Out of Nowhere (11 page)

“What’s his deal?”

“He was pretty much gone by the time I was twelve or thirteen. He went back to Zamora—Mexico—with some of his cousins and left my mom with three kids and no money. Not that we were sad to see him go, since when he was around all he did was make us wish he wasn’t.” He shakes his head in disgust. “So, what did your mom think about Daniel being gay?”

“Nothing. She died when I was twelve.”

Instead of the empty “sorry” most people say in response, Rafe just moves closer to me and squeezes my arm.

“What
would
she have thought, do you think?”

What would she have thought? She always wanted me to have a wife. A family. Like Rafe’s mom, I guess. Maybe all moms want that. Would she have been disgusted if Daniel told her… that? I don’t know. He was her baby and she loved the crap out of him. I know that. Fuck, I don’t know.

“I think… she would have loved him,” I choke out, and it isn’t what I meant to say.

“And your dad. Does he still love Daniel?”

“I don’t know.”

“But he loves you.”

“Yeah.”

We eat in silence for a bit, and though I’m clumsily using my left hand to avoid getting food all over the nice, clean bandage Rafe put on, so far I haven’t actually slopped food onto myself.

“So, what’s the deal with you and your brother?” Rafe says, blatantly changing the subject. “I mean, you seem angry with him. But I would think that if you’re both gay, you would’ve stuck together.”

“Hey! I’m not—I never said—I don’t—”

Rafe has this glint in his eye, like maybe he’s provoking me on purpose. But, as usual, even if he is trying to throw me off balance, there’s a core of sincerity. And I don’t know how to answer him. Am I angry with Daniel?

“I’m not
mad
at him. I barely even see him,” I insist.

“But you think about him all the time. You talk about him a lot.”

“Not usually. I don’t usually talk about him at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel like you can talk about him with me.” I don’t know how Rafe can say this touchy-feely shit and still sound tough. “So? Why are you so upset about him? Don’t bother saying you aren’t. You get this look on your face whenever you mention him.”

“What look?”

“Just a kind of… jealous, pissed-off brother look, I guess.”

“I’m not—I just.” Jealous? Ugh. I’m too tired to talk about this shit. But Rafe keeps looking at me expectantly, like he’s daring me to finish the sentence.

“Daniel didn’t care, okay? It was easy for him to risk us all hating him because he was gonna be out of there. He had nothing to lose. I mean, he didn’t even want to hang out with us, so no big deal. He didn’t want to work at the garage, so who cares if no one wanted him there. He didn’t give a shit about Pop, so whatever if he thought he was a freak. Well, that’s great for Daniel, but I—”

“You do care.”

“Of course I fucking care if my own father thinks I’m disgusting.”

“Is that what he thinks? That your brother is disgusting?”

“I don’t—look, why are we even talking about this? Are you, like, obsessed with my brother or what? You keep bringing him up.”

“No. I’m not obsessed with your brother.” He gives me this long, amused look, but I don’t know what’s so fucking funny.

“Anyway, thanks for the food.”

“Come here.” He pushes his chair back and stands up.

“Why?”

“Come here, Colin.”

So fucking bossy. I glare at him and he comes to me instead. As he gets closer, my stomach flips and my neck feels hot. This close, the air between us is so charged it seems alive.

He takes my hand and my heart starts to pound.

“I know you feel it.” Rafe’s voice is so soft it’s almost a whisper. My gaze jumps to his face and I can’t mistake the heat in his eyes.

“Feel what?”

“This.” Rafe closes the distance between us, looking at me intently. I look away.

“This,” he insists, and before I know what’s happening, he backs me up against the wall.

My breath comes in a gasp, but it’s not my stupid breathing thing. It’s something very different.

Rafe’s eyes go sleepy and dangerous, his gaze tracking down my body as he presses up against me. I close my eyes. It’s too much. I’m shaking my head and I didn’t even realize it.

“This.” He runs his palm from my neck to my chest to my stomach, and I’m shivering, so freaked out and so turned on that I don’t know what to do. I close my eyes and tip my head back against the wall.

“Tell me what you want,” he says in my ear.

I’m shaking my head again, but lifting my chin, trying to get him to just kiss me. To get us out of this awkward damned position.

“Do you want this?” He squeezes my hips, pulling me into him, and I gasp as I feel the evidence that he wants me. I shake my head over and over, because I’ll be damned if I’m having this conversation right now, and each time I do, he pulls away and I chase his heat, angling my face toward him and then away.

I’m nothing but points of electricity threatening to fly apart. Rafe groans and leans his hands on the wall on either side of my head, his breath hot on my neck, his erection pressing into my stomach.

“I need you to make a decision, Colin. I need to know you want this. I won’t do it any other way.”

I pull him closer to me but then drop my arms. I’m so turned on I can barely breathe. Every inch of us is pressed together, from chests to feet, and I feel like if he doesn’t kiss me, I’ll stop breathing completely. He’d crush me against the wall and kiss me so hard it’d bruise. Pull me against him in a whirlwind of sensation that would go to my head like whiskey on an empty stomach, lighting me up and slowing me down and warming me through and through.

Instead, he’s talking again.

“Colin,” he says, his lips soft in front of my ear, “tell me.”

I want to hit him. Yell at him. He knows what I want—I can tell he does. The sound that comes out of my mouth is more groan than yell. Rafe pulls back, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my neck. His voice is almost mournful.

“Call me when you’re ready to tell me what I need to hear,” he says, his eyes on fire and his hands hot on my skin. And goddamn him, he kisses me gently on the cheek and brushes the spot with his thumb. Then, with a tight jaw, he turns his back and leaves.

THE SECOND
I step in the door, the kids are on me, Rafe trailing defeatedly behind them.

I texted Rafe last night to make sure we were still on for the workshop even though I hadn’t told him anything about… what he needed to hear. Though there was no way I was touching that one, I’d been picturing Ricky, black-tipped fingers tapping her skinny hips in anticipation of what she’d learn; Anders, maybe, like me, wanting the distraction that working on the car would provide. I’d wanted to see if DeShawn would be wearing all white again, and if Mikal’s brightly colored outfits always matched his lip gloss.

He wrote back almost immediately:
Definitely. Looking forward to it, Colin.
Just a warning, though—the kids have decided on your nickname & I don’t think you’re going to like it.

What is it?

I won’t steal their thunder.
But there was dissent in the ranks.

Mysterious
, I wrote back, and I found myself grinning.

“Twilight!” Carlos exclaims, like he’s trying it out. Immediately, the rest of the kids start talking at once, but I can’t make any of it out.

“Uh. What?” I look to Rafe for clarification, but he’s got his forehead in his hand, massaging his temples.

“Twilight,” Carlos says again, as if this means something.

“Your new nickname,” Rafe says through a tight smile. “Welcome.”

“Well, we couldn’t call you James,” Sammi or Tynesha says. I think it’s Sammi; she’s taller. “It’s a stupid nickname, ’cause, like, it’s an actual name.”

“Uh, who is James? What are we talking about?”

Mikal comes forward and takes my arm; I resist the urge to jerk out of his grasp, but he must feel me tense because he takes a step back. His T-shirt is purple with black splotches on it and it has a row of gold spikes on each shoulder. Tight jeans bag a little around his skinny thighs and threaten to fall off his hips. He hitches them up, then puts that hand on one hip and looks up at me.

“James is a character from
Twilight
. It’s a movie about—”

“It’s a
book
, Mikal,” Dorothy calls from across the room. “A stupid book,” she adds.

“Fine, dear,” Mikal says, rolling his eyes. “It’s a
book
about this vampire who falls in love with a human girl, and….” He shivers, hugging himself. “And they’re, like, made for each other because he can’t hear her thoughts.”

“Oh wait, is this that movie where the vampire dude sparkles?” The preview for it came on once a few years ago while we were all watching TV at Pop’s, and Sam admitted that Liza really liked it.

Rafe’s eyes meet mine over the kids’ heads and he smiles. It’s a strange, private smile, and it does something to my stomach.

“Omigod, you
know
it?! That’s totally a sign, you guys!” Mikal is practically swooning with excitement.

“So, wait, you think I look like that sparkly dude?”

“No, no.” Sammi—I’m pretty sure it’s Sammi—wrinkles her nose. “Not Edward; James. You look
just
like him.” She points to me. “Especially when you squint your eyes like that.” She looks to the group for confirmation and Mikal and Tynesha nod emphatically, staring at me. I try to stop doing whatever I’m doing with my face.

“Y’all’re nuts,” a voice says from the back. It’s one of the kids who came for the first time last week. I think her name is Mischa. She stands out in this group because she looks like she should be playing soccer in an orange juice commercial or something. She doesn’t dress interestingly like Mikal or DeShawn; she doesn’t have dyed hair or piercings or tattoos, like Ricky and Dorothy. Hell, even Gap Model looks… um, gay. At least, he does now that I know he is.

Mischa has straight honey-blonde hair pulled back in a smooth ponytail, a slight tan, and light blue eyes. She isn’t pretty, exactly, just really healthy looking. She’s wearing a green tank top and jeans and looks completely, blandly normal.

She moves closer, assessing me.

“He’s not James; he’s totally Dean.”

“Dude, you just want it to be true because Castiel has your name,” says Gap Model—Edward, I correct myself.

“Dude,” Mischa shoots back, “you just want him to be Twilight because Edward has
your
name.”

I look to Rafe again and his shoulders are slumped a little, like we’ve gone to a place he would’ve liked to avoid.

“Wait,” I say, “James Dean? I can live with that.”

A few of them smile, but the rest look at me blankly.

“James Dean,” I repeat. “James Dean?” I look to Rafe who shakes his head, amused.

“You guys have to know James Dean. He was a total badass. But mostly because he had a totally epic car story. He bought this Porsche 550 Spyder: a really cool little car that looks kinda like a bullet. James Dean loved cars; he did some racing too. Anyway, the story is that he showed the car to Alec Guinness—” I look around at them and don’t see recognition on any face except Rafe’s. At least he looks interested.

“Alec Guinness.” Nothing. “You guys. Alec Guinness? Obi-Wan Kenobi?” Some of them nod. “Anyway, apparently he showed Alec Guinness the car and Guinness took one look at it and said he thought the car was evil and if James Dean drove it he’d be dead in a week. And he was. Exactly one week later, he crashed the Spyder into another car, out in California, and the car just
crumpled
.” Rafe has perked up and he’s giving me a warning look. Uh, yeah, I guess describing gruesome car accidents to kids isn’t totally on point.

“Um, anyway, people think the car is haunted because after he died, anyone who came in contact with it got in a car crash or had some tragedy.”

“Shut. Up.” It’s Mischa again, but she doesn’t sound upset; she sounds disbelieving. “Oh my god, y’all, it’s perfect!” She’s looking at the group. “I am so right I can’t even
stand
myself right now!”

“Oh shit,” says Dorothy. “I get it. It’s that one episode.”

“Uh,
yeah
!”

“Which episode?” Carlos asks.

“Dean and Dean!” Mischa says. “Ohmychrist, I didn’t know it was about a real person, though. Okay, so, it’s the one where Sam and Dean are tracking this, like, cursed car that kills everyone who owns it and Dean’s all excited because of James Dean—that makes so much more sense now—and they have to look at the engine to see if it’s the real car, and then later they’re at the wax museum—omigod,
so
good because—”

“The one with Paris Hilton in the wax museum!” Mikal chimes in.

“
Yes
, where it’s so funny because in real life Sam was in that
House of Wax
movie with Paris Hilton,
right
?”

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that,” Mikal says, grabbing Mischa’s hands and almost jumping up and down with her. “And Dean and James Dean and cars and—” He looks at me and back to Mischa. “And he is all about cars and he knew about James Dean and the haunted car!”

I have absolutely no idea what’s going on.

The rest of the kids have been following this exchange like a tennis volley, heads snapping back and forth between Mikal and Mischa.

Finally, Dorothy nods. “Damn, Mischa’s right.”

And it’s like her word is law because everything stops. Mikal pulls out an iPhone crusted with glitter and those plastic gemstone things.

“Final ruling,” he says, and after flipping around on the phone for a few seconds, he holds the screen up to the group. They all look at the screen, then at me, even Rafe.

“Damn,” says Carlos. “You
are
right.” He shakes his head at Mischa. “Look at what he’s wearing right now.”

I look down at my jeans, black T-shirt, and black work boots.

“Winchester,” Carlos drawls, in the same voice he used to greet me with “Twilight” a few minutes before. “Yeah, that’s got a ring to it.”