Date: Thu, 8 Dec 2005 21:09:47 -0800 (PST)
From: Robin Eagleson <robineagleson@yahoo.com>
Subject: Luckiest Summer Part 12

The Luckiest Summer
Robin Eagleson
robineagleson@yahoo.com

Part Twelve

And then, after what felt like a second later, summer was over.  School
started the next Monday, and Mom still hadn't sold the house, so I was back
at my old stomping grounds, at least for now.  I sat with Nadia and a bunch
of her friends at lunch, and we shared our science class together at the
end of the day with Robbie, which meant I got to sit in between them and
listen to them bicker back and forth the whole time.  I didn't mind too
much, though.

I was surprisingly popular at school this year.  Being seen with Nadia had
gotten me a lot of publicity, but all my old friends were paying me a lot
of attention too because they knew I might be moving soon.  The first
weekend of the year one of the well known eighth grade boys that Nadia was
friends with was having a big get-together at his house, and I got invited
to go.  I hadn't ever recalled being invited to a party before, not
counting birthday parties.  I wondered what kinds of things happened at
parties.

I found out that I rode the bus home with Tyler, too.  It made sense,
seeing as that he would be on the same route as I was, but he told me when
he stayed with his Mom she came and picked him up so he'd only be riding
the bus half the time.  I sat by him on the first day, but after that he
sat with his friends, and I sat with mine.  He seemed to revert back to his
old self in school settings.  He was arrogant and obnoxious around his
friends, so I stopped saying hi to him when I saw him after school.

The first week was easy; it always was.  Nothing felt routine yet, and none
of the teachers had really gotten down to talking about anything important.
As strange as it always felt those first few days back, you had to admit it
was nice not really covering anything in class.  School was basically
nothing but a social opportunity that first week.

I was in a good mood on Friday afternoon.  Nadia and her mom were coming to
pick me up around six to take me to Blake's house, where the supposed party
was going to take place.  After science every day I would walk out of class
to my locker holding hands with Nadia, and it never got old.  I didn't know
if that many people really noticed, but I liked to think all eyes were on
us.

I rode the bus home next to another kid named Zach who had become my friend
this year.  He was one of the cool kids who would be at the party tonight,
and it was all he talked about the whole ride.  I mostly ignored him and
looked out the window, enjoying the wind blowing my hair around.  It wasn't
nearly as long as it had been, but it was getting longer, and I was
starting to like it again.

The day was so nice that I felt like hitting tennis balls off the garage.
I would have much preferred the real act of playing tennis, but since Brad
didn't appear to be home, the garage would have to suffice.  I hadn't done
it in a long time because it bored me these days, but I was more interested
in just being outside and enjoying the day.  I worked up a light sweat and
then went inside and showered.  After I dried off I put on my white Nike
shorts, opened the windows in my room, and laid on my bed listening to Ben
Folds.  I had decided my favorite track was number five, the one about Fred
Jones.  There was a line I loved about life being a runaway train where the
passengers change without changing anything at all, and you getting off
just means someone else can get on.  I still listened to The Luckiest a
lot, but the meaning had changed a lot for me now.

On cue, I heard a sharp squeal of tires coming from near the front yard,
and my heart raced in my chest.  I jumped out of bed and ran to the
driveway, the screen door slamming shut behind me.  I caught Brad just as
he was pulling into his garage.  He was in his work clothes, and had a
large pizza in his hands.

"Hey, man," he said.  "I took a going away present from work.  Today was my
last day."  He opened the box and showed it to me.  "Want some?" he asked.
I wrinkled my nose.

"You put black olives on it."

"Sausage and black olives," he nodded.  "You really need to learn to
appreciate vegetables more."

"Why?" I shot back defiantly.

"So you don't stay this size forever," he teased, prodding my naked chest
with his strong index finger.  I guess I shouldn't have left myself open
for that.  I grinned and shrugged, rubbing the spot he'd poked because it
seriously hurt a little.  He had a knack for finding pressure points, and I
didn't think it was an accident.

"What are you doing tonight?" I asked him cheerfully, following him inside
his house even though he hadn't invited me in.  "Probably hanging out with
Sara?"

"I doubt it," he chuckled.  "We broke up a week ago."

"Why?"

"I'm never going to see her again," he said simply, kicking his shoes off
and settling in on the couch.  "I'm going back to Dallas tomorrow
afternoon.  It's not like I wanted to marry her."

"What if she wanted to marry you?" I asked him, settling in the recliner
and watching as he took out his first slice and inhaled it.

"Damn, I'm going to miss this pizza," he said, pretending to be in great
pain over the loss.  "I almost think she did want to get married," he
sighed, no longer sounding to be in pain.  "I hate it when girls get
attached."

"So you broke up with her?" I asked.

"Mutual break-up," he mumbled while he chomped on the crust.  "The
difference is I don't care, and I think she did."

"What do you care about?" I asked, folding my arms across my chest and
giving him a penetrating gaze.

"Baseball," he shrugged.  "Pizza.  Tennis."

"Those are all things."

"For Christ's sake, Zach, you sound like my mom.  I'm only eighteen.  I
have the rest of my life to find a girl I want to settle down with.  Quit
trying to make me feel guilty."

"Did you like her?" I pressed on anyway.  He picked up another slice of
pizza and chewed on it thoughtfully.

"Yeah," he nodded finally.  "Actually, I did."  He seemed to trail off and
lose himself in thought for a second.  "But it doesn't matter," he added
quickly, snapping out of his brief reverie.  "Because I'm going back to
Dallas and I'll forget all about her."

"And me," I said quietly.

"You?" he laughed.  "I don't remember people very well, but somehow I
really don't think I'm going to forget you."

"How do you know you have the rest of your life to meet someone else?" I
asked him softly, ignoring his last statement.  "What if that person really
is the best you'll ever find, and you can look for the rest of your life
and never find a better one?"

"I guess I'm screwed," he shrugged, not sounding very concerned.  "Can we
talk about something else?  You're depressing me," he smiled.  I was
depressing myself, too.

"Maybe I'm the one who's screwed," I whispered, looking at my feet as I
swung them back and forth.

"Oh," he said, finally understanding the nature of my questions; that it
was me I was talking about all along.  "You're a good kid," he began
awkwardly, trailing off towards the end and looking at as much of a loss
for words as I'd ever seen him.  "I don't think you're screwed at all.  I
think you'll meet someone."

"Who?"

"Could be anyone," he said.  He had stopped eating for this philosophical
part of our discussion.  "It could be someone you haven't met yet.  Someone
who's never even seen you before.  There are a lot of people that are going
to end up being important to you that you don't even know exist.  Or maybe
you already know someone, and you just don't realize they're special yet."
He had found words again.  He was back in his element.  I wanted to believe
him so badly, but even worse I just wanted that someone to be him, and it
still hurt to know he wasn't that person for me.

"So," he said when I hadn't responded.  "What are you doing tonight?"

"There's this party," I explained, not feeling quite as excited about it
anymore.  "I got invited to it at school."  Brad raised an eyebrow.

"Nice," he commented approvingly.  "Parties are good.  I didn't even start
going to parties until I was a sophomore."

"I don't think it's that kind of a party," I said shyly.

"Still, it's a good start.  Do you think you guys are going to have to move
soon?"

"Probably," I shrugged.  "Mom said we wouldn't be able to stay at the house
without Dad's income, and since they don't seem to be getting back
together," I said, not needing to finish the thought.

"I got you something," he said, a welcome change of the subject, as he
stood up and retreated back to his room.  I watched his figure disappear in
the hallway and frowned in confusion.  I wondered what he could have
possibly gotten me.  When he came back in the living room he was carrying a
tennis racket inside of a protective cover, and I wondered no longer.

"Is this mine?" I asked, even though he was holding it out to me as I asked
it.

"Don't misunderstand me," he deadpanned.  "I'm just really fucking tired of
watching you play with that ancient piece of shit.  This one might take you
all the way to the US Open.  Granted, I'll be waiting for you there to
crush your dreams."

"Whatever," I giggled, taking the racket from him and unzipping the cover.
It was a Prince, like his, and almost as nice.  I was thrilled.  "By then
I'll be good enough to beat you."

"You have to win a set first before you beat me, tool," he chided me,
seeming pleased that I was entranced with my new toy.  I ran my fingers
across the netting, looked up at him as he stood in front of me and towered
above me, and it hit me that this wasn't just a random gift out of
kindness.  This was his going away present to me, because I would never see
him again.  He was leaving tomorrow, forever.  I didn't want to cry, but
there were already a few rebellious tears trickling down my cheek anyway.

"For Christ's sake, Zach," he sighed.  Then he hugged me.


The next week, right before school let out for the day, I told Nadia I
didn't think we fit together very well as boyfriend and girlfriend.  She
hugged me and said we were still going to have to hang out just as much.

"You're the only boyfriend I've ever had that I didn't want to neuter after
a week," she told me, which I guess was a compliment of sorts.  She made
breaking up easy, but I had been incredibly nervous right before I did it.
She could just as easily have freaked out about it and stabbed me in the
groin with a pair of scissors.  I wondered how Brad had been through it so
many times; just planning on doing it had kept me up almost the entire
night before.

I was quiet on the bus ride home after school.  I'd been even more
reflective than usual since Brad had gone back to Dallas.  I had his cell
phone number in case I ever wanted to talk to him, but I didn't see myself
calling it.  He wasn't going to be in the area ever again, and hearing his
voice would just make it harder to get on with my life.

It took me a few extra seconds to realize the bus had pulled up to my stop.
I was at the front of the bus, where I almost never sat, in a seat by
myself, and I was zoned out and staring out the window.  I probably would
have missed my stop altogether if it hadn't been for Tyler, because there
was a substitute bus driver today and he didn't know anything about the
kids that were riding and where they were supposed to get off.

"Zach," Tyler's squeaky voice came from directly beside me in the aisle.  I
turned, blankly, to look at him.  "Aren't you getting off?" he asked,
giving me a curious look that made him look like Brad for a second.

"Yeah," I mumbled, sliding out of my seat and following him down the aisle
and out the door.

"How come you never talk to me at school?" Tyler asked as we started
walking side by side down the street.  The stop was close to our respective
houses, and it involved only a very brief walk.

"I only see you on the bus," I said defensively.  "And you're always with
your friends on the bus."

"You could at least say hi," he shrugged.  "And you never come over
anymore."  I stopped just short of responding simply that Brad was gone,
but I decided that would be too rude.

"I've been kind of busy," I lied.  I don't think I had ever been any less
busy.

"Oh," he said, sounding doubtful.  "Well, I'm going to have to come over
and swim sometime pretty soon.  Summer will be over in just a few weeks."

"Yeah," I said softly, bored out of my mind with our conversation.  There
was no way I was going to put up with talking about the weather.

"I'll be home alone this Saturday," he continued.  "It's my Dad's weekend
to get me and he's got some convention thing he's going to at work.  You
should come over then.  I'll be really bored all day," he finished, and I
gave him a noncommittal shrug that could have been interpreted as anything
ranging from mild interest to mild disinterest.  We had turned onto our
street now, and neither of us spoke until our houses were in front of us.

"I'll see you," I said to Tyler, even though I was tempted to invite him
in.  It wasn't like sitting inside alone was going to be any better.  At
least if he came in we could play video games together or something.  The
problem was Tyler's company just didn't compare to Brad's, and I held that
against him for some reason; maybe because he was related to Brad and
should have acted more like him.

"Yeah, later," he said, and we parted ways at the foot of his driveway.  He
readjusted his backpack on his thin shoulders and slowly made his way up
the drive, turning back to look at me when he had to unlock his front door.
It seemed he gave me an especially long stare, but then he was gone inside
his house and I was alone.

I found a note inside warning me that our realtor would be showing our
house to another prospective buyer sometime between three and four, and I
groaned loudly.  I didn't care if we moved just so long as I had to stop
putting up with people I didn't know wandering around our house and
inspecting it as if it were a crime scene.  I went into my room, put in Ben
Folds, and flopped on my bed.  This was becoming an after school ritual.
Sometimes I would listen to the whole album before I got up, and sometimes
I would just listen to a few select songs.  Every last one of them reminded
me of Brad.  My favorite song now was Gone, because it was a sad ballad
with a great line that mentioned how the days go by and the lights go off
and on, and nothing really matters when you're gone.  I pretended that Ben
Folds was describing my feelings to Brad when he sang that line.  Now it
was the song that related to me the most instead of The Luckiest.

Today I was in an especially introspective mood, and I was planning on
making it all the way through the album.  It was on track nine (Not the
Same) when my door opened and the couple looking at the house appeared in
my doorway.  I stared at them defiantly, and they stared right back,
regarding me as if I were a piece of furniture that went along with the
house.  After what seemed like five minutes (in reality it was maybe five
seconds), they decided they'd seen all they needed to see and they shut the
door again.  Annoyed, I wondered what kind of people didn't realize you
weren't supposed to just come barging into a thirteen-year-old boy's room.
To let them know they had pissed me off, I turned up the next song, an
angry track that discussed the problems with being male, middle class, and
white, to full volume and scowled at my door.

That night Dad came by and picked me up.  It wasn't awkward anymore when he
came to the door.  He usually came in for a little bit and sat with me and
Mom, and the three of us managed to resemble the family we'd used to be
during those times long ago.  Mom and Dad had grown increasingly civil to
each other over time, but I had stopped looking for every possible sign of
them getting back together.

These days there wasn't a whole lot that reminded me of Dad around the
house anymore.  He'd finally taken most of the little things with him, and
once when I'd looked in their closet, I noticed he'd cleaned it out
altogether.  He hadn't even left the seasonal clothes that it didn't make
any sense to have right now.  If I hadn't known better, I could have sworn
that he'd never lived with us in the first place.

So we'd sit and talk for a few minutes every time he came to get me, and
they'd even laugh when they talked sometimes.  Then we would get up to
leave, Mom would make me hug her, and I'd follow Dad out the door.

I took my backpack with me tonight because I had some homework to do, and
Dad wanted to help me with it.  We drove the few miles over to his
apartment and went inside, and I threw my stuff on his cluttered dining
table.  His apartment was always in pretty good condition, but you could
tell a teenager lived there with him.

"Is Jesse home?" I asked, throwing myself down on his second rate sofa and
glancing at what he had on TV.  Dad was slightly more liberal than Mom was
about the TV, but since it was on a music channel, it looked like Jesse had
been watching it last and failed to turn it off.

"She left a little while ago," he said distractedly.  "Why don't we get
your homework out of the way before relaxing?"

"I'm hungry," I argued.  "I won't be able to concentrate on homework with
an empty stomach."

"How much concentration could your project take?" he asked, referring to
the collage I had been assigned in my social studies class.  "We just need
to print out a few pictures and glue them to cardboard."

"Exactly," I said evenly.  "So why do we have to start right now?"

"I guess we can wait," he shrugged.  "You know, you didn't used to be this
difficult."

"I'm not being difficult," I responded softly.  "I'm just hungry."

"I'm not just talking about today," he cut me off.  "Lately you've just
been really hard to get along with, and I don't understand it.  I hardly
ever see you anymore, Zach.  I hate to spend the whole time arguing with
you."

"I'm not arguing!" I protested, trying not to sound as irritated as I was
but failing.  But he just stood there, staring at me like I had let him
down somehow, a small frown on his face.

"Is it true you told your mother you hated living with her?"

"That was a long time ago," I said, surprised he had heard that story.  I
wondered if Mom had told him what she'd done after I said that.

"You haven't been making things very easy for her, you know," he sighed,
and it sounded to me like we'd had this discussion before.  I had taken to
staring at the TV screen now even though I couldn't have told you what I
was seeing on it.  "And she tells me you don't pick up after yourself, even
when people come by to see the house, so it's always a mess when they come
in.  It's no wonder she's having trouble selling it."

"Why don't we start on my project?" I interjected, desperate to put an end
to this lecture before it got worse.  I also failed to see how clutter from
the current occupants of the house affected the people that would perhaps
one day live there.  The trash didn't come with the house.

"I thought you were too hungry to concentrate," he said.

"I'd rather be hungry and do homework than get yelled at," I mumbled.

"Who's yelling?" Dad asked me, spreading his arms apart and holding his
palms up to the ceiling in a gesture of surprise.  "I'm not raising my
voice.  We're just having a discussion."

"I have enough discussions with Mom."

"Well, maybe you and I should be having these discussions, too.  It's
obvious you aren't handling all this very well, and I understand that, but
your Mom and I are both trying the best we can.  I promise you we didn't
get into this situation just to make everybody miserable."

"I'm fine!" I snapped suddenly, and now one of us really was yelling.  "I'm
just sick and tired of everyone always bothering me about not being happy!
I'm doing the best I can, too, and maybe it's not perfect, but it's a lot
better than your best."

Sometimes, even if it was by pure accident, I managed to find just the
right words for how I was feeling, and I could tell my last sentence had
done the job.  Dad slumped slightly from his standing position.  He'd never
looked less like my father in all of my life.  It's a funny thing, when you
finally get old enough to hurt your parents with words.  You spend your
whole childhood never being able to come up with anything better than "I
hate you", and when you finally think up the right combination, you wish
you hadn't.

"I'll start dinner," he said, his voice soft but steady.  He turned away
from me and walked into the kitchen without another word, leaving me to
stare at the TV screen by myself.  Several minutes later, I still couldn't
have told you what was on it.  I just knew that I'd aged another billion
years today.  At this rate I'd be dead tomorrow.


But I lived to see the end of the week.  It was a warm September afternoon;
nearly as warm as any summer day had been.  I had just gotten home from
school a few minutes before when the doorbell rang.  I went and opened it
and saw Tyler on the porch.  I must have beat him on the walk home by a
considerable margin, because he still had his backpack on.

"Hi," he said.  "Do you care if I come in until my dad gets home?  I think
I lost the key to my house."

"Sure," I shrugged, letting him in and doing my traditional height estimate
when he stepped into the foyer.  The freak was still growing at an alarming
rate, and we were seriously the exact same height now.

"I don't have my swimming trunks with me because they're in my house," he
said, "but it's really nice today.  We should go swimming."

"Yeah, okay," I said mechanically.  "Let me go get changed."  I went back
to my room and stepped out of my shorts and boxers.  Outside in the living
room I could hear him whistling a tune and opening the refrigerator to hunt
for a soda.  I hurried up and threw on my swim shorts quickly so he
wouldn't have time to drink the rest of the Cream Soda.  There weren't many
left, and it was my favorite drink.

"Ready?" he asked, a can of Cream Soda freshly opened and at the front of
his lips.  I resisted the urge to snatch it out of his hands.  There was at
least one more left.  He followed me outside, slurping and chatting away.
I listened, but didn't offer much of my own commentary.  He climbed up to
the level of the pool and wiggled out of his t-shirt, throwing it down by a
lawn chair and taking another deep sip of soda.  I had already gotten in
and was taking a lap around the pool.

"You're a lot different when you're not around my brother," he observed,
and right when I looked up he slid out of his shorts.  For a split second I
thought he was going to shuck his boxers, too, and join me completely
naked, but instead he just threw back the rest of his soda and jumped in.

"What do you mean?" I asked him curiously, because he hadn't elaborated any
on his statement.

"You're just really quiet," he shrugged.  "Unless Brad's around, anyway.
You talk a lot more around him."

"I don't know you as well," I responded lamely.  It was true, but there was
a real reason why I talked around Brad more than anyone else, and I didn't
want to get into it.

"Yeah," he agreed.  "I was gone most of the summer."  And I hated you until
you got back from camp, I thought to myself.  I had made it back to the
shallow end, and just as I turned around to swim another lap, Tyler leapt
on my back.

"What are you doing?" I asked him in surprise.

"Bothering you," he giggled.  "See if you can swim with me on your back."

"You weigh more than I do," I muttered.

"You think so?" he asked.  He climbed off me and pushed me a little
shallower, to where the water only came up to my ankles.  "Let me see if I
can lift you."  With that warning, he stuck his hands into my armpits and
tried to pick me up off the ground.  I didn't budge.  "Try me," he
suggested.  I held back a sigh and did as he asked, finding that I was no
more capable of lifting him than he was me.

"We're about the same," I observed.

"How much do you weigh?" he asked.  "I'm up to ninety-five pounds now," he
bragged, thumping his chest proudly.

"I don't know," I shrugged.  "I'm maybe a hundred, I guess."

"Wow, you're fat," he laughed.  "See if you can swim faster than me,
fatty," he challenged, lunging into the water and kicking his feet
frantically for the far end.  If there was one thing I took pride in, it
was swimming, so I narrowed my eyes and took off after him, submerging my
body under the water and going as hard as I was capable of to the far end.
I beat him easily.

"Race you back," I said smugly, starting to swim back to the other end
before he'd even reached me.

"Not fair!" he called, struggling mightily to catch me.  He was only
halfway through when I was at the shallow end.  "How are you so much
faster?"

"You're dog paddling," I told him.  "It doesn't matter how hard you kick
your feet if you swim like that."

"What do you mean?" he asked.  "Can you teach me?"

"It's not that hard.  You just have to not be a retard," I teased, hearing
Brad's good-natured ribbing come out of me perfectly, as if he were
somewhere inside me.

"Shut up, asshole," Tyler laughed.  "What am I doing wrong?"

"Everything," I giggled.  "You have to keep your body straighter, for one
thing," I suggested, and Tyler stretched out next to me, trying to follow
my instructions.  "Don't look ahead of you," I told him.  "Try looking
straight down, and stop kicking so hard.  It's supposed to be a controlled
movement."  He was hopeless.  Whenever he would go in motion his body would
automatically revert to his former position.  "You're not staying parallel
to the water," I reminded him, walking alongside him placing a hand
underneath him to guide him.  He got better for a second, and then as soon
as I took my hand back, his form regressed, and as soon as he got into the
deep end he started kicking with all his might again, splashing a lot of
water and slowing himself down simultaneously.

"Did I do it?" he grinned as soon as he swam back to me.  I shook my head.

"Watch," I said, kicking off and beginning my demonstration.  "See my head?
I'm not holding it up; I'm pressing it into the water and looking down.
Watch," I repeated, briefly submerging my head in the water to show what it
should look like.  "See?  You can't hold your head higher than your hips if
you want to swim fast, because then you won't get as much power from your
legs."  I started again, only to feel a grip on my feet just as I started
kicking.  "Tyler," I complained.  "I can't show you if you won't let go of
my feet."

"Swimming properly is boring," he declared, not letting go of my feet.  I
kicked free of him and swam gracefully to the end of the pool.  Awkwardly,
he paddled out to meet me in the deep end and cornered me, a mischievous
grin on his face.  I thought I could be quick enough to elude him, but he
caught me around my waist as I attempted to swim by him.

"You'll drown us both," I warned him.  "You're dead weight."

"I'm stronger than you," he countered, noting that I couldn't fight my way
out of his grip.  I slowly steered us to the middle so he wouldn't make us
both sink to the bottom, and then he started tickling me.

"Quit," I protested, trying not to give him any indication that I was
ticklish.  It was embarrassing being physically dominated by a kid two
grades younger than me.  He could sense that I was struggling to keep from
laughing, so he intensified his efforts, and soon I was kicking at him
frantically and giggling loudly, trying desperately to pull myself away.
His hands were all over my torso, trying new locations to see if there was
an especially sensitive spot.  I thought I felt a slight twinge between my
legs, but that was pretty normal.  I always got like that when I was
wrestling with someone.  Then, without warning, he reached down and
squeezed me there, not gently, but more of an honest squeeze, and I yelped
and pulled away.  He only grinned at me widely, as if it was all a big
game, and that roughly grabbing that area was no big deal.

"That hurt!" I complained, and before I knew what I was doing I pinched him
back, eliciting a similar squeal out of him.  "Now we're even," I said,
trying to call a truce.  I could tell by the look in his eyes he didn't
think we were, though, so I tried quickly to swim away from him back to the
deep end.  He was on my back in an instant, flailing about wildly and
trying to wrestle me underneath the water.  I shook him off and he
disappeared under the surface, and seconds later he popped back up and
blinded me with an enormous splash of water.

He really was stronger than me.  He pushed me all the way to the side of
the pool and pinned himself against me, trying unsuccessfully to duck my
head under water.  I fought off his attack, but wasn't able to get him off
me.  My eyes still burned from the chlorine, and I could barely see
anything.  He continued to exploit my weakness by tickling me, much more
enthusiastically now that I was helpless to stop it.  Then his hand found
its way back to my crotch again, which was considerably more excited than
it had been when he had squeezed it.

He wasn't squeezing it this time, though, but rather rubbing it gently.
Shocked, I sat perfectly still, frozen as he pinned me against the side of
the pool and fondled me, until he quit and gave me another face full of
water, laughing insanely.  Then he swam away, daring me to come after him.
As soon as I shook the water out of my eyes, I did.  He was heading for the
shallow end at a slow motion trot, and I caught him quickly, pulling him
around the neck ever so slightly back to where our feet barely touched.

I held him firmly against me, his back pressing into my chest, and waited
for him to put up a fight.  But he had become docile now, and he was merely
standing against me motionlessly.  He finally turned and looked back at me,
smiling serenely.  I read his eyes and returned his grope, following his
lead and rubbing his crotch gently.  I could feel it clearly underneath the
water through the thin fabric of his boxers, and he let out a small groan.
My heart began to pound and I got a little excited, trying to slip a hand
into the waistband.  He giggled as soon as my fingertips crossed the line
and pulled away from me, again trying to lure me after him.  I didn't chase
this time.

Instead I watched him patiently as he climbed up the ladder and out of the
pool, his wet boxers clinging to him so tightly it was impossible not to
notice the tent in them.  He made no attempt to hide it, instead walking
deliberately around the edge of the pool towards the diving board.  Then,
with a tremendous splash, he was back in, and we were wrestling again in no
time.  It seemed like I had won the last round in our game because I had
made him come back in instead of chasing him out like he had been
intending.

There was no pretense now.  Neither of us said a word, but our wrestling
was considerably less innocent now.  We pressed hard into each other and
ground our crotches together, pulling apart only to do it again.  Each time
I got hold of his body after letting it go made me want it more, and my
head was reeling out of control.  The only other occasion my hormones had
taken over this much was that brief time that I had my hand inside Brad's
boxers and he actually started to get aroused before he woke up.

In the middle of the pool, Tyler had his arms hooked around my neck as he
grinded against me.  His face was inches from mine, but I didn't feel the
urge to kiss him just now.  We just stared at each other with an intensity
that might have passed for hatred to an unknowing third party.  We spun in
circles, not moving from the middle of the pool, grabbing each other
tightly but each refusing to be the one to make the next move.  Finally he
broke apart from me.

"Let's go back in," he said.  "I've drunk enough chlorine for the day."  I
still hadn't found my voice since our actions had taken on that strange
turn, but I climbed out of the pool and followed him nonetheless.

Inside, I tossed him a towel and watched as he vigorously scrubbed his
curly locks back into their usual unkempt state.  He got another Cream Soda
out of the refrigerator, the last one, but I didn't care anymore.  He set
his towel on the couch and sat on it, a mere couple of inches away from me.
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye but didn't dare to speak.  I
could still feel sexual tension in the air, and I didn't think I could
manage to sound casual.

"Are you just gonna leave it on the news?" he asked me, cutting into my
thoughts.  The TV was still on CNN from the last time Mom watched it.  He
leaned over me to grab the remote off the coffee table, letting his body
press into mine while he did it, and I drew in a sharp breath.  Clearly
what happened outside hadn't been an isolated incident.  I immediately
started to feel the blood rush between my legs again, but I didn't even
bother covering up because he wasn't, either.

He had the can of Cream Soda resting in his lap, and I eyed it thirstily.
He caught my gaze and relaxed his body posture slightly, indicating without
speaking that I was free to help myself.  I smiled and pulled the can from
his thighs and took a sip, the sweetness of the soda invigorating my taste
buds.  He watched me curiously as I drank, lightly touching his left foot
against my right foot.  The contact sent a jolt through me just as the
coldness of the drink ran through my body.  I shuddered noticeably and held
the drink back out to him.

He took it, drank from it, and then settled it back firmly between his
thighs.  We pretended to watch TV while stealing glances at each other out
of the corners of our eyes.  Our contact had been minimal for several
minutes, and I found myself rubbing my foot against his, resuming the
activity he'd initiated earlier.  He sighed and pressed back, leaning
softly into me.

"I have a secret to tell you," he whispered into my ear, an act that
quickly became the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me.  Chills
went through my body everywhere.

"I think I already know it," I shuddered in return, afraid to turn and face
him.  His hand had slowly found its way onto my leg, where it rested
innocently, the same place that Mom patted me so often, only Mom had never
meant it like this.  I wondered how long he'd been holding in this secret.
I shuddered again, and finally summoned up the courage to look at him.

I looked in his eyes and saw Brad.  I had never looked at Tyler this close.
His features were a lot more like Brad's than I thought, or maybe he just
seemed to be taking them all on because I had never looked at him in the
same way I had looked at Brad, and I was now.  Then, right as I stared into
his eyes, his breath tickling my face, I felt that familiar tingle in my
belly, and suddenly Tyler had become someone special to me.  I wanted to
gasp; the realization hit me so hard and so fast that I was momentarily
dizzy.  Then the garage door opened and I did gasp.

We jumped apart so violently that the Cream Soda fell sideways and poured
onto his lap and the couch.  He hissed at the cold liquid making contact
with his still wet skin, leapt up and searched wildly for his clothes.  It
didn't matter to him that he had only stripped down in the first place to
go swimming.  He just knew that now, far less innocent activities had
transpired, and he didn't want to get caught.  He finally found his jeans
and shirt and went racing back to the bathroom, where he shut the door
behind him just as Mom opened the door.

"Hi, honey," she said, glancing at me for a second before spotting the
tipped over Cream Soda on the couch.  "How about cleaning that up?" she
asked, pointing a finger at it.

"Tyler had an accident," I stammered.  "Sorry."  I must have looked
genuinely sorry, because Mom laughed, and she usually took spills on her
furniture quite seriously.

"It's okay," she said.  "But it'd probably be a good idea to clean it up."
I got my feet to work, finally, and jumped up to grab a rag from the
kitchen.  As I was soaking up the soda on the couch, Tyler came back in,
fully dressed now.

"Hello, Tyler," Mom greeted him warmly even though she'd only met him once
a long time ago.  "Did you spill soda on my couch?"

"Yes ma'am," Tyler squeaked awkwardly.  Mom started laughing again.

"Don't look so scared," she said.  "Honestly, you boys act like you burned
the house down.  It's just a spill."  We tried not to look at each other,
Tyler and I, but I know we were both thinking the same thing, that if we
had really been caught, it might have been better if the house had been
burning.  "Do you want to stay and join us for dinner?" she asked a still
very fidgety Tyler.

"I should probably get home," Tyler said quietly, shooting me a look.

"You don't have your key," I reminded him.  For a minute he looked
confused.

"My dad is probably home by now," he said, scooping up his backpack and
settling it on his shoulders.  "I'll see you later, Zach," he waved,
disappearing out the front door.

"Nice boy," Mom said when he'd left.  "A little weird, though."


I stayed up half the night worrying about my experience with Tyler.  He was
a sixth grader.  He was only eleven years old.  Something didn't feel right
about it.  But then, he didn't really look eleven.  Or maybe he did, and he
just looked older to me because I was the one who didn't look my age.

Over and over again, I replayed what had happened in the pool.  It had
seemed innocent enough until he touched me the second time, and made it
clear he wasn't playing around.  I thought of everything, from the time I
had first felt the tingle in my belly after wrestling with Brad in the pool
to the surge of electricity that had gone through me when Tyler had
whispered in my ear.  I thought of the way it had felt to hold Brad's hand
inside Minute Maid Park, and the way it felt when Tyler pressed his foot up
against mine while we sat on the couch.  I thought of how Brad had told me,
the last time we talked, that I would meet someone special, whether I
already knew them or not.  I thought of how much Tyler looked like Brad up
close, and how it had hit me full force that I felt the same way for Tyler
I had felt for Brad.  I thought of Tyler leaning over to me, the sweetness
of the Cream Soda lingering in my mouth, and telling me, in a throaty
whisper that made the hairs on my neck stand up on end, that he had a
secret.

I sat bolt upright in my bed, more awake now than ever before.  I glanced
at my alarm clock, saw it was just after two, and then threw the covers off
and raced down the hall to the kitchen, flipping on the light switch and
finding the phone.  I brought it back with me to my room, rooted through my
nightstand, and found the piece of paper I was looking for.  Then I dialed
the number.

"Hello?" Brad's voice came out muffled on the other end.  He had been
asleep.

"How did you know?" I demanded, not stopping for a greeting.

"Zach?" he asked after a brief pause.  "What the hell are you talking
about, man?  It's the middle of the night."

"When I talked to you last Friday, you said I'd meet someone.  You said
there were a lot of people out there that would end up being important to
me that I hadn't met yet."

"Yeah," he said.  "So what?"

"And then you said maybe I already knew someone and I hadn't figured out
they were special yet."

"It's two in the morning, Zach.  Can we talk later?"

"Did you set me up with Tyler?"  There was complete silence on the other
end for so long that I thought he had hung up.  "Hello?" I asked
doubtfully.

"What would make you think a thing like that?" Brad finally said.

"You set me up," I repeated firmly.  There was another several second
pause.  This time I waited patiently for him to respond.

"You're a smart one, Zach," he finally said, sounding awake now.  He gave a
small chuckle.  "I should have given you more credit."

"Why'd you do it?" I asked him.

"Because I thought it might work," Brad replied, just as direct as ever.
"He's always been up front with me, and he told me some things that went on
at camp.  Things, you know, that I didn't want to hear.  Things, that as
his older brother, kind of bothered me a little."

"So why'd you have to tell him about me?  You didn't tell him about the
hotel did you?" I asked, getting embarrassed all over again.

"Of course not," he said.  "I just told him you'd made a confession similar
to his.  I told Tyler I didn't know if you'd be interested in him, and not
to get too upset if you didn't go for it, but that it was worth a try."  He
paused, and sighed.  "See, Zach, I don't really care if you're gay, or if
Tyler's gay.  You guys are practically infants as far as I'm concerned, and
I think you're both crazy, but what better way to figure out who you really
are than to figure it out together?  At least then I don't have to worry
about either of you."

"Worry?" I asked, frowning.  "What's to worry about?"

"People take advantage of people," he said carefully.  "Older people take
advantage of younger people, especially," he added.  "Whatever, I'm not
getting into all that with you right now.  I just hoped you guys could
watch over each other."

"When did he tell you all this?"  I asked.

"I didn't know anything about it until he came back from camp," he answered
quickly.  "Then he wanted to talk about it.  I told him to be careful
because he's only eleven.  He's not like you, Zach.  He's clueless and
reckless.  You're not, and you can help him."

"I don't think I can help anyone," I disagreed.

"Just look at it this way," Brad reasoned.  "Remember what you said?  That
crap about never knowing when someone you come across might be the best fit
you'll ever find?  Well, it's a load of shit, but if it helps, look at it
that way.  What if Tyler is that person?  Shouldn't you try and find out?"

"I guess," I muttered.  "I still can't believe you set me up."

"Good night, Zach."  He hung up on me, and when he did I realized out of
nowhere that I had never paid him back for all the money he'd spent on me.
I decided, then, that I would give it a shot with Tyler, even though it
felt weird, if for nothing else, than for Brad.