Jerkbait (16 page)

27

A
fter I dropped Robbie off at practice, I went to the front office to pick up our coursework and outlines from our teachers. Amazing what a private school was willing to do in exchange for bragging rights about a huge championship. The secretary, Mrs. Samson, looked at me with absolute pity the second I stepped into the office. I didn’t even need to say my name or what I was there for.

“I’ll have your work in just a second, Tristan. You’re Tristan, not Robbie, right?”

“Yeah. He’s the one with the bleach.”

“I thought so,” Mrs. Samsom said as she opened a filing cabinet and pulled out two stacks. They were smaller than I thought as I skimmed through.

“Is this really it?” I asked.

“That should be. It’s a good thing you both have terrific grades—most of the faculty offered to waive some of your assignments.”

My lips pursed together. Only one of us had terrific grades. Robbie wasn’t as stupid as he thought he was, but he didn’t really apply himself. NHL or nothing. Dad didn’t exactly discourage him, though Mom mentioned that Boston College had a great hockey program.

“By the way,” Mrs. Samson said before I left, “I hope everything works out.”

I left the office wondering what lie my parents told the school. All of this for Robbie’s career.

Outside, the air was frigid as I got in my car and returned to the arena. Halfway there, I turned around and went back to the main building. The car was barely stopped before I took off, panting hard as I burst into the auditorium. Everyone stopped blocking a scene—Heather perched high in the air in a lift. Ms. Price scrambled offstage and immediately made a beeline to me. “Tristan, I got a notice from the Dean that you were taking a leave of absence.”

I lowered my head like it was the right thing to do. “My parents are making me keep an eye on Robbie because . . .” My voice trailed off. I could end it here. Say something, push for my twin to get the therapy he so desperately needed. But what if that meant he wouldn’t get drafted? After all this—the hell, the torture—he deserved to be that high pick more than ever.

Ms. Price gazed at me, biting her lip as she waited for me to continue. I pictured returning to the house. Dad locking me in the room for ruining Robbie’s life.

I shuddered. No. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t.

“I know my parents kind of screwed up everything and you probably hate me, but I was hoping that maybe you’d let me be in the ensemble. Or even a stage hand or something.”

Ms. Price was silent for a long time. I didn’t know if that was a good or a bad thing. “Are you supposed to even be at rehearsal?”

“No,” I said truthfully. “I dropped Robbie off at practice. I was supposed to watch him to make sure he—” I stopped myself. “I was just supposed to watch him.”

Ms. Price hesitated. “How old are you?”

“
Eighteen.”

“So, you can legally make decisions for yourself.”

“Yes.”

“Yet your parents are controlling this school situation?”

“Just until we graduate . . .”
I hope.

Ms. Price rubbed her hand over her mouth. “This is extremely unorthodox, but I’m an unorthodox teacher.” She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug.
“I didn’t give away your part.”

I stiffened. “You’re joking.”

“I was going to talk to your parents and beg them to let you stay,” Ms. Price confessed. “You have no clue how much we need you in this show. I know it’s a steep learning curve with the tapping but do you know how incredible it is that you actually know how to skate? You can skate, sing, dance—adding tapping to your portfolio can only help. And once things settle down, I’ll help you get some lessons in tumbling. Then you’ll be extra set.”

Even though I wanted to jump and scream and dance with joy, I hung my head. “I’m not sure what my limitations are going to be through the end of the season.”
Or the draft,
I suddenly thought, tensing up. Would it be like this until Robbie committed to a team in juniors? Or if he made a surprise decision to do college hockey instead?

“Come to as many rehearsals as you can. I’ll film the rest and send you Youtube videos. The show’s in late May, so it’ll be tough, but you can pull it off if you work hard. Are you willing to work hard for me?”

I didn’t even pause. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“Then there’s no issue, especially when you really only have two songs.” Ms. Price gestured me to the stage. “Get out your scripts, everyone.”

On stage, I saw Keisha sitting on the floor. Immediately, I crossed and sat next to her. Ms. Price began to go through blocking before I could really say hi. Keisha scooted closer to me until we were almost touching.

We went through lines, scribbling notes in pencil and sharing hi-lighters with a formal table read. At the end of rehearsal, I glanced at my watch, then at Keisha, gesturing with my chin for her to come with me. Without looking at each other, we gathered our bags and slipped into the hall, barely getting to the first set of lockers before I turned to her and she stepped into me. Arms around each other, foreheads touching, breathing each other in. She was so close, I could kiss her.

My pocket vibrated. Reluctantly, I stepped back and felt in my pocket for my iPhone. It was Robbie:

I’m done.

Done.

What kind of done? Done with practice done? Or done
done?

“I gotta go. I’m sorry,” I told Keisha.

“Is everything okay?”

“I don’t know.”

“Let me know if I can do anything, okay?”

“I will. I promise.” I walked toward the door before turning back to her. With a few fast steps, she was in front of me. My lips touched her cheek. Before she could say another word, I was out the door, tugging my coat around me. I crossed the parking lot to the rink and slipped inside, rubbing my hands together for warmth as I wove to the locker room.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

My brother’s voice stopped me dead in my tracks. I probably should have retreated, given him a moment of privacy. But what if this was another red flag for, “I’m going to try it again?”

Another voice met his, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Raiden.

“I didn’t know how you’d take it.”

“I deserved to know. I wouldn’t have . . . just I deserved to know.”

“I didn’t want you to hate me.”

“Might be late for that.”

“So what? You’re going to hate me just because I’m gay?” Robbie’s voice rose in volume and pitch. “You’re going to ignore me on the ice, in the locker room, everywhere, because I like dick?”

“I told you, I don’t care what you like.”

“Then why are you treating me like shit?”

There was a silence. Then Raiden’s voice was laced with some sort of strain.

“Do you seriously not remember?”

Remember what?

There was a silence, then some sort of sound, like Robbie gasping. “Fuck. Raid, I . . .”

I inched down the hall, trying to be as silent as possible.

“You’re such an asshole sometimes, Robbie.”

Then Raiden burst around the corner, hockey bag slung over his shoulders, almost knocking me over. Shortly after came Robbie, barreling down the hall. “Wait! Raid! Raid, wait up! I’m sorry! Wait!” He saw me too late, body propelled by inertia he couldn’t slow. I hit the floor hard and wheezed, Robbie on top of me, crushing me.

Robbie stared at me, wide eyed and scared, before he got to his feet and extended his hand to me. I took it and he pulled me to my feet.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What was that about?”

Robbie looked away from me. “Can we just go home and pretend you didn’t see that?”

“Sure,” I said. Because if there was one thing I could do and do well, it was pretend. If only pretending meant forgetting as well.

28

W
hen we got home, Mom was standing in the kitchen next to Dad. One glance from Dad, and I knew what was coming. I wanted to tell Robbie to run, to get out of the kitchen, to take my car and get as far away as possible.

I outed Robbie to Dad. Dad outed Robbie to Mom. Mom wasn’t going to take it well.

“Hey,” Robbie said wearily as he got two Gatorades from the fridge. Mom crossed the room in the short time it took for him to turn around. I thought about Robbie’s fight with Raiden. I prayed she would let it go.
Not today. Not today.

“I expected better of you,” she said.

“Huh?”

Mom was a bit greenish. “Gay? Really?”

Robbie’s fingers tightened around the bottles of Gatorade. Then Mom did something I never expected her to.

“Deny it,” Mom begged. “Tell me your father’s wrong. Please tell me he’s wrong. You’re not gay. Say you’re not.
Please
.
”

Robbie didn’t speak.

Mom looked on the verge of tears. Or screaming. It was beyond heartbreak. “It’s Raiden, isn’t it?”

“Leave him out of this,” Robbie spluttered. There was a pit in my stomach.

“I knew it.” Her fists bunched up. “I knew there was something not quite right. He just . . . he confused you. That’s all.”

“Leave him out of this. He didn’t do anything.”

“He did. You were fine. You were normal. ”

“I’m still normal.”

“No. You’re not. This isn’t normal.
He’s
not normal. He corrupted you—”

“I initiated it!” Robbie bellowed.

There was a silence in the room. I couldn’t move.

“I didn’t know you were that sick,” Mom whispered through tears. Mascara painted her cheeks like watercolor. “You know, when your father told me, I thought Tristan was lying for attention. Now I see he was just trying to do the right thing.”

Robbie’s head snapped to me. He slammed the bottles of Gatorade on the table, eyes fiery like coal. I knew what was going to happen before it did. I knew that face from my nightmares years ago.

I turned on my heel, running full speed. Robbie was after me in a flash, catching up to me before I could get a quarter up the stairs. He gripped my shoulders hard and wrenched me back down. I hit the wall moments before the first punch came.

“You TRAITOR!” he screamed, fist slamming into my face again. “TRAITOR!”

“It was an accident! I didn’t mean to—”

Robbie’s fist connected with my ribs, the same spot where weeks ago Eric had kicked me. I felt something sharp in my chest, a searing pain, and gasped shallow and hard as I dropped to the floor and curled on my side.

Immediately, Robbie’s face paled. He was yanked back by Dad. “Let it go,” Dad said.
“Tristan, stop overacting.”

I shook my head, continuing to wheeze.

“Tristan, I said knock it off.”

To my surprise, Mom pushed past Robbie and knelt by my side. She pulled up my shirt enough to see the area and touched it with her fingers. If I had the breath, I would have howled.

She moved my arm around her shoulder and helped me to my feet. “Stop being a baby. You’ll be fine.”

My ribs felt cracked in two. “But—”

“Knock it off.” She led me to the couch. I sank down on the plush cushions.

Robbie looked like he was going to vomit. “Tristan, I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t—”

“Go to your goddamn room,” she said, sitting on the edge of the couch near me. Robbie hesitated near the stairs. “
Go,
” she said harshly before he walked up as slowly as he could. Dad disappeared into the kitchen.

“It was my fault,” I said, once Mom and I were alone. “I outed him.”

“You did your obligation. You knew something was wrong, and your father overlooked you. Your father brainwashed me into overlooking you.”

My head spun. How had it turned into something like this?

“It’s not wrong.”

“It is. But not for the reasons you think. You know the pictures on the mantel of your Uncle Anthony?”

I was confused. “The one we never met who died of cancer?”

Mom gazed ahead. A tear slid down her nose.

“It wasn’t cancer.”

“But you told us—” My voice trailed off as things started to connect.

Mom
’s hatred wasn’t about homosexuality at all.

It was about AIDS.

“Just because Robbie’s gay doesn’t mean that he’s going to get anything,” I said. “I mean, you know that. Protection, safety. It’s not like it’s a gay thing. I mean, a lot of straight couples have HIV too—”

“I have to reduce the risk.”

“You can’t make him not gay.”

“Do you know what it’s like to watch your brother wither up and die?” Mom asked.

Almost,
I didn’t say.

“Losing Anthony was one of the hardest things I’ve ever experienced. I just . . . I don’t want you to lose a brother, either.”

“If he doesn’t get help, I
will
lose my brother.”

Mom got up and patted me on the knee. She looked like she was about to say something else when we heard the thuds of Robbie coming down the steps. A moment later, he appeared in the living room. “I’m not leaving until I can properly apologize,” he said, eyes red.

I thought Mom might yell at him to go back upstairs. But she didn’t. Instead, she walked out of the room, not even looking at him.

“I’m sorry I punched you,” Robbie said.

“I deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to get the crap kicked out of you—”

“I told you, I deserved it. It was an accident, but I deserved it. When Dad told me about pulling us out of school, I just lost it. I didn’t even know what I was saying. It just came out.”

We gazed at each other. Softly, Robbie said, “It’s fine.” Then, “It’ll
be
fine, unless she tries straightening me out.”

“She told me why.”

“Why what?”

“The whole homophobic thing. It’s not really about being gay.”

Robbie shot me an incredulous look. “. . . riiiiiiight.”

“No, I mean . . .” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uncle Anthony died of AIDS.”

“Uh, no, stupid. He died of can—” The gears churned in Robbie’s head. “Oh, son of a bitch.”

“Yup.”

“Is that why she . . . ?”

“Maybe she wanted something to blame for her brother getting sick and dying. It’s probably why she freaked about me getting into acting, too. She doesn’t want to go through it again.”

“Damn . . .” Bizarrely, Robbie looked relieved. He almost smiled. “But that’s good. Seriously good. Better to know she’s afraid of me dying from AIDS than thinking I was going to hell when I die.”

“We’re all afraid of you dying,” I said quietly. Robbie stiffened.

“Well,” he said, changing subject, “it’s for the better. All of this, really. It’s easier to deal with scouts if everyone knows.”

I swallowed hard, like gravel was caught on my tonsils.
“. . .
they’re not going to know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Dad wants me to take the fall.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You found out I was gay and covered for me to be in solidarity. You didn’t have the heart to tell the team you weren’t because you didn’t want me to get bullied.”

“Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I sold out. You know all those things Dad got me? That was compensation. I wouldn’t have but I didn’t want you to go lower in the draft because of me.”

Robbie took a few moments to recollect himself. “I don’t know if I want to lie,” he finally said.

“But your career . . . I mean, Mom and Dad—”

“They can’t fix this one,” he said, walking to the stairs. He looked at me from the railing halfway up. “But hey, at least they have one straight son.”

My twin tried to smile, but it was plastic and fake. It burned.

Later that
afternoon, I finally got off the couch. I walked upstairs to my bedroom, wincing with each step. My parents told me to stop overacting, but it seriously hurt to breathe. There was no point in staying downstairs, away from my brother. When I opened the door to his room, Robbie sat on his mattress, his back to me, shoulder moving strangely in some sort of jerking motion.

“Robbie?
” His head snapped back, and Robbie yanked the sleeves on his hoodie down.

I sat next to him. “When Mom brought it up, you said something about Raiden.”

“She was blaming him.” Robbie fidgeted with his sleeves.

“You were fighting in the locker room. He said he didn’t hate you because you were gay.”

Robbie was silent.

I took a deep breath. “Did you . . . have something?”

Robbie continued to tug at his sleeves. Dampened his lips, but couldn’t speak. I hesitated before reaching out to Robbie. “
Let me see it.”

“No.” Robbie tried to keep his arms away from me.

“Let me see it,” I insisted, seizing his wrist. Robbie winced. With a deep breath, I tugged his sleeve back. Robbie had a pair of Mom’s manicure scissors in his palm. The tiny metal blades were red. My throat was dry. I reached for Robbie’s other hand.

“Don’t,” Robbie pleaded, but I didn’t listen and tugged up the opposite sleeve. Shallow lines sliced his arm. Not deep enough for serious damage, just some sting. Little lines of red, tiny beads clinging to them like dew drops on a spider’s web.

“Robbie . . .”

I plucked the scissors from his palm and watched his body round over. He bit his lip, the piercing disappearing in his mouth for a brief moment, the way a fish might toy with a hook. A bit of jerkbait. Robbie ducked his head. His blond hair fell in his face, half-hiding his dark eyes. My patience reeled him in.

“It was just once,” he confided, so soft I could barely hear him. “
At Heather’s when we had that team party. We were drinking, I mean, he was drinking. I didn’t touch a drop. We went up to that guest room so he could smoke weed but there was this porn DVD sitting on the TV. So we put it on. And Raiden’s all drunk, and he’s getting hard and stuff and I’m getting hard because he is. I was joking and all saying we should jerk off since we were into it. Except I wasn’t. But he’s all, ‘sure, no homo.’ He was looking at the porn, I was looking at him. And I just—”

“Did you two—”

Robbie hung his head. “No. Maybe if he were sober, I would have asked . . .” He inhaled sharply. “I took advantage of a situation.”

“You didn’t touch him,” I said. “If you did and he was drunk, that’s one thing. But you just—”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t take advantage of him.”

I knew I should say something to console him. But the only thing that came out of my mouth was, “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

With Robbie’s silence, I rose to my feet. “Hold on.” I left the room then seized rubbing alcohol and a box of Band Aids from the medicine cabinet. Robbie’s eyes squeezed shut, like he was trying to hold back tears, when I closed the door, sat next to him, and started to clean his wounds. “Sorry about the sting.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Robbie said. I looked in his eyes for a moment and believed him. There were no barriers between us. There was no reason to lie.