Out of Position (24 page)

“You’re thinking too much,” he says when I’ve told him I’m plexing about dropping out. “You got offered a job with the freaking Dragons and you’re worried about your English degree? Especially with Schruft. I told you not to pick him as your advisor.”

“Who was I going to go with?”

“Uh, anyone else?”

“Like it’s that easy.”

“Tippy,” he says, “it’s only as hard as you make it.”

And there it is, cutting to the heart of it. It would be perfect if he just left that phrase where it is, but of course, being Brian, he has to add, “or as hard as your all-star Neanderthal jock makes it.”

I try not to sound as irritated as I feel. “Jesus, leave him out of it.”

“Seriously, what are you going to do when he doesn’t get drafted? For that matter, what are you going to do if he
does
get drafted?”

“What makes you think he won’t get drafted?”

“What makes you think he will?”

“What makes you think it matters?” The verbal sparring takes me back years.

“Why did you break up with Allen?”

“Why did
you
break up with Allen?”

He takes a critic’s tone. “His lovemaking was the high point of the relationship. In public, he often seemed to forget that we were attached and lost the thread of the relationship narrative.”

I can’t help but be amused. “He was good in bed, yeah.”

“The second most important thing to you.”

“Well, I broke up with him because he was cheating on me. So, fidelity comes first?”

“Ennnh! Thank you for playing our game.”

“Like you know me so well.” The amusement’s fading. I’d forgotten that when Brian told me what I was feeling, he was insufferable about it.

“Hey, three years spending most of our time together,” he says. “Allen cheated on you before that and you stayed with him.”

“Yeah, and I told him if he cheated again I’d break up with him. He did, I did, we stayed friends. End of story.”

“Not quite.” Now he’s taking the denouement detective tone. “Because there was one other thing that had changed, wasn’t there, Mister Farrel? When you began dating him, Allen was the secretary of the prestigious Student Activities Council, was he not?”

“I guess he was.” I’d forgotten that.

“And when you broke up?”

It comes back to me slowly. “His term was over. He was thinking about running for president but decided not to.”

“Against your advice.”

“
My
advice? I just told him he had a good opportunity to do some good. He decided he’d rather spend time working with FLAG.”

“And then you broke up with him.”

I get the connection now. “And you think I broke up with him because he wasn’t going to be president.”

“You’ve always been attracted to power, Tip.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

“So… when your jock is just a has-been former college semi-star, will you still looooooove him?”

“Love doesn’t end when the curtain falls, Brian. And it’s none of your business anyway.”

“Our friendship is my business,” he says. “Since he took you away…”

“
You
took you away,” I say. “Can we drop it?”

He shifts immediately to contrition. “I just miss this, is all.”

I press the phone to my ear. It’s a poor substitute for the talks we used to have. “Me too,” I say.

There’s a pause while, I’m sure, he’s searching for something to say that isn’t about Dev. “So, the freakin’ Dragons,” is what he comes up with. “Y’ever run into Cog Williams around the offices?”

“Sure, they keep him around in case they’re desperate for a quarterback.” Feeding him a line, which he pounces on.

“Then why didn’t they defrost him this year?” We laugh.

“What,” I say, “you don’t like that new kid, with the interceptions?”

“At least he doesn’t fumble.”

“No, Tarmudge takes care of that for him.”

“What a loyal fan you are.”

I take a second to decide how to answer that. “To teams that have earned my loyalty.”

I know he catches the subtext, but he switches subjects smoothly. “Hey, can you get me into McLauden?”

“During a game? Sure, buy a ticket.”

He snorts. “I mean, like, behind the scenes.”

“We’ll see how it goes.”

I can hear him roll his eyes. “I’m not going to mention your precious tiger.”

I sit on the bed, my tail curled beside me, and lean back into the pillow. “That’s a good start.”

“There’s nobody here I can talk to. You wouldn’t believe the fucking monkeys in this place. I can’t wait to wave good-bye to this two-bit town.”

Tactfully, he doesn’t mention that he will be graduating. “Where you headed?”

“Maybe Hilltown. I dunno, the ’rents are retiring to Chevali next year. Maybe they’ll spring for a place down there.”

“You’re their precious flower. I’m sure you have but to ask.”

“Closer to Hollywood, too. You know, in case I completely sell out.”

“What, you, Spotty? Go out of your way for attention? It is to laugh.”

“Ouch! Just what are you insinuating?”

I grin, lean back, and close my eyes. As long as he doesn’t mention Dev, it’s almost like old times. Almost. There’s still something extra, a needy edge to him that wasn’t there before and is a little unsettling coming from the formerly brash, confident skunk.

Hanging up, though, I still feel worlds better. Not just because I had a nice talk with him, but also because I can put things into a better context. Brian ran away from here because that’s the sort of person he is: over-confident and over-compensating, and when that confidence was shattered, he couldn’t deal with it. So he took off.

That’s not what I’m doing now. I’m quitting school, yeah, but I let that get into my head too much. I’m quitting because I have a boyfriend and the chance of a lifetime, and even if my parents try to saddle me with a hundred grand in debt, there’s nothing I’d rather be doing than sitting in the Dragons’ office watching film with Morty, sharing insights.

Okay, that’s not true. There is one thing.

Halfway to his place, I call. “I’ve decided to stop being a prick,” I say. “For now.”

“That’s good news.” His guarded tone relaxes.

I’m walking along the street in front of the coffee shop, away from it, past the small bookstore and the head shop. “I wasn’t mad at you.”

“Are you now?”

I have to smile. “No. I mean… the other night, it was about something else.” He doesn’t say anything. “I think I’m ready to talk about it. If you have time to listen.”

“I have this Gender Studies paper I’m working on.”

I picture his offhanded shrug, the smile that he tries to hide when he doesn’t want to seem too eager about something. “Maybe I could help you study.”

“It’s not a sexual positions paper.”

“See, I told you you should’ve taken that sexual positions class. You’d have aced it.”

Now, finally, I get a chuckle. “Where are you?”

I look up. “Fourth and Norwood. Right by that coffee shop that has your picture up on the wall.”

“The big national chain? The one with the green sign?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s their name again?”

He thinks it’s funny that I dislike Starbucks so much. “Warm Piss In An Overpriced Cup.”

“Right, right.” He pauses, while I cross the street. “Are you going to your place?”

“I thought I might come over there. If that’s okay.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. You want me to bring you any Warm Piss?”

“You’d go in there for me?”

“Just to get the cup.”

It takes him a minute, and then he laughs. “You’re disgusting. No, I’m okay.”

“See you soon.”

I double back and get him a big latte with extra sugar syrup anyway. He smiles when I hand it to him, right as he opens the door. “Gee, thanks,” he says. “Couldn’t wait to use the restroom?”

“Waste not, want not.” We stand for a minute and look into each other’s eyes, me tilting my head back, we’re standing so close. Then he puts a paw on my shoulder and guides me over to the extra chair by his desk. He sits in his chair. I drop into the spare and look around. The surroundings are just what I would have expected, but still, the reality of them takes a moment to sink in. The desk next to a mostly-bare bookshelf, his laptop open to an essay amidst schoolbooks. Clothes on the floor, the open door to the bathroom showing a wet towel draped across the sink and clumps of orange and black fur, visible even at this distance. The open door to the bedroom, the outline of a big double bed just visible in the shadows beyond. The living room is too brightly lit for my night vision to see any further inside, but I know what it looks like. I helped pick it out.

I wait for him to ask, but he just takes a drink of his latte. I take a breath. “This whole quitting school thing is really hard for me.”

He nods. “I get that part.”

“It’s because it’s all tied up in who I am.” I look out the window. He has a nice view of the elm trees along Beechwood. “I never quit anything before. I never even quit reading a book halfway through.”

“Really?”

“Well, nothing important. And now… I’m not graduating. I’ll be like one of those guys you see on the news where the reporter says, “
of course, he never graduated from college
,” and shakes his head.”

He tilts his muzzle. “Like professional football players?”

“Kind of.” I look back at him, indicate the computer on his desk “You’re going to graduate.”

He snorts. “It’d be hard not to.” Then he sees the effect that remark has on me, and he reaches out. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re right. It would be hard not to.” I let his paw cover mine anyway.

We’re quiet after that. He squeezes my paw, and I know he’s trying to put together what to say. I think about how Brian would never have let this much silence go by, and how nice it is.

“I dunno everything about you, Lee,” Dev says, leaning forward. “Like, why this is a huge deal. I mean, I get the parents and everything. But it’s like you were telling me about the combine, right? Just because I didn’t do my absolute best there doesn’t change what I can do. It’s a snapshot, didn’t you say that?”

“It’s a pretty important snapshot,” I say. “This is college. This is what sticks with you for the rest of your life. It’s what proves…” I hear what I’m about to say, and snap my muzzle shut.

Fox love him, Dev hears it too. “What?” he says. “Proves you’re smart?”

“Proves that you can decide on a course of study, dedicate yourself, pursue it through to the end, and finish it. Accomplish something. That you’re going to be a worthwhile contributor to society.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That you’re smart.”

“It’s more than that,” I start to say, but my own protests just sound like posturing to me now. I look around his unpretentious apartment, where the only books in the room are his schoolbooks, where the posters on the wall are sports figures unadulterated by movie posters or quotes from famous physicists. The scent in the room is all him, power and youth. Dev is what he is, unashamed and wholeheartedly. Coming back from my quick glance to his golden eyes, focused on me, I remember that that is one of the things I love about him. He’s waiting for me to elaborate, but I just say, “Yeah. That I’m smart.”

He nods. “How many kids do you think want to work for the Dragons?”

“Dev.”

He holds up a paw. “How many?”

I shrug. “All of them, I think.”

“So. They asked you.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me. He got this way when Brian was bothering us, too. It’s a strange feeling, his wanting to protect me like this. I feel like I’m the one who should be looking out for him, precisely because he is so earnestly himself, but there’s something strangely attractive about letting him look out for me. It’s the same kind of attractive that sits at the bottom of a drink: it’s fine as long as I know my limit. I’m not there yet.

“Yeah. Thanks to you.” He starts to protest. “I know, I know. You’re right.”

“Damn right I am.” He stands up, grasps my paws, and pulls me to my feet. “In my book, that makes you pretty smart. No matter what your parents think.”

I stiffen, and not in a good way. “You really want to bring up my parents now?”

His arms surround me and pull me closer. Our noses touch. I inhale the warmth of his breath. “Sorry,” he says with a grin. “I meant to say, you’re the smartest guy I know.”

I brush his lips with mine, the tickle of fur soft between us. “Dev,” I say, you mostly know football players.”

“And coach,” he says, but it’s playful, baiting me.

I slide my muzzle along his and brush our whiskers together. “Coach,” I say, “is a perfect illustration of the saying, ‘Those who can’t do, teach.’ He wishes he were smart enough to be a football player. He doesn’t even have any idea what he needs to do to get you ready for the UFL beyond running more drills and working out more.”

His paws knead my back. “Lucky I have you.”

“You sure are.” And while we’re kissing, an idea comes to me. Dev is my mirror box, the project I should be investing my energy in. Rather than dissecting 19
^th
century literature, I’ll work towards a real goal. I’ve been helping him out some already, but of course there’s more I could be doing. “Oh,” I say, pulling my muzzle back, “you need to get on a social network.”

He blinks, looking genuinely hurt. “Is my kissing that bad?”

I laugh. “The teams—they have me looking at all those networks to find out what I can about the character of the prospects. So you need to get on and establish your character.”

His paws grip my rear with the same surety they would a football. “Right now?”

I trace my tongue up his chin, over his lips, to his nose. “No,” I say, “not
right
now.”

Afterwards, though, I help get him set up on some of the networks I’ve been watching for Morty. We spend a good two hours on it, and actually have a great time. “There are two hundred and forty-three other tigers who play football on FriendNet?”

“’Play football’ could mean anything,” I tell him. “Could mean flag football once a year with the family.”

“Could it mean video game football?”

“There’s a separate tag for video games, but yeah, it could.” I grin. “Or if they’re not American, it could mean soccer.”