Trailer Trash (33 page)

“Don’t you worry,” the first nurse told him after taking his blood pressure and his temperature. “We’re calling your dad right now.” She handed him a hospital gown. “I’ll go out. You undress and put that on, and lie down on the bed there. Then we’ll get you cleaned up while we wait for the doctor.”

Nate did as instructed, although undressing made his ribs hurt like hell. A few minutes later, the nurse came back, but before she could do much, one of the other nurses called her over. They stayed within sight as they whispered urgently, glancing toward him every few seconds. Another woman joined them—not a nurse, he didn’t think, but maybe one of the women from the front desk—and soon they were all whispering, their eyes straying his way more often than seemed normal.

The nurse came back, but this time, her smile didn’t seem quite so genuine. She began going through drawers, pulling out cotton balls and gauze pads and a bottle that he hoped wasn’t plain old rubbing alcohol—that was bound to sting. Finally, she dug around in another cabinet and came up with a box of rubber gloves.

“Okay,” she told him as she opened the box and pulled a couple of them out. “Let’s take a look at those cuts on your face.”

Nate watched her, puzzled. He knew from TV that doctors wore gloves for surgery, but in all his visits to the ER, he’d never seen them used. “What do you need those for?”

“Just being careful.” She was careful, all right—careful not to meet his eyes as she said it.

“I’m not sick.”

She gave him a tight-lipped smile. “One of the other nurses went to a symposium in Denver last month. She said they’re recommending rubber gloves for everything now. Even sports physicals and dental visits. It’s practically routine.”

Practically. Except not really. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have had to search for them.

She began cleaning the many cuts on his face, fumbling a bit with the bottles and tubes of ointment, obviously unused to having her work impeded by the gloves.

A cold little knot of dread began to form in Nate’s gut. He had a sinking feeling he knew what was going on.

“I don’t think you’ll need stitches,” she told him. “That’s good news, right?”

“Right.”

“The doctor will be in any minute now—”

She was interrupted by the arrival of his father. Nate didn’t think he’d ever been so glad to see him.

“Jesus, Nate, what the hell happened?” his dad asked, once the nurse had gone.

“Just some of the guys from school.” Trying to talk about it made it all come back to him—the terror and the shame and the pain—and he fought to keep his voice steady. “They slit the tires on the car so we’d have to walk, and then they were waiting for us in the empty lot behind the gas station. Cody tried to—” His dad scowled, and Nate stopped short. “What? Is Cody okay?”

“Better off than you, it seems.” But his voice was strained.

“Can I see him?”

“I’m pretty sure he and his mom left already.”

“Oh.” Nate tried not to sound too disappointed. In some ways, it was just as well knowing Cody wouldn’t have to see him dressed in a flowered hospital gown, with one side of his face swollen up like a balloon. Still, he was surprised Cody would leave without even saying good-bye.

“I told you not to hang out with him. I told you it would lead to trouble.”

“You busting Brian’s dad for cocaine possession didn’t exactly help, you know.”

“I told you. That had nothing to do with what you said about him.”

“Well, try telling Brian that, why don’t you? He was too busy kicking me in the kidneys to listen to excuses.”

He was glad to see the doctor arrive. At least it would put an end to their argument. But rather than examine Nate, the doctor asked to speak with Nate’s father. Again, they stepped away, staying within sight of Nate’s bed, but moving far enough away to talk without Nate overhearing.

Nate watched them, waiting. He hurt everywhere. Now that the adrenaline had worn off, he wanted to cry from the pain. His stomach and his back and his face all ached. His face hurt the worst. But it all paled next to the shame he felt, watching them all whisper as they glanced his way. His dad became agitated once, raising his voice to say, “That’s ridiculous! My son is not—” before they all shushed him. His dad’s jaw clench, the color rising in his cheeks.

“Fine,” he said at last. “Just do whatever the hell it is you need to do.”

The doctor examined him at last, but not until he and the nurse had stopped to put on the stupid rubber gloves. They took X-rays and ran a slew of tests, all the while giving him that
look
. It was the same look he’d seen thrown Cody’s way at school. The same look people had started to give him. He flashed back on his first conversation with Cody about it, and the way Cody had said,
“It’s an STD. You even know what that stands for? Sexually. Transmitted. Disease.”

Nobody bothered to ask him if he’d actually had sex with Cody, or if Cody could possibly be infected. No. In a town as small as Warren, there were no secrets. One of the nurses or the receptionists had undoubtedly recognized Cody. Maybe she even had a son or daughter at Walter Warren High School. Somehow, she knew the rumors, and rumors were all it took to make those telltale rubber gloves come out.

Rumors were all it took to make his dad sit on the other side of the room, his jaw clenched tight.

In the end, they told him nothing was broken. They prescribed some mild painkillers, bed rest, and plenty of fluids, and gave his father a list of things to watch for in the coming days, then sent them home.

Nate sat in the passenger seat, an ice pack from the ER over one eye even though it was already swollen most of the way shut. His dad had a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. Nate didn’t think he’d ever seen him so mad.

“There was never a girl, was there?”

Nate closed his one good eye and leaned his head against the passenger window. “No.”

“You told me you were in love.”

“I am.”

“No, you’re not! Whatever this is—”

“I know what I feel, Dad.”

“You and Cody—” His words ended in a strangled choking sound.

Nate felt like he should apologize, but for what? For loving Cody? He wouldn’t apologize for that. “I know you’re disappointed. I know you’re probably surprised. I was too, but—”

“Do you realize the risk you’re taking? You could catch AIDS!”

“Not from Cody.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Dad.” He had to force the words past gritted teeth. “One of us would’ve had to have had sex with somebody else in order to catch it. Somebody who already had it. Somebody other than each other—”

“Shut up!”

Nate turned to look at his dad, stunned at the venom in his voice. “We don’t even do what you’re thinking about, and even if we did—”

“I said
shut up
! I don’t want to hear about the sick things you do! I can’t even look at you right now. I can’t—” He shook his head. “We’ll talk about it later. Once I’ve had a chance to talk to your mother. To calm down a bit. I don’t know.”

Nate was surprised his dad’s rejection didn’t hurt more. He felt like maybe he should cry, but he was out of tears, his heart a cold, hard lump inside his chest. It was just as well, anyway. Bad enough that his dad knew about Cody. Best not to have him think Nate a pansy too.

He went to his room as soon as they got home and stayed there, curled on his bed, listening to his dad’s voice rise and fall as he talked on the phone. He wanted to talk to Cody, but there was no way that could happen. Not yet, at any rate.

He eventually fell asleep. He awoke in the darkness and slowly got to his feet.

He hurt even worse than he had before.

He surveyed the damage to his face in the bathroom mirror. His left eye was swollen shut, the other a livid shade of purple. His upper lip was split and swollen. Bruises stained his face from his forehead to his jaw. His rib cage hurt like crazy. Trying to pee brought tears to his eyes, and seeing the blood in the toilet was scary, even though the doctors had told him it might happen.

He changed into clean sweats and a T-shirt and peeked out his bedroom door. The house was dark and silent. His dad was in bed.

He snuck downstairs. It was two o’clock in the morning, but who knew when he’d have another chance? He took the phone off the cradle and crept into the pantry, closing the door behind himself. His heart pounded as he dialed Cody’s number. It was entirely possible Cody’s mom would answer. It was possible she’d yell at him for waking her up, or for getting her son in trouble, but he had to talk to Cody.

Cody picked up before the second ring. He didn’t even say hello. Just, “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“I’m peeing blood, I can’t see out of one eye, it hurts to breathe, and my dad isn’t talking to me.” That about covered it. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Now you’re the one who’s lying.”

Cody made a sound that might have been a laugh. “My mom’s actually being pretty awesome about the whole thing, but I feel like shit. This was all my fault—”

“Don’t be stupid. It wasn’t your fault. We just weren’t thinking—”

“If I had fought harder—”

“You did the best you could.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

It sounded like Cody was trying hard not cry, and Nate closed his eyes, holding his aching ribs. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m fine. They let me off easy, to be honest.”

“I’m glad.”

“I’m not,” Cody said. Nate wanted to protest again, but Cody didn’t give him a chance. “I have your calculus book.”

Nate laughed, then regretted it. It made his ribs hurt. “A bit of late homework is the least of my worries.”

“Nate, listen to me. We have to cool it. We can’t let them see us together. You can’t drive me to school anymore. You can’t sit next to me in social studies—”

“Stop. Please. I’m not having this conversation right now. I wanted to hear your voice, but I don’t want to argue.”

Cody sighed. “Okay.”

“I love you.”

“Oh Jesus,” Cody whispered, like some kind of prayer. “Nate . . .” Cody never said the words back. Nate had a feeling he’d never said them to anybody in his life. It didn’t matter. He knew well enough how Cody felt. Even if he hadn’t known already, he could hear it in Cody’s voice.

“I’m supposed to stay home for a day or two, but I’ll see you Friday, at the latest.”

He felt Cody’s reluctance in the silence that stretched between them. Nate understood. As tenuous as it was, the voice on the other end of the phone felt like the only thing they had.

“Cody?”

“Yeah,” he said at last. “Okay. See you Friday.”

Nate snuck back into the kitchen and put the phone on the cradle. He made a peanut butter sandwich, which he washed down with a glass of milk before going upstairs, brushing his teeth, and crawling into bed.

Despite everything, he felt better.

Cody’d been on the receiving end of ass-kickings before, so when he showed up to school on Tuesday with a black eye and a split lip, he was prepared for the curious stares and the whispers and the occasional snickers as the story of his humiliation spread through the student body.

What he didn’t anticipate was the way a small but fierce group of people suddenly seemed to rally in his defense.

It started in PE, when two boys who’d never seemed to notice him before made a point of saying hi in the locker room. One of them even went so far as to ask Cody to be his partner in tennis. Cody was too stunned to do anything more than agree.

In metal shop, Jamie Simpson’s younger brother silently picked up his project from the table he’d shared all year with Tom Watson and Billy Jones and carried it over to the open spot next to Cody. He didn’t say a word the entire hour other than to ask Cody to pass him the pliers, but his steadfast scowl seemed to speak volumes.

The two Jennifers from Orange Grove stopped by his locker during a passing period, both of them looking embarrassed. “Nine on two’s bullshit,” one of them said quietly. “I don’t care what they think you did.”

They went back to ignoring him after that, but they seemed to be ignoring Brad and Brian and the rest of the Grove boys who’d been in the gang just as much.

At lunch, Jimmy Riordan and Amy Prescott, who had apparently become a couple at some point in the last few months, tracked him down and invited him outside for a cigarette with them.

“I would have warned you, if I’d known,” Jimmy assured him as they smoked in a recessed doorway behind the gym, where they were sheltered from the wind. “I mean, a couple of weeks ago, Larry started making noise about teaching you a lesson now that Logan wasn’t around to protect you, but I thought he was just talking out of his ass like he always does.” He shrugged, ducking his head in embarrassment. “He hadn’t said anything since then though, so I figured he’d forgotten about it. But I feel like an ass now for not telling you.”

Cody wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to respond. He settled for, “It’s cool. It wasn’t your fault.”

“How’s Nate?” Amy asked.

Cody took a drag off his cigarette to buy him time. He couldn’t get the image of Nate’s bloody, bruised face out of his head. Then again, it felt like some kind of betrayal to Nate to admit how bad they’d beaten him. “I imagine he’s pretty sore today,” he said at last. “But he’ll live. He should be back at school later this week.”