Stand-Off (30 page)

It was a beautifully touching moment that also made me feel really, really weird.

Seanie just moved his mouth, like a bloodless albino fish on a hot summer sidewalk.

Whatever. Like I cared about this stuff, anyway.

Spotted John put his hand on Seanie's bare thigh and said, “Ryan Dean's cool with me, Seanie.”

So I wagged my finger at Seanie and made a joke. “This is exactly why I
never
play strip Battle Quest: Take No Prisoners with Spotted John. I'll bet the shirt off my back you're naked in, like, thirty seconds, Seanie.”

Okay, given the scene, the shirt off my back was probably the wrong thing to wager.

“Whatever, Ryan Dean,” Spotted John said. “What the fuck do you want?”

By the way, the TV—the video game—wasn't even turned on.

“Hmmm,” I said, “I—I
can't remember
what I wanted.”

What I actually wanted was to not EVER have walked in on Seanie and Spotted John Nygaard on a love seat together in their boxers.

But I seriously could not remember why I came to Spotted John's room for, like, the thirty most agonizing, staring-at-my-buddy-practically-naked-with-another-guy seconds (not that I've had multiple experiences with such a situation) of my life.

Oh yeah.

“Oh yeah,” I said. “I came to ask you if I could borrow a couple cans of beer. Well, not borrow, since you undoubtedly won't want them back after we drink them, but
have
. Yeah. Um. Shit.
⁷
Can I have some beer, Spotted John?”

And now I was blushing, but I couldn't force myself to look away from Seanie and Spotted John. They were, to be perfectly honest, a cute couple.

“Stop staring at us, you weirdo,” Spotted John said. “What? Are you and Snack-Pack going to get drunk tonight? Sounds like a wild time.”

Stop looking at them. Stop looking at them. Stop looking at them.

“Um. No. No. It's for me. And Nico.”

And Seanie said, “Dude. Don't say anything about this, okay?”

“Shut up, man. You guys are my friends. Why would I ever say anything?”

Stop looking at them. Stop looking at them. Stop looking at them.

I actually wanted to tell someone so bad, my head felt like it was about to burst. So I said, “Well, Spotted John? Can I?”

“Help yourself. They're in the minibar. And now you owe me again.”

“Thanks, dude. You're the best,” I said. I declined to add a sure-to-be-broken I.O.U. of
whatever you want
.

And, yes, Spotted John Nygaard had an actual minibar beneath his not-turned-on television. And it was filled with beer, those little
airplane-size bottles of liquor, and all kinds of other weird stuff.

“Wow! You have
cookie dough
, too?”

“You can't have my cookie dough,” Spotted John said.

I slipped two cans of beer into the pouch on my hoodie. I looked like a deformed kangaroo.

“Huh! Big balls, Snack-Pack Senior,” Spotted John said.

I grabbed the cans where they hung down in front of my hoodie and jiggled them. “It takes the better part of an hour for me to do my TSE on them.”

Then I realized I really, really did not ever want to talk about grabbing my balls in front of Seanie Flaherty and Spotted John Nygaard while they were sitting together—I mean
really
together
—in their boxers.

I felt myself nearly choking from embarrassment.

Such a loser.

“Um. Well. Thanks for letting me ride with you to Pacific City tomorrow, Seanie. I'll . . . um . . . see . . . See you then.”

Seanie didn't say anything. He just lifted his fingers in a would-you-get-the-fuck-out-of-here-and-leave-me-alone insincere wave.

So I thanked the ninja again and took one more photographic glance at Seanie Flaherty and Spotted John Nygaard before ducking out the door.

So weird.

7
. Yep. Said it.

THE ABERNATHY SHOOK HIS HEAD
and made a bookshelf with his lower lip. “No, no, no, Ryan Dean!”

I anticipated the grub's reaction would be something along these lines if he saw the cans of beer I smuggled down from Spotted John's penthouse.

“Look, Sam. It's part of
the code
, okay?”

Nobody—not even a twelve-year-old virgin with holy water for blood—can argue with
the code
.

Unit 113 smelled of popcorn. Nico, wearing my sweatshirt, sat cross-legged in his floor bed beneath the Donkey Kong blanket the Abernathy had given him, while the television played a program about sauteing white-perch roe with onions.

Gross.

The Abernathy, who was practically hyperventilating, drew a triangle with his pink little pointer finger in the air between the three of us. “We could get into so much trouble!”

“Relax, Sam. It's okay. Nobody's going to get in trouble. This is just for me and Nico.”

“What if one of you goes crazy and jumps out the window or something?”

“Sam? Are you insane? Our window is two feet off the ground.”

“Well, it could happen.”

I handed Nico a beer and he opened it.

“I'll take my chances, Sam,” I said.

And Nico said, “Will you guys be quiet? I'm trying to watch this show about cooking fish sperm.”

He wasn't serious.

But the Abernathy corrected him. “Roe isn't sperm, Nico. It's eggs.”

Nico took a swig of beer. “Well, it looks like sperm.”

“Dude. That's totally gross.” I opened my beer. “But you're right. It does look like sperm. And, by the way, although Mrs. Blyleven would be pleased we're using the word ‘sperm,' I never want to talk to you boys about sperm again.”

“I hate you guys,” Sam Abernathy said.

Whatever.

“Cheers, Nico.”

We clinked cans and drank.

By the time we were halfway through our beers, being the entirely unpracticed drinkers we were, Nico and I were both completely drunk.

I know. We are losers.

But at least we had Sam Abernathy there to keep us from doing anything stupid like jumping out the window.

Well, at least until he fell asleep.

“Awww . . . he snores,” Nico said.

I hadn't noticed it before, but the Abernathy
did
snore—a tiny Pomeranian puppy kind of grunt-wheeze-snore that would have made me lactate if I was pregnant, and a woman, but since I wasn't, I kind of wanted to throw a shoe at him or put duct tape over his mouth or, just maybe, close the goddamned window.

Nico wobbled to his feet and grabbed the remote from the Abernathy's little moist hand, then turned off the television. “This is the grossest show I've ever seen. Was that supposed to make people
want
to eat fish sperm?”

Nico and I undressed and went to bed. And we both just lay there with our hands folded behind our heads, staring up at the blank darkness between us and the ceiling.

“Dude, I told you. The Cooking Channel is all the kid ever watches.”

“You must be a really nice guy to put up with this shit, bro.”

I shook my head. “If I was Catholic, they'd make me the patron saint of idiots and twelve-year-olds.”

“And they would call you Saint Cuisinart,” Nico said.

The Abernathy grunted and rolled over in his Mario bed.

“But the kid can cook,” I whispered. “And I've never seen anyone who can pop every single kernel in a bag of microwave popcorn.”

“I guess you have to give him credit for that,” Nico said.

“If you want to, we can take our chances with closing the window, but he almost died last time I did it.”

“It's okay,” Nico said. “These blankets are kind of warm.”

“Or we could do something really crazy, like jump out the window,” I said.

“That doesn't exactly sound like fun, Ryan Dean.”

“The dudes I got the beer from upstairs . . .”

Don't say it. Don't say it. Don't say it.

I didn't say it. You know, the thing I'd never tell anyone about Seanie Flaherty and Spotted John Nygaard, who, by the way, had a major hickey on his collarbone, which made him even more spotted. But I didn't say
that
, either.

“They were smoking pot,” I said.

“You ever do that?” Nico asked.

“No. You?”

“Nah. Well, I did a couple times, but I'm not into it.”

“I was thinking, between the Abernathy, me, and you, there's, like, three real nutcases in this one tiny room.”

“The lunatics have taken over Pine Mountain,” Nico said.

I laughed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Aren't you tired?”

I rubbed my eyes. “I am. I'm trying to stay awake, though.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Nico understood. “I still get scared at night once in a while.”

“It's messed up,” I said. “Sometimes I feel like there's this demon following me around and he's just waiting to drop the next terrible thing right in my lap.”

“You can't live your life like that, bro,” Nico said.

“I know that.”

“Well? What did you want to ask me?”

“Was it tough, deciding not to come to PM?” I asked.

“Nah. Well, I wanted to come, but I think my mom really needs me to stick around her. She's scared. You know?” Nico said.

“You probably can't live your life like that, either.”

“I kinda don't want to talk about this,” Nico said.

“Sorry, man.”

“No worries, bro.”

I cleared my throat. “I'm all alone too. I mean, I don't have any brothers or sisters.”

“You have lots of friends, though. And a girlfriend who's pretty amazing. And she's totally hot.”

I pictured Annie blushing when she met Nico. I didn't think I liked him calling her hot, even if she was. And then I felt bad for all the times I thought so many women and girls were hot. Well, not bad, but weird and guilty, maybe.

Damn those Mrs. Blyleven consent/respect/Penis Commandment lectures!

So I said, “Thanks.”

“I don't have any friends anymore. I just shut myself off from everyone. Decided I didn't need or want anyone to be close to me. My friends—they all pretty much stopped talking to me anyway,
and I haven't been trying to talk to them, either.”

I rolled over so I could see Nico on the floor. “Oh. I'm really sorry, man.”

“It's all right. I figure I don't really want to be around anyone anyway.”

“Yeah. Because what's the point, right?”

“Exactly.”

I said, “Um, I'm your friend, Nico.”

And I was glad it was pretty dark, because I felt myself getting embarrassed when I told him that. But Nico didn't say anything, so after a few seconds I reached my opened hand out, where he could see it hanging over his chest.

“No offense, bro. I really don't want any friends.”

“Oh. Yeah. I get that, I guess.” I pulled my hand back. “So, are you going to play on your rugby club this year?”

“I don't know.”

“You should. You can't quit the game,” I said.

“Sure I can.”

“I have an idea. You should come to Pine Mountain,” I said.

Nico turned over so he was facing away from me. He didn't say another word, and eventually we both fell asleep.

NATE DIDN'T COME BACK THAT
night, so I managed to sleep without scaring the crap out of Nico by screaming or crying in the middle of the night.

So I guess that was something.

But I felt stupid and awkward about trying to be
friends
with Nico, so we didn't really say anything to each other after the alarm clock woke us up. We got dressed in silence. Nico put his Pine Mountain disguise back on in order to blend in with all the other boys who looked exactly alike, so he could come to breakfast with me. Well, not
with
me, because it wasn't like we were friends or anything. Then we left Sam Abernathy alone so he could shower or poop, or do his TSE, all of which were things I never, ever wanted to think about the Abernathy doing ever again.

After we picked up our food in the cafeteria, I saw Annie and Isabel sitting together, so we joined them. For some reason, I couldn't keep my eyes off Isabel.

“Ryan Dean, are you blushing?” Annie asked.

“What? Uh. No?”

To be honest, just thinking about Isabel and that jerkoff JP Tureau having actual sex made me feel extremely flustered, so, yes, I was blushing. But I said, “It just feels really hot in here.”

Then I slipped my finger inside my necktie and tugged it loose.

Nico said good morning to the girls, and I watched as they both cast big baby-seal love eyes at him. Damn. Why'd he have to be so good looking and perfect? And why couldn't we be friends? That really sucked.

“Did you guys have fun last night?” Isabel asked.

I realized that everything Isabel ever said to me from that moment on would
forever
sound like she was talking about having sex. I was burning with jealousy, because I liked Isabel, and also because Annie and I hadn't quite done it yet, and thinking about it was driving me crazy.

Nico shrugged. “Yeah. I had fun.”

And I touched Annie's thigh and added, “Seanie's letting me ride with you to the airport today. Then I'm going to catch a bus back from Beaverton.”

“Why don't you just stay at Seanie's?” Annie asked.

I shook my head. That would
never
happen. “His parents make me go to church. It could get ugly. I wouldn't want to spontaneously combust in the pews next to all those Christian folk.”

Then—
score!
—Annie blushed. She must have thought I was talking about how we had fooled around together on our detour during the “run” and committed the Sin of Onan, for which we both should be smitten.