Jumbo (17 page)

Mitchell didn’t know if it was okay to do it or not, but he lifted his leg and laid it over Tadd’s thigh. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. His groin was pressed into the side of Tadd’s thigh, his leg clamped around him. Mitchell pressed his face into Tadd’s armpit. Tadd’s deodorant, coupled with his sweat, made Mitchell feel light-headed and weak. His cock firmed until it was hard.

Mitchell lay like that for five minutes or so, trying to still his heart. His muscles relaxed.

“Here,” Tadd said. “Lift your head.”

Tadd slid his arm under Mitchell’s head, and Mitchell put his head on Tadd’s bicep. It wasn’t very comfortable, too firm to be any sort of pillow.

“If I turn over and hug you would that be all right?”

“If you want to.”

Tadd didn’t move for a minute or so. Then he turned onto his side and wrapped his arms around Mitchell, lifting his body so that Mitchell could slide his arm under Tadd. Mitchell found that he could reach around Tadd’s chest. It wasn’t that broad. He had his face pressed into Tadd’s neck, and could feel Tadd’s breath in his ear.

What a change from this afternoon! Mitchell had been so worried at training, so worried about the note, and now, here he was, lying on Tadd’s bed, embracing him. Mitchell felt as though he had lived an entire life in one day.

Slowly, he felt that there was something wrong. He wasn’t comfortable. In all his dreams of sex it had been the most comfortable, the most wonderful thing. Now it seemed awkward. And he wasn’t used to Tadd.

He moved away a little and Tadd pulled him closer. Mitchell pushed away again, and Tadd released him.

“You always do that.”

“What?”

“Push me away from you.”

“You’re ... over-powering. I can’t breathe. And I wasn’t comfortable.”

“You need to relax.”

Moments of awkward silence passed. Mitchell had his head tucked downward, and he was staring at Tadd’s sweater, at the rise and fall of his enormous chest.

“Tadd?”

“Mmm.”

“Do you think you could drive me home?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“I can catch a cab — if you don’t want to go out again.”

“Mitchell. If I’d thought I wasn’t going out again, I would have parked the car in the garage.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.”

“Are you angry with me?”

“Not really.”

“You are.”

“I’m just — Mitchell ... one moment you say you want me to fuck you, and the next you push me away when I hug you. I don’t think you like me.”

“Maybe I’m just trying to like you.”

Silence.

“I’ve hated you for such a long time.”

“
Hated
me?”

“Can we not talk about it now? I need to go home.”

“Come on,” Tadd said, getting off the bed.

Mitchell got up. He felt weak. It was too much. All of this was too much.

38

In the morning, Mitchell decided not to go to school. He felt like being on his own, like staying home and having the house to himself. He asked his father to phone the school and tell them that he wasn’t coming in and his father agreed to do this.

“What excuse am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, Dad.”

“So you’re not sick?”

“Psychologically.”

“Mitchell.”

“Don’t start questioning me,” Mitchell said, with a sudden vehemence. “You’ve got rid of my mother. You’ve introduced a stranger into our house. Do you think I’m able to cope with that?”

His father didn’t reply.

“It’s not as though it matters, is it? I’m your bunny. The good boy with the good grades. Well, maybe things aren’t so simple, Dad. Maybe I’m not so simple.”

His father gave Mitchell a long, searching look before walking into the hall and picking up the phone.

From the kitchen, Mitchell could hear his father muttering something to someone at the school. It sounded like, “He’s just not feeling well today.” How the hell would that go down with Marley?

Mitchell chewed on his muesli, looking out of the kitchen window where there was a robin perched on the sill. If it had been warm enough, he would have opened the window, and as he thought this, Mitchell wondered what a robin was doing on the window anyway. It was coming into snow in a few days. Mitchell stared at it. The robin wasn’t moving. As he swallowed his last mouthful of cereal, Mitchell got up to rinse his plate, walking toward the bird. It seemed unnaturally still. Mitchell stared at it, putting his bowl into the sink. He tapped on the glass, but the robin didn’t move.

Mitchell frowned. He opened the window and saw at once that it was a stuffed bird. A stuffed robin that someone had stuck to the window sill. He pulled at it and it came off, part of one its feet sticking to the sill. He turned around with it in his hand as his father came into the room.

“Who put this there?”

“Oh, isn’t he lovely?” Jake said, appearing behind his father. “I saw him yesterday and I just couldn’t resist. You shouldn’t have pulled him off, Mitchell. I had him super-glued on.”

Mitchell stared at the bird, cradling it in his hands. He walked toward the table and pulled a sheet off the newspaper. He wrapped the robin in it and carried it outside, finding a place for it amongst the roots of the shrubbery at the side of the house. Coming back into the house he closed the door with a bang. His father and Jake stared at him.

Mitchell pushed past them. “If you bring that bird back inside, I swear I’ll go insane.”

Upstairs, he locked his door. He paced the room, unable to get the thought of the robin out of his mind. He should have buried it properly. Even now, he should go down to the garage and get the shovel and dig a proper grave for the bird.

He shook his head, as though shivering with the cold, and put the bird out of his mind.

He sat down on the bed and put his head in his hands. He would wait for everyone to go out, and then enjoy the feeling of having the house to himself. Try to get some perspective on things. He got up and wandered toward the window, wondering how long it would be before Pete got up. Pete was always going places. He would be sure to go somewhere, though as he thought this, Mitchell said, “Jake.”

Jake had given up his job. Not only were they pretending that he was a hired hand, Jake had actually taken on the role. Mitchell wondered what his father was paying him. Nothing, most likely. Nothing monetary.

What the hell would Jake be doing today? Well, he wouldn’t be staying home with Mitchell. Mitchell would make sure of that. The overly hairy, stereotypical queen could take himself off somewhere and spend some more of his father’s money on stuffed animals. And when he came home again, he could watch Mitchell bury them in the yard.

“Fuck,” Mitchell said, kicking the wall at the base of the window. He wished it would snow. Always, in the winter, he looked for the snow. Once the snow had come, it meant that summer was coming. Somewhere forward, somewhere in the future, the summer was locked in the snow. Waiting. More a promise, more a dream, than anything you could really believe in.

Mitchell stared at the sky, looking for the high white clouds. It was clear and blue, an emptiness.

He threw himself onto his bed and put his hands behind his head. He didn’t want to lie on his bed, though he didn’t want to go downstairs either. He looked at his Mac. His father had bought it for him for his birthday, and Mitchell had since bought himself a number of programs, most of which were impractical but the sort of thing he liked. He figured he could fool around with MathPuzzler for an hour or so, but as he thought of it, he remembered how he’d got stuck on the puzzle he was doing, and he turned over in his bed to face the door.

Luke was right. He was impractical. He hadn’t even thought seriously of college, let alone applied anywhere. He had half a mind to have a gap year like Pete, but what would he do? He wasn’t lazy like Pete was. Pete could sleep for hours, sit in front of the television for hours, lay around reading books. Mitchell needed to do things. He needed to be active.

Restlessly, he got off the bed. College! Of course he couldn’t go to Princeton. He didn’t have the first idea of what courses they offered, let alone how to get in there. Hell, it was a name, the sound of which he liked. It meant nothing to him, other than perhaps being a place for princes, as though it was a principality.

Mitchell smiled at his own joke. He heard Pete get up and pass in the corridor on his way down the stairs. You had to keep out of Pete’s way in the morning. He didn’t speak, he simply ate, and then lazed around. You had to wait an hour or two before you said anything to him, otherwise he’d chew your head off.

Slowly, inevitably, Mitchell’s thoughts turned to Tadd. He smiled, the corners of his lips tugged upward.

Tadd was so nice!

That was the incredible thing. Mitchell didn’t feel worthy to be anywhere near him. What the hell was Tadd doing saying he was in love with Mitchell?

They had kissed.

They had hugged.

Mitchell threw himself onto the bed again and drew his knees up. He wrapped his arms around his chest and hugged himself. And then he closed his eyes, trying to recapture the scene in the locker room yesterday. Tadd had said, “That thing is fucking beautiful.”

And he had been talking about Mitchell’s cock!

He had whispered in Mitchell’s ear — warm breath — “I’m in love with you.”

It was too much. Mitchell had almost fallen. He couldn’t remember a happier time in his life and it was only yesterday. What if he had gone to school today? What would have happened in the locker room? What would have happened with ...?

Mason.

Mitchell’s head jerked backward and his eyes opened as he remembered Mason. He had been badly cut up, and Mitchell wasn’t sure if his nose had been broken. Mitchell had peed on him! And as he was struck by this thought Mitchell closed his eyes, telling himself that it was an awful thing to do to a person. He remembered Mason slapping his lips together as Tadd helped him up. What would that have tasted like?

Mitchell frowned.

Tadd had been like something prehistoric, like a caveman. He had battered Mason backward, striking blow after blow, and striking so rapidly that Mason hadn’t had a chance.

How could Tadd be so kind, so gentle, when he was capable of that?

Would Tadd fuck Mitchell?

Mitchell got up and sat down at his desk. He opened MathPuzzler and began again, working on the boy in the cornfield who could only cut so much corn, and only in a certain pattern that was somehow based on prime numbers, though Mitchell hadn’t figured it out yet.

He was frowning at it as his phone rang, watching the boy cut off his own head with the scythe again. He picked the phone up absent-mindedly, without looking to see who it was.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?”

It was Tadd.

“I’m cutting class today.”

“We’ve got gym.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you not come because you didn’t want to see me?”

Mitchell said no, though he knew that this was partly true.

“I’ve seen Mason.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s out of the hospital already. I rang his folks this morning. Asked how he was. He was there. I went round before school. Spoke to him. It should be okay.”

“He must be afraid of you.”

“He’s not the only one, by the sounds of it.”

“I feel better this morning.”

“I’ve got to go. Can I ring you this afternoon?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going to training?”

“No.”

“Shit. I wish I could miss it as well.”

Tadd hung up. No goodbye. Though Mitchell figured Tadd was in a corridor between classes.

He went back to what he was doing and soon heard a car pull into the drive. He got up to look and saw that it was one of Pete’s friends. Pete walked toward the car and got in.

Mitchell sat down again. He heard the puppy, which he was now determined to call Lucky, scratching at the door. He would have to teach him Sally’s head-butting trick, or his mom would ....

Mitchell opened the door. Lucky jumped, rushing backwards, growling, and then rushing forwards again. He danced around Mitchell, jumping up and pawing his jeans. Mitchell picked him up and tried to hold him still, but it was impossible. He went downstairs to find some treats before walking up to his bedroom again. Lucky followed him. Just like Sally.

Mitchell shut the door to his room. So much for Pete looking after him!

He tried to start with “sit” but had to be content with “stay.” Lucky managed it by the fourth or fifth time. Mitchell figured he was pretty intelligent and would be a good dog — perhaps not as good as Sally, but then Sally had ....

“Stay,” Mitchell said.

The puppy sat.

Pete must have been teaching him something.

Mitchell tried sit again, pressing him into place. He was getting there, Mitchell figured, though he was so full of energy (and so silly) that he barely knew what he was doing.

Mitchell had soon had enough. It was time to get rid of Jake.

39

 “Hey,” Mitchell said, walking into the kitchen.

“Oh, hi.”

“Are you going out today?”

“No. I wasn’t planning to. I’m getting your lunch ready.”

“You don’t have to do that, Jake.”

“But I
want
to Mitchell.”

“Is there anywhere you could go?”

“What do you mean?”

“Somewhere you could go out, so I could have the house to myself.”

“You’re not thinking of killing yourself, are you?”

Mitchell scowled.

“No?”

“No.”

“Pete told me — about your little problem.”

“Problem?”

“Your
little
problem.” Jake smiled. “Jumbo.”

Mitchell exhaled as though he’d been punched. He blinked away tears. “I don’t think I like you very much.”

“I figured that out from day one.”

“Well, how about you leave today, or I get my boyfriend to punch the living crap out of you?”

“
Boyfriend?
”

“Yes, Jake, my boyfriend. Big guy. You met him last night.”