What It Takes (2 page)

“It will be so much worse if you tell,” Milo says with a cracking voice. “I’ll work harder, and it won’t happen again. It’s not that bad. It’s not like that. He’ll be so mad if he finds out I told.”

“It’s not like what? What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Milo averts his face, scrubbing tears off his cheeks on the material of his board shorts, as if he thinks Andrew won’t see. Andrew takes a chance and scoots a little closer, until their shoulders are touching.

“Milo,” he says, helpless and confused.

Milo leans into him suddenly, shaking a little. “Please don’t tell, please,
please
.”

“But if he’s hurting you, they’ll make him stop.”

“
No
. Everyone will believe him; he lies. He’s a really good liar. Besides, no one cares when it’s like once or twice.”

“That’s not true,” Andrew says.

“This was an accident; there’s not going to be any proof.”

“We’ll take a picture.”

“Stop it,” Milo says, too loud for the quiet trees around them. “
Shut up,
you don’t understand anything!”

Andrew grabs him by the hand when he pushes him away and starts to stand. “No, no, I won’t tell, I promise, don’t go.” He’ll think of something, later. When he’s not here, with Milo shaking and scared and angry, with no one else to talk to or share his secret with.

Milo stands for a few long seconds, not looking at Andrew, then tugs him up too. “Can we go?”

“Milo,” Andrew says, then hesitates. “Can I see?”

“What?” Milo pulls away. “No! Why—?”

“I want to be sure it’s okay, it looked—” Andrew swallows. Milo blinks and his eyes are red and his lashes are clumped. Andrew moves around him slowly, then carefully pushes up the hem of his damp shirt. Milo doesn’t move. One shocking welt runs from the top of Milo’s shoulder blade halfway down his upper back. Andrew doesn’t touch it, although he is tempted.

“How much does it hurt?” he whispers.

“Not that much anymore.” Milo shrugs his shirt back down and steps away. “It’ll be fine in a few days.”

“Milo—”

“No. Let’s go, I don’t wanna say any more.”

Andrew wants to press for more—for more what, he has no idea. Something. Something to help, some way to convince Milo it would be okay to get help from a grown-up.

“Fine,” Andrew finally says. Milo doesn’t move and it takes Andrew a second to realize it’s because he’s waiting for Andrew to lead them home.

“My house?” he offers, setting off toward the east. He picks the only fix he can think of. “Ice cream?” It’s stupid, maybe, but he’s a kid. It’s pretty much all he has.

“Yeah.” Milo smiles. “Totally.”

° ° °

He tries.
Andrew sits on it and sits on it, but he wants nothing more than to tell his mom, because this secret is way too big for him. When he has Milo over or when they are with friends or in the woods, it’s as if he can suddenly really 
see
 his friend. Milo gets nervous or upset a lot. All the times Andrew has had to talk him into things, he understands now, are because he’s afraid.

After a sleepover, when he’s tired from staying up late with Milo and Teddy telling ghost stories and playing the newest Zeus and Co. video game, Andrew finally cracks. He’s been holding on to it 
forever
. It’s been two whole weeks; he’s too tired to ignore how exhausted Milo has seemed lately, and he just wants to help.

“Mom,” he starts, sitting at the breakfast bar and rolling an apple back and forth from hand to hand, not looking at her. “I need to tell you something.”

“Confessions?” She smiles. “Let me guess, you guys ate all the candy last night?”

“No.” He looks up. Her blonde hair is extra light in the sun, and the knowing smile she gives him makes him feel safe. “I mean, yes, we ate the candy, but that’s not what I want to tell you.”

She leans onto her elbows on the kitchen counter. “All right. What other trouble did you boys get into?”

Andrew takes a deep breath and fiddles with the stem of his apple until it comes off. “Um, well. I—how do I help…?”

“Help…?” She prompts when he doesn’t say anything. He swallows hard and tries not to think about how mad Milo is going to be.

“Mom, I think Milo’s dad is um, well. Like, mean.”

“Okay.” She comes around to sit next to him; her demeanor becomes more serious. She runs a hand through his hair. “Do you mean like he’s strict and yells?”

Andrew shakes his head. “No like... hits him? Maybe?” For some reason Andrew thinks if he softens the truth Milo maybe won’t be that mad. His mom doesn’t say anything, just clears her throat and looks away.

“Did he tell you that, honey?”

Andrew nods, then rethinks it and shrugs. “Well, I saw something, once. Like on his back? But he made me promise not to tell. He said it’s only happened a few times.”

“Okay. Okay.” She takes another breath, then pulls him into a hug. “You did the right thing, telling me.”

“He said it will make his dad more mad if people know, and I don’t want to—”

“I know, honey.” She turns and takes him into her arms. He lets her hug him for longer than usual, and when she runs a hand through his hair he doesn’t want to squirm away at all. And he’d never admit it, not when he’s almost eleven and too old for this, but he loves the way she smells and how soft she is and how it feels to be hugged like this. He’s not sure what she’s going to do, but it feels so much better not to be holding this inside and not knowing how to help his friend.

°

Whatever his mom does, Milo is right. It does make things worse. At least that’s the last thing Milo says to him—well, yells.

“Why would you do that?” Milo’s voice carries, snatched by the wind. Andrew’s been out on the beach for an hour, staring morosely at the water. He’s been going all the way down to Graylock for days, hoping to run into Milo. Andrew knows Milo rarely comes here, despite it being just south of his house and so much closer than Chickopee and even Pine.

“I didn’t know what to do!” Andrew feels miserable and small. Milo hasn’t talked to him in a few weeks, and until now he didn’t know what happened. All he knows is that after his mom promised to try to take care of it, Milo dropped off the face of the earth. “Can you tell me what happened?”

“It was so
dumb
. This dumbass lady showed up. She asked some questions and did stuff and then it was over. There’s nothing for them to do because it
is
nothing!”

“How can you say that?” Andrew can feel his own voice getting louder. He cannot fathom a world where his parents would ever do something like that to him.

“Well, it
wasn’t
anything,” Milo says acidly.

“Has he done it again? We can tell for sure this time!”

“No, of course not, asshole.” Milo has never, ever called Andrew a name. His face is all twisted up, and his eyes are scrunched up and angry. “Why would he do that after some fucking person comes to our house asking about abuse and neglect and—” Milo presses his hands to his eyes. But when he looks at Andrew again, he’s not crying. “He’s mad. He’s really mad, and that’s worse. And you won’t ever get that. And you won’t ever know more because I am never,
ever
trusting you again.”

“Milo, no, please. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.” Milo walks back toward the parking lot, and doesn’t turn around. Andrew wants to follow him, but it will only make things worse.

° ° °

Milo doesn’t
speak to Andrew for months after that. And that sucks and Andrew wishes he maybe hadn’t told because it didn’t help Milo anyway. Milo never talked to him that much about anything else that happened with his father, so Andrew doesn’t know how bad things were, or what Milo meant when he said it was worse after he told. He has no way of knowing, now. Constant guilt and fear sit in his stomach, along with the ache of missing his best friend deeply. He still has friends, but no one gets him like Milo.

It’s the first day of school after Christmas break when Milo finally talks to him again. They’re in the same social studies class and were paired up for a project, so it’s not as if Milo actually wants to. Andrew closed his eyes and groaned when Mrs. Kluzinsky read off their names, unsure if he was happy or mad or if he should get his hopes up. For a while after Milo stopped talking to him, Andrew tried to convince himself it was fine, that he didn’t 
need
 Milo and that he didn’t care. But that only lasted so long. Andrew isn’t stubborn enough to hold onto anger for long, and he’s never really been that great at being angry anyway.

He has Milo come to his house, because there is no way he’ll go to Milo’s, and no way his mom and dad would let him. It’s a flat and uncomfortable conversation, with Milo looking anywhere but at him and shrugging it off as though this is the biggest burden ever. But he still agrees to meet Andrew after school. 

When he gets to Andrew’s house, Milo takes off his shoes and puts them where they go. He’s always been welcome here, but once that’s done he pauses in the entry instead of thundering up to Andrew’s room.

“Um…” Andrew fiddles with his binder, shoving loose papers back in and crumpling them hopelessly. “We can work at the table. My mom is working there too. Or in my room.”

Milo’s eyes are a little hard, and he looks angry, but he shrugs. “Your room is fine, whatever.”

“Want something to drink, or a snack?”

Milo sighs. “No, I want to get this over with already.”

Andrew swallows hard and turns without a word to go up the stairs.

They divide their work quickly, splitting the European countries they have to do their report on, then start shuffling through their books. After a while Andrew opens his laptop to search for information on the geography of Italy. The quiet is unnerving and makes him feel twitchy.

“You shouldn’t have told,” Milo says suddenly. He doesn’t yell, but Andrew’s never heard someone so angry before.

“I…” Andrew turns to look at him. “I didn’t know what to do, and I didn’t want him to hurt you anymore.”

“Well, I’d tell you if he did, only you can’t keep your fucking mouth shut.”

Andrews stomach drops. “Is he?”

“Like I’d ever tell you.” Milo gets up on his knees and squeezes his pencil so hard it breaks. He looks down in surprise, then throws it. “You said you’d keep it a secret. You’re a liar and you suck.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” is all he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Andrew’s throat is tight and scratchy. He is sorry because he knows that telling had consequences Milo is paying for, but also selfishly because he misses Milo so much. Andrew would be mortified to play pretend with other friends the way they used to—it’s way uncool, but Milo never cared about that. None of his other friends try to draw with him or understand the things Andrew likes to do. No one else would think to memorize the constellations Andrew invents, or pretend along with him that they’re maps to navigate by. And he can see how alone Milo has been, because his friends were Andrew’s friends and Milo stopped talking to all of them when Andrew told.

“Whatever, it’s not like anyone believed you anyway,” Milo says.

“Because you lied!”

“What was I supposed to do? My dad said I had to and that if I didn’t everything would fall apart and he’d leave us. He was going to leave us with nothing, and then my mom would be all alone. Where would we live?”

“I…” Andrew swallows. “I didn’t—” He’d never thought of Milo’s mom. He barely knows her actually, only that she’s quiet and reserved and stays home all day, which is weird. His stomach turns when he thinks how he would feel if one of his parents decided to leave.

“Yeah well, whatever.” Milo begins stuffing his books back into his bag. “I don’t care if we fail this, I don’t care,
I don’t care
.”

“But your grade—” Andrew says. Milo’s parents are 
really 
strict about doing well in school. And now that he knows more, he has an idea that bad grades mean worse things than yelling in his house. Milo’s shoulders drop. “Milo…” Andrew kicks the carpet lightly. “What if I promise to keep your secrets?”

“Are you kidding?” Milo’s eyebrows rise so high it’s almost comical, but there’s nothing funny about the disbelief and anger on his face.

“It didn’t help, did it? I know that now,” Andrew points out. “And we could be friends. You could come here when you need to and not be alone. I know you have been alone. We could do stuff again and have 
fun
.”

Milo is quiet for a while. “And you’d really promise not to tell this time?”

“Cross my heart.”

Milo looks down at where his hands still grip his book bag. He finishes putting his stuff away, more carefully this time. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“Yeah?” Andrew tries not to smile too wide. It’s not a promise, but it gives him hope.

Milo zips up his bag. “But I have to go. Can we do this tomorrow?”

“Sure, yeah.” Andrew has his lame piano lessons before dinner, and he reminds Milo, who nods.

“After school then. If we look at our parts tonight, maybe it’ll go faster.”

“Okay,” Andrew says. He stands when Milo does, but Milo gestures with his hand. 

“It’s fine, I know my way out.” He leaves Andrew’s door open and clomps down the stairs. Andrew winces when he hears the front door slam. It’s not a good sound, but there’s a chance it means good things. It may have been months since they’ve been friends, but Andrew knows Milo’s face and he’s pretty sure the way Milo’s lips relaxed—not in a smile, but also far from the angry lines they had been in—means forgiveness is near.

chapter two

M
ilo kicks the door to Andrew’s room open without knocking, startling him. “I got the new Timewarp.” Andrew throws the magazine he’s been flipping through onto the floor and tries to catch the video game Milo tosses at him.

“We have to play,” Milo says.

“Milo, you know those aren’t really—”

“Yeah, yeah, blood and guts, shut up; we’re playing.”

“They make me nauseated.” It’s not just the gore, which Andrew admittedly isn’t a fan of, but also because the graphics make him feel carsick. He scans the cover. “Besides, this is rated M. How did you get this past your parents?”

“First,” Milo says, counting off his fingers, “Ted got it for me. He has some lame family thing tonight, so you are my victim. Second, we’re thirteen, not three; who cares. Third…” Milo plops his bedside trash basket next to him. “Puke in here if you need to. Come on, man, I need something to do.”

“All right.” Andrew pulls out the controls to his console and flips his TV to the right channel. There’s an edge to Milo’s voice and his shoulders are tense the way he gets when something is up at home. There’s not much Andrew wouldn’t do to give Milo what he needs when he gets like this.

“Compromise,” Milo says, settling against the headboard of Andrew’s bed next to him. Andrew’s skin heats up and he tries his best to ignore it. “We’ll play for a while, then we can do something you want.”

“Build pillow forts and paint our nails?” Andrew jokes. Milo smirks at him. It’s unspoken that Andrew wouldn’t really mind a good game of play pretend.

“Shut up and try to keep up, son,” Andrew says, button-smashing the crap out of his controller, taking down zombies as if he’s actually got skills. It makes Milo crazy that Andrew manages to button-smash bullshit his way through games.

It takes half an hour for Andrew to start feeling sick, which fortunately coincides with a short fuse on Milo’s part. After being soundly killed by zombie forces—again—he throws his controller to the foot of the bed and flops down, moaning.

“Oh thank god.” Andrew puts his own controller down and rubs his eyes. Milo rolls off the bed gracelessly.

“I’m hungry, wanna—” Milo picks up the magazine Andrew dropped earlier. “Is this—”

“Oh shit!” Andrew snatches it back and covers his face, which is flaming red; he really thinks he might puke now. He scrambles off the bed and trips over the garbage can.

“Oh, this totally explains that,” Milo says at the spill of tissues, winking at Andrew, then pretends to flip through the magazine. “Oh, Freddie, you are
so dreamy
.”

“
Stop
.” Andrew feels as if he’s about to cry, which would be the absolute worst reaction right now. “Listen, just go, get out.”

“Oh hey.” Milo’s face sobers. “No, come on, I’m kidding around.”

Andrew looks away. “Go.”

“No, no.” Milo climbs over the bed and tugs Andrew’s hands from his face. “Dude, it’s like, it’s not like I didn’t think—”

“What—”

“Well, you’re kind of obvious, sometimes.”

“
What?!
”

“I mean to me, because I know you.” Milo explains. “Hey,
whoa,
just like, breathe.”

“I—” Andrew realizes he’s almost hyperventilating. “I wasn’t expecting—”

Milo looks him in the eye steadily. “Okay, let’s calm down. Take a deep breath.”

“Stop stealing my mojo,” Andrew jokes, because this is totally the thing
he
usually does: calm Milo down. But he does what Milo says and takes a deep breath and then another. He shifts away.

“You better? You look like you might hurl.”

Andrew nods, sits back and crosses his legs, and Milo does the same so they’re facing each other.

After a long minute of averted eye contact and smothering silence, Andrew says, “You’re going to stop being my friend now, aren’t you?”

“What? Shut up, no.” Milo’s voice is certain and strong. Andrew closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath and wonders.

“Why not? Isn’t this—don’t you think I’m some sort of freak or gross or something?” Andrew’s not stupid and neither is Milo. They both know the slurs that get tossed around when they’re playing ball with their friends or on teams where any sign of weakness or ineptitude will get you called a fag or a pussy or homo. Now that they’ve outgrown the gray area of hugs, if affection is given it has to be followed by the saving grace of a “no homo” moment.

“Drew, really, it’s not surprising,” Milo says. “And…”

“And?”

“You’re my best friend. You’ve been my best friend forever. Nothing’s gonna change that.”

Andrew bites his lip because he really thinks he might cry now, and it’s not from fear like before, but because for a small, blinding moment he loves Milo so much. It feels strange, though—different—more than gratitude and care and understanding and the safety of knowing another person so well. He wants to hug him and cry, which, despite Milo apparently being okay with things, might actually get him a “no homo.”

“Okay,” Andrew says, barely managing to keep his voice from catching.

“Oh, come here, you asshole.” Milo tugs him forward in a hug that Andrew sinks into, relieved beyond bearing. “Let’s get some ice cream and set off on some really stupid adventure.”

“Keep wording it like you’re doing it for my sake, and maybe one day you’ll believe you’re not the total dweeb here.”

Milo snorts and gets up, then opens the door for Andrew. Ice cream beckons.

°

“So, do your parents know?” Milo is tossing Cheezits into the air and trying to catch them in his mouth. He only seems to be achieving a fifty percent success rate, which means there are crumbs and Cheezits everywhere. The lack of ice cream in his house—shocking really—was quickly remedied with a box of crackers Andrew found stashed in the cereal cupboard. It’s a poor substitute, but Andrew is working with what he has.

“No. Well, I don’t know.” Andrew shrugs and, like a civilized person, eats some Cheezits by putting them directly into his mouth. “Do you think I need to?”

“I don’t know?” Milo shrugs. “I don’t know the rules for this. Only if you want to.” He bumps his shoulder against Andrew’s. “Do what you want when you think it’s the right time? Your parents are cool; I’m pretty sure it’ll be okay.”

“Damn what have you been reading? Grown-up shrink books?”

“Yes,” Milo deadpans. A Cheezit takes a bad bounce and hits Andrew on the cheek. “Better than gazing adoringly at Freddie McKay.”

“Shut up.” Andrew smiles though and feels it all the way in his bones. He tells himself he’s smart enough to know that’s not a crush sort of feeling.

° ° °

Unfortunately for
Andrew, that love thing stays, despite his best intentions. Part of it is the realization that, as they get older, Milo is definitely going to be hot. He’s sort of hot right now and he’s only started to grow. In the last year he’s magically shot up, surpassing Andrew’s height by at least three inches. His hair admittedly needs a little work, with the way he wears it flopping around and too long, thick and with the slightest curl, but that’s totally acceptable considering the color, which is a deep auburn Andrew is obsessed with. But not as obsessed as he is with Milo’s eyes. Andrew tries not to be totally obvious about how often he tries to sneak looks at Milo, because he doesn’t want to be a creeper or scare Milo away, but still, most of the time his eyes are really deep blue, like the water when it’s overcast but not too dark. You really have to look to see the blue. Andrew loves that.

But more than anything it’s
Milo
himself whom Andrew likes. Some of his feelings are the same as they’ve always been—wanting to help him, protect him from everything in his life that’s hurting him. Andrew loves that he’s Milo’s
person
, the person who knows him best. Milo lets Andrew see him at his most vulnerable.

It’s the
worst
. It’s horrible and unfair and not right because Milo is straight and his best friend, and being in love is
awful
; it feels as if he can’t breathe when Milo smiles his brightest
Andrew only
smile, and when Milo laughs Andrew’s stomach turns funny but
good
. But it’s not good; there’s no chance Milo will ever feel the same. Being in love is one thing, and maybe he could deal with it, but the worst part is all the other things Milo makes him feel: tingling and too hot in his body and completely out of control. Morning after morning he wakes up from dreams about Milo, embarrassed and wondering if he can get away with changing his sheets and washing them several times a week without drawing suspicion from his parents.

°

“Drew.” As soon as he walks in the door Milo shuts off Andrew’s iPod where it’s perched on the speaker dock. “What is with you? All you do lately is sit in here listening to emo music with the blinds closed.”

“I like it,” Andrew says.

“Well, you’re turning into a hermit, you look like you haven’t seen the sun in days, and you’re being boring. Let’s go do something. Bike down to Spikes. Play ball, go swimming.”

“No.”

“Yes.” Milo starts to pull Andrew out of his bed.

“Milo, I suck at all of those things.”

“Well, you’re never going to get better at anything other than lying around being dramatic about whatever it is you’re being dramatic about if you don’t get out of here. You aren’t bad at swimming. You’re being a lump.”

“Ugh.” Andrew looks down at his clothes. They’re comfortable but gross, because he’s been in them since the afternoon before. “I have to change. Go downstairs or something?”

“What, you’re suddenly shy?” Milo teases.

“Shut up and get out,” Andrew says, trying for a joking tone. There is no way he’s going to let Milo sit around while he gets sort of naked, not with his too skinny and not-right body.

“You’re so weird. You’re getting weirder.” Milo laughs and slams the door behind him.

Andrew gives the shut door the middle finger, as if that will help, and then flips hopelessly through his minimal and depressingly similar clothing choices. He checks the weather on his phone—not warm enough for shorts. He pulls out a maroon and white striped shirt that he hopes won’t scream
gaygaygay,
because other than Milo and his parents no one knows, and he’s happy with that for now.

°

Milo settles in to wait at the kitchen counter, pilfered apple in hand. Something about the crunching noise in the soothing silence and familiarity of Andrew’s place is comforting. It’s often quiet at his own house, but it always seems like an unfinished silence, menacing. Sometimes Milo prefers his father’s anger, and the fighting and turmoil, over the silence, because he knows what’s happening. It’s the waiting that kills him, the anxiety of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“All right, whatever, let’s go.” Andrew stomps into the kitchen. Well, as much as a tiny person who weighs nothing soaking wet can stomp. It’s cute. Milo winces internally, then turns away and swallows his last bite of apple, which feels stuck in his throat.

“Go where?” he manages to ask.

“I don’t know.” Andrew throws his hands up, then starts poking around in the snack cupboard his mom keeps stocked. He grabs a granola bar and tears into it. “This is your idea. You tell me.”

“You are so dramatic. You should join drama club this year.”

“Eww,” Andrew says around a mouthful of chocolate chips and granola.

“Well, you don’t like anything lately. You’re not dressed for swimming. Let’s ride up to Spikes and play pinball.”

“I thought you wanted me to get sun?” Andrew says.

“This isn’t an evil plan or anything. You’ll get sun on the way; I biked over. You’ll get to destroy me at arcade games. It’s a win all around.”

“Well,” Andrew tosses the wrapper into the pull-out garbage can. “Okay. I could go for that.”

“Sweet.”

°

Because everything in his life is a competition, Milo always pushes his own limits. Usually he would try to bike into town as fast as possible, but Andrew is not like that, and Milo doesn’t want to hurt his feelings. Milo keeps pace with him as they head east into town, trying to take in their surroundings in a way he usually doesn’t. He remembers hating this place, and although his bitterness has abated, he’ll never love Santuit. Other than Andrew and Ted and Sarah and their families, there’s nothing here that makes him want to stay. He can’t wait until he can grow up and escape. Once he’s old enough, he’ll never have to talk to his father again. He’ll never have to endure this place, where too many people know his secrets. Where what happens in their home—even if people don’t know everything—is a secret the town keeps without speaking in anything more than pitying glances and whispers when his back is turned.

College is a lifetime away, and thinking about it makes him feel twisty and hopeless, so he avoids it. The truth is, although it’s annoyingly dramatic, he understands Andrew’s urge to hole up and get away from everything. He has no idea why Andrew is being like this—maybe he’s working on the whole coming out thing—but Milo resents it, because Andrew’s pulled away from him, though Milo totally told him he was okay with everything and he
is.

But he has Andrew outside now; he is laughing because a gust of wind has almost blown him over. The sun is brilliant today, and Milo knows if they go down to the beach it will be dazzling over the water. But the beach is where he goes to escape; it’s his temporary runaway place, and that’s not what he wants now. So he laughs at Andrew and squints his eyes and throws his arms out to the side, showing off his skills.

°

Andrew does kick his ass at Star Wars pinball, and when Ted comes, it’s a slaughter so pathetic they don’t speak of it. It makes Milo happy to see Andrew happy and doing things, but also rubs him the wrong way because Milo always wants to be the best at everything.

“I’m starving.” Andrew bumps Milo away from the claw machine he’s been fucking around with. He doesn’t want anything, but he wants to grab a prize because no one ever wins with this machine.

“What do you want?” Milo says, still distracted.