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Chapter 19 ? Cory Has a Posse
Part One ? Little Indiana
For reasons that were beyond me, I fully expected to jump off the school bus and find Laurel Sage waiting for me in the middle of the high school quad. We’d been inseparable my last year at Townsend, but I was going to have to wait another two years before she’d be able to join me at Bishop. I made it all the way through seventh grade without a having friend at all, let alone a best friend. I told myself I could survive until my junior year without Laurel.
But, standing in front of the massive collection of buildings, with crowds of much larger kids swarming around me, I wanted nothing more than to run back to middle school and wait out the next couple years. I wouldn’t be the first 16 year-old high school freshman, right?
I hitched my bookbag higher on my shoulder and took a deep breath.
Alright, Indiana, man the fuck up.
I checked over the class schedule and did my best to navigate through the halls with the poorly rendered school map in the back of my planner and what little I remembered from freshman orientation camp. World history was my first class of the day, and I could at least look forward to that.
My second period gym class was another story.
At just a week shy of my fourteenth birthday, I still hadn’t passed through the last of my pubescent growth spurts, but at 5’10” I was doing alright in the height category. I was even taller than some of the seniors. Yet, even my baby fat couldn’t disguise how scrawny I was. Running cross country and track just seemed to make it worse. I had eventually learned to use my weirdness to cover where I lacked. Mom said yes to piercings, which she probably regretted after I started hitting the double digits, and she let me dye my hair whatever color I could make stick. But I still felt awkward stripping down to my boxers in the middle of the boys’ locker room.
The coaches had assigned our lockers and sent us off to change out for class. I was in the middle of shrugging on my gym shirt when someone knocked into me.
“Hey, watch out,” I said, glad that my voice didn’t crack like it had been doing lately. Dad’s voice was really deep, I was hoping mine would get somewhere near that deep someday. My head popped out of my t-shirt just in time to catch who had bumped me.
“Why the fuck should I watch out?” The guy’s letterman jacket proclaimed him to be a senior. A massive as fuck senior. “What you gunna do?”
I stared back at him. First day of high school and I was already about to get my ass kicked. Way to go, fucktard!
“What you looking at?” he demanded. I knew we were supposed to avoid “to be” verbs, but he took the rule a little too literally. “You a fag or somethin’?”
I straightened my spine and threw back my shoulders. If I was going to get my ass kicked, might as well make it memorable.
“And if I am?” I said, tipping up my chin and narrowing my eyes. I was still a lanky kid standing in my t-shirt and boxers, but I imagined the short, flaming red mohawk and eyebrow piercing made me look a little tougher than I actually was. Nobody but Laurel and my mom knew I liked boys, and I suddenly felt bold to be coming out in a high school boys’ locker room. “Do you have a problem with me being gay?”
Dudebro the Senior took a bit to process what I was saying. Faggotry was the go-to all-purpose threat for your average adolescent male, and sometimes it wasn’t even a real comment on the person’s sexuality. Even still, the natural reaction was to DENY, DENY, DENY. No one expected the twiggy freshman to buck tradition.
“You better not be trying to get on my dick, faggot.”
I made an obvious show of looking him over ? from the top of his dudebro hair down to his over-priced and overrated Jordans.
“Sorry, bro,” I said with as much derisive contempt as I could manage without actually knowing what either word meant. “But, you’re not my type.”
The other boys in the locker room laughed. Not at me, oddly enough, but at the senior. If you couldn’t even get the gay freshman on your jock, then how much luck would you have with girls, right?
“Fucking queer,” he muttered and stomped out.
Eventually, everyone’s attention was elsewhere, and I was once again forgotten. I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and pulled on my gym shorts. Then, a hand wrapped around my upper arm. I let out a surprised yelp and about jumped into my locker.
“Holy shit!” I squawked, my voice choosing that moment to start cracking. I looked down at the boy who had grabbed me ? a shorter, pudgy kid with a mop of mousy brown curls and smiling green eyes. He wasn’t ugly, nor was he particularly pretty, but his amused expression definitely made up for it.
“That was fucking awesome,” he laughed. “I thought that guy was going to kill you!”
“You and canlı bahis me both.”
“Fuck, man, the way you stood up to him. Must have some fucking balls.”
“Or a death wish.”
“I’m Michael, by the way,” he said. “But, everyone and their fucking brother is named Michael, so you can call me Jameson.”
“I’m Indiana,” I said. “But my friends call me Indie.”
Okay, technically, I only had the one friend, but that’s what she called me.
“Like Indiana Jones?”
“Yeah,” I said, rolling my eyes. My mother’s maiden name was Jones, and that’s exactly what she was going for. It certainly didn’t cause my parents to split, but I still think her putting Indiana Jones Norman on my fucking birth certificate was what set their divorce in motion. Of course, if you chose to be out on business the week your wife was due, you kinda had it coming.
Jameson chatted with me while we finished getting dressed. Well, he chatted at me, and I listened. The guy never stopped for air. By the time we had our shoes laced up and were following the other boys out the door, I already knew he’d moved here from Richmond over the summer, lived a couple miles from my house, liked to swim at the beach, and had a dog whose name meant “golden” in some language that I could never remember.
Months later and Jameson still hadn’t run out of things to chatter about.
We were sitting on his bed, playing Call of Duty. We had to keep it down because it was past midnight, and we were supposed to be asleep. His dad had already come in twice to warn us. Jameson had been telling me about this kid he knew back in Richmond who stayed up for three days straight playing CoD and ended up in intensive care. Laurel had been, and always will be, my best friend, but Jameson was special. You couldn’t stay up late at night, playing video games and talking shit with a girl.
“By the way,” he said after a very un-Jameson-like silence. I leaned closer so I could hear him. “What is your type?”
“You said the jock guy wasn’t your type,” he clarified.
“The one of the first day,” he said. “Remember? You told him that you weren’t into him, that he wasn’t your type. So, what is?”
“Why are you asking about my type?”
“No reason in particular,” he said quietly, seeming almost unsure of himself. “Maybe I just wanted to know if I stood a chance.”
I looked back at Jameson, with his laughing green eyes and mile-a-minute mouth. I don’t remember what possessed me to say what I did any more than I remember who initiated the kiss that followed.
“Maybe you do.”
I used to wonder how Cory put up with Efrain’s music, but I had come to realize that his taste was just as bad.
First, there was the weird as fuck song, some kind of deathmetal/J-pop hybrid, about playing tag. Next, there was the drum and bass techno song that featured a screaming auto-tuned orgasm in the middle. Then, there was the song demanding a blowjob, where the singer simulated gagging then repeatedly shouted “SUCK IT” over the bridge. He even did a hyperstereotypical gay impression at the end. I imagined it would have been funny to a slightly older person who would get the pop culture references.
Or, to a straight guy.
As if out to prove my point, it was the straight guy laughing the loudest. I looked over at Efrain’s teammate, in the backseat of Cory’s truck with me. They introduced him as JJ, then spent most of the ride downtown calling him Teague. It confused the hell out of me, especially since he called them Garza and Card in turn, and I had to remind myself that those were Efrain and Cory’s last names.
“Have I told you lately how crappy your taste in music is?” Efrain asked Cory over the strains of some industrial pop number about a mommy complex.
“My taste in music?” Cory responded in mock indignation. “Half the shit you listen to sounds like some dude in a basement was like, Oh hey, I have this slick beat, let’s see how many random sounds I can shove in. What? Lyrics? Why would I need lyrics?”
“Hey, you leave edIT out of this,” he said. “At least I don’t pick my favorite artists based on how bangable their ass is.”
“Hey,” Cory mimicked, finger pointing at Efrain in much the same way. “You leave Sam Hunt out of this.”
JJ was laughing so hard at their bickering that I doubted he picked up on Cory’s slip. I knew Efrain was a hardcore closet case, but they were failing miserably at not flirting with each other. I cleared my throat, hoping to distract them before they outed themselves. They were still going back and forth in the front seat, but JJ’s attention seemed to shift to me instead.
He looked at me with a curious expression. This was the first time I’d met him, but Laurel had mentioned him to me before. The guy liked to play stupid, yet was anything but. He was the same age as Laurel, but bahis siteleri was already working on his Master’s while she was still a senior.
JJ hummed thoughtfully and turned to look out the window as Cory pulled up at a stop light.
A truck waited on my and Cory’s side of the vehicle, loaded up with boxes and furniture. Cory started giggling like the still-teenaged guy he was over the labeling on the side of one box. Apparently, it had been used to ship lube in a past life. Didn’t matter that it was now full of “kitchen stuff,” as was written in black permanent marker.
“That could come in handy.”
“Eres apretado, acho,” Efrain laughed. “Pero no está tan apretado.”
“Eres grande, vato,” he said in response. “Pero no está tan grande.”
I had no idea what the fuck they’d just said, but we didn’t need to know that to understand that they were still flirting.
“Funny,” JJ said. He was still staring out his side of the truck.
“What’s that?” Cory asked over his shoulder.
“I’m the only straight person here.”
As he was sitting in front of me, I couldn’t quite see Cory’s face, but I assumed it carried an expression like Efrain’s look of stunned horror. Luckily, we were still at a stop light, or else Cory might have caused some vehicular carnage in his state of shock. Of course, I was pretty sure shock was plain as day on my face, too.
The three of us turned to stare at JJ, who turned away from whatever held his attention outside to take in the three of us in our stupefied silence. A car horn blared behind the truck; at some point, the light had changed. He managed to keep his face straight for all of a minute before breaking down in a fit of laughter. Cory turned around and nervously drove on while JJ’s laughter gave way to giggles before finally settling down.
The obvious questions were answered in short order. How long did he know? (“The whole damn time.”) How’d he figure it out? (Efrain ? “Never picked up chicks.” Cory ? “He’s openly bi. Still don’t get how no one else has noticed.” Me ? “Lucky guess, man.”) Why didn’t he say anything? (“Watching Garza squirm: Priceless.”) Was he really cool with this? (“Why not?”) Did the others know? (“God, you’re lucky the rest of the guys are fucking thick as bricks. You’re obvious as fuck.”)
Eventually, JJ and I settled into ribbing the poor couple.
“Garza’s always had a raging hard-on for Card. Shoulda seen him when the coaches brought out the new freshmen,” he said. “He tried pretty hard to hide it, but his face had DAT ASS! written all over it.”
Seemed the only thing written on Efrain’s face now was please make him stop. I caught Cory’s amused reflection in the side mirror.
“Fuck, there was this one time that Card had this weird shit called chamoy that he and Rice were trying to get everyone to eat. I bet Rice $50 that Garza would do it if Card asked him.”
“And?” I said.
“Motherfucker let Card feed him,” he laughed. “Dude, man ate it right off his fork in the middle of a press event. Rice was so fucking pissed.”
“I knew Rice seemed too pissed off for losing a lunch bet,” Cory chuckled.
“If you ever want something out of Garza,” JJ said to me, “you’ll have to stay on the kid’s good side.”
“Oh, no, he went and fucked himself over with that one,” Efrain said. “Should I share how that came about?”
“Efrain,” Cory said quietly and shook his head. Whatever he had been about to say died.
“See what I mean?” JJ asked me.
“I already knew about that,” I said. “Cory has him completely housebroken. Used to be a massive slut, but Efrain’s totally cock-whipped now.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “Know how dogs do that one thing when their owner comes home?”
“Yeah.” I never had a dog myself, but I remembered how Jameson’s old dog used to perk up moments before he walked in, as if she had some psychic ability and knew when her boy was nearby. “Not sure where you’re going with this, though.”
“Let’s just say we knew when Card was about to walk in the room.” Efrain sank a little lower in his seat while his boyfriend barely contained an amused snort. JJ continued. “Though, it goes both ways. Card started wearing his glasses all the time, probably ’cause Garza gets off on it.”
“Huh, now that you mention it,” I said. “Hey, Cory, aren’t you far-sighted?”
He gave a noncommittal shrug. While Efrain looked downright embarrassed, Cory just seemed mildly amused.
“Best part, though, was watching them self-friendzone themselves because they were convinced the other guy was straight,” JJ said. “Almost as much fun as watching them be all awkward and shit after they hooked up. Card came into the locker room with this massive bite mark on his shoulder.”
“I remember Efrain freaking out about that,” I said. “Seems he also—”
“Do not finish that,” Efrain all but snapped.
“But, this,” bahis şirketleri JJ said, pointing at the couple, “is a little weird. Probably the most I’ve seen them act like they’re dating.”
“Better than what I have to put up with,” I muttered. “You should hear what—”
“Indie,” Cory cut in, a strange warning note in his voice. “Choose your next words carefully.”
Part Two ? What All the Howling’s For
How what was supposed to be me officially introducing my boyfriend to my best friend and my roommates turned into a major event was still beyond me.
When I got Preston calmed down after his gay chicken loss to Indie, I told him about Efrain agreeing to come to the show. Then he bragged to the GSA about meeting “Kitten’s Wolfie,” and they promptly invited themselves. Since lez-Delia was going, Marina would be there, too. She told Berta and Luz, who told the rest of the people I went out dancing with (who Preston collectively referred to as my “dance crew”), and they decided to come.
Earlier this week, I was a fucking dumbass and told the guys about the gig when they asked about my birthday plans. Baker was all like “dude, scene chicks,” then Whitlock was like “yeah, scene chicks,” and the next thing I knew, they’d all decided that Friday’s show was the place to be.
I think Indie invited himself because he correctly guessed that Preston would be there. I was not looking forward to that particular encounter, or what Preston planned to do to me later.
I parked the truck in the garage closest to the venue. Teague and Indie were still making jokes at Efrain’s expense. He had earned himself another round of ribbing when he quickly ruffled my hair before we met up with the rest of our teammates. I was having a hard time wrapping my head around being out to Teague, but I definitely had a new appreciation for the big guy.
The team met us on the ground floor, and Efrain quickly introduced them to his roommate. Indie looked a little out of place standing among eight football players, but he integrated pretty well for someone who, at least by Efrain’s accounts, didn’t make friends. Indie and Teague’s chuckling signaled that they were still enjoying their common interest, even if they were being more discreet about it with the rest of the guys around.
Down the block, the GSA and the dance crew converged on us from two different directions. A squealing Berta broke away from the dance crew and threw herself into Teague’s arms. He threw her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and started down the block while she giggled and squealed in protest.
“Man, talk about self-friendzoning,” I muttered low enough that only Efrain heard. The two of them had hit it off on Facebook, but he still hadn’t asked her out.
Preston led the GSA charge, wearing his usual. Tonight was supposed to be casual, the guys were all in jeans with t-shirts under their hoodies and coats, but Preston didn’t do casual. Black slim-fit slacks, leather oxfords, and a cardigan with coordinating t-shirt underneath his black military-style peacoat. Only his confidence kept him from looking out of place in a sea of slouchy guys. At least he had left his bowtie at home.
I tried introducing everyone, but that soon fell apart when I got to the team. Garza, Baker, Whitlock, Lithgow, Rice, Martinez, and Teague had a hard time remembering that they were Efrain, Paul, Denholm, Mitch, Adrian, Greg, and JJ to the outside world. Worse still, was when the GSA, and some of the dance crew, started greeting Efrain with “Wolfie! CHOMP!”
“Wolfie?” Baker said.
I noticed Berta casually pointing at her shoulder in answer to Teague, who started laughing. I knew he would no longer be content to call Efrain anything but.
“Why Wolfie?” Lithgow asked Efrain.
I started to panic a little, as I couldn’t come up with a good excuse. Efrain rolled his eyes in annoyance.
“Lope,” he said testily. “My middle name means wolf. Why the hell did you tell them that, Cory?”
Holy fuck, the man could think fast.
“I didn’t know Garza had a middle name,” Baker said.
“Dude,” Lithgow laughed. “Your ass didn’t know Garza had a first name.”
Among the confusion, Indie moved away from the team. He sidled up to Preston and put his arm across my best friend’s shoulders.
“Who said you can touch me in public?” Preston snapped at him.
“Oh ho,” Indie said. “Does this mean I get to touch you in private?”
Not only was this the first time I’d seen them together, this was also the first time I’d seen Preston get snippy. He growled and folded his arms over his chest, but he made no move to shake Indie off, even when he tipped up Preston’s chin and kissed him. If anything, he seemed to melt into it.
I nervously shot my teammates a glance. If they reacted poorly to Efrain’s gay roommate gay kissing my gay best friend into a little gay puddle of gay surrender, then they sure as hell wouldn’t take too kindly to Efrain and me dating. However, none of them acted like they’d seen anything out of the ordinary. It was a promising sign.
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