T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (22 page)

And that terrifies me.
I stroke his hair, and I tell myself to believe him, if just to ease his mind. It almost works.

A
NNA
is waiting for me in the quad of Oceanside Community College, a small smile on her face as she watches me drag my feet toward her like I’m on some kind of death march. Which is really what it feels like, having to go back to school after three years. I have a
backpack,
for Christ’s sake, filled with notebooks and pencils and textbooks that cost way more than they should have (seriously, you should have seen the look on my face when four books rang up at over four hundred dollars. Otter told me later that you would have thought they were asking me to set a baby seal on fire with a flamethrower. Try to get
that
image out of your head. I dare you. Ty sure couldn’t, let me tell you). The Kid wanted me to buy a backpack with Anderson Cooper’s face on it. I told him they didn’t make backpacks like that, but I could get one with Transformers on it, a little Optimus Prime action going on. He asked me to remind him again of my age. I advised him that I was twenty-one. He asked if I thought one day I would act like it. I responded that everyone likes Transformers. He told me that Anderson Cooper was more of an American institution than Transformers were. I told him nobody cared about Anderson Cooper except his mother and his secret pseudo boyfriend. The Kid told me God would strike me down for my blasphemy.

We then went online to see if they did make Anderson Cooper backpacks, because the Kid didn’t believe me, stating that a man revered like Anderson Cooper
had
to have his face on a backpack. Unsurprisingly, such a thing did not exist, at least that we were able to find, and that was by the time we had clicked on the two hundredth Google search page (that was three hours I’m never getting back). The Kid lamented on such an untapped market and immediately set out to write up a business plan for a line of Anderson Cooper products (coasters, coffee mugs, golf balls, ride-on lawn mowers—trust me, it only got weirder from there. Does anyone actually need an Anderson Cooper Crock-Pot?). I told him that was slightly stalkerish and that he should dial it back a little. He told me it was only stalkerish if he went over to his house and went through his sock drawer. And besides, he said, he didn’t even know where the Coopers lived. It probably would be too hard to find, so there was no point in looking. Maybe we could find it on Google?

Turns out his address is unlisted. Darn.

So we bought a Transformers backpack instead. The Kid told me I was going to get made fun of. I told him I was going to be the coolest guy in college. He said that apparently the definition of “cool” had changed in the years since I’d last been in school. I told him that rhymed. Otter told us both to knock it off because he was getting a headache. The Kid said, “That’s what she said,” which of course led us on the tangent to verify if he knew what that meant. It turns out he did not, and we were forced to explain what it meant. He had laughed his little head off when he understood and that put the fear of God in me, wondering if we should have kept our mouths shut. Way too many scenarios ran through my head of what I had just armed the Kid with. For example (as read from an inevitable court transcript):

Judge Waldorf: “And you have all the petition paperwork in line?” Attorney Erica Sharp: “Yes, Judge. Everything should be there as you requested.”

 

Judge Waldorf: “It appears it is. Well, let’s not make this harder than it already is.”

 

Tyson McKenna: “That’s what she said, Judge.”

 

Judge Waldorf: “
What
? Custody denied! Send Derrick McKenna to the gas chamber!”

 

Derrick McKenna: “No! I don’t want to die! I have so much to live for!” Tyson McKenna: “He wouldn’t even get me an Anderson Cooper backpack!”

 

Judge Waldorf: “The travesty! And what were his reasons?” Derrick McKenna: “They don’t
exist
! I can’t buy things that don’t
exist
!”

 

Tyson McKenna: “It wouldn’t have been that hard to make one! Now I have to do it by myself with my own two hands!”

Judge Waldorf: “That’s what she said.”
Attorney Erica Sharp: “Zing!”

Don’t give me that look. You know it could happen. I’m sure people have been sentenced to die for less.

But now I am walking out toward Anna, realizing I am twenty-one years old and wearing a Transformers backpack on my first day of community college. I don’t think it’s that cool anymore, especially when Anna chuckles at me as I sit down next to her.

“Hey,” she says.
“Hey, yourself,” I say back.

“So. Really?” she asks. “Do you take this with you when you go on sleepovers too?”

“Har, har. Don’t be jealous.”
“I don’t think jealous is the right word for what I’m feeling right now.” “Bloated?”

She slaps me across the arm as she scowls. “Just because you like boys now doesn’t give you the right to be mean to girls.”

 

“According to you, I’ve always liked boys. This isn’t something new.” Wow.
That’s
out before I can stop it.

Who knew you would make things awkward with your ex-girlfriend?
it whispers.
I’m soooooo surprised! But just think! This could be the first step toward your new relationship with her in which you’ll be BFFs, and you can call her when you want a girls’ night out! You’ll sit around drinking wine coolers and talking about the men in your lives. O… M… G!

Her eyes widen subtly, and the barest smile forms on her face, and it almost reaches her eyes. She did not expect my boldness, no matter how accidental it was. This would not have happened a month ago. I was so wrapped up in my own deceit that busting down that closet door would have been impossible. I remember that sunny afternoon, lying in Otter’s bed before the shit hit the fan, telling him I wanted to tell his brother about us, about me. Anna would have followed that, I’m sure. And knowing now what I know about the two of them, it would not have been a secret for much longer. But there is a difference between pushing and pulling, and even when everything was out in the open, I was still petrified about what they would think. It’s gotten better, but there’s still a ways to go.

“Not boys,” she says quietly. “Otter. There’s a difference. You probably have never even looked at another man.”

David Trent, but let’s so not go there.
“Is it always going to be weird between us?” I ask her. “Is there always going to be this little strangeness about the two of us?”

She cocks her head at me. “The fact that you left me for a guy or that I’m now sleeping with his brother, your best friend?”

 

I wince. “I really could do without that thought.”

“Really? How do you think I feel? What was it you whispered to Creed that day you told us about you two? You said that it was you that… you know.” She flushes, and this causes my own face to burn.

“Not all the time,” I say, trying to cover it up, distracted by my embarrassment. “Usually, he does me.”

 

Ah, shit.

She coughs, but chokes on the air rushing out of her mouth and starts hacking up a lung. I slap her on the back a few times as she bends over and puts her head between her knees, looking around to make sure nobody’s watching my dying ex-girlfriend, or myself, an apparent bottom bitch with a Transformers backpack. No one seems to notice us, which is great because I think Anna might actually hork up a lung, something I really don’t want to see. Either she’s overreacting or I just overshared. It’s not really hard to think about which one is right.

“I just made this worse, didn’t I?”

“I could have died happily not knowing… certain things,” she agrees. “That’s an image that will never go away. Ever. It’s kind of up there with the thought that my new boyfriend wishes he could sleep with my old boyfriend.”

Ouch. For the both of us. “I had nothing to do with that,” I say quickly. “You know that, right? I would never do anything with Creed. Otter would kick my ass.”

She arches an eyebrow. “And that’s the only reason?”
“And it’d be gross,” I add hastily.
“So you’re saying I have bad taste, then.”

“Wait, what? No! No. Creed is hot, I guess.” (
Ew
.) “It’d just be weird because… you know, it’s
Creed
.”

“Oh, so now he’s hot, is he? Are you going to try and take him away from me? Can’t just let me be happy, can you? Maybe do the whole brothers thing Mrs. Paquinn was talking about?”

I start to sweat. “Jesus
Christ
, what the hell are you talking about?”

Anna bursts out laughing, a bright sound that’s loud and raucous. She’s always laughed big, and my heart flutters in my chest a bit, more at a memory than anything else. It’s nostalgia for nostalgia’s sake, because I haven’t heard her laugh like this in the longest time. That door is shut, but I can’t help but to jiggle the handle a bit, just to make sure. “I’m just messing with you,” she says with a giggle, wiping her eyes. “It’s so easy to do now, I just couldn’t resist.”

“Yeah, well, try harder in the future,” I mutter.
“What’s your first class? I’ll show you where it’s at.”
I mumble something.
“Sorry? Didn’t catch that.”
I clear my throat. “Psych 101.”
She bursts out laughing again. I swear to God she’s projecting.

A
ND
I’m bored within the first ten minutes. Crap.

I knew going back to school was a big thing, but I guess I couldn’t remember just how much I hated it sitting in a desk, listening to someone drone on and on and on about something that I really don’t care about. I would probably consider walking out if I didn’t have the Kid’s voice in my head admonishing me for being a college dropout after only attending one class. You know I’d never hear the end of it.

I look around, studying the people in the room with me. I feel much more at ease when I see that it’s a mixture of younger and older, knowing I’m not sticking out like a sore thumb at the ripe old age of twenty-one. I didn’t know what to expect when I walked in today, whether everyone in the class would be fresh out of high school, but half the class is older than I am. There’s someone that looks like he is around Mrs. Paquinn’s age. Retirement must suck if he’s enrolled in a community college class.

I’m about to turn back to the front of the class when my eyes stutter across a guy one desk forward and two desks over who glances back at me, a small smile on his face. He’s about my size, which makes him smaller than most, but bulked up, which makes me want to flex my arms to assert my male dominance. Somehow, I’m able to resist the urge. He’s older than me, I think, maybe by a couple of years. His black hair is all over the place, in that intentionally messy way that I could never pull off. Thick eyebrows, dark eyes. White teeth that flash at me. His Henley shirt is stretched across his broad shoulders and clings to his chest. His cargo shorts look worn and comfortable. White shell-top shoes, no socks. His skin is tanned, a rarity in Seafare. I wonder if it’s his natural color. Black leg hairs look thick and soft. His calves are well defined, the muscles cut and solid. And then there’s—

Whoa. What the hell am I doing?

I turn away from him, feeling my face heat up, knowing he’s still watching me by the boring sensation that’s on the side of my head. Was I checking him out? I feel a dawning horror as the answer to that question rings throughout my head, saying
yes
,
yes
, and I don’t know what it means.

You can’t be gay for one person, Bear
, Otter had said to me once.
It’s not how biology works.

Fuck me sideways. First David Trent, now this dude. I totally don’t need this right now. I’ve never been one to check people out, not even when I was with Anna, and I’m not going to start. I don’t know what that would lead to, what kind of person I could potentially become, so it’s easier to curb it before it starts. I have what I want. I don’t need anything else.

I steal a glance over at the guy. He catches my eye again and grins. He has dimples. Shit. Apparently I like dimples. Abort! Abort!

Wow, from heterosexual male to homosexual whore in four months
, it says.
That’s got to be some kind of land speed record. Give it another three months, and you’ll probably be a butterfly. And you were getting all pissed off at Otter for shaking David’s hand, and here you are blushing like a schoolgirl over dimples. For shame. Could you be any more obvious?

It’s right and I hate it. I know I can be a hypocrite with the best of them, especially given my jealousy over Otter’s parade of exes, which still makes me burn with anger. And it’s not that I focus on it, but Otter’s voice comes back into my head, telling me of
course
people check me out, why haven’t I noticed? I haven’t noticed because I didn’t have time to notice. I didn’t
care
if people noticed. I didn’t
want
to be noticed. I still don’t. I would have no problem passing through life in my little corner of the world, content with what I have. I don’t need anyone to check me out. I have Otter. I only care what he thinks. I don’t care what anyone else thinks of me. I don’t.

Class is over before I can even register that time has passed. People start shuffling their way out through the door. I shove my books back into my backpack and am about to stand to leave when
he
stands in front of my desk.

“Transformers, huh?” he says, his voice deep. “That’s… different.” “Long story,” I mutter, standing and walking toward the door. He falls in behind me. “So, what is it?”
“What’s what?”

“The story? Anybody that carries that around and says there’s a story can’t just walk away without explaining it first.” He walks quickly around me as I leave the classroom, standing in front of me, forcing me to stop. I almost collide with him, my arms brushing against his. He smells like spicy apples. Cider. Sharp. My eyes collide with his. They’re dark. Almost black. Way too close. I take a step back.

“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Bear,” I say, looking everywhere but at him.
“That’s unusual.”
“Long story.”
“You seem to have a lot of those.” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “I guess.”