Date: Tue, 28 Oct 2014 15:00:52 -0700 From: Sean R <seanr_13@yahoo.ca> Subject: A Drink with a Stranger - 1 Any feedback is appreciated, please write me to seanr_13@yahoo.ca Please donate to keep this great community going: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html ----- A Drink with a Stranger By: Sean Roberts ----- -- Chapter 1 -- On the first day of his summer holidays, Lane Conway was supposed to be sitting in his bedroom, wearing boxers and looking out over the bright blue pool in his backyard, sipping a glass of scotch. Instead, he was wearing track pants and a t- shirt, walking out the front door of his house with his little brother. Their shirts clung to their backs when they stepped out of the air conditioning. "Do we really have to do this?" Lane said. Lane had nothing against living in a warm state, but to him the advantage was lounging around with a drink instead of kicking around a soccer ball. "Come on!" Taylor said. "Jeff's out of town all summer, I don't have anyone else to practice with! And I really want to make the team." "Right," Lane said. They climbed into Lane's new SUV. It was too big, really, but it was what everyone drove, so it was what his father bought him when he got his license. He rolled down the windows and drove to Deer Creek Academy. It was going to be Lane's senior and Taylor's freshman year. Taylor looked out of the windows with a child's wide eyes. He had seen the school before, but now that he would be attending it would be different; he was now looking into his own future. They parked and walked around the building to the soccer pitch. "Whoa!" Taylor said. Unlike the rest of the school, Lane had no interest in sports, and was unimpressed at the size of the pitch. Taylor grabbed the ball, kicked it towards one of the empty nets and ran after it. Lane took a deep breath, resigning himself to his fate, and jogged after Taylor. Lane could barely keep up with his brother. He had never been good at soccer. Taylor told him it did not matter—he just needed someone to help him practice. A few minutes into their game, after a particularly apathetic kick from Lane that made Tyler cry out "Seriously, Lane?", two people were approaching the pitch. Lane hoped it would be someone to make them stop. It was two boys, dressed in shorts, the older one with a soccer ball in his hands. "Hey," said the older one. Beads of sweat had formed on the dark skin of his forehead, above large, dark brown eyes. "I'm Keith; this is my brother Frank. Is it okay if we play here? Didn't think there would be anyone else." "Be my guest," Lane said. "Especially if that gets me out of it. Can my brother play with you guys?" "Sure!" Keith said. "You look familiar," Lane said. "I've seen you before—but you don't go here, do you?" "Umm, well, not exactly," Keith said. "Where do you go then?" Keith sighed. "St. Thomas'. Listen, our pitch is being renovated or something. This was the only place I could think of to come and practice." "Ah. You're on the team right? I knew I'd seen you before. I work on the school paper here, so I have to come to the games. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. Anyway, you being here means I can go read my book." The school paper, the Deer Creek Hunter, was mandated to report on the soccer games, them being the main thing the other students cared about. It was also rumoured that scouts read all the school papers to help them choose the players who might be worthy of college scholarships. This meant that Lane had to attend half the games, while his partner attended the other half. St. Thomas was Deer Creek's main rival school. They were enemies to the point where friendships (or relationships) amongst students of those schools—if they even existed—were kept secret. Lane did not get into his book, and instead watched the three boys play with the ball. Keith gave up after a while and came to sit next to Lane. "What are you reading?" "The latest Riordan. I know they're for kids, but whatever, they're fun." "Oh, I read that one already. They're good! So are you stuck taking care of your brother all summer?" "Yeah, something like that. What about you?" "Kind of, yeah. How come you don't like to play?" "I don't know. Never been a huge fan of soccer. I usually prefer to have a drink in my hand." "Cheers to that." Taylor and Frank came running over. "Can Frank come over after?" Taylor said. "We want to swim." "Yeah, I guess," Lane said. "It's up to Keith though." Keith nodded at the boys, whose faces lit up. Lane and Keith sat by the pool while the boys swam, Lane having poured two glasses of scotch. He ordered pizza; Keith offered to pay half, but Lane waved him off. "For getting me out of playing soccer all afternoon? This one's definitely on me." They made a routine out of this, a few times a week, spending an afternoon together at Lane's pool after a morning of soccer. They had plenty of books to talk about, and Lane provided accompanying liquor. The end of the summer was approaching, and they were once again sitting by the pool. Lane and Keith went inside to get them all some ice cream. As Keith stood at the counter, scooping it out into bowls, Lane put his fingers on Keith's arm, moving them gently downwards, caressing his skin. "Sorry," Keith said softly. "I'm not...I don't play for that team." "Right, of course not," Lane said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—" "It's cool." "Shit," Lane said. "No it's not. I like hanging out, and now I've made things weird." "Things were weird long before this," Keith said. "I mean, you know we can't really hang out once school starts right? If anyone finds out..." "Yeah, I know." Lane was all too familiar with the violence other kids could show towards each other, both on and off the soccer pitch. "So, let's not worry about it, okay?" Lane nodded in agreement, relieved that he would have a friend for the next little while. The relief was short lived; the next day they met up as usual in the morning to kick around the ball, but Keith said that they could not go over to Lane's afterwards. Lane had already started his car when he heard Keith's engine trying to turn over, refusing to start. He switched off his engine and climbed out. Keith looked up at him through the open window, his brows wrinkled as he tried to start the car again. Then, with a fury Lane had only seen when Keith was kicking around a soccer ball, Keith punched the dash of his car. "Fuck!" he screamed. "Dude," Lane said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Keith said. "I don't have time for this shit." "Listen," Lane said. "Why don't you guys just come over. We can drop them off, then call roadside—" "I fucking told you I don't have time," Keith roared. "Look, is this because of yesterday? Because—" "No you idiot, it's not. It's about..." Keith was looking pleadingly at Lane. Taylor had climbed out of the car and was asking what was going on. "Can I talk to you a minute?" Lane nodded and they walked away from the cars. "I'm sorry Lane. I just have some stuff I have to deal with. I'm so screwed." "What is it?" "Look, it doesn't matter, I just—" "It does matter Keith. Tell me." Keith looked at Lane for a few moments, gearing himself up to tell him. "Okay, look, my mom trashed the apartment this morning looking for booze! And I have to get that shit cleaned up because the social worker is coming tomorrow. And I have to get to work tonight!" "Oh," Lane said, not knowing how to respond to this. "Oh?" Keith repeated. "That's it? Must be nice to have unlimited money." "That's not fair," Lane said. "You never mentioned any of this before. I don't know what ..." Lane was looking into Keith's eyes, and he could not find the anger. Keith's eyes were still pleading with him, but for what Lane was not sure. Lane cleared his throat. "Here's what we're going to do. We'll drop Taylor and Frank at my place; we'll get your car towed somewhere, then I'll come with you and help you get your stuff ready for tomorrow. I can take you to work after that. If your car is fixed, you can come pickup Frank later. If not I can always drop him. My parents won't mind at all that he's there for dinner." "Lane, that's very nice of you, but I don't have money to get my car towed. Or to get whatever the hell is wrong fixed. I'm at St. Thomas' on a soccer scholarship; Frank is joining me next year because of an academic scholarship. And because of, you know...I have to go get us our uniforms tomorrow. I barely have enough money for that." "Then I'll lend it to you," Lane said. "I can't ask you to do that." "You didn't ask," Lane said. "I offered." -- "It's a shithole," Keith said as Lane pulled into a parking spot. They were in a part of the city which Lane had never before visited. "No it isn't," Lane said firmly. They went up to Keith's apartment. "Where's your mom?" "My aunt's keeping her sober until tomorrow." "Okay. Well, let's get cracking." "Lane, you can back out any time, okay? I don't—" "I'm not backing out. What do you need me to do?" Keith smiled gratefully. They finished a few hours later, having made the place spotless. They sat on the couch with cokes. "Where do you work?" Lane asked. "At this restaurant. I won't be done until midnight, so you don't have to pick me up. I'll be fine on the bus." "I'm going to pick you up," Lane said. -- Keith looked exhausted. Lane had seen him tired after soccer practice, but this was different. His shoulders were slumped and his eyes were half closed. He walked slowly, trudging towards Lane's car. "Thanks again man," he said slowly. "I know it's late." "No sweat," Lane replied. Taylor and Frank had tried to stay up, but they had both dozed off on the couch with the television on. "Do you want something to eat?" Lane said. "There's some leftovers in the fridge. "Nah, I had a shift meal at work. Thanks though. We'd better just get home." "Okay. If you want though, let him sleep. I'll bring him by in the morning. You can stay too if you want. I can get you a change of clothes." "Lane, you've done enough." There was a firmness in his voice, but Keith was looking at the floor as he said it. "I don't understand why you're doing all this for me." "Look over there," Lane said, gesturing at the boys on the couch. "You take care of your brother, and I respect that. Besides, we're friends. I had a great summer thanks to you." "Yeah, what's with that? I figure a guy like you would have better things to do." "Can't you tell? I'm a nerd, nobody likes me." Keith looked up at Lane for a moment, then they both started laughing. "Okay Lane, if you say so." "Listen, stay, okay? There's actually something I want to talk to you about." Keith nodded. He came out of the shower wearing pyjama bottoms and a t- shirt that were too small for him. They sat in Lane's room with two glasses of scotch. -- "I write assignments for people at school," Lane said. "I charge three hundred or more, depending on the grade and the length and stuff. I started doing that in my sophomore year. It kind of took off, and I actually had to turn people down. You're a smart guy. We can split up the assignments. You wouldn't have to be a waiter anymore, because you'll make a lot more money doing this. Also, with you as part of it, we could even expand into St. Thomas'." "Wow," Keith said. "I was not expecting you to say any of that. But seriously, what the hell is wrong with you? I'm sorry to say this Lane, but you obviously don't need the money and you're risking getting expelled." "What do you think pays for the scotch?" Lane said, smiling, and lifting his glass. Keith did not smile back. "Okay, honestly, this one guy begged me to do it for him one day. He insisted on paying me. I just did it that one time. They he came to me and asked me to do it for one of his friends. The whole thing kind of took off from there. And, honestly, it's kind of fun. "Really? Doing extra homework?" "I did tell you I was a nerd. If it's not your thing I understand, but I already have orders for summer assignments that you can help me with." "What keeps you from getting caught?" "Nobody knows who I am. Well, except for that first dude, but he's graduated now anyway. So, if you're in, I can tell you in more detail how it all works." "Getting me out of that fucking restaurant? I'm in," Keith said. "Cheers." -- The summer holidays were coming to a close. The Conways had burgers on the grill; Lane and Taylor were splashing around in the pool. It was a warm, calm evening. After dinner, Lane settled into bed when his phone started buzzing. There was a text from Keith telling him to come outside. "Hey," Lane said. "What are you doing here?" "I needed to thank you." "You already did." "I know. But I had to do it again. You really saved my arse, and you didn't even have to. I know we aren't going to be seeing much of each other once school starts tomorrow. Just thought we could have one last drink." They snuck up to Lane's bedroom, where he poured two shots of scotch. They did not say much to each other. They drank slowly. Though he and Keith had not really been together, he felt like he was losing Finn all over again. Lane could not fall asleep. He poured himself another glass and turned on some music. As he sipped the amber Goddess, his thoughts meandered between Keith and Finn, trying to come to grips with the fact that neither of them loved him.