Rainbow Boys (20 page)

“A crank call?” his dad asked. “Kyle? You know what this is about?”

Kyle tried to shrug it off. “It’s probably because of the group I told you we’re starting. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” his dad demanded. The phone rang again. His dad sprang up and grabbed the receiver. “Hello? Who is this?” Right, thought Kyle. Like the guy’s going to tell you his name. Maybe he’ll give you his address, too, in hopes you’ll send a Christmas card next year.

His dad slammed the receiver down. “I’m going to report this. Have you told the school authorities?”

“Dad, they’re not going to do anything. It’s been since before Christmas and they still haven’t painted my locker.”

“What about your locker?” his mom asked.

Oops, that had slipped out. “Uh, someone scratched ‘queer’ on it.”

“Kyle!” his mom wailed. The lines dug deeper into her forehead. “What else has happened?” Kyle scooped out a crater in his mashed potatoes. “Nothing. Someone threw a bottle at me, but it missed. That’s all.”

“That’s all!” His dad stared at him. “Why haven’t you told us this before?”

“I don’t know.” Kyle swirled his fork. “I figured you’d tell me that’s what I got for choosing to be gay.” His dad cut into his steak and chewed in silence for a moment. “I’m calling Miller in the morning.”

“Mueller,” Kyle corrected.

His dad shook his fork. “Mueller! I don’t like this at all.”

Kyle felt relieved that his dad didn’t blame him for the harassment. In fact, it almost sounded like he was taking up for Kyle. That was a shift.

The following morning, Kyle opened his eyes before the alarm sounded, wide awake. For some reason, he felt bold, new. Outside his window the sun blazed bright off the melting snow. He had an idea. On his way out of the house he stopped by the garage. He rummaged through his dad’s workbench until he found what he needed.

It was still early when he arrived at school and marched down the hall. The few students stared at him as he passed. He probably looked crazed to them. He reached his desecrated locker and stood before the word QUEER. He reached into his backpack. With one long sweep he spray-painted AND PROUD!

Saturday morning Nelson stayed in bed for yet another day, avoiding the universe and obsessing. He looked over at his computer and thought of E-mailing Brick. Would Brick even remember him? What should he say? He got out of bed and crossed the room. His hand trembled a little as he turned the computer on. The monitor stared back at him. He clicked on “New Message” and typed, “Hi. How’s it going? What are you up to? Nelson.”

He took a deep breath, hit “Send,” and reached for a cigarette. Before he could light up, the message bounced back—blocked. He couldn’t believe his eyes.

He tried resending the message, but it bounced back again. Obviously Brick didn’t want to hear from him.

“A sshole!” Nelson slammed the mouse down and set up a block of his own. That would show the prick, assuming he ever tried to E-mail him.

Nelson puffed on his cigarette and recalled Shea’s warning. He’d put off returning her calls all week, knowing she’d be angry. Now he picked up the phone and dialed. On the first ring she answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, it’s not Caitlin. It’s me.”

“Finally! Why haven’t you called me back?”

He took a drag off his a cigarette. “You sure you want to hear it?”

“Nelson, I’m really pissed at you.”

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “I meant to call you back. I was just so depressed.”

“You think you’re the only one with problems?”

He knew from her messages that she’d had a fight with Caitlin. “I know you have—,” he tried to interject.

But she went on: “Whenever you need someone to listen, you always expect me to be there. But this week when I really needed you—

no calls back.”

“Well, I’m calling you now, aren’t I?”

“To tell me you were too depressed? Oh, please! You bitch and moan about how your father abandoned you, but you do the same thing to your friends. You’re just like him.”

Youch. He’d told her about his dad in confidence, not for her to use it against him. “Shea, I think that’s really unfair.”

“Get off your pity pot, Nelson. Take some responsibility.”

That really pissed him off. “You know what, Shea? Forget I called.” He hung up on her, for the first time in their friendship.

Why was everyone being so mean to him? Was this Shit-on-Nelson Week or something?

He reached for the bag of cookies on the nightstand, but the pack was empty. He shook the crumbs into his palm and glanced at the clock—almost noon. No wonder his stomach was rumbling. The phone rang and his mom answered downstairs. Good time to snatch some food.

A t the kitchen table his mom stuffed PFLA G envelopes, phone cupped to her ear. “My son is organizing a Gay-Straight A lliance at school.” She frowned at him and tapped her watch. “Yes, he is quite an activist. Like mother, like son.” He ignored her, pulling a box of Pop-Tarts from the cupboard. The only activism of interest to him lately was eating. He grabbed the carton of orange juice from the refrigerator. Once back in his cozy bed, he devoured the Pop-Tarts. The juice made him need to pee.

“Nelson!” his mom yelled from downstairs. “It’s past noon. I want to talk to you.” He closed the bathroom door, peed, flushed, and stepped on the scale. Looking at his weight made him even more depressed. He’d gained eight pounds lying around the house all week. He turned the shower radio on full blast so his mom wouldn’t hear him, then he leaned over the toilet and stuck his finger down his throat.

A fter he finished, he sprayed deodorizer and stumbled back to bed, pulling the bed covers over him.

“Nelson!” his mom shouted again. “Do I have to come up there?”

A ll the past week she’d tried to get him to talk to her. He wanted to confide in her, but after all the safe sex lectures she’d drummed into him, he could only imagine her disappointment. Each morning he placated her by promising to get up and go to school. But once she left for work, the thought of facing the world overwhelmed him too much. The next day the whole scenario repeated.

Her footsteps sounded on the stairs. He clutched his pillow over his head. The door opened. “Nelson!” She yanked the pillow off him.

“You can’t go on this way!”

Nelson grabbed the pillow back over him. “I don’t want to talk about it.” The bed shook as his mom sat down beside him. “Nelson, I can’t deal with this. You want me to call your father?

“Good luck,” Nelson mumbled beneath his pillow.

“Nelson?” Her voice trembled. “Would you please just look at me?”

He grudgingly pulled the pillow off his head. Her face strained with concern. “Honey, you and I have always talked about everything, haven’t we?”

Yes, he nodded. But he’d never screwed up this badly before.

“What could be so bad that you’d stay cooped up like this a whole week?”

The phone rang, to his relief. But she didn’t budge. “A ren’t you going to get it?” he asked.

“Nope. I’m not leaving here till you talk to me.”

Resistance was futile, he decided. Time to face the music. He sat up in his bed, gripping his pillow for courage. “It’s about the night Dad didn’t show up.”

She nodded her head, as if she already suspected that. Nelson continued: “You asked where I went? Well, I went over to someone’s.” Her eyebrows rose up, questioning.

“I … met this guy and …” His stomach churned as he spoke. “We … went over to his place.” Her gaze traced his face. “You mean, you had sex?”

He bit into his lip and nodded.

“You had sex!” Her chest rose and fell. She was totally overreacting.

“You had sex!” Her chest rose and fell. She was totally overreacting.

He clutched the pillow in front of him. “You see why I haven’t told you anything?”

“Nelson!” She folded her arms. “You need to tell me what happened. This person hurt you, didn’t he?”

“No!”

“Then what happened? I’m your mother. I have a right to know. What did he do to you?” How could he tell her that? “He didn’t hurt me. We had sex, that’s all. It’s just …” He forced the words out: “We didn’t use a condom.” Her face froze, and he continued talking out of nervousness. “I know we were supposed to, but we didn’t. I know you and I talked about safe sex a million times. I don’t know why I did it, so don’t ask me. It’s done. I was stupid. There’s nothing I can do about it now.” His mom stared blankly at him. “But why?”

A hollow pang of hopelessness echoed through him. “I just told you, I don’t know why!”

“But … I trusted you.”

He winced and covered his face. That was the worst thing she could’ve said. He heard her inhale a deep breath.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

He removed his hand from his face. “I figured you’d be angry.”

She wiped her eyes. “I am angry. But we could’ve done something! Oh, God, honey. We could’ve taken you to the emergency room.”

“Huh? What for?”

His mom stood up and started pacing, pulling at her hair. “For A ZT—or whatever drugs they give people who suspect they’ve been infected.”

Nelson vaguely recalled a discussion at the Rainbow group of new “morning-after” treatments. In his distress, he’d forgotten about that.

His mom kept pacing. “Never mind. It’s too late now. I’m really, really angry. You know that? Why didn’t you tell me?” He wished he had. He felt even more stupid than before.

“I’m taking you to the doctor first thing Monday. A nd your dad needs to know about this.”

“Why? If he’d shown up that night, maybe this never would’ve happened.”

His mom pursed her lips. A pparently she didn’t buy that. He really didn’t either. He remembered what Shea had said about taking responsibility. A nd he knew he’d been irresponsible.

A fter dinner, he buried himself beneath the covers again, curling himself into a little ball. He was glad he’d told his mom about Brick, but he still felt rotten.

The phone rang and his mother called from downstairs. “It’s Kyle!”

Nelson poked a hand out from under the covers, fumbled for the phone, and snaked it back underneath. “Yeah?”

“Hi. You feel any better?”

“I told my mom what happened. She said if I’d told her sooner, she could’ve taken me to get some morning-after drugs. I feel so stupid. I want to die.” He waited for a reaction.

Kyle gave a nervous cough. “Can I come over first?”

Nelson almost laughed. He brushed his cheek, remembering the afternoon Kyle cradled him in his arms. Maybe if he just said what he’d always wanted to say and never had, he’d feel better.

“Kyle? I want to tell you something. A s friends, like you said.” He sniffled a deep breath. “I love you.” He gripped the phone in the darkness, waiting.

A fter a pause Kyle said, “I love you, too.”

“You do?” Nelson said. For some reason, he hadn’t expected Kyle to say it back.

“Of course.”

Nelson sat up, throwing off the covers. “I mean it, Kyle,” he said more forcefully. “I love you. I really do.” Kyle laughed, still sounding nervous. “Nelson, you’re my best friend. Of course I love you. Now, shut up. What are you doing tonight?

Can I come over?”

Nelson sprang out of bed. “Yeah.” For the first time all week, he wanted to get on with his life.

With Kyle’s help, Nelson caught up on the classwork he’d missed and returned to school actually happy to be back. Secretly he’d missed his friends, MacTraugh, even old Nazi Mueller. A nd he’d missed giving Kyle a hard time.

“You’ll never guess where I saw Jason,” he told Kyle at lunch. “In the library! What did you do to the poor jock? He looked like he was actually studying.”

“Nelson, he’s always studied.”

“Well, he doesn’t look good. He seems so, I don’t know, lost. Besides, it’s boring without you two lusting after each other.” Kyle sipped his milk. “Look, I don’t care about him. Would you just shut up and eat?”

“You just want to see me fat and ugly. A nd admit it, you do care about him.”

“I do not. I told you, I’m over him.”

Nelson sighed. “I don’t know who looks worse, him or you.” Kyle slammed his milk carton down. “Can we please change the subject?”

“Well, that’s a switch.”

A fter school, they walked home together. Nelson had missed that, too.

“By the way,” he told Kyle, “Mom said the GSA school board meeting’s scheduled for next Tuesday. You and I need to think what to say.”

Kyle nodded. “Okay,” he said, then stopped in his tracks. “Oh, no! I have a swimming invitational that night.”

“Shit.” Nelson lit up a cigarette. “I was really hoping you’d go with me.” A lthough he’d looked forward to the meeting for weeks, the incident with Brick and telling his mom about it had rattled his confidence. “Well, at least help me think what to say.” Kyle grinned. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

The night of the meeting, Nelson’s mom pulled out a photo of him at six years old. The image showed him in crisp, new clothes his first day of kindergarten, wearing an excited smile, his gaze aimed eagerly toward the brick school.