Date: Wed, 8 Sep 2004 11:35:21 EDT
From: TragicRabbit11@aol.com
Subject: Gay/HS: DRAMA CLUB, Part 13

THE DRAMA CLUB, Part 13 'Looking-Glass'

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                           'Do you take sinners here?'
                                  Guys and Dolls (Loesser&Burrows,1950)


Jaye left Angel alone in the Mustang with a stack of CDs and stood beside
the weeping willow outside Exodus Refuge to make his cell phone call to
Trey.  That's all he needed, he thought, was Angel listening in to that
call.  Jaye wasn't sure yet how he felt about Trey but one thing he was
sure about was that he didn't want to hear what Angel might have to say on
the subject.  Sometimes his best friend could be a little too intense, and
a maybe little too eager to find fault with Jaye, he sometimes thought.  He
wouldn't trade Angel for anything or anyone but now and then, he just
needed some time alone in his own head.

Lately, he wasn't sure where he stood with Angel.  Sure, they had sex, they
talked every day in person, on the phone and online but that didn't mean he
understood Angel or that Angel understood him anymore.  And that's another
thing, Angel was always so sure that he knew what Jaye was thinking, what
Jaye was feeling. Jaye sometimes felt almost smothered, almost as if he
didn't exist as a distinct and separate person from Angel.  People would
even talk to them as if they were only one person, and that one perception
was usually focused on Angel himself with Jaye just an afterthought, like a
sidekick...or a reflection in a mirror.

Lately, Jaye had been thinking about doing things without Angel, about
thinking things without Angel, about being just Jaye for a change and not
Angel's other half.  Jaye might as well get used to it now, he thought in
annoyance, just in case the thing with Michael actually happened.  He had a
feeling that, if it did, Michael wouldn't be including Jaye in that
relationship, no matter what Angel wanted.  And Jaye wasn't sure how he
felt about that.

He'd been so angry yesterday morning when he'd gone to Angel's house and he
still couldn't understand just why.  Sure, he thought Michael was a jerk to
just climb into bed with Gene when Angel turned him down but why did Jaye
care what that jock did? It wasn't as if Angel was Jaye's boyfriend or
anything.  He didn't own Angel.  But the idea of Angel dating Michael, of
the two of them becoming boyfriends, had been making him increasingly
nervous.  He'd never seen Angel act like this, never seen that look in his
eye that he got when he talked about Michael.  It made Jaye feel... scared.
And more than a little worried.

He had no idea what he'd do if he lost Angel's friendship and he didn't
want to find out.  They'd been friends for so long now that Angel was as
much a part of him as his own shadow.  What happened if your shadow, like
Peter Pan's, decided it didn't need you anymore? Were you still real
without it? And if so, how could you tell?

So he'd left the car to make his phone call to Trey.  He didn't need to
hear what Angel had to say about it, he could just imagine.  Sex was one
thing but he wasn't sure that maybe he might not want more from Trey.  Oh,
nothing major, not like boyfriends or anything, he wasn't gonna go nuts the
way Michael had with Angel.  He still couldn't believe what he'd seen when
he'd picked up Angel this afternoon.  The living room was full of flowers,
for God's sake!  Mary had been pleased, he could tell that.  She was
smiling when she looked at the flowers and sort of looked younger somehow,
blushing and laughing.  It was pretty cool that Mary didn't mind that it
was another boy who'd brought those for Angel, Jaye realized, but still he
wasn't crazy about her attitude.

Mary de la Torres didn't know Michael Morrison, she didn't know what the
jocks at Northside were like.  She probably had no idea how much shit
they'd had to take for being Drama, for being different, for being gay.
Angel had lied that time last year when he'd had to have four stitches in
his cheek.  He'd told his mother he'd fallen during rehearsal.  Hell, no
one knew what it was like, walking around school with a huge, neon sign
over your head that said 'queer' in glowing letters.  And people wondered
why drama kids ran in packs and stuck together like some kind of gang.
Jaye smiled to himself.  The Drama Gang, with pink paisley sweatbands and
rolled up scripts for weapons.  Whipping out makeup kits from back pockets
in self-defense.  Touch ups at ten paces and may the best man win.  As if
anyone could beat Angel's skill with an eyeliner pencil, Jaye grinned to
himself.

He got Trey's voicemail again.  Shit, that was the third time today.  What
could Trey be doing that he didn't answer his phone messages? Maybe he
should try the house line and see if he could get someone to answer.  He
punched in 411 and gave Trey's last name and address.  He couldn't really
remember anything about Trey's family, he had a feeling both parents lived
there but wasn't too sure.  Maybe a sister.  Well, someone should answer if
he called and he could leave a message with them.  Maybe Trey's cell phone
wasn't even on, since the show was over.  Maybe Trey was taking a break
from drama, from drama kids and those other workaholic techies.  It was
about damn time, if he was.  Trey worked too hard, everyone knew that.
Well, everyone except Trey himself.

He heard the house phone ringing and knelt down in the grass to wait.
Glancing over at the car, he saw Angel leaning back in the front passenger
seat, his eyes closed.  They had no idea how long Gene would be inside
Refuge or even if he'd get to see Bobby.  Maybe they'd refuse or maybe they
just wouldn't let him see Bobby alone.  They were all really counting on
someone seeing Bobby alone.  They needed to know if he was okay and what
these crazy Ex-Gays were doing to him and no way could they find that out
if the keepers hovered around while Gene talked to him.  Jaye had a feeling
they weren't going to like what they found out, though.

This place had a seriously bad vibe.  That stupid sign in the lobby was
infuriating.  'Reparative therapy' for liking boys and then all that stuff
about God.  Jaye didn't know about them but his God didn't hate people for
what they were.  Hating people for who they loved was just the stupidest
thing he could think of.  The jocks at school were bad enough but these
people claimed to have been gay themselves, which just made no sense to
Jaye.  How could you just turn off a part of yourself as basic as who you
liked, who you loved? And why would you want to?

Someone picked up the phone at Trey's house and Jaye sat up a little
straighter.  He cleared his throat before asking to speak to Trey.  He was
a little nervous but also a little excited.  He had a sudden vision of Trey
lying beside him on the bed at Angel's house and that lazy smile of
contentment that had been on the other boy's face.  Trey's eyes were
fantastic, that deep gray that seemed to see everything as he'd studied
Jaye's face.

Jaye had felt so vulnerable, caught in Trey's eyes like that, so open.  He
wasn't sure he'd felt that way before, except now and then alone with
Angel.  And that wasn't the same, Angel knew him too well and yet
somehow... not well enough.  Trey looked at him a different way, as if
learning as he watched and liking what he saw.  It had really made Jaye
feel...important.  Cherished, almost, if that's the word.  Trey had been a
virgin before last night and Jaye was still amazed that he was the one Trey
had wanted.

The look in Trey's eyes had been possessive, covetous even.  And Jaye had
liked being the object of that look much more than he could possibly ever
explain to Angel.  Or maybe even to himself.  He just hoped Trey wasn't
sorry about what they'd done together.  Trey had been drinking although he
said it was just so he could relax enough to tell Jaye how he felt.  Jaye
wished again he'd just gone on and asked Trey to come home with him last
night.  What was the worst that could have happened? Hell, he knew the
answer to that, it's not as if it hadn't happened before.  Trey would have
woken up this morning and been furious with him, resentful or
even...ashamed.

Jaye had been just too afraid to take that chance.  All those times with
Bobby had taken their toll on his self-confidence.  It really hurt to be
looked at that way.  Like you'd done something bad and should be sorry when
all you'd done was show someone you liked them.  Jaye just couldn't
understand how someone could want something one minute and, the next
minute, accuse you of taking advantage, of wanting something you shouldn't.
And Jaye had a feeling that this place, Exodus, was just going to make
Bobby worse.  The Dragon should have a car accident, maybe, and do the
world a favor by leaving it.  And Bobby's dad...Jaye just didn't have words
for what he thought of Bobby's father.  He really hoped Trey's parents
weren't anything like that.

Trey's mother was on the line now, some little kid had answered the phone
and gone to get her.  Something about Trey and a problem.  His mother
sounded like a nice lady, she had a calm, pleasant voice when she spoke.
But what she said wasn't pleasant.

Jesus Christ!

Jaye stood up, his heart pounding, and motioned to Angel in the car.  Angel
climbed out of the car and came over to stand beside Jaye under the weeping
willow.  He looked puzzled by Jaye's expression.  Jaye held up his hand to
Angel as he listened, asking for patience.

Jaye just couldn't fucking believe what he was hearing.

Someone had been waiting for Trey outside the party.  Several
someones. Waiting for any of them, most likely, but it had been Trey they'd
found.

And now Trey was in the ICU.

Jaye had to get out of here.



         'Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle.'
                      Alice's Adventures in Wonderland (Lewis Carroll, 1865)


Waking around noon that Sunday, Michael rolled over and reached out for
Gene, his eyes still closed.  His hand touched cool sheets and pillows but
nothing warmer.  He was alone in the bed.  Michael opened his eyes and
blinked in the morning light, bright even through the blinds.  What time
was it?  He sat up and stretched lazily, his arms above his head.  He'd
slept hard last night but he'd needed it.  Where was Gene?

"Gene?" he called out quietly.

The room was silent except for the computer's soft noises in the corner.
Keanu Reeves stared down, menacing him from the Matrix Reloaded poster on
the wall beside the bed.  That guy couldn't act but he certainly was sexy,
thought Michael.  And never more so than when he was wearing black and
kicking ass. Michael pushed the covers back and stood up, disturbing the
black cat on Gene's side of the bed.  The tomcat gave him a sour look
before rearranging himself into the warm spot Michael had just vacated.

"Sorry, Flash, I didn't see you there." Michael said in apology.  The old
cat looked up at him, eyelids closing slowly in a contented cat-smile.
Michael reached out to stroke the cat's head gently before retrieving his
boxers from the floor and pulling them on.  He went out in search of his
friend.

He found Gene in the kitchen, a carton of milk in front of him on the
table, eating Froot Loops and reading the morning paper.  Michael poured
himself a bowl, got a spoon and sat down beside him.

"Morning, babe." Michael said as he poured milk onto his cereal.

Gene grunted in reply.  He wasn't much of a morning person so Michael
didn't expect more than that acknowledgment. Gene slid the sports and
comics sections over to Michael without speaking. The two friends ate their
cereal in a companionable silence, reading and crunching noisily, the sound
loud in the quiet apartment.  Barbara must be at work, Michael realized.
Not that her presence would have been a problem, she loved Michael, he
knew.  The box of Froot Loops had actually been bought for him.  It was his
favorite.  She always thought of things like that, managing to show in
little ways that Michael was welcome there.

Gene finished his cereal and pushed the bowl towards the center of the
table.  He leaned back in the chair and picked up the mug of coffee that
had been cooling at his elbow.  He took a careful sip and grimaced.  Too
cool; he hated lukewarm coffee almost as much as he hated scalding hot
coffee.  There was a certain exact temperature he preferred and it was a
delicate art, guessing just when to start drinking.  He pushed back from
the table and stood, carrying the mug into the kitchen to the microwave on
the counter.

Michael watched his friend, taking in the tall form in the loose, maroon
striped cotton pajamas.  Gene managed to look graceful even in clothes like
this, Michael decided, his friend's slender body moved like a cat as he
padded barefoot across the floor.  Gene's black hair was tousled from sleep
and it shone in the sunlight that bathed the kitchen in warmth.

Michael watched Gene's hands fiddle with the microwave controls, his slim
fingers tapping on the keypad.  Gene just had no idea how sensual his
ordinary movements were, thought Michael.  He stood and walked over to
stand behind his friend, placing his hands around Gene's waist.  Gene
sighed and leaned back into Michael's body.

"You feel good." Gene whispered.

Michael smiled and nuzzled his neck.  Gene smelled good, he could just
catch the scent of sleep and sex on the other boy.

"I was just going to say the same thing to you." Michael said.

Gene chuckled.

"I can't believe how late you slept, Mikey.  When I got up, you were like
the dead; you didn't budge so I left you alone.  Thought you must be more
tired than I realized."

Michael nodded his head against Gene's neck, breathing in again.

"Yeah, I guess I was.  I feel pretty good now, though." He said, grinding
his crotch playfully into Gene.  Gene laughed and turned around in his
arms, pulling him closer.

"Damn, you and your energetic morning ideas.  I think you like it when I'm
half-asleep." he complained with a smile.

"Mmm." Michael answered, looking up into Gene's black eyes.  He reached his
hand to the side of Gene's face and pulled him down into a gentle kiss.
Gene tasted like Froot Loops and coffee.  Gene kissed him back lightly at
first, then a little more energetically.  He felt Gene's interest swell
against his abdomen.  He pulled back a little to regard his friend with
amusement.

"You seem awake now, babe." he said softly.  Gene blushed and looked at the
ceiling, then back.

"Well, hell, Michael, I'm rested, too.  And there's not a single solitary
thing that I have to do today."

Michael raised his eyebrow.

"Really? Now that's an interesting proposition."

Gene blushed deeper, fighting an embarrassed smile and losing.  Michael
laughed.

"Wanna go disturb Flash? He's way too comfy on the bed right now." Michael
suggested, pulling Gene's body closer.

The microwave beeped.

Gene chuckled.  The damned coffee could wait.



    'My unhappiness came on very suddenly, maybe it'll go away.'
                                 Skye Masterson, Guys and Dolls (1950)



Angel was painting his toenails when Camille called.  He stood up, pink
foam dividers separating his toes, and walked carefully over to his bedside
table to pick up the cell phone.  He sat down, pulling up his knees and
placing his heels on the edge of the bed so that he could blow on the last
coat of blush pink polish before applying the clear coat that would seal
the color.  He read the name on the caller ID, pushed the talk button and
spoke.

"Hi, Camille."

"Angel." she said, by way of greeting.  Her voice was low, he punched up
the volume. "Are you busy?"

"Not really, " he answered. "Thought I might call Jaye and go see Bobby
today, if we can figure out a way in that place."

Camille made a noncommittal noise into the phone.  Angel wiggled his toes
and blew on them again, waiting.

"Something up, Camille?" he finally asked.

"Uh-huh."

Angel suddenly remembered her arguement with Doug last night at the party.

"Something about Doug? You guys have a fight?" he asked her cautiously.

There was a muffled sound on the other end.  Was she crying?

"Camille?"

"Yeah?" she said through a clearly identifiable sniffle.

"Tell me?"

"Yeah." Her voice was tired sounding.  He waited.

"Well, um...should I guess?" He asked as he tapped his toenails lightly
with a fingernail, checking for tackiness in the polish.  Not yet.  He
wiggled his toes in an effort to dry them faster.

She snorted.

"You couldn't possibly guess, Angel."

"Okay, so tell me then."

"Umm...it's stupid.  I mean, I'm stupid, we were stupid.  I mean, I'm not
sure how but it's definitely stupid.  I mean...it sucks."

"He's not, like...cheating on you is he? Doug? I mean, I can't imagine that
but..."

"No, not hardly.  Not that.  Not Doug."

"So okay, what then? You're upset, I can tell, so its something bad, I know
it. Tell me so I can help, do something... whatever you need." he told her.

She exhaled heavily.

"That's just it, I don't know what I need, Angel."

"You wanna come over?" he asked her.

"Uh-uh.  I don't want to go anywhere right now.  There's nobody home and
its quiet, and I like it quiet right now.  I don't want to see anyone,
really.  I just want to talk."

"Okay, so talk, honey.  I'm listening." Angel picked up the bottle of clear
polish and twisted it open with difficulty, the dried polish making the top
stick.

Camille sighed.  There was a few moments' silence before she spoke again.

"I'm pregnant." she said flatly.

Angel dropped the brush cap of the nail polish onto the carpet.  He
scrambled to get it as he responded.

"Are you sure? I mean...how do you know you're pregnant?"

"Duh, Angel, don't be such a gay boy.  Yeah, I'm sure.  I haven't had my
period so I bought one of those tests.  I'm pregnant alright." She sounded
bitter, he thought.

"Okay, look.  Those tests you buy supposedly aren't that reliable.  You
should go to a clinic or something.  Uh...do you know one to go to?  Like,
Planned Parenthood or something?" he asked her.

"The test isn't wrong, Angel, I know I'm pregnant.  But, yeah, I have an
appointment on Wednesday after school.  Doug's driving me."

"So Doug knows?"

"Well, yeah, of course.  I told him last night."

"And?"

She made a rude noise. "He wants us to get married."

Angel was silent, thinking.

"Well?" he said finally, "Weren't you guys gonna get married sometime
anyway?"

Camille clucked her tongue and didn't answer.

"Camille?"

"That's not the point, Angel, the point is that I'm pregnant.  I'm going to
have a baby unless I...well, unless I do something about it."

Angel rubbed his fingertips against his temple, his eyes closed.  The rush
of feeling he got just now surprised him.  He knew he was Catholic, he just
didn't always know how Catholic.

"What does Doug say about that?" he asked neutrally.

"Fuck, Doug wants to get married and have the damn baby.  But its not him
that'd have the thing, its me who'd have to be fat for nine months and give
birth and probably never dance again." She spat out, suddenly furious.

Angel swallowed hard.  He wondered if his mother was up, if she would talk
to Camille.  Of course, Camille might not talk to her even if she did.  And
maybe Camille wouldn't want him to tell anyone, anyway.  Damn.  This
definitely wasn't one of his areas of expertise.

"Um, Camille? Listen, don't do anything hasty, okay? I mean, well...we need
to talk.  You need to talk."

"I know," she said, resigned, "that's why I fucking called you."

He thought for a minute.  He heard music faintly on her end of the line.

"Listen, can you come over tonight, have supper with me and mom?"

Camille was silent for a moment.

"Maybe." There was another pause. "You aren't gonna tell your mom are you?"

"Well, not if you don't want me to.  But I think I should or maybe you
should.  She's really cool, honey, she could help, I know it.  You can
trust her, Camille.  I promise." Angel said, hoping that last was true.  He
didn't know anything about pregnant girls but he bet his mom did.  He
didn't even have to ask if Camille had told her parents, of course, she
never told them anything and they never asked.  The McLemores were the most
useless parents he knew.  Last year, they'd forgotten their own daughter's
birthday, for Gods' sake.  I mean, how the hell can you do that, Angel
wondered.  Total losers. Like Camille was invisible or something.  He
noticed she hadn't answered him.

"Uh, Camille? Tonight, alright? And I won't say anything unless you tell me
its okay to."

Silence.

"Okay.  Just to talk.  To you, Angel.  Don't say anything to your mom,
okay?"

He sighed, resigned.

"Okay.  Around seven, okay? You're gonna be here, right?"

"Yeah.  I'll be there." Camille said and disconnected.

Angel set the phone down and picked up the clear bottle of polish.  He sat
looking at it for some time before he finally opened it and finished his
toenails.



     'What sort of insects do you rejoice in, where you come from?'
            Through the Looking-Glass (Lewis Carroll, 1872)



Michael stretched out on the bed next to Gene, put his hands behind his
head and looked at the ceiling.  How do they get those nubbly bits so neat
and high up there in the plaster, he wondered.  You could usually see
patterns in the ceiling nubbles, tiny shadows in the daytime that moved as
the sun did and then strange black shapes in the moonlight that would creep
stealthily across the ceiling surface.  Michael felt sleepy again, he
usually felt a little sleepy after making love and he wondered why that
was.  I guess I'm wondering too damn much, he thought, and rolled over into
the pillow.  He could hear Gene's even breathing; Michael definitely wasn't
the only one who fell asleep afterwards.  He pushed his head into the
pillow and let his mind wander.

Tomorrow at school, now that was a subject he would willingly forget about
if he could.  He had no idea what would happen when he showed up in the
drama room to walk Angel to first period but he was going to do it anyway.
Hell, he didn't know if Angel would let him.  Even if Angel didn't want
Michael there, he was still going to walk Angel to class.  To every single
class that he could, tomorrow and every day this week.  He thought back to
Angel at the party last night and smiled.  He had a feeling that Angel
wouldn't mind too much.  Angel really did like him, Michael was sure of it;
Angel just hadn't decided whether to let himself like Michael or not.
Whether to let himself like a jock or not.  Or whether to let himself have
a boyfriend.

And Michael did not intend to allow Angel time to make the wrong choice.
Michael would be around, and underfoot, at Angel's side and in his thoughts
as much as he possibly could.  He had six loving notes written out to put
in Angel's locker between classes.  He had Angel's class schedule printed
out and neatly folded in the outer pocket of his backpack.  He had a blank
office pass that he could forge to get Angel out of class unexpectedly as a
surprise.  He had extra money to take Angel to lunch off campus or, if
Angel insisted, to buy his lunch in the cafeteria.  And Michael would sit
with him, even if it meant sitting with the other drama kids.  There was
only one thing Michael didn't have a plan for.

He didn't have a plan for what the hell he would do when everyone else saw
what he was doing and wondered why.  No, the why would be obvious.  It
wouldn't be like following Gene Kuo around last year; no one ever seemed to
think a debater might be gay.  No, this would be different, very, very
different.  Following Angel de la Torres around the school tomorrow would
make one thing crystal clear in everyone's mind.  One single, simple thing
that couldn't be denied.  Not anymore.  Not while standing beside the best
known homosexual at Northside High School; not while walking him to class
and buying his lunch.  Not while shadowing Angel's every step with what was
probably going to be a lovesick look on his face, perhaps somewhat tempered
by another emotion.  Fear.  Absolute outright terror.

How did Angel do it, he wondered, worried.  How did he walk around the
school, knowing that everyone knew about him, and still manage to hold up
his head the way he did? People said things, Michael had seen them do it,
and they weren't always nice things.  He'd seen kids push Angel's books out
of his hands; he'd seen others insult and threaten the slender boy.  He'd
always thought Angel was brave and now he wondered how the hell he did it.
How did Angel manage to ignore enough to keep his composure, his
self-respect, and his sanity?  Michael had no idea.  But he had a feeling
he was going to find out.  Firsthand and front row.  Tomorrow.

And Michael was terrified at the prospect.



             'In the whole vast configuration of things,
              I'd say you were nothing more than a
                     scurvy little spider."
                                It's a Wonderful Life (Republic Pictures, 1946)




Blackness.

Colors and pain flickered bright behind his eyes and then were gone,
leaving nothing.

Trey couldn't feel anything, couldn't see anything.

What he heard were voices in the darkness.

"Jesus, who the hell is this fuckwad?"

"Fuck if I know."

"Jesus, Billy, I said the other one. The little Spic.  Who the hell is this
asshole?"

Trey felt himself moving, rough hands on his body; he was floating.

"God damn you mother fuckers! I wanted that little drama faggot.  Who the
fuck is this guy?"

"Will you shut the fuck up, Sellers? This guy may not be who you wanted but
this faggot sure was just sucking off his friend in that car.  I fucking
saw him, dammit.  I did not fuck up, you wanted a queer and you got a
queer.  What's the big fuckin' deal, anyway?"

"I told you what the big fucking deal was, asshole, that little Spic queer
has it coming to him, that's what.  He needs to learn some fucking respect,
is what.  I fucking told him what would happen if he spouted off again with
that fag attitude shit. That was the whole fucking point, Billy."

Trey felt a sharp pain in his side as the steel-toed boot connected with
his body.

 "The... whole... fucking... point!"

Trey felt the boot again.  And again. There was almost no pain this time.
He felt a weakness in his center that blossomed outwards to envelop his
whole awareness.  His fingers and toes tingled, then went numb.

Colors again, then darkness.

There was nothing.

And Trey was lost in the dark.



                "Are you still gay, son?"
                                   In and Out (Paramount Pictures, 1998)



Michael woke up and, without opening his eyes, he reached out for Gene in
the bed.  Nothing but sheets and pillows and... an angry cat.  He opened
his eyes into the face of Flash, whose indignant expression made him laugh,
waking Michael fully up.

"Sorry, boy, I was looking for your Daddy."

Flash turned his face away from Michael pointedly and began grooming his
shoulder, drawing his tongue down the black fur without so much as glancing
back up at the rude human.

Michael chuckled.

"Sorry, Flash." he said again.

"Talking to the cat, Mikey?" Gene asked from the computer desk in the
corner.

Michael looked up and nodded.

"Yeah, I think I pissed him off again."

"You just have no manners, Mike.  You should watch Flash and learn, cats
have the best manners.  Better than people."

"That wouldn't be too difficult if you're the example of human manners."
Michael said, drawing himself up to sit on the side of the bed.

Gene turned to look at him.  Michael naked in his bed was one of Gene's
favorite sights.  Even when he looked rumpled and sweaty like this.  Gene
grinned mischievously.

"Speak for yourself, dumbass, Flash looks like he already made up his mind.
He's ignoring you."

Michael narrowed his eyes at his friend.

"Well, if you're anything to go by, that cat's one lousy etiquette teacher.
Your table manners are like a four-year-old's and your vocabulary's worse
than a Hong Kong sailor's.  And you always leave the seat up.  Barbara
should kick your butt." said Michael.

"Leave my butt out of this, you dumbass. Cute dumbass, but dumbass just the
same." said Gene.

Michael batted his eyes.

"Debate geek." he retorted with a smirk.

Gene stood up and walked towards the bed wiggling his eyebrows.

"Oh, you wanna fight, huh?" Gene asked, moving closer.

"Geek.  Debate nerd.  Trekkie!" Michael taunted, stifling laughter.

Gene raised his eyebrows and dove at the bed.

Michael giggled and slid under the covers just as Gene pounced, sending
Flash off the bed in a blur of black fur.  Gene threw the covers off of
Michael and grabbed him around the waist, wrestling him down to the
mattress.  Michael was laughing so hard he couldn't put up much resistance
and he managed to kick off the pillows with his efforts.  Gene held him
down, hands on his shoulders and stared solemnly into his face.

"Okay, you dumb jock, you know the penalty for disrespect!"

Michael stuck out his tongue.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you, Mikey?"

Michael snickered and tried to wiggle out from under his friend.  And
that's when Gene deployed the ultimate weapon in his arsenal.

He tickled Michael.

Michael howled and thrashed as Gene ran his fingers up Michael's naked
sides and down again, just lightly enough to drive Mike crazy.

"Stop, stop...stop it!" he begged, gasping for air.

"Make me." Gene said, smug, leaning all his weight onto Michael's
shoulders, pinning him to the bed.  Gene looked into Michael's eyes and
grinned.

"Some star athlete, huh?" he asked the panting football player.

Michael growled and bucked once, hard, taking Gene by surprise and
wriggling out from under before he could recover.  He twisted fast and
pushed Gene down to the mattress, still gasping for breath and laughing now
at Gene's expression.

"Aha! Victory is mine! And you remember what goes to the victor, don't you,
Gene?"

Gene writhed under him but the bigger boy had him pinned down with all his
weight.  Michael felt himself start to respond to Gene's proximity and
sucked in a deep breath. Gene went limp and sighed in mock dejection.

Gene could feel the other boy's interest stirring against his leg.  He
looked up at Michael.

"Okay, you win, now can we stop being childish?" Gene asked in a haughty
voice, but he couldn't quite keep from smiling.

Michael laughed.

"Oh, when you're winning, it's okay but when I'm winning, it's childish?
That's such a lame attempt, Mr. Kuo, its so beneath you." Michael leaned
his face closer to Gene's.

"I think you mentioned... penalties?" Mike said, his face just inches from
Gene. "Just what exactly did you have in mind, Mr. Kuo?"

Gene blushed and looked away.

"I thought so." Michael said softly and pressed his lips to Gene's.

To the victor go the spoils, thought Michael, as he let his weight down
gently onto Gene.  Gene's arms wrapped around him, making him shiver.

In the back of his mind came the thought: I wonder how much longer we can
be this kind of friends?

And what will I do without him?



   "Is that so terrible, to be marked as a chump?"
                         Sister Sarah, Guys and Dolls (Loesser&Burrows, 1950)



Trey came out of the darkness with a terrible thirst.  He opened his eyes
to a blur of bright white that hurt deep in his head.  His mouth felt like
rough cotton had been shoved in and stamped down hard and tight, making it
difficult to breath, impossible to speak. He could make nothing out
visually but he could feel a bed under him and a burning in his right hand
like a spider sting that wouldn't go away.  Where was his left hand?

Someone was holding it.

Trey squeezed the hand that held his.

"He's awake." said a voice.

Someone else said softly, "I'll get the nurse." His mother's voice?

Suddenly, there was movement in the blurry white of his vision.  He heard
voices speaking low and the sound of a door opening and closing.

The hand on his clenched tighter.

"Trey?"

He tried to speak but what came out were garbled, grunting noises. He tried
to clear his throat.  It hurt so much even to try.  He felt like he was
choking on dry cotton balls.

"Water." He tried to say but what came out was a croaking noise like
gravel.

The hand on his gently disengaged.

Trey felt something at his lips, a straw.  He sucked at it, desperate for
liquid.  Coolness slid down his throat, a blessed relief.  He pulled in
more water until he finally lay back against the pillow, weak but a little
clearer in his head now.  The water seemed to lubricate his throat and he
tried to speak again.

"What...?" he managed to gasp.

"What happened?" asked the other voice, the deeper voice, the one Trey
wasn't as sure about. "You were attacked, Trey, after the party."  Trey
struggled to clear his vision and turned toward the voice.

"Did you get a look at who did it, can you give a description?" the voice
asked.

He strained to see who was beside him.  He knew that voice.

 "Yeah." Trey croaked out roughly.

"Yeah, meaning you saw the guys, Trey?"

Trey nodded, trying to force his eyes to focus on the blur that must surely
be a face next to his.

"Do you know who it was, hon?"

He knew that voice.  He nodded.

He felt lips brush his.  His eyes widened and he could see, this close, the
face beside him.

It was Jaye Peterson, his face very close to Trey's.

Relief coursed through him.  Somehow, he thought what had happened had
happened to Jaye, too.  Thank God, he thought.  But Jaye had asked a
question.

And Trey knew the answer.

"Ryan... Sellers." Trey said roughly.  His throat hurt, his head was
spinning again and he saw colors behind his eyelids.  He closed his
eyes. Had Jaye heard him?

"Shhh..."

"Ryan...it was ...Ryan." Trey said again.  He felt Jaye's hand squeeze his
tightly and Jaye's lips against his forehead.

"Shhh...rest.  Sleep, Trey." Jaye said in a soft whisper.  Trey nodded,
feeling the darkness suck him down again, as he grew dizzy.

"Ryan..." he managed to get out.

"Shhh, I know, I hear you, Trey.  We'll take care of it when you're
better. Go to sleep now."

Trey felt Jaye's lips on his as he fell deeply into something that was more
than sleep but less than the blackness that had overwhelmed him before and
nearly kept him deep under its black waters.

Trey knew he'd be back this time.  He hadn't known that before with any
certainty.

He wanted Jaye to kiss him again.

And he wanted to fucking kill Ryan Sellers.



'Now, here, you see, it takes all the running you can do, to keep in the
same place.  If you want to get somewhere else, you must run at least twice
as fast as that."

       Red Queen to Alice, Through the Looking-Glass (Lewis Carroll, 1872)



[End of part 13]



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