Separate Schools Page 19

  “No.”

  “I saw you ...”

  “I didn’t finish it ...”

  “His finger ... did he finger you?”

  She didn’t answer, clutched him tighter, thin forearms like hard sticks pressing into his neck and hurting him. She was wracked with tremors now.

  “Did he finger you, Taylor?”

  She nodded her head, pointy chin digging into him. He reeled. She’d gone out there to jerk Stevie off, to fool around, who knows what else. Would they have fucked? Stevie put his fingers inside her. He wanted to cry, he wanted to throw her down on her bedroom floor, he wanted to fuck her. His cock had grown hard despite his jealous pain.

  “How could you do this?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried in soft chugs.

  “You took him out there?”

  “No,” she whispered. “We just went out swimming.”

  “He wanted to go to the boathouse?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you bring the glow stick?”

  She made a whimpering sound—his mention of the glow stick confirming to her that he indeed swam out to the boathouse and watched. Her head shook from side to side, and he caressed her back. “He did.”

  “I saw you with him, Taylor. You were ... eager ...”

  “I know ...”

  “You admit it?”

  “I’m not sorry—”

  He scoffed, hurt, pushed her face back to watch her eyes.

  She said, “I mean I’m sorry, sorry for you, but I’m not sorry ...”

  “You’re not sorry?”

  “I am, I am. I’m sorry, Harrison. I’m such a bitch, such a bad girlfriend. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

  “But you’re not sorry you did it? You’re sorry I found out?”

  “I wanted to do it.”

  “Wanted to make out with him?”

  She nodded, her eyes averted.

  “Wanted to jerk him off?”

  She nodded again.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Not exactly that. But who knows? ...”

  “More?”

  She nodded again, looked in his eyes now.

  “Fuck, Taylor. Fuck. What is wrong with you? How can you even say this?”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she said in a kindly sing-song, thick with sadness.

  “Don’t want to—? ... Taylor, you’re breaking my heart,” he said pleadingly, clutching his chest to show her. His eyebrows tented and he couldn’t help his own tears now. “Why? What did I do? What did I ever do to you?”

  “Don’t leave me, Harrison. Be my friend ...”

  “Your friend? After all we’ve been through, you do this to me, and you want me to still like you?”

  “You won’t like me?” Her voice was thin but shrill.

  “Taylor ...”

  In rushed desperation, she said, “If we met for the first time when we were out of college, would you fall in love with me?”

  “Of course ...

  “But I would have a past ...”

  He laughed a sound showing off his irritation.

  “What ...?” She looked at him pleadingly.

  “You want to go on a break to fuck your way through college and have me waiting at the end for you?”

  “You can ... you can ...”

  “What? Sleep with other girls?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s breaking up with me,” he said.

  “Not to me it’s not.”

  He stared into her eyes, feeling the anger subsiding, seeing less and less the slut-vixen he’d painted her as in his own mind over the last hour, and returning to him was his best friend, his buddy. His girlfriend. Her eyes were honest. Her words were pain, but she was no coward. She wanted to go on a break.

  “I don’t want to sleep with anyone else, Taylor.”

  Her head rolled slightly, knowing that was the right thing to say to someone you loved, and she had just professed endlessly how much she loved him.

  “I’m awful,” she whispered, more tears coming.

  “You can sleep with other guys and still love me?” he said mockingly.

  Her mouth worked around and she inched closer to him until their bodies pressed. She cupped his cheek and looked in his eyes. “I know I couldn’t ever stop loving you, no matter what.”

  The tenderness of her touch and the kindness in her words warred with her enormity. She was at once the greatest human gift his life had been ever presented, a beautiful being he couldn’t bear to be without, one whom he thought of endlessly even before they professed their romantic love for one another—and yet what she’d done this weekend was depraved and hurtful. She thought she could get away with it but she got caught.

  “You’ve never cheated on me before?”

  “Did I cheat?” she said bewilderingly, more to herself than to him.

  “Yeah. You did.”

  “I did,” she whispered. “Harrison, on my life, I’ve never done something like this before, not even close.”

  They sat together, looking at each other’s collars and breathed.

  After a long while, he said, “You can do what you want.”

  “Don’t hate me.”

  “I won’t hate you, Taylor,” he said as his hands let her go and he stood at the side of the bed with his back to her.

  She asked him: “Well, what are we doing?”

  “I don’t know, Taylor.” He stooped and retrieved his knapsack.

  “Where are you going? Please, baby, don’t leave ...”

  “I’m not leaving, but I’m not staying in here.”

  “Harrison ...”

  “I’ll be in with Mikey and Cisco.”

  “Don’t leave, Harrison. Promise me.”

  Paused at her bedroom door, he said, “Fuck whoever you want, Taylor. Fuck Colt, fuck Stevie. Have a great time.”

  “Harrison ... don’t say that ... Are you ... are going to hate me?”

  “I don’t know yet. Do it and find out.”

  “Harrison, please don’t leave my room. I want you in my room.” She stared at him solemnly and he glared back at her. She wiped at her cheek as he stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him.

  Part 4

  46

  With his bag slung over his shoulder he walked heavily down the hall. The corridor was dim, the only light coming from the kitchen below.

  He felt aimless, knowing where he was headed yet listing from side-to-side, one hand touching the left wall then the right hand touching the right. His eyes were wide open, but he wasn’t seeing. Then he was at the door to the room where he used to stay. Back in his place. The last two years he’d flown high up near the sun but his fakery wings’ wax had been melted, and now he was plummeting to sleep in the room with Mikey and Cisco. That was the way it was meant to be.

  He pushed the door open, dragged his feet inside, dropped his bag on the floor. The window to the room was left cracked open and he could clearly hear the strum of Mikey’s guitar and the rasp of his voice.

  Mind just an empty space now, he sat on the edge of the bed. The conversation with Taylor was lost to him. Couldn’t even really remember what they’d said. The emotions were gone, too. The emptiness was better than the pain.

  When he zipped open his knapsack, a psychic spike lunged through him and the hurt returned. Sitting on the top of his packed things, somehow shuffling its way nearer the mouth, was the pouch of Haribo Gold Bears he’d brought for Taylor. He took it out, crinkled the pack, rubbed his thumbs over the lumpy shapes underneath. He stood up, saw on the dresser the tuna can with the bright green lid, Mikey’s lighter resting atop; behind it, a plastic mickey with a few mouthfuls of vodka remaining. He took them all, putting the mickey in his pocket, the Gold Bears and the tuna can together in his left hand.

  The crank squeaked as he wound the window open wide on its lever, and he hiked a knee up, set a sneaker out onto the rough asphalt shingles and stepped outside. This room looked down ov
er the fire pit. All his friends were twenty feet below. A good swan dive right now would end everything nicely and extinguish the liquid hurt sloshing around his insides, ready to soon drown his system when he fully comprehended what he lost tonight. But he had a lot to ponder, so he took a step then set himself down on his butt with his legs sticking straight out.

  Between his feet he could see the fire below and the ring of faces. Roxie sat on Care Bear’s knee; Shelby was near the fire with a metal prong skewered with four marshmallows, an individual s’more kit he’d prepared sitting next to her on the arm of a chair; Mikey strummed; Cisco sat leaning back in his chair as if he might be asleep, legs outstretched, bare feet resting on the rock, soles warmed by the fire; Cookie and Jamie made out; Kelsey Kay and Brady hung out together talking closely, eating s’mores ... It made him smile.

  There was no sign of Colt, but he could see Stevie talking with KC, standing just outside the fire’s warmth. Taylor had kissed him, held his dick. His hard dick. He’d fingered her. His scalp tingled, and he somehow felt a secret commiseration for Taylor’s brother, talking obliviously with his friend and teammate who had messed around with his little sister.

  From his pocket he fished out the plastic mickey, screwed off the top and took a healthy swig of vodka. Some leaked down his throat, and he ended up squittering a sparkling stream across the shingles. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and spat out the remaining taste. Lid screwed back on, he chucked it over his shoulder and back into the bedroom.

  Mikey broke into some Bruno Mars and Shelby clapped and said Yay. Harrison pried off the lid of the tuna can, fished around his pocket and found the lighter, flicked a flame, free hand cupping Mikey’s joint sticking out of his mouth. It took a few puffs, imitating what he’d seen others do, but he breathed in and he held it. He coughed, snorted, then rubbed at the side of his nose with a knuckle.

  Now he breathed deep, looked out down to the beach. The football guys would probably be down there. Pontoon, Rick-Joe, Colt—the guy he hated and who sat on the tailgate of his pickup truck and told him I’m gonna fuck your girlfriend tonight. Just watch me. Whatever.

  He took another long drag, actually not feeling too bad about this right now. Maybe he wasn’t enough fun. Maybe he should be more fun. Responsibility was for assholes. It was the kids who lifted weights and pushed people around who got the girls. Maybe he should lift weights.

  He exhaled in a cough, then batted away the smoke lit up in blue from the fire down below. A faint figure headed across the deck. It was dim, but it was Taylor. Long thin legs, drowning in another guy’s flannel shirt. She didn’t approach the fire, stood facing it on the stairs near the barbecues.

  His eyes scanned to the right, and he saw Roxie jump up from Care Bear’s knee, looking shocked and alert. Care Bear braced her, putting a huge hand that covered the entirety of her back. She took a few steps forward and tapped Shelby. Shelby looked and saw Taylor standing there. The two of them ran off together, and Harrison lost them for a moment in the dark. But then he could see all three of them, walking up the steps a little toward the barbecues. Taylor had both her hands over her face like she was crying. Shelby rubbed her back, and Roxie stood by looking worried. Then the three of them went away, walking off to the left, toward the woods where he’d had his confrontation with her. Where she told him she didn’t do what she actually did. Lied to his face.

  Now a sickness came over him. The hurt worked its way up in tangling tense lines. He’d been in that brief moment between when you stub your toe and you think it’s not going to hurt. Then it comes at you, and for a moment you wonder if you’ll be able to keep it together and you can’t imagine a worse pain. His heart began to throb. His heart began to throb and his head began to pound. He chuckled. There was nothing funny. Why would he think something was funny? What was funny? Don’t laugh. He started to giggle. And the more stupid he thought it was that he was giggling the more he giggled. He had to cover his face with both hands and he lay down on his side. Listening to the music below, soon the ironic urge to giggle dissipated and became soft crying sounds. Quiet sounds, controlled, not braying into his hands and wailing the loss of the love of his life. He just breathed deep and exhaled a soft cry. Breathed deep and exhaled a soft cry. It was meditative. It would keep him alive for a little while longer.

  Images came to him in series. The first time he met Taylor. He was so nervous. They shared lunch at recess in the public school’s playground, the second day of school for him in Saginaw after he moved from Three Rivers. She dropped the foil lid of his chocolate pudding he shared with her right onto his pant leg. He’d been so tense sitting with a pretty girl that he thought he might blubber, but the way she fawned over him made him feel so good. She was so sorry for ruining his pants. She couldn’t get over that she’d done that. Put it all on herself, and then it looked like she might be the one to blubber. She was calling herself stupid, stupid, and he said, You’re not stupid, these pants were asking for it. Then they were both laughing. Then he was eating lunch with her every day. More images. Summer vacation. The time he went to the Brooks with the Brooks to Martha’s Vineyard. They went to the Black Dog, to the shipyards. Birthday parties, Six Flags, hanging out at the mall, this fucking lake house ... He could recount every movie they stayed up late to watch. The night they’d blown off the school dance even though Taylor was the most popular girl in his class (she was really sad because her dad had moved out of the house). They stayed at home on a Friday night, ate candies and microwave popcorn, watched the first three Insidious movies back-to-back-to-back, and he went to the bathroom and hid. When she came looking for him—she knew it was going to be bad and tittered nervously—he jumped out of a linen closet and she screamed so loud her mother came running down the stairs. Trish had to work the next morning even though it was a Saturday and she made Harrison go home. He lay in his bed and they face-timed till 3 A.M., both of them laughing their asses off. Trish had totally lost her shit. That was about a month before they finally told each other how they felt and became a couple. God, every day he’d spent with her he loved her. How could she do this?

  47

  When he woke, he blinked and stared, not comprehending that he’d been asleep at all. His hands darted around, frantic, looking for the joint. Holy shit, imagine if he set the Brooks lake house on fire? The night their daughter broke up with him? Try and prove you weren’t a firebug. Try proving it wasn’t arson. He could end up in jail for life.

  “Shit, shit, shit,” he said, scrambling around in the dark on his hands and knees. “No, no, no ...”

  But he found it. Just a tiny ashen stub, no longer even warm. He put it in the tuna can and closed the lid then reached around until he found the crinkling bag of Gold Bears. He fished one out and looked at the fire below. He coughed up the candy.

  Taylor was down there.

  She wasn’t sad anymore. She sat with Colt.

  His heart stopped. He literally took his fist and began to beat it against his chest. His eyes were wide and glued on her. She’d gone off into the woods to cry. How long had he been asleep? Twenty minutes? Half an hour? That’s how long it took to get over Harrison Wade. Yep. Your best friend, and a boyfriend for two years, that should be an easy twenty minutes of snuffling. He would lament this night forever. His heart was crushed and he would burn forever when he heard the name Taylor Brooks. Taylor Brooks, on the other hand, cried a little on Shelby’s arm, sniffled, someone rubbed a circle on her back, she dried her eyes, and she was onto boyfriend number two. Big dick, old-ass Colt.

  Sure, honey, spread your legs for that piece of shit. Spread your legs for that bullying asshole. You two are perfect together. Why don’t you send me pictures of the shit you do together. Every day you can text me a new one. The two of you will be a great team.

  He gritted his teeth and muttered to himself lines and words of pure hate. Hating Taylor. Hating Colt. Yet he was aroused again. He grabbed his erection through his pants and pushed it down,
trying to get it down his short leg so he could sit on it.

  Fucking asshole dick. Fuck you, Colt.

  He began to cry again. The vision of his girlfriend sitting with another guy getting warbled. He sniffled and wiped the wet away and stared laser beams at them. They were side-by-side. She still wore his shirt. His flannel buttoned up part way now, her legs still bare, her painted toes peeking out the straps of her Birks. They were touching. Hips touching hips.

  Roxie was back on Care Bear’s knee. Mikey was doing fucking American Pie again. It was fine the first time, okay, asshole?—this time it’s torture. Colt didn’t sing along because Harrison was sure Colt thought it was stupid. Taylor sang along. The song that was theirs for around the fire when they were kids and when they were lovers. Young lovers. Stupid ones. His entire past became poisoned in three heartbeats watching this awful display.

  His eyes didn’t leave her though. Watched every move she made. He watched through three songs. The two of them sitting side-by-side, sometimes he would lean close and say something to her, and she would smile then run her hair behind an ear. Every single time: whisper, whisper, and she would do that thing with her hair. It was killing him. When she stood to roast marshmallows, Colt watched her bent over rump. He wouldn’t see it under the tail of his shirt that she wore, but he knew what was under it. He’d seen it earlier in her thong bikini. Taylor showing it to everybody. And that’s what she would do in Santa Cruz. Starting at that beach—Pleasure Points or whatever fucking shit it was—strutting up and down with a dumb surfboard under her arm. She’d fuck some tanned muscular surfer every day. A new one every day. Go through them all and then start over again. Who wouldn’t want her? She was beautiful. She was smart. She was his. Had been.

  A break? Was she kidding? He knew she wasn’t—but how could she ask that of him? A break from Harrison. Boring old dopey skinny Harrison. Her unexciting high school boyish boyfriend. She would have sex with Colt. She would have sex with a lot of guys like Colt. Sure, she would come back to him. After spreading her legs for guys like that, sure she would. She’d love to get a little taste of his normal penis. Of his normal body.