The Rest of Us Just Live Here (25 page)

On graduation day, it’s about nine hundred degrees. So thank God we get to wear long black gowns and hats on the football field for a couple hours.

The last few days have been a blur, a tough, weird blur. I haven’t spoken to Jared, even though he’s called me and texted me a bunch of times, apologizing for saying what he said. I texted back saying I was sorry, too.

But I didn’t call.

We’ve been kind of set free from our classes the last two schooldays of this last school week. Senior privilege again, which you can take or not. I took it, going everywhere I could with Henna: the little northwest zoo just up the road, where we saw moose and elk panting in the sun; the bigger zoo in the town about an hour away, where a rhinoceros did the same; miniature golf again; the movies. Even just sitting in my room looking at our phones for hours on end. But doing it together.

Either way, I didn’t go to school. Mel went, but she said Jared wasn’t there either.

Mel’s thing is still churning, my mom still fighting it, helped a lot by Mr Shurin dropping out of the race. Not helped by Cynthia deciding she’s going to run instead. For most of the week, Mel’s stayed over at Steve’s – who my parents now know the existence of and are seemingly in no position to argue that Mel wants to hang around him and not them – so I’ve barely seen her either, except over the phone on videos and chats.

Nothing more happened with the blue lights, though we’re all worried that means we’re leading up to something even bigger and more horrible that’ll end it all.

“As long as we can graduate before they blow up the school,” Henna said.

Because Henna.

Because Henna, because Henna, because Henna.

We slept together. It was everything I’d ever wanted, everything I’d ever hoped for, even the parts where I’d imagined we were in it together and it was something she wanted as much as I did and we were a team and it was for us both.

It was beautiful and amazing and so hot I’ve pretty much jerked off to it every day since (shut up, you would, too) and the way she smelled and the way her skin felt and the way we laughed sometimes (quite a lot over the condom) and the way we were serious other times and just the being there, in that way, her body against my body and mine against hers. It felt like my heart was breaking – and it
was
breaking, over Jared, over graduation, over everything – but it was okay because Henna Henna Henna…

It was all those things, and it was also more. Because we realized something, both of us.

We don’t belong together as boyfriend and girlfriend.

“I think I see what you mean,” I said to her, after, arms around each other. “About being each other’s question.”

“Yeah,” she said. “It was the car accident that made me finally want to know the answer. You were there, holding my hand, and I thought,
Is it him? Is it really him?
”

“I’ve been asking myself that since we were kids.”

“It always kept me from really committing to Tony. I kept thinking, in another life, if I made different choices, it could be you and me instead. I suppose I just got sick of expecting somebody else to give me the answer.” She leaned up on one elbow. “I love you, Mike.”

“I love you, too, Henna.”

“And I loved
that
, what we just did. But this isn’t us, is it?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s love. But it’s a different kind.”

“Doesn’t make it any less love, though.”

She lay back down and snuggled into me. “Just think, all this time we could have been each other’s best friend.”

“That would have been awesome.”

“Still can be.”

I smiled. “The spirit of exploration?”

I could almost feel her smiling back. “We could give it a shot.”

And now I’m picking her up at her house, cast and all, cap and gown and all, on our graduation day. The graduation pairs are, for some reason, still old-fashioned boy-girl; it’s long been the plan that I’ll walk with Henna, and Mel will walk with Jared. Which will probably be fine.

“Big day,” Henna says, getting into my car. She shuts the door and looks back at her parents. Nobody waves to each other.

“What’s going on?” I say, driving away.

“Later,” she says, smiling. “This is a happy day. In a whole bunch of ways.”

The ceremony’s at noon. The sun is already baking the trees, making the whole world smell dusty. Mel is coming with Steve from his apartment. My mom’s bringing Meredith later and will see us at the ceremony. My dad was so drunk he passed out in his office this morning in his work clothes and couldn’t be woken. Me and Mel are just hoping he lives until rehab, though hopefully Mom will make sure of that.

Jared and his dad will be there. Which won’t be awkward for anybody.

“It’s going to be okay, Mike,” Henna says, like she’s reading my mind.

“You think so?”

“I mean everything,” she says, looking out the window as we drive down the road to school for the millionth time. For the last time. “I think everything’s going to be okay. All of it. All of
us
.”

This makes my stomach hurt. I squirm in the driver’s seat so much, Henna notices. “Do you really believe in fate that much, Mikey? Do you really believe it exists only to punch you in the face?”

“It’s done some pretty good punching so far.”

She just looks back out her window. “I think it’s going to be okay. Even you.”

And I begin to count the telephone poles we pass.

I can’t seem to stop.

–But then I do.

It’s already pretty crowded when we get there, even though it’s two full hours before the actual graduation part. We’ve got some sort of practice to get through first, though how hard can it be? We find Mel and Steve in the sea of sweating black robes. Jared and Nathan are with them. Henna hugs everybody.

“Hey,” I say to Jared.

“Hey,” he says.

Everyone’s looking at us. “Oh, for God’s sake,” Mel says, grabbing each of us by the arm and pushing us towards the edge of the crowd. “Go. Work it out. It’s our last day.”

So we do. We walk away from the main field where graduation practice is starting – seriously,
practice
– and we head around to the back of the gym, away from where any teacher might spot us and drag us back.

“I’m sorry,” Jared says, first thing.

“I’m sorry, too,” I say.

“I didn’t mean those things. I really didn’t.”

“You did, but … I kind of deserved them.”

“I kind of deserved them, too.”

We don’t say anything else for a minute.

“Is that it?” I ask, actually curious.

“I guess so.”

“Are we okay?”

“Doesn’t really feel like it, does it?”

Another long pause.

“I slept with Henna,” I say.

He smiles, amazed. “You
did
?”

“Yeah. And we figured out we really are only just friends. It’s been kind of … kind of great, actually.”

“See?” he says. “There’s a secret you kept from
me
.”

“I’d have a lifetime to go to catch up with you.”

He looks away, trying to shove his hands in his pockets through his graduation robe. It doesn’t work. “Yeah,” he says. “I know. But Mikey, I fight with everything I’ve got to have a normal life. No one will ever let me. Except you. You’ve been the guy who saved me. Lots of times.”

“You could tell me anything, Jared. Anything.”

He winces, briefly. “It has nothing to do with not trusting you. It’s to do with what something becomes once you tell it. It’s like it’s truer. And it’s got a life of its own and it rushes out into the world and becomes something you can’t control.”

I wait for him to keep going. He does.

“I don’t want to be an indie kid, Mike. I
should
be one. I’m gay. I’m part God. Jared isn’t even my first name–”

“Mercury,” I say, out loud for maybe the first time in ten years. He winces again. I really can’t tell you how much he hates it.

“What chance do I have with a name like that? I just want a normal life. I want things that are
mine
. I want my own choices, not ones made for me even by people who mean well or are my friends.”

“I wouldn’t have made any choices about Nathan for you, one way or the other.”

“I know. I do know that. I was wrong and I’m sorry.” He shrugs. “But I finally meet somebody and now what? We’ve got the summer, but I’m moving away. All of us are.”

“Mel’s doing the same thing with Steve.”

“I know.”

I wait. And wait some more. “There’s something else, isn’t there?”

He takes a deep breath. “Mike, what would you say if I could–”

And we hear the moan from the bushes.

There’s a row of ferns and shrubs behind the gym, mainly so the huge back fence with barbed wire on top looks slightly less like a huge back fence with barbed wire on top. The moan that came from them wasn’t words; it was just a moan, low and guttural and wet-sounding.

“What was that?” I say, thinking of the mountain lion again, thinking also that we haven’t yet seen the big finale for whatever mess the indie kids are mixed up in, so maybe there are more blue lights to come.

We hear it again. “There,” Jared points, already moving over. I’m sweating like crazy in this stupid gown, and I can feel my clothes sticking to me as we cross into the sun again, over to the shrubs. We start pushing back leaves and branches, looking for where the noise came from, then right at my feet–

It’s a boy. It’s an indie kid.

“Oh, shit,” Jared says.

I yank back the branches to get them out of the way. The indie kid is on his stomach, his head is turned to the side, and we see the blood that’s come out of his mouth and down his chin. It’s congealed, like he’s been here for an hour or two. Jared motions for me to help turn him over. The indie kid calls out in pain when we do, though he’s barely conscious.

We see why. “Oh, my God,” I say.

The indie kid is all in black, like we are, but these are just his normal clothes. His shirt has been all torn up, and there are terrible, terrible wounds on his chest, all bleeding badly, like he’s been stabbed over and over again. I’m amazed he’s still alive, and I think he just barely is. His eyes are only half-open, and he doesn’t seem to know who we are or that we’re even here.

“I know him,” Jared says. “He’s one of the Finns.”

It
is
one of the Finns. I recognize him, too. “What does it mean?”

“I don’t know.”

I stand to get my phone out from under my robes. “We’ve got to get some help.”

“I don’t think we have time,” Jared says, pushing up his sleeves.

“Can you heal him enough?” I ask. “Enough to keep him alive until–”

But Jared just gives me a look, one I can barely describe. It’s regretful and sad, but it’s also stern, like he has no choice.

“Jared?” I say.

He puts his hands on the indie kid.

Light comes from his palms, but it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen from him before. It’s much brighter, much bigger, and seems almost alive, snaking around the indie kid’s body, disappearing into his wounds, into his mouth and eyes, too. Jared seems to be straining with effort and when he opens his own mouth to gasp, light pours from that, too. There’s a sound that’s half airplane engine, half windstorm–

And then it all stops.

“What the hell was that?” I ask.

Jared looks at me, grim. “The something else.”

The indie kid takes a deep, choking breath and sits up, surprise leaking out everywhere on his face. He stares at me and Jared like we might be ghosts. “Jared?” he says. “Mike Mitchell?”

“That’s us,” Jared says.

The indie kid looks down at his shirt, torn, dark with blood–

But not a single wound anywhere.

“I don’t think this was supposed to happen,” the indie kid says, amazed. “I think I was supposed to die.”

“You’re welcome,” I say.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Everyone’s
supposed
to die,” Jared says. “You just weren’t supposed to die right now.”

The indie kid takes a deep breath. “I think you’re wrong about that.” He smiles, shaken. “But I’m glad you are.”

“What happened?” Jared asks.

The indie kid looks at us, remembering. “The Immortals surprised us. They came through the last fissure–” He jumps up, suddenly. “Satchel!”

Jared and I look at each other. “We didn’t find a satchel,” I say.

“No, no.” The indie kid stands. “I can help her now. In fact–”

He runs off towards the parking lot, fast as he can.

“Where are you going?” I shout after him.

“Home!” he shouts back. “I can get something from there! Maybe we can
force
the fissure to close!”

“Can we help?” Jared says.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to! But thanks!”

He turns and keeps running. We watch him go. “Doesn’t he want to graduate?” I say.

Jared shrugs. “Indie kids,” he says, as if that explains everything.

So here’s what it is. The Gods want Jared to go full-time. With his grandmother retired in her realms and his mother AWOL somewhere raising money for snow leopards, the Gods feel the position has gone unfilled for too long.

They’ve wanted this for quite a while now, it turns out.

“That’s where I’ve been on those Saturdays,” Jared says, as we line up, two-by-two, to proceed to our seats. Jared and I have decided, screw it, we’re going to walk together, and so are Mel and Henna. What rebels we are. (Still, though.) “Except for the ones lately with Nathan.”

Nathan, being a late transfer in, is way down the line from us, paired up with this Estonian exchange student who, I’ll be honest, I didn’t even know went to our school.

“I kept saying no,” Jared tells me, as “Pomp and Circumstance” starts to play over the football field where all our families are seated, waiting for us to arrive. “And I had intended to
keep
saying no. They kept offering me stuff to make me change my mind, but I always turned them down.”

We’re in the first third of the line and so we start filing onto the football field behind the top students, including our valedictorian, a girl called Bethany who has to give a speech and looks like she can’t stop swallowing from nervousness.