lucas slammed the lid of his laptop shut and pushed it away as tears continued to flow. He curled up on his bed—clothes, shoes, and all.

Why did they hate him so much? What had he ever done to any of them?

After a while, he sat up, wiped his eyes, and kicked off his shoes. He stared at Ted, who even in silence, seemed to offer sympathy. Lucas felt the urge to reach for him. He knew it was childish. He was too old for that kind of stuff. Imagine what Chris would say if he saw Lucas holding a teddy bear. Lucas flipped his pillow over to the dry side and lay back down. He rolled over, turning his back to Ted, and waited for sleep.

Chapter Three
Beautiful Boy

L
UCAS
was halfway finished with his Lucky Charms when his mom entered the kitchen. His dad stood at the sink, rinsing his coffee mug.

“How is my beautiful boy this morning?” his mom said. She smiled at Lucas as she popped two slices of cinnamon bread in the toaster.

“Fine.”

“Sharon,” his dad warned. “You’re gonna give the boy a complex.”

“Well, he
is
beautiful.”

“Sharon, I thought we agreed—”

“Fine. How is my
ridiculously good-looking
boy this morning?”

Lucas chuckled. “I’m fine, Mom.”

He did have a bit of a complex, though. He hated when people used feminine words to describe him. But he knew his mom meant it as a compliment. She always called him her beautiful boy, and coming from her, he liked it.

His dad gave his mom a quick peck and then left for work.

“How’s school?” she said, turning her attention back to Lucas.

“It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine. It was hell. It had been almost two weeks since the Facebook incident, and people were still humming Cyndi Lauper tunes when he entered a classroom. Chris Robins hadn’t spoken to him, and Andrew called him “Lucy Liu” whenever he passed him in the hall. When he wasn’t being mocked, he was being ignored. There was no middle ground.

But he couldn’t tell his mom about any of that. For one thing, it was humiliating. For another, his mom had a tendency to filter out negativity and put a positive spin on even the most miserable situations. Thermonuclear war couldn’t get that woman down. “It could be worse” was her mantra.

He’d come home from school once with bruises on his left arm. When his mom questioned him about it, he’d admitted to being harassed by a boy at school. The boy had tried to shove Lucas into a locker. His mom’s reply to his teary-eyed confession was, “At least he didn’t hit you.” It was followed by, “If you tried a little harder to make friends, honey, things like this wouldn’t happen.”

She meant well, but her look-on-the-bright-side attitude wasn’t what he wanted or needed. He wanted comfort. Sympathy. Reassurance that he wasn’t a freak. But his mom was more concerned with keeping the peace and avoiding unpleasantries.

When Mason wandered in the kitchen, his mom greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, sweetie.”

Mason grunted and grabbed a box of cereal from the pantry.

“We’re leaving in ten minutes,” Lucas said.

Mason failed to acknowledge him, as usual.

“Lucas, would you mind starting dinner tonight?” his mom said. “I have a lot of showings booked this afternoon.” She was a real estate agent and often worked odd hours. Evenings and weekends were her busiest times. “There’s ground turkey in the fridge if you want to make stuffed acorn squash.”

“Eww,” said Mason. “Can’t we just have spaghetti?”

“It’s up to Lucas.”

Mason groaned. “Acorn squash it is.”

“Sure, Mom,” Lucas said. “I’ll make the squash.”

Lucas used to love cooking with his mom. When he was little, she’d let him help stir the pots or mix the ingredients, even if it meant she had to pull out a step stool so he could reach. By the time he was in middle school, he knew how to make most of the dishes in her repertoire. She was in charge of chopping, and he took care of measuring. His mom had a way of making it fun. She turned meal prep into a cooking competition, where they worked in the kitchen side by side. He made one portion, and she made three. She always ate the portion Lucas made, telling him it was the most delicious of all. They didn’t cook together much anymore. His mom was a lot busier these days.

His mom sat at the table with her coffee and toast. “Why aren’t you wearing a costume today?” she said to Mason.

It was spirit week at Providence High. During spirit week, each day was assigned a different theme, and students dressed in costume to show their school spirit. Monday was
Toga Day,
Tuesday was
Wacky Tacky Day,
and yesterday was
Pajama Day.
Mason had dressed up for all three, but today he was wearing his usual shorts and T-shirt.

“Or is it
Be Yourself Day?”
she teased.

Mason shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”

“What’s the theme today?” she asked.

Mason hesitated, then glanced at Lucas.
“Gender Bender Day.”

They finished their breakfast in silence.

G
OING
to school on a normal day was bad enough, but going to school on a spirit day was unbearable. It was a blatant reminder to Lucas that he didn’t fit in. The athletes dressed up. The cheerleaders, the theater geeks, the band fags—they all dressed up too. Even most of the teachers dressed up. It was ironic; the one time it was socially acceptable to play dress-up, he didn’t dare. He shuddered to think what would’ve happened if he’d shown up to school on Monday wearing a toga.

He remembered how much he loved playing dress-up as a kid. When he was little, his mom would sometimes allow him to wear her jewelry. He’d sit next to her on her vanity bench, inspecting all the wonders laid out before him while she got ready for work. He’d pick things up, one at a time, and say, “Can I try this one, Mommy?”

“No, Lucas,” she’d say. “That’s for girls.”

“How come it’s for girls?” he once asked.

“Because girls like pretty things.”

“I like pretty things.”

“I know, sweetie.”

Lucas had picked up his mom’s pearl bracelet, laying it gently in the palm of his hand. “Pretend I’m a girl, Mommy. Can I try this one?”

“You’re a sweet boy, Lucas. It’s okay to like pretty things.” She helped him slip the bracelet around his wrist. “It’ll be our little secret.”

After that she let him try on her necklaces, bracelets, and rings, but she drew the line at lipstick. “Only mommies wear lipstick,” she insisted. She’d given in once and let him wear some blush. “Now I’m gonna call you ‘happy cheeks’,” she teased.

His eyes watered at the memory of how happy he’d been, sitting next to his mom, brushing his hair with her hairbrush while she powdered her face. Meanwhile, a group of rowdy boys shoved past him in the hallway wearing wigs, gaudy makeup, and dresses.

A
LEX
readjusted his artificial hair as he walked into last period. The oversized wig was hot and itchy. He couldn’t wait for the day to be over so he could get out of this ridiculous costume. Only fifty-five minutes to go.

He received a few catcalls as he wobbled over to his desk in patent leather heels. Brian Kim reached out and squeezed one of his fake boobs.

“Hey!” Alex said, batting Brian’s hand away. “Hands off, lesbo.”

Brian laughed. “What the hell do you have in there? They’re so jiggly.”

“A girl’s gotta have her secrets,” Alex said, smoothing his hands over both breasts.

“All right, all right, settle down,” Mrs. Jacobs said. She was wearing a man’s suit, several sizes too big, and a paisley necktie. “How about we get a picture before we start class? You guys all look so good. Everyone in costume, come on up front.”

About two-thirds of the class went up for the photo. Mrs. Jacobs waved her hands around, trying to squeeze everyone into the frame. “Closer, closer. Don’t be shy.”

Someone stepped on Alex’s foot and he yelped. “Watch the heels!”

Once Mrs. Jacobs set up the shot, she took her place on the end. “Lucas,” she said, “Will you take the picture for us?”

“Yeah, Lucy. Take the picture,” one of the guys called out, followed by a bunch of laughter.

Alex watched Lucas take the camera from Mrs. Jacobs. He wondered why she hadn’t said anything about the “Lucy” comment. Surely she’d heard it. Surely she could see that Lucas was upset.
It was so typical of teachers—turning a blind eye when they didn’t feel like dealing with shit.

Everyone stared at Lucas now that he had the camera. The guy looked miserable. Alex hated to see people picked on, especially people who couldn’t defend themselves. Lucas was an easy target. He was kind of a sissy, and he was quiet; he never said anything back. Alex felt bad for the guy. He’d seen the Facebook pictures Chris had posted a couple of weeks ago. That was not cool. What an asshole. Alex could think of plenty of ways to get his kicks that didn’t involve picking on people for the way they looked. Or
walked
, in his sister’s case.

They hadn’t gotten much work done by the time afternoon announcements began. “And now… the moment you’ve all been waiting for… your votes for the best
Gender Bender Day
costumes have been tallied. In third place… Stacey Johnson.” Stacey wasn’t in this class, but he’d seen her earlier in the day. She dressed up like Mr. T, faux mohawk and all. He had to admit it was a great costume. She deserved to win.

“In second place… Alex Goodman.”

“Yes!” Alex jumped up and raised his arms in victory, nearly falling on his ass as he struggled to balance in his heels. The class cheered for him as he regained his poise and made his best attempt at a curtsey.

“And in first place—drumroll, please…
badabadabadabadabum
… Lucas Tate!”

The class exploded with laughter and began to chant. “Lucy! Lucy! Lucy!”

Alex glanced over at Lucas, who looked stunned.

“Winners, please report to the guidance office to claim your prize and get your photo taken for the yearbook.”

Lucas was frozen in his spot, his face a bright shade of pink.

It was time for some damage control.

“Wait a minute. Wait
just
a minute,” Alex said.

The chanting ceased as all eyes turned toward him.

“I’ve been robbed. Seriously. I am
way
prettier than Lucas.” Alex flicked his hair back and puffed out his chest. “He doesn’t even have tits.”

That got a laugh, and Alex turned to see Lucas run for the door.

M
ASON
stormed out of the school entrance and over to his brother’s car.

Lucas sat inside, slouched against the steering wheel.

Mason yanked open the passenger door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him. “What the fuck, Lucas.”

Lucas didn’t respond. He didn’t even look over. He simply started up the car and pulled out of the lot.

Mason let out a yell of frustration. “Do you know how much shit I have to put up with because of you?”

As soon as they’d announced Lucas the winner of
Gender Bender Day
, Mason’s class had gone crazy, laughing and cracking jokes. Then they turned and heckled him.

“Dude, your brother’s a fag.”

“Better lock your door at night.”

Jereme, in his best impression of a girl’s voice, had started moaning, “Oh yeah, Mason, give it to me.”

Mason responded with a raised fist. “Shut the fuck up, Jereme.”

He was tired of this shit. It wasn’t fair. How did he get stuck with a brother like Lucas?

“Just because you’re a big queer doesn’t mean I’m one too.” He stared at his brother for a moment but got no reply. “You
are
one, right?” he spat with as much venom as he could muster.

Lucas’s eyes were watery and his bottom lip quivered.

They rode in silence for several minutes; then Mason said, “Why can’t you go to a different school?”

“Why can’t you?”

“I’m not the freak.”

L
UCAS
had just finished straining the spaghetti when he heard his mom come home.

“Lucas, you’re a godsend,” she said as she entered the kitchen. “I’m famished. Should I call the boys for dinner?”