“Travis.”
“Garen.”
“Traaaaaavis…”
“Garen, stop it.”
“I’m bored.”
“So stop staging epic battles with your gummy bears and study.”
“I’m studying for English. I’m reenacting the battle scene from Red Badge of Courage. See? There aren’t gray bears, so it’s blue versus clear-ish. And this one is the narrator. Hence, red bear.”
I close my British Literature notebook. “While your excuses are cute, they’re complete bullshit. You have your Calculus midterm today, not your English. That one’s not until Friday.”
“All work and no play makes—”
“Have you done any work?” I ask. Garen snaps a tine off of a plastic fork and stabs it into a blue bear, dropping it onto the cafeteria table.
“Look. I ran him through with a bayonet,” he says. I sigh, and so does he. “Travis, you are being exactly like my mother. In fact, you’re being worse. And you know what? My mother is a lawyer and a Jew. So you being more overbearing than her is a real accomplishment. I understand all of my Calculus well enough to pass my exam. I don’t need a perfect score. It’s just a midterm.”
“It’s important. It goes on your record, and all your colleges will see it when you apply in a few weeks. If you fail it, it could wreck your future. Your entire life can be decided by how you do in school, and if you fuck it up? No second chances, no way to make it all better.”
“Travis… you’re shaking,” Garen says softly.
“No, I’m not,” I protest. Garen raises my trembling hand to eye level. I tug it away. “I have to do well. Failure isn’t an option for me.”
“You’re a junior, Trav. You’re not even applying to colleges for another year,” he says. I trace the lines on my palm with the tip of my pen for a few moments before replying.
“Do you know how much a year at Stanford costs?” I ask finally. He shakes his head. “A little over thirty-six thousand each year, not including room and board. Do you know how much I make at the Grind?” Another head shake. “Seven sixty an hour. Those numbers don’t equate, trust me. If I want to go anywhere other than community college, I need almost a full-ride scholarship. I can’t get that with bad grades. I don’t really have a choice here. Mom doesn’t make enough, and Dad will pay when Hell freezes over.”
Garen is silently lining up gummy bears to cover the title of the chapter his book is open to. “They didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, frowning.
“Dad… sort of might be paying your college tuition. As in all of it,” he says. “He and Ev set up an account a few weeks ago. Ev had been saving up for years, but it wasn’t much. A couple thou, maybe? Dad um… Dad put some in.”
“Some being how much?” I ask. Garen’s brow furrows.
“Enough,” he murmurs.
“Garen,” I say warningly, and he glances at my face.
“Two hundred thousand,” he says. The bottom of my stomach drops out.
“As in two, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero? Are you fucking kidding me?” I say. He shakes his head. “He can’t afford that.”
“Travis… my father makes about one fifty K per year, and he’s been saving a quarter of his post-taxes income since he left college in seventy-eight. Not to mention the fact that he inherited well when his dad died. Do the math. I don’t… I thought you knew.”
“Is this the face of someone who knew he was living with millionaires? Twenty-seven years of that income is over four million dollars. You’re telling me he has a million dollars just lying around in savings?” I demand.
“Actually more like two million. You forgot the inheritance,” he says softly. Then, sharply, “Stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
“The way that says ‘Holy shit, my boyfriend is a spoiled little rich boy.’ It’s true, but you shouldn’t judge me for it.”
“I’m not judging you for anything! It’s just… you must think I’m so pathetic,” I say. True. So true. I can’t buy him iPods and sterling silver rings. I can’t even afford to take a weekend off work to go on a date.
“Why would I think that?” Garen says.
“Because I’m poor.”
“I’m not dating you for money, Travis.”
“Obviously. You never had to.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could swallow them again. Garen’s eyes flash down to my ring, then back up to my face. His eyes are burning with a mixture of curiosity and hurt that makes my stomach churn.
“And you do?” he says softly.
“That’s not what I meant. I just mean that money’s not something you have to worry about. Not like I do,” I say.
“You don’t have to worry,” Garen protests.
“Yeah, because you took care of it. I don’t want to be a charity project. I don’t want you to try to buy my affection,” I say.
“My favorite part of this conversation is probably how blindly insulting it is,” Garen murmurs. He places one of the bears on the table and whacks it hard with his book. He glances around the empty cafeteria, then whacks it again.
“Garen,” I say. He raises the book surreptitiously, and I pluck it from his fingers, offering my hand to him as a replacement. He kisses my palm and twines our fingers together. “I’m not trying to insult you. I just don’t know how to react. I would’ve thought someone might let me know if that’s how well off you guys are.”
Garen leans his elbow on the table and twists sideways to face me, his hand coming up to brush the side of my face.
“Do you love me any more, less, or differently than you did ten minutes before this conversation started?” he asks. I duck my head to kiss the tattoo on his wrist.
“I love you more than I thought I could love anybody ever in my life,” I say. “Just like I did ten minutes ago, and just like I will ten lifetimes from now.”
He kisses me, and I slide my hands out of his to tangle them in his hair. A moment later, someone drops onto the bench on the other side of our table. Garen and I jump apart.
“Hi,” Corey says. His voice is cautious, his eyes are wide. My whole body suddenly feels like it’s on pins and needles, and I’m sure my lungs have collapsed.
“Shit,” I manage to gasp out.
“What, um… what the fuck is going on? Just out of curiosity?” Corey asks. I look to Garen for help, but he seems unsure of what to say.
“Corey,” he says. “We didn’t…” The sentence trails off there.
“Corey,” I echo, “I’m gay.”
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. No shit, T, we’ve passed that page in the book. I’ve only known since we were like, eleven,” Corey says. I stare at him. He stares back.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t even known for six months. How can you have known for six years?” I ask. He shrugs, looking uncomfortable.
“I have no idea. I just knew. It’s just who you are, and I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I kind of… I assumed you were going to tell me after you tried to kill yourself,” he says, and I inhale sharply. “Don’t get pissed at me. I thought that was why you did it. Because you thought we’d reject you or whatever? So uh… you’re my best friend, no matter if you’re gay or not. Just so you know.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. Corey snaps out of it.
“But your fucking stepbrother, dude? How twisted are you?” he says. Garen bites his lip and looks away, grinning.
“Pretty twisted, but not because of that. He’s the one who went after me!” I say. Corey rolls his eyes.
“Oh, okay. Then it totally doesn’t count at all. What are you smoking, Travis?” he says. I shrug.
“What would you recommend I do instead?” I ask.
“Well, not fuckin’ your brother could’ve been a cool place to start. Beyond that?”
“Corey.”
“What do you expect me to say, Travis? It’s a shitty situation. What are you going to do if your parents find out?”
“My dad won’t care. Mom… she’s not really a huge disciplinarian.”
Corey shakes his head. “Bill? Do you really wanna piss off an ex-Army man?”
“Marines, actually,” Garen corrects quietly.
“Oh, even better. Instead of shooting you, he’ll eat your heart out of your chest and stick a grenade in the hole,” Corey says. He turns to Garen. “Not to mention, dude, rape much?”
“I’m only a year older than him. I don’t turn eighteen until March. Besides… I’m not, you know, forcing him. It’s only a technicality.”
“The technicalities matter in these cases. I’m not gonna tell anyone, but you guys need to get real and think about this. Garen, you could end up in jail as a legal sex offender. Travis… fuck, man, no offense, but you’re one step away from getting sent to an asylum as it is. If your mom decides you’re being molested by your stepbrother, she’ll say you’re traumatized and have you committed so fast your head will spin off into the next county.”
“They won’t find out. Or if they do, I’ll make sure it’s not until I’m eighteen and out of state. Everything’s gonna be fine,” I say softly. I glance at Garen. He’s cradling my hand in both of his and staring at me, his brows drawn together in worry. I look back at Corey, who sighs.
“Then I guess I’m happy for you,” he says. Then suddenly, he jerks his head at Garen. “I need to talk to you, though.”
“Corey—”
“Shut up, Trav, I know what I’m doing.”
Garen kisses the back of my hand, stands, and follows Corey across the cafeteria. In less than a minute, Garen returns. Corey waves goodbye and takes off out the side door.
“What was that?” I ask warily. Garen shrugs.
“He told me that if I hurt you, he’d hurt me back. He was just a little more graphic,” he says. Dread creeps into my veins.
“How graphic?” I ask. He flashes me a brief smile.
“He said he’d cut off my balls, rub them in chili powder, sew them back on, and set them on fire. Sweet guy, that Corey.”
“Um. Ouch,” I say. “What’d you tell him?”
“I told him I swear I will never love you any less than I do right now, so he doesn’t have to worry about that,” Garen replies. He kisses my forehead, and my eyes flutter shut involuntarily.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say softly. Garen is silent. I finally open my eyes and see him twisting my ring around my finger, a strange look in his eyes.
“Garen?” I say. He looks up at me suddenly, green eyes piercing my blue, and I’m thrown by the intensity painted on his skin.
“Marry me,” he says. I stare.
“Are you high?” I ask.
“Travis, I’m serious. Will you… will you marry me?”
Previous Chapter Next Chapter
“Garen.”
“Traaaaaavis…”
“Garen, stop it.”
“I’m bored.”
“So stop staging epic battles with your gummy bears and study.”
“I’m studying for English. I’m reenacting the battle scene from Red Badge of Courage. See? There aren’t gray bears, so it’s blue versus clear-ish. And this one is the narrator. Hence, red bear.”
I close my British Literature notebook. “While your excuses are cute, they’re complete bullshit. You have your Calculus midterm today, not your English. That one’s not until Friday.”
“All work and no play makes—”
“Have you done any work?” I ask. Garen snaps a tine off of a plastic fork and stabs it into a blue bear, dropping it onto the cafeteria table.
“Look. I ran him through with a bayonet,” he says. I sigh, and so does he. “Travis, you are being exactly like my mother. In fact, you’re being worse. And you know what? My mother is a lawyer and a Jew. So you being more overbearing than her is a real accomplishment. I understand all of my Calculus well enough to pass my exam. I don’t need a perfect score. It’s just a midterm.”
“It’s important. It goes on your record, and all your colleges will see it when you apply in a few weeks. If you fail it, it could wreck your future. Your entire life can be decided by how you do in school, and if you fuck it up? No second chances, no way to make it all better.”
“Travis… you’re shaking,” Garen says softly.
“No, I’m not,” I protest. Garen raises my trembling hand to eye level. I tug it away. “I have to do well. Failure isn’t an option for me.”
“You’re a junior, Trav. You’re not even applying to colleges for another year,” he says. I trace the lines on my palm with the tip of my pen for a few moments before replying.
“Do you know how much a year at Stanford costs?” I ask finally. He shakes his head. “A little over thirty-six thousand each year, not including room and board. Do you know how much I make at the Grind?” Another head shake. “Seven sixty an hour. Those numbers don’t equate, trust me. If I want to go anywhere other than community college, I need almost a full-ride scholarship. I can’t get that with bad grades. I don’t really have a choice here. Mom doesn’t make enough, and Dad will pay when Hell freezes over.”
Garen is silently lining up gummy bears to cover the title of the chapter his book is open to. “They didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?” I ask, frowning.
“Dad… sort of might be paying your college tuition. As in all of it,” he says. “He and Ev set up an account a few weeks ago. Ev had been saving up for years, but it wasn’t much. A couple thou, maybe? Dad um… Dad put some in.”
“Some being how much?” I ask. Garen’s brow furrows.
“Enough,” he murmurs.
“Garen,” I say warningly, and he glances at my face.
“Two hundred thousand,” he says. The bottom of my stomach drops out.
“As in two, zero, zero, zero, zero, zero? Are you fucking kidding me?” I say. He shakes his head. “He can’t afford that.”
“Travis… my father makes about one fifty K per year, and he’s been saving a quarter of his post-taxes income since he left college in seventy-eight. Not to mention the fact that he inherited well when his dad died. Do the math. I don’t… I thought you knew.”
“Is this the face of someone who knew he was living with millionaires? Twenty-seven years of that income is over four million dollars. You’re telling me he has a million dollars just lying around in savings?” I demand.
“Actually more like two million. You forgot the inheritance,” he says softly. Then, sharply, “Stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
“The way that says ‘Holy shit, my boyfriend is a spoiled little rich boy.’ It’s true, but you shouldn’t judge me for it.”
“I’m not judging you for anything! It’s just… you must think I’m so pathetic,” I say. True. So true. I can’t buy him iPods and sterling silver rings. I can’t even afford to take a weekend off work to go on a date.
“Why would I think that?” Garen says.
“Because I’m poor.”
“I’m not dating you for money, Travis.”
“Obviously. You never had to.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could swallow them again. Garen’s eyes flash down to my ring, then back up to my face. His eyes are burning with a mixture of curiosity and hurt that makes my stomach churn.
“And you do?” he says softly.
“That’s not what I meant. I just mean that money’s not something you have to worry about. Not like I do,” I say.
“You don’t have to worry,” Garen protests.
“Yeah, because you took care of it. I don’t want to be a charity project. I don’t want you to try to buy my affection,” I say.
“My favorite part of this conversation is probably how blindly insulting it is,” Garen murmurs. He places one of the bears on the table and whacks it hard with his book. He glances around the empty cafeteria, then whacks it again.
“Garen,” I say. He raises the book surreptitiously, and I pluck it from his fingers, offering my hand to him as a replacement. He kisses my palm and twines our fingers together. “I’m not trying to insult you. I just don’t know how to react. I would’ve thought someone might let me know if that’s how well off you guys are.”
Garen leans his elbow on the table and twists sideways to face me, his hand coming up to brush the side of my face.
“Do you love me any more, less, or differently than you did ten minutes before this conversation started?” he asks. I duck my head to kiss the tattoo on his wrist.
“I love you more than I thought I could love anybody ever in my life,” I say. “Just like I did ten minutes ago, and just like I will ten lifetimes from now.”
He kisses me, and I slide my hands out of his to tangle them in his hair. A moment later, someone drops onto the bench on the other side of our table. Garen and I jump apart.
“Hi,” Corey says. His voice is cautious, his eyes are wide. My whole body suddenly feels like it’s on pins and needles, and I’m sure my lungs have collapsed.
“Shit,” I manage to gasp out.
“What, um… what the fuck is going on? Just out of curiosity?” Corey asks. I look to Garen for help, but he seems unsure of what to say.
“Corey,” he says. “We didn’t…” The sentence trails off there.
“Corey,” I echo, “I’m gay.”
“Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. No shit, T, we’ve passed that page in the book. I’ve only known since we were like, eleven,” Corey says. I stare at him. He stares back.
“What are you talking about? I haven’t even known for six months. How can you have known for six years?” I ask. He shrugs, looking uncomfortable.
“I have no idea. I just knew. It’s just who you are, and I figured you’d tell me when you were ready. I kind of… I assumed you were going to tell me after you tried to kill yourself,” he says, and I inhale sharply. “Don’t get pissed at me. I thought that was why you did it. Because you thought we’d reject you or whatever? So uh… you’re my best friend, no matter if you’re gay or not. Just so you know.”
“Thanks,” I say softly. Corey snaps out of it.
“But your fucking stepbrother, dude? How twisted are you?” he says. Garen bites his lip and looks away, grinning.
“Pretty twisted, but not because of that. He’s the one who went after me!” I say. Corey rolls his eyes.
“Oh, okay. Then it totally doesn’t count at all. What are you smoking, Travis?” he says. I shrug.
“What would you recommend I do instead?” I ask.
“Well, not fuckin’ your brother could’ve been a cool place to start. Beyond that?”
“Corey.”
“What do you expect me to say, Travis? It’s a shitty situation. What are you going to do if your parents find out?”
“My dad won’t care. Mom… she’s not really a huge disciplinarian.”
Corey shakes his head. “Bill? Do you really wanna piss off an ex-Army man?”
“Marines, actually,” Garen corrects quietly.
“Oh, even better. Instead of shooting you, he’ll eat your heart out of your chest and stick a grenade in the hole,” Corey says. He turns to Garen. “Not to mention, dude, rape much?”
“I’m only a year older than him. I don’t turn eighteen until March. Besides… I’m not, you know, forcing him. It’s only a technicality.”
“The technicalities matter in these cases. I’m not gonna tell anyone, but you guys need to get real and think about this. Garen, you could end up in jail as a legal sex offender. Travis… fuck, man, no offense, but you’re one step away from getting sent to an asylum as it is. If your mom decides you’re being molested by your stepbrother, she’ll say you’re traumatized and have you committed so fast your head will spin off into the next county.”
“They won’t find out. Or if they do, I’ll make sure it’s not until I’m eighteen and out of state. Everything’s gonna be fine,” I say softly. I glance at Garen. He’s cradling my hand in both of his and staring at me, his brows drawn together in worry. I look back at Corey, who sighs.
“Then I guess I’m happy for you,” he says. Then suddenly, he jerks his head at Garen. “I need to talk to you, though.”
“Corey—”
“Shut up, Trav, I know what I’m doing.”
Garen kisses the back of my hand, stands, and follows Corey across the cafeteria. In less than a minute, Garen returns. Corey waves goodbye and takes off out the side door.
“What was that?” I ask warily. Garen shrugs.
“He told me that if I hurt you, he’d hurt me back. He was just a little more graphic,” he says. Dread creeps into my veins.
“How graphic?” I ask. He flashes me a brief smile.
“He said he’d cut off my balls, rub them in chili powder, sew them back on, and set them on fire. Sweet guy, that Corey.”
“Um. Ouch,” I say. “What’d you tell him?”
“I told him I swear I will never love you any less than I do right now, so he doesn’t have to worry about that,” Garen replies. He kisses my forehead, and my eyes flutter shut involuntarily.
“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” I say softly. Garen is silent. I finally open my eyes and see him twisting my ring around my finger, a strange look in his eyes.
“Garen?” I say. He looks up at me suddenly, green eyes piercing my blue, and I’m thrown by the intensity painted on his skin.
“Marry me,” he says. I stare.
“Are you high?” I ask.
“Travis, I’m serious. Will you… will you marry me?”
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