T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are (7 page)

He shrugs subtly.
Later.
I cough.
Oh, you better fucking believe there’s going to be a later
. He smirks.
Knock it off, Bear. It’s not like that. I can hear you thinking

from here.

I scratch my cheek.
Oh you can, can you? Then you should know I’m thinking about punching you in the balls.
His smirk becomes evil.
You being jealous is so fucking hot. I want to bend you over the principal’s desk and fuck you like you’ve never been fucked before—
“Why is everyone being all quiet?” the Kid asks. “Are we having a staring contest? If so, you should have told me because I wasn’t quite ready yet. Otter?” I can almost taste the sarcasm in his voice. I glance over at him and see him glaring mutinously at Otter, like he’d done the worst thing in the world and had betrayed everyone he holds dear. I should have known the Kid would have been smart enough to pick up on the same things I had. It’s scary, really, how perceptive he is. I look back to Otter, and Otter has seen the same thing in the Kid that I have and takes a step back from Mr. David Trent.
David, of course, takes notice. “What are you doing here?” he asks again. “Last I heard you were down in California.”

Otter reaches up and scratches the back of his head. “Yeah, came back a few months ago.”

 

“Really? What for?”

 

“Yes, Otter, why
did
you come back?” the Kid asks him pleasantly. Well, pleasantly enough.

 

Otter grins down at the Kid. “Down, boy,” he tells him. “I hear you loud and clear.”

 

“Do you?” the Kid asks. “I should hope so.”

The principal, the superintendent, and the guy I wish would fall into a deep crevice in the earth filled with molten lava have no idea what’s going on, but their eyes are going back and forth between my guys like they’re watching a really quick game of chess. It would be funny if I didn’t find the situation so unfunny. But, hey, see how I’m not overreacting? Yet? The Bear of a few weeks ago would have probably stood up and run out of the room and gone to the beach and ignored phone calls from his friends and family while he collapsed in on the weight of his own angst, imagining the ocean was swallowing him whole as the entire world began to shift and crack under the biggest earthquake ever known. The New and Improved Bear just internalizes everything until he can get the object of his consternation alone to ask some very pointed questions as to why said object was making goo-goo eyes at a man who must only work out his ass when he goes to the gym because, good Christ, does it look like it would be hard to the touch and why the fuck am I now
thinking
about touching another guy’s ass?

Well, at least we can cross the whole “gay for Otter” thing off the list
, it says.
Now it appears you’re just gay. Open your mouth. See if a purse falls out.

I don’t know which is better. Or worse. Crap.

 

Otter turns back to David. “I’m here with these two. Bear’s my boyfriend.”

“Partner,” the Kid says. “We’ve been over this, Otter. What grade are you in?”
Otter barely restrains his eye roll. “How could I forget? But you’re right. Bear’s my partner.”

David turns to me with sudden interest, and I stand up from my chair and reach over to him. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone in the room when I try to make myself as big as possible, which I’m sure looks hilarious given that David is at least four inches taller than I am and outweighs me by a good fifty pounds. “Nice to meet you,” I say, my voice deep as I can make it, ignoring the way Otter and the Kid snort. “I’m Bear, Otter’s… partner.” I grip his hand and do my best to crush his bones into dust.

David just looks amused. “I remember hearing about you years ago. I don’t think we ever met, though.”
Say what?
“Heard about me?” I ask, my voice going deeper, almost to the point where it sounds like I’m grunting.

David lets go of my hand before I can break his fingers. I’m sure he’s in copious amounts of pain and just wants to crawl into a corner and hold his injured hand and cry. But somehow, he’s still able to smile at me. He’s good. “Oliver and I used to be…
friends
.” It’s not lost on me how that last word comes out, low and breathy, like he’s fucking the air around him with his mouth. He’s
really
good. “I didn’t know you were… you know.”

I stare at him, daring him to keep on talking, but he’s obviously waiting for me to respond to his question that’s not really a question. “I don’t remember you,” I tell him. “Must not have been very good friends if I never met you.” These words are out before I can stop them, and even I can hear how much of a jackass I am.

Jesus Christ
, it laughs.
Why don’t you just whip out your dick and piss on Otter? I’m sure that would get your point across.

Otter sighs and shakes his head, but that small smile never leaves his face, and I know he’s enjoying the hell out of this, and I think maybe I
should
piss on him, but I don’t think we’re the water-sports type. I’m fucked up as it is; I don’t need to find out I’m into kinky shit on top of everything else. I don’t think my heart could take it. (And, knowing the way my luck goes, I’d find out I was into the
really
kinky shit, and would be the type that needs to wear a black leather hood over my head with a zipper across my mouth and have jumper cables attached to my nipples with the other ends to a car battery, just to get my rocks off. That’s a real thing, by the way. People do that. Look it up online. I can wait. See? I told you. People are so weird.)

David’s not fooled by my words, and his grin grows wider, and it’s like he’s a shark, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen that many teeth before in a person. I’m about to open my mouth to say something (what, I don’t know) when the Kid speaks up for me.

“We all live together now,” he tells David, his little voice flat. “It’s kind of a big deal.”
David turns from me and looks down at the Kid. “It sounds like it,” he says cheerfully. “And you must be Tyson. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you!” He reaches out to shake the Kid’s hand, and I see the veins on the back of the Kid’s hand rise as he attempts to give his own version of a death grip. Jesus God, he’s not just like me, he
is
me. “That’s quite a handshake you’ve got there!” David exclaims, pretending to fall to his knees and grimacing.

The Kid rolls his eyes. “Are you always this patronizing?” he asks. “If so, I don’t know if we’d be a good match.”
“Tyson,” I say, my voice a warning, even though I just want to let him at David. It would be hilarious to watch as the Kid systematically deconstructed his future teacher, but I’ve always tried to impress upon the Kid that he show respect, especially when we’re trying to get him ahead.

The Kid scowls at me for a moment but then drops the act. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I’m not trying to be rude. I just don’t like to be talked down to.”
David nods solemnly, and I think he’s being serious. He gets a point in my book, but he has to make up for the huge deficit he’s already amassed. He doesn’t stand a chance. “Well, Tyson, I can definitely promise I won’t pander to you. I’ve heard some very wonderful things about you, and I can’t wait to see what you can do.”

“Shall we, then?” Principal Franklin asks, waving his hands toward the empty chairs.

 

We shall.

As soon as we are seated (the three faculty members on one side, us on the other, which, unfortunately, gives me the idea that we were auditioning for some reality competition, and for the life of me, I can’t shake this thought despite the seriousness of the conversation—I suck like that sometimes), Ty proceeds to pull his “Genius” folder out of his backpack. I’m about to open my mouth to ask what the people across from us would like to discuss further when the Kid pulls out a thin metal stand from his bag, which he unfolds and props up next him. He then pulls out a little black device that he clicks on and off. A laser pointer. He stands and grabs the “Genius” folder, opening it and pulling out papers, placing them on the stand. The top page on the stand says:
Why I Should Be Allowed Into The Fifth Grade By Tyson McKenna.

My God, the Kid is about to give a presentation.

I glance at Otter, wondering if we should try and stop this or see how it plays. But Otter is watching my brother with such adoration that it takes my breath away, leaving me unable to say a damn thing. For a moment I forget about stupid fucking David Trent and his gigantic muscles, and as if he can hear me thinking (which, to be honest, I think he can), Otter turns his eyes to me, and that adoration doesn’t lessen. If anything, it grows. Christ. I start getting choked up, and I have to look away. He knows, as he always does, reaching out to pat my hand gently, his thumb caressing my knuckles. I nod my head once, letting him know I get that he gets it, that we’ll step back and let the Kid go and see what happens.

The three opposite us stare dumbfounded as Tyson takes a moment to gather his thoughts, rifling through his notes, muttering to himself, his brow furrowed in deep thought. I feel slight unease, having not known that Tyson was going to make this a big deal. The Kid isn’t exactly known for his discretion (what kid is?), and I can only hope he won’t be going along with his normal thought process. But while I hope this, I know that it won’t matter in the end. I figure I can cut it off if need be and deal with the consequences later.

At the very least this should be entertaining.

The Kid finally seems ready and looks across at the others, ignoring Otter and me completely. He stands, taking a deep breath. I can see his hands are shaking a little bit, the laser pointer clutched in his tiny fist, the knuckles going white. He’s nervous. The Kid is fucking nervous. It is enough to break my silence and heart both at the same time. Otter feels me tense, and his grip on my hand tightens. I look over at him and he smiles quietly at me, shaking his head just once. So much is said in that one look, like he knows every fear I have, how it’s killing me to see the Kid nervous, because he’s
never
nervous. Worried, yeah. But nervous? No fucking way. And if he’s nervous now, it means he’s scared, and it means that I have to go to him. I have to protect him. I have to make it better. It’s my job. It’s who I am. It’s what I’m supposed to fucking do. I glare at Otter but he knows. He knows.

“Thank you all for agreeing to meet with me today,” the Kid says, his voice small but firm. “I am here to tell you why I feel you should allow me to be moved up from the fourth grade to the fifth at the start of the upcoming school year. It is my hope that, after my presentation, you will see that I have many interests, such as animal rights and math.” He raises an awkward hand and removes the top page from the stack, and I have to put my hand to my mouth to keep myself from laughing and bawling all at the same time as I see next page says,
I LIKE ANIMAL RIGHTS AND MATH
in large block letters, to which Ty points the laser pointer, highlighting each word to emphasize something. I don’t know when he would have printed this stuff off the computer. I never saw any of this. I wonder if Otter knew. I remind myself to threaten to withhold sex from him until he tells me.

“I am academically inclined, as you can see from my test scores,” the Kid says, reaching down to his “Genius” folder and taking out copies of his report cards and passing them out among the three who are currently staring at him raptly. I should have realized it wouldn’t have taken much for them to fall under Ty’s spell. He’s a charismatic Kid, that’s for damn sure. They murmur their thanks as they take the papers from him, studying them closely, as if they’ve never seen such things before, as if they haven’t already known what his report cards look like.

“Now,” the Kid continues, his voice stronger, more sure, “before I get into the meat of my presentation, which, by the way, is the
only
time meat is acceptable, I would like to show that I have a wide variety of interests outside of academics. I would like to read you a poem I wrote.”

Oh fuck. Oh no.

 

Otter starts to lose it next to me. He’s quiet, but I can feel his hand shaking on top of mine. This is going to be a nightmare.

The Kid picks up another piece of paper from his folder and removes the second sheet from the metal stand. The next paper says,
A CONTEMPORARY POEM BY TYSON MCKENNA ENTITLED “WHY I SHOULD SKIP A YEAR (ODE TO EINSTEIN AND MY ANIMAL FRIENDS).”

He takes a deep breath, and I wonder if I should try and stop him before he speaks, but I’m too late. All I can do is sit back and let the Kid perform his poetic epic. And from the sound of it, he’s found out how to access the thesaurus on the computer. He’s going to be unstoppable.

To the faculty of Seafare Elementary
I’m here to impress upon your will!
I consider myself to be cognoscenti
(that means a person with a high degree of skill).

I say this not to brag, because that would be really lame (even though it sort of is kind of true).
Nor am I here for eternal glory or fame.
I just want to talk to you!

People often ask why I am a vegetarian, and I’m honest when I look them in the eye; I say, “Well, why are you such a barbarian? Putting those animals in your mouth to die?”

They’ll look at me funny, and will sometimes start to stutter, but I’ll continue on, not to be deterred,
saying, “I can’t believe you’d use that mouth to kiss your mother,” as they start to choke on what is undoubtedly some endangered aquatic bird.

People can’t believe that I’m actually only nine.
“Kids don’t talk like that,” they say, “no matter how mature they be!” Really? You don’t think so? That’s okay. That’s fine.
It’s not my fault the most syllables in a word
you
use is three. But I think I deserve a chance to show you exactly what I can do. After all, in school Einstein barely got passing grades.
And if he can be considered the father of modern physics through and through,
Then I think there’s a chance I’ve got this made in the shade.

I’m not saying this to sound cocky, that’s not my intent at all. I’m merely trying to stress a little point.
So I’m hoping that coming up here in the fall,
You’ll let me skip ahead a grade in this here joint.