Date: Thu, 23 Nov 2006 22:14:25 -0500
From: EleCivil <elecivil@gmail.com>
Subject: Laika - Chapter 10

Intro/Disclaimer:

Hey!  Time for another chapter, which means it's time for another
disclaimer!  If you're not legally aloud to read this...well, for starters,
clear your internet history, because you're already here, and that's pretty
incriminating, whether you continue reading or not.  This story is
fictional, and it's full of swearing and sexual tension and all kinds of
totally inappropriate stuff, much like going to high school.  Don't repost
this anywhere without my permission, okay?

Thanks to everyone who writes in and lets me know that I've got an
audience.  Also, thanks to nifty.org, awesomedude.com, and codeysworld.com
for hosting.

Until next time!

EleCivil@gmail.com

	Laika by EleCivil Chapter Ten: The Importance of Being Alex

Sometimes, it takes a long time for you to realize that something's not
right.  For instance, when I was six, I fell out of a tree and landed on my
head.  I climbed to my feet, threw up, stumbled around for a while, then
got back to playing.  I didn't give it a second thought until Mom saw that
one of my eyes had changed color and took me to the hospital.  All that
time with a concussion, and no idea that anything was wrong.

Other times, things can be the totally, blatantly, staring-you-in-the-face
kind of wrong.  Seeing Alex wearing the uniform of the wealthiest, most
renowned private school in town was one of those.

Most guys would probably have a hard time thinking of the right thing to
say in a situation like this, coming face-to-face with something that
directly contradicts their beliefs.  Not me.  Once again, my instinctive
way with words took charge.

"Dude..."

"Oh. Uh...hey."  He said.  He walked past me, into the restroom.  I decided
I couldn't let him just walk by without explaining, so I followed him in.
He was standing at one of the urinals.

"So..."  I said, and he looked over his shoulder.  "I've got to ask, you
know?"

"Yeah...I guess I kind of go to school here."  He shrugged.

"Okay.  Now, this is probably going to sound like a funny question to ask,
but...you're not homeless, are you?"

"I guess that depends."

"On?"

"How you define 'homeless'."

"I always thought 'without a home' was pretty accurate."

"Well...I mean, what's a home to you?"  He zipped up and went to the sink
to wash his hands.

"Do you live in your van or not?"  A bit terse, yeah, but come on - next
he'd want the definition of 'is'.

"No."

"Corey thinks you do."

"Yeah.  He also thinks that it's a secret."  He had the nerve to look
annoyed.

"Why would you tell him that?"

"Well, I had to tell him something."  He spread his arms.  "He kept
asking."

"You couldn't tell him the truth?"

"That my parents are loaded?  That my dad's on city council, and wants to
run for mayor?"  He snorted.  "Right."

"Why not?"

"How am I supposed to be in a punk band, playing songs about working-class
pride and fighting against the government when my parents are the
government?"

"Why's it matter what your parents do?  You can't judge somebody on that.
The others know that, and they know what you stand for."

"Yeah, now.  You think that on the day of auditions, if I had come in
wearing this," He pulled at his jacket, "That they wouldn't have laughed me
out of the place?"

"No."

"Well, that's the difference between you and me.  I know.  They would have
taken one look at me and kicked me out."

"You really think so?"  I hadn't picked up that kind of vibe at all.

"You haven't been around the scene as long as I have.  You ever read any of
those books that Corey's always talking about?  Or listen to any of the DIY
bands?  They're all about making it on your own - giving all your money to
charity and living as, basically, a hobo with principles.  That's what they
look up to.  Not rich kids who go to private school."

I took a few moments to digest that.  I'd heard some of the songs he was
talking about, and had heard the others mention things like it, but still
couldn't bring myself to believe that they believed that strongly in that
kind of a lifestyle that they would immediately ostracize anyone who fell
short of it.  While I didn't know anything about "the scene", I knew the
people, and they weren't like that.

"Uh...you're not going to say anything, are you?"  He asked.

"What, about how you've been lying to everybody?"

"Not everybody."

"You told us that you don't go to school."

"Yeah, okay, there's that...but that's nothing big."

"So, that's your plan?  You're going to say 'Hey, I've been completely
deceiving your friend here, but I haven't been lying to the rest of you
about anything too big.'  Yeah, that'll go over well."

"It doesn't have to go over well," He said, "Because you aren't going to
tell anyone."

I sighed.  "Look, I don't care if you want to lie to people.  That's you.
Whatever.  But not telling Corey about this would be the same as me lying
to him, and I'm not going to do that."

His expression widened into a convincing puppy-dog look.  "But...please?
Help me out, just this once?"  He was trying to play me, but I wasn't
having it.  Not after that night in the basement.  Not after this.

I shook my head and started to walk away, but he grabbed my shoulder and
spun me around, forcefully.  Then, before I knew it, his lips were on mine.

Now, I understand that how the body reacts to physical stimuli revolves
around chemicals and nerve endings and all kinds of stuff that I was
supposed to have learned, had I paid better attention in Biology.  I
understand that my hormone-riddled self couldn't be blamed if it started
stirring, since chemicals and nerve endings, while being very good at what
they do, have little consideration for interpersonal relationship-politics.
Had I started to kiss him back, I think I probably could have forgiven
myself.

Thankfully, I never had to find out, because instead of kissing him back, I
shoved him.  I put both hands against his chest and pushed, propelling him
back a few feet.  Not hard enough to do any damage, but hard enough to send
a message.

"What are you doing?" I took a step back.

"I was thinking..." He smiled, stepping forward, "That maybe if you're
willing to forget seeing me here, I might be willing to forget our little
talk in the basement last week.  Maybe...give you another shot."

"Give me another shot?"  Were it not so firmly attached, I think my jaw
might have put a dent in Weldon-Taft's fancy waxed floors.  "Are you
serious?"

"Sure.  I'll forget if you will."

"I...don't think you understand what I was asking.  You seriously think
that I'd want another shot with you?  That I'd give you one?"

"Don't talk down to me."  He said.

"You're making it really hard not to!"  I remembered our surroundings and
lowered my voice.  "You lie to everybody, you take advantage of Corey, you
pull this half-assed seduction thing on me - twice, now - and you still
think that getting the chance to be with you could be used as some kind of
bribe?  Who the fuck do you think-"

"Shut up."  He hissed.  "You don't know anything.  Just shut up."

But I couldn't stop, I was on a roll.  Everything - all the doubt and
insecurity and fear that I had felt, whether he had anything to do with it
or not, was pouring back out in the form of pure rage.  I wanted to hurt
him.

"Who do you think you are, huh?  You told me you can't respect someone who
isn't true to themselves, so what's that make you?  You're pretending to be
homeless - why, because it's more fashionable?  Because it's more 'punk'?
This whole time, I thought I was the poseur.  I thought I was the one who
didn't belong.  But look at you!  You're nothing but image."

"Fuck you!"  He stepped closer, threw his weight behind his fist, and took
a swing at me.  His fist sank into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me.
I fell to one knee and grabbed my stomach.  "You think I like it?  You
think I fucking like it?"

I got back enough breath to swing back at him.  When I missed, he grabbed
my by the collar and tried to pin me against the wall, but I kicked him
hard in the shin.  A cheap shot, probably, but small guys like me have to
take what we can get.  I shoved him, harder this time, and then landed a
punch of my own.  I ended up hitting him in his collarbone, hurting myself
at least as much as I hurt him.

He fired off a few jabs at my midsection.  They weren't too hard, but they
were fast enough to keep me from getting in any shots of my own.  In
desperation, I threw myself against him, knocking us both to the floor.

I don't think anyone would have mistaken either of us for experienced
fighters.  The closest I'd come to a fistfight was reading about one.  The
way Alex was holding up, it looked like the closest he'd come was in a mosh
pit.  The fight disintegrated into the two of us rolling around on the
floor, swinging our fists whenever we could, but rarely connecting with
anything worthwhile.  Normally, I'd advise against rolling around on the
floor in a school's restroom, but this was Weldon-Taft, so the floors were
spotless.

I'm not sure how long it lasted.  Everyone else was out in the lobby,
hob-knobbing or schmoozing or whatever it is that people do at events like
this, so no one came in to break it up.  Eventually, we both got tired and
ended up leaning against opposite walls, sucking in air and rubbing the
sting out of our bruises.

"You...okay?"  Maybe that's a strange thing to ask somebody you were just
trying to beat up, but it just slipped out of my mouth between breaths.

He nodded, air hissing out from between his teeth.  "Yeah...I'm all right.
You?"

"Fine.  Sorry.  Went too far."

"Yeah.  Me, too."  He paused.  "So...is it Corey?  Do you like him or
something?"

"Not like that.  Just seemed...unfair.  Remember when he cornered me to
make sure I didn't have any problem with you being gay?"

He nodded.

"And the other day, he cornered me again.  He thought we were still
dating...and that I was going to break up with you, because of you being
homeless."

"Really?"

I laughed between breaths.  "He was...about ready to throw me out of the
car."

Alex was silent.

"He just...looks out for you, you know?  Like..."

I was about to say "like a brother".  More specifically, like my brother.
Now that I thought about it, Corey reminded me of Mark in a lot of ways.
He was a little more political in his rebellions, sure, but there was no
question about it - he was an unmatched-socks kind of guy.  Maybe that's
why I seemed to fit in with him so easily, despite being cut from a
completely different cloth.  Maybe that's why he approached me after
hearing me deliver one of my brother's rants at the Cursives meeting.
Maybe that's why I started hanging around with him right after Mark left.
And maybe...maybe that's why the idea of anyone lying to him seemed so
unthinkable.

"I know.  And I appreciate it, really, but I keep telling him not to worry
about me.  I can take care of myself, you know?"

"Take care of yourself?  You could barely handle me."

He grinned.  "I was holding back.  Didn't want to mess up that pretty face
of yours."

"Oh, right."  I smiled back.  "Well, thanks for that."

"Any time."  He laughed, and I couldn't help joining him.  "I...I really
don't take advantage of him, you know?"  He said, looking serious again.
"I don't let him give me money or anything."

I nodded.

"I didn't mean for it to happen like this."  He said.  "I just wanted to
play in a band.  That's it.  There's no way my parents would have let me.
They don't even want me going to concerts.  Never get elected if their
family isn't perfect, and the kind of people who go to those shows don't
fit their idea of perfection.  So...if I wanted to do anything that was
important to me, to be myself, I had to be...somebody else.  Alex.  That's
my middle name, by the way."

"Really?"

"Harrison Alexander Wright."  He nodded.  "Good to meet ya."

"Oh...like, Niles Wright?"  I recognized the name immediately.  His dad got
on the local news an awful lot.

"Yeah.  See why I couldn't go by that?"

I nodded.

"So...yeah.  I've even been lying about who I am, even down to my name.
Some individualist I am, huh?"  He snorted.

"Well..." I said, thinking back to something he had told me before.  "Names
don't matter.  Isn't that what...uh, Erik Eriksson said?"

"Erik Petersen."  He grinned.  "But he probably wouldn't mind if you mixed
up his name, since it doesn't matter."

I was glad to see him smile, even though a few minutes ago I had wanted to
knock his teeth out.  I don't even make sense to myself, sometimes.

I pulled myself up and looked in the mirror.  I was a mess.  "Aw, man."  I
brushed some of the dust from my shirt.  "Well, at least you didn't give me
another black eye.  I don't know if I could have explained two in the same
week."

"Hang on."  He climbed up and walked over, straightening out and brushing
off the back of my shirt.  When he finished, I did the same for him.
"So...are you going to be there with me?  When I tell them?"

"What?"

"Everything.  If I don't tell them, you will, right?"  He took off his
jacket and shook the wrinkles out of it.

I sighed.  "I don't want to do it to get to you or anything.  I just...I
don't want to get caught up in having to lie to everybody.  I mean, if they
ask me..."

"I know."  He said.  "See, I've been into punk since I was a kid.  Not just
the music, but the whole culture.  The whole ideal of being yourself, no
matter what anybody else says.  All these people that I look up to...that's
what they stand for.  That's what I should be doing."

"Well...you don't have to tell them everything.  You can leave out the part
about me kicking your ass, if you want."  I smirked at him.

"You mean the part about me kicking your ass?  Yeah, I'll leave that out,
if you don't want everybody to know.  There's no shame in getting beaten by
the best, but still..."

"Hey, don't push it."  I raised my fists and glared.  "You don't want a
bowl of this.  I got twice your daily recommended allowance of Bran, right
here."

He laughed.  "Oh, wow.  That's the least intimidating thing I've ever
heard."

I dropped my pose.  "Yeah, well...we should probably get back."

"Yeah.  Um...see you later."

We headed back for the lobby separately, and I didn't know about him, but
my brain was running circles around itself.  I had just gotten into a fight
with Alex, and for the first time since I had met him, I knew exactly where
my feelings for him stood.  I knew, just as I had known that night in the
basement, that he wasn't what I wanted in a boyfriend, and that I probably
wasn't what he was looking for, either.  But, unlike that night, I didn't
hate him.  Maybe I should have.  Maybe it would have even been reasonable
for me to hold everything against him, but I couldn't.  That fight had
drained every pent-up ounce of anger that I'd held on to, along with every
remaining drop of romantic feelings for him, and left behind only the truth
of how I felt.  A clear picture of what he meant to me, without any of that
emotional baggage cluttering the view.

He was my friend.  That's it.  That's all I wanted from him, and that's all
I wanted to be to him.  It was obvious that things weren't easy for him -
people don't usually try to create separate identities if everything is
going well - and I wanted to help as best I could, but I knew that when it
came down to it, there wasn't a lot that I could do.  I didn't know
anything about his home life, and even if I did, I'm not a therapist or
anything.  The best I could do was stand by him, stick up for him when he
needed it, and maybe knock some sense into him when he started acting like
a jerk.

The third and final round had ended by the time I had made my way back to
the lobby.

"Where've you been?"  Dixie's mom asked.

"Restroom."

"Well, you look like you fell down a flight of stairs."  She said,
straightening out my collar.

I shrugged.  "Hanging around with high society can do that, I guess."

"What?"

A bell went off.

"Hey, that means judging's done."  Dixie said.

We followed the rest of the crowd into the auditorium.  Like the rest of
the school, the auditorium was fancy and modern looking, with comfortable
movie theater seats and a huge stage with an orchestra pit.  The judges,
three well-dressed people who you could easily picture wearing monocles,
were seated at a table on the right of the stage.  One stood up, snapped a
microphone to her collar, and walked to center stage.

She announced the categories - things like "best use of vocabulary," "most
descriptive," and "best structure."  She then launched into a speech about
how truly excellent all of the entries were, and how the judges had a
difficult time picking winners from such an outstanding group of young
writers.  I don't think anyone in the room doubted that this was what she
said at every one of these competitions, but we all applauded, just the
same.

I wasn't paying close enough attention to hear which schools won which
awards, just that Dixie didn't win any.  She didn't look disappointed,
though, and she said she was happy just to get this far.  After the awards
ceremony, we were dismissed.  The private school kids and their parents
hung around to schmooze a bit more, but we made for the door almost
immediately.

"So, did you have fun?"  Dixie's mom asked her, once we were in the car.

"Not really.  I probably won't do it again.  Not one of these
single-representative things, anyway.  Only if the rest of the team goes,
like we usually do."

"That's too bad."  Her mom said.  "Well, at least now you know."

More was probably said, but I didn't hear any of it, because I fell asleep
in the back seat.

---------------------

My birthday was coming up.  I would turn sixteen in just a few days, which
meant I'd be able to get my license.  And, on top of that, Mark was going
to be back by then, for spring break.  I was hoping that most of the
dramatics would blow over by then, so I could enjoy it.  Luckily, Alex
wanted to get it over with, and on Monday, we were backing into Scott,
Sarah, and Carl's front yard in his van.

"If they decide to run me out of town, you can get a ride back with Corey."

"They're not going to run you out of town."  I said.  "But just in case, do
you have the address of a safe-house?  Or at the very least, some kind of
spider-hole?"

"Funny."

"No, I'm serious.  Because, what if they decide to put bounty on your head?
After they run you out of town, you're fair game."

"Dude..."

"And you might want to actually change your name again, just to make sure
they can't trace you.  Something like Niles Gnightly.  With a G."

"I get it, already."  He groaned.

"You sure?"  I said.  "Because I can keep going."

"I get it."  He repeated, following me inside.  I think it was the first
time he ever followed me, instead of the other way around.

When we got downstairs, I saw that Corey and Scott were playing cards on
the coffee table while Carl and Sarah were arm-wrestling.  Just as we
stepped in, Sarah pinned him and stood up, arms raised.

"Told you!"  She said.

"Doesn't prove anything."  Carl muttered.  He looked at us and perked up,
looking glad to have any distraction.  "Hey, Alex and Brandon are here."

"Yo."  Scott said, not looking up from his cards.

"Um..."  Alex grabbed his left elbow with his right hand, absently crossing
his torso.  "Hey, Cor?  Can I talk to you for a second?"

"Huh?  Yeah, sure."  Corey placed his cards face-down.  "Bran, you want to
take over for me?"

"What are you playing?"

"Speed.  Ever play it?"

"No."

"That's cool.  I'm losing, anyway."  He grinned, following Alex upstairs.

I took his place at the table and picked up his cards.  Scott made a lot of
quick moves involving picking up cards, slapping them on the table, then
picking up more.  After a few of these, he raised his palms toward me.

"Done."

"Do I go now?"

"You just lost."

"Oh."

"Here, I'll show you."  He said, gathering up the cards and shuffling.

I didn't keep track of how long Alex and Corey were upstairs, but before I
heard from them again, I had learned how to play Speed.  Meanwhile, Carl
and Sarah had started playing against each other, and Carl had lost two
games already.

He shook his head.  "Man, I'm doing bad today."

"I told you, you're cursed."  Sarah said.  "Jinxed.  Hexed.  Bewitched.
It's impossible for you to win anything when you're below ground level."

"No," He insisted, "I told you, it doesn't prove anything."

"Yeah, you keep on doubting my subterranean bad-luck curse.  That only
makes it more powerful."

"There's no such thing...and you don't even believe in that stuff!"

"I know."  She said.  "It's much better this way.  If I actually believed
in it, I'd have to follow some kind of rule about it.  This way, I get to
make it up as I go."

"Scott," Carl gathered up the cards and started shuffling.  "Make your
sister un-curse me."

"Sarah, don't curse Carl."

"Why not?"  She pouted.

"Because you're giving him an excuse for his losing.  How are we supposed
to rub it in his face when he can blame the supernatural?"

"Fine.  You're un-cursed, Carl."

"All right.  But, wait..."  He stopped shuffling.  "If I win now, it'll
just help you prove that your curse worked."

"Yeah."

"But if I lose now, it's because I suck."

"Yeah."

"Um...your turn, Bran."  He handed me the deck.

"Coward."  Sarah said.

Before we had the chance to play another round, though, I heard a door slam
upstairs.  A few minutes later, Alex came down the stairs.  He didn't look
happy.

"What's up?"  Scott asked.

"Corey left."  Alex said, shrugging.  "Um...I've got to go, too.  See you
later.  Bran, you need a ride?"

"Uh...yeah."  I said goodbye to everybody and got up, following Alex out.

"What happened?"  I asked, as soon as we were outside.  He didn't say
anything until we were in the van.

"He left."  He said, looking over at me without starting the engine.  "I
was expecting him to be pissed.  Maybe yell at me or hit me or something.
But he just...left.  Didn't say anything."

"Well..."  What could I say?  "Give him some time, maybe."

"Yeah."  He said, starting up the van and pulling out.  "You know, I kind
of wish he'd just run me out of town, instead."

"Not quite his style, though."  I said.  "So, how much did you tell him?"

"Told him everything.  That I'm not really homeless.  That I live with my
rich parents and go to private school.  That I've been lying to him this
whole time."

"Oh."  Well, he didn't sugar-coat it, that's for sure.  "You want me to
talk to him?"

He shrugged.  "If you want.  I don't know if it'll help, though."

Honestly, I wasn't sure if anything I could say would make a difference,
either.  Sure, I had been able to forgive Alex, but I'd only known him a
short time, and I never thought that I knew him all that well.  For me, an
exchange of punches was enough to clear the air between us.

Corey had known him a lot longer, had considered him a close friend.  He'd
thought that Alex had trusted him with his deepest secret.  He had built
his half of their friendship on that trust, sticking up for Alex and
looking out for him.  To find out that that trust had been built on a
lie...that must have hurt.

Sometimes, it takes a long time for you to realize that something's not
right.  And the longer it takes, the harder it is to face it.

---------------------