The Locker Room (4 page)

useless
thing,
just leeching off of Chris"s family. Xander"s sense of these

things was hazy—he only had two reference points. There was the filth

and spareness of his own home, and the sweetness and comfort of

Christian"s. The adults in that home worked in partnership. The adults

there
provided.
Xander didn"t recognize that he was barely fifteen. He

just recognized that if he was ever going to… to
be
with Chris, then he

didn"t want to be a leech, or a burden, or a charity case.

He wanted to be a partner.

“An apartment,” he said brightly. “I"ll… we can fake an ID or

something. I can get an apartment. She… she won"t know where I am.

She won"t care. I… I just—” Chris was looking at him with big, bright

eyes, as though he were making sense, as though he really could change

the axis of the earth with a few wishes.

“I just need to be able to play,” he said helplessly, and Chris"s

look… dimmed a little, became fond, and Xander knew it had been the

wrong thing to say, but he couldn"t seem to find the right one.

“We can do that,” Chris said, and he nodded, and Xander became

acutely aware that they were up against a stranger"s house, their bodies

plastered together, their hands clenched like lovers.

“Can we—” Oh, God, he hated to ask. “We have to go, but can

we—” He needed it. Chris"s lips were swollen, and he"d tasted so… so

golden. So warm and sunshiney. Xander wanted to taste him again, to

make sure it hadn"t been a fever dream, a mirage, hatched in desperation

as he huddled under the stairwell by the dryer.

Chris"s mouth was on his again, and he let go of Chris"s hand and

wrapped his arms around that smaller, more slender body and pulled his

friend, his savior, deep into whatever haven he could give.
Don"t leave

me, Chris. Don"t let me leave you. I need this. I need you. I"ll do

The Locker Room

17

anything, move the world, move out of my mom"s place, get an

apartment, pass all my classes,
anything,
just stay here, right here,

forever.

God… oh God… oh God… he tasted so sweet.

They pulled back, panting, and suddenly Chris"s hands were

smoothing his shirt and wiping the corners of his mouth, and Xander

found himself doing the same to Chris. They needed to straighten up, he

thought giddily. Couldn"t have the student body knowing that their two

basketball stars were swapping spit with each
other
, now could they?

Oh, Jesus. No one could know.

Chris was staring at him, backing away, looking a little

embarrassed and a little mischievous and a little wonderful, and Xander

wanted to tell the world.

“Don"t leave me, okay?” he said before he could stop himself.

Christian look puzzled. “Okay, big guy. I thought the point was

that you wouldn"t leave
me
, right?”

Xander shrugged, and shivered, and gave Chris"s lips one last

brush with his thumb. “Either way, it would be bad.”

Chris nodded, caught his hand and released it. “Gotcha, okay?

We"re together. It"s good. We"re gonna be late, though, okay? We need

to make up that quiz in Algebra this morning.”

Xander nodded, and they both listened carefully, and then walked

to the edge of the divide between the hedge and the road. Xander came

out first, looking around, and then said, “C"mon. We"re clear.”

Chris rounded the corner, too, and then they both shouldered their

backpacks and broke into a trot, trying to get to school before the

masses.

18

Amy Lane

Life in a Garbage Bag

THEY managed to get the apartment, but barely. Chris had to steal his

mother"s credit card, and then replace it in her purse before she knew

about it. Xander had to find someone to get him a fake ID that made him

eighteen instead of fifteen. In the end, they had a small, unfurnished

apartment about two blocks from the high school, in the opposite

direction as Xander"s mother. Xander figured his mother wouldn"t care,

and one night he simply stopped showing up at her place and took a

blanket and a pillow and a garbage bag full of clothes to his.

They were the only furnishings in the place.

Chris managed to find a couch that had been left outside for free,

and the two of them hauled it a mile and a half after school one day, and

then up the rickety flight of stairs so that Xander would have some place

to sleep. Tucked in Chris"s pocket was an old alarm clock of his sister"s,

because Xander didn"t even have a cell phone or a watch, and Chris had

woken him up on several occasions since he"d moved in, simply by

pounding on the door and hollering for him to get a move on.

Xander was working from nine p.m. to four a.m. at the local

Walmart, unloading the truck, and the two and a half hours of sleep he

got every morning just didn"t seem to be doing it for him. The thing was,

rent cost seven hundred and fifty dollars every month, and he needed to

work nearly full time to keep himself in a safe place. He had about two

hundred dollars a month leftover to help pay for basketball and food, and

Christian did his best to supplement that, because Xander"s wrist bones

really
were
wider than his biceps at this point, and he seemed to exist in

a haze of perpetual hunger.

Maybe they could have done it like that until school ended, maybe

not, but one day, Chris lost his temper and his composure and

inadvertently blew Xander"s secret all over the basketball court.

Coach had been particularly tough that day, and Xander, hungry,

tired, and generally out of it, could barely keep up during the suicide

drills that the team hated to the depth and breadth of their souls.

“C"mon, Karcek, you"re behind! You"re behind the seniors, behind

the juniors, Jesus Christ, kid, you"re behind the fucking sophomores!

The Locker Room

19

You think varsity is a given? I know your head"s in the goddamned

clouds, Xander, but you need to get your eyes focused here! Move it,

dammit, move it, move it faster faster faster faster!”

And Xander just about found his rhythm. His head was in the zone,

he was picking up speed, he was moving it faster, moving it stronger,

moving it moving it moving it… until his ankle rolled underneath him,

and he practically exploded across the floor with momentum and speed

and pain.

He came to a stop on his back, staring up at the arched ceiling of

the gymnasium, wondering why they couldn"t seem to get that balloon

wreath from the last rally from around the pipes at the top. He was pretty

sure most of his body was bruised, and not sure if his ankle was going to

be walkable, but for a moment, a sweet, soft, wondrous moment, he

honestly thought about just laying there and letting the world spin around

him while he drifted off to sleep.

And then Chris"s voice woke him up. Chris was yelling at Coach!

“Goddammit, leave him alone! He"s starving and he"s exhausted,

and he"s doing his goddamned best, okay!” Xander"s shoulder was being

shaken, and he looked dreamily up at Chris, pretty Chris, who had kissed

him a month ago, and who had not kissed him since. Xander would

really like to kiss him again, but there never seemed to be any time.

Chris was a good boy, and went home after practice, and Xander had

only a couple of hours to do his homework before going to work. They

might have had other time, they might have time after school on non-

practice days, spare moments on weekends, between games, but Chris

insisted that Xander needed his sleep. Was he not kissable anymore, now

that he was a grown-up? Xander longed to ask him that, but right now it

would just be groovy if the room stopped spinning.

“Xan, you okay, man? That was an epic roll. Say something, right?

I didn"t see your head hit, but you"re looking out of it!”

Xander smiled a little. “Just thinking about a nap, brother. You

think I could take one right here?”

“No,” Coach said decisively, and then he leveraged a meaty

shoulder under Xander"s arm to help him up. Chris got the other side,

and in spite of the fact that Coach was bigger, and probably stronger,

Xander found it just felt safer to put all his weight on Christian"s

20

Amy Lane

shoulders. Coach sighed and backed away as Christian helped him

hobble off the court, and Xander found himself sat down hard on the

bleachers while he decided if the black spots dancing in front of his

vision meant business or were just fucking around and promising nausea.

Nausea would probably be a lot more likely if he wasn"t so damned

hungry, huh?

Xander blinked as a penlight was shined directly into his eyes, and

Coach"s broad, dark fingers probed his skull. Coach was a thirtyish black

man with a wife, a kid, a spreading middle, and a smart mouth, and most

of the kids would lie down in traffic and die for him. He didn"t hear

outbursts like Christian"s often, and Xander blinked hard and tried to

read the man"s expression.

“You didn"t hit your head,” Coach said with authority. He probed

Xander"s ankle, and although it was a little bruised it was definitely still

functional. “Ankle might keep you down for a day, but it"s not fatal.

Care to tell me why you were down there so long, Karcek?”

Xander tried to focus again, and got lost. “Tired,” he grunted.

“Sorry, Coach.”

“Mmm-hmm. Alright, you two. My office. Now. Jakari?”

An alumni student, who had a good job now but loved the game

enough to be Coach"s second, nodded and blew the whistle to start drills

again. Xander struggled to his feet, only to find Chris under his arm,

helping him along. He was just tired enough and needy enough to keep

his arm around Chris"s shoulder under pretense. Chris"s tight, muscular

body felt so sweet next to his, and, oh God, when they were touching he

wasn"t alone.

Together they struggled through the side door of the gym to the

white hallway, and into Coach"s office. When they got there, Coach sat

them down on his battered red couch, then offered them each a bottle of

water and power bars—in Xander"s case, two.

Xander was too out of it to be proud. He ate both power bars and

guzzled the water, and then stopped, aware that the only sounds in the

office were him eating, and Christian"s careful breathing.

“I"m sorry, Coach,” Christian said after a really awkward moment.

“I got nothin" but respect for you, yanno? I shouldn"t have yelled at you

like that.” Christian stood then and offered Xander a hand.

The Locker Room

21

Xander had taken it and was leveraging himself up when Coach

said, “Karcek, Edwards, sit the hell down.”

Christian"s eyes locked unhappily with Xander"s, and Xander

shrugged. He wasn"t sure how much longer they could have kept it up.

“Why you starving, Karcek?”

Xander looked at Christian, and Christian shrugged, and then

picked up the burden.

“I didn"t get him enough food,” he said, and that pissed Xander off.

“That"s not fair! You been feeding me for two months!”

“Yeah, but I didn"t bring you more bread this morning. I"m sorry,

man. I slept late, and I forgot. I mean, I know you get free lunch, but

that"s your only meal—”

“Wait wait wait wait—”

Xander looked up from his furious argument with Chris, and they

both subsided.

“Christian, why the hell you bringing him food?”

Chris flushed. “He doesn"t have much left after rent, Coach. He

eats dinner with us a couple nights a week, but, yanno, he can"t work

more hours because he doesn"t get enough sleep as it is.”

Coach let out a big long sigh. “You paying rent at your house,

Karcek? What"re your parents doing?”

It was Xander"s turn to flush, and he found he couldn"t answer.

There was a terribly awkward silence over the coach"s office then, and

Xander found himself counting the number of celebrity “Got Milk?”

posters on the walls. He"d gotten to eleven, and was trying to figure out

who the cute (male) tennis player was, when Coach cleared his throat

and apparently stared down the weak link in their little chain of two.

“Got anything to add to that whole lot of nothing, Edwards?”

Xander turned his head back in time to see Christian flush

helplessly. “Xander"s story, Coach.”

“Yeah? You been sneaking him food from your parents" table,