Jerkbait (12 page)

22

I
t took me a little more than a week to have the balls to slip the story through the vents in Keisha’s locker. Thinking about her was a welcome mental break from worrying about my brother, which was exhausting. But after slipping it in her locker, I cycled through feelings of worry and self-loathing, trembling through the first half of World Civilizations IV. It took a while for me to question whether maybe it wasn’t me that was shaking, but Robbie, sitting in front of me. Mr. Tan left the room and someone coughed, “Fudge packer!” Robbie turned his head. The expression on his face was nothing I’d ever seen before, a sort of anguish I didn’t know existed. I tapped the back of his shoulder and said, “They’re baiting you.”

Robbie didn’t budge for several moments. Then he turned in his seat and looked at me. “I don’t know how long I can do this anymore.”

“Do what anymore?”

Robbie bit his lip, tugging his fake piercing inside his mouth. Then he turned his back to me. His shoulders quivered, like he was waiting for something to happen. An unknown horror he couldn’t share, that only Robbie could feel, could see. I needed to ask him about that, hound him about what was wrong, ask Mr. Tan if we could take a moment when he came back in the classroom, but I couldn’t. I didn’t know how. Maybe I could talk with him at lunch, giving myself a little extra time to figure out the right words to say. A few more hours until I was in a better mindset to deal with whatever answer I would receive.

At lunch, Robbie was sitting at my table, not eating. “Aren’t you supposed to be gaining weight?” I asked as I set down my tray across from him.

“What’s the point?” Robbie mumbled. “I’m not going to get drafted.”

“Oh, come on. They’re not going to ignore you just because you’re gay.”

“Just wait. You’ll see.”

“By the way,” I began, “earlier you said something that kind of worried—”

“Hey, Tristan!”

Both my brother and I turned to the sound. It was Keisha. She wove through the tables to get to me, hair pulled up in a curlhawk.

“Hey, Keisha. What’s up?” I tried to look calm and cool even though I wanted to run and scream and do everything I could to get away. Years ago, Heather had told me my original stories weren’t great. The fanfic was fine, but original stuff? Forget about it. It didn’t matter that Robbie said mine was better. He didn’t really read or anything. He wouldn’t know.

I sucked in a breath and prepared myself for failure.

Keisha stopped in front of me. I looked at her earrings instead of her face.
“I just got your story,” she said, voice fast and excited. My head snapped up and I met her eyes. Did she like it?

“Story?” Robbie asked, quirking his brow.

“You seriously wrote that for me?” Keisha continued, too excited to stop. “That was . . . that was just incredible! It was so good, seriously. You should see if you can get it published or something. It’s so pretty.”

Warmth spread through my body. I kept my head low to keep from blushing and bit my lip the way Robbie often did. For years, Keisha was just someone I noticed in passing, on stage, but otherwise not at all. I’m not sure how. She just blended into the background when Heather was the star.

I fumbled over my words, “Well, yeah. I mean, I wanted to do something special for your birthday. Seventeen only happens once, right? I guess I should have waited to give it to you at your party, but um—”

“Screw that! Then I wouldn’t have been able to read it
today!”
She gave me a hug unexpectedly. “That’s like seriously the sweetest thing a guy’s ever done for me!” I stood awkwardly before I embraced her in return, not sure whether I should hug back with one arm or two, or how snug I should squeeze her, or where I should even put my hands since she was taller than Heather. I didn’t want to seem disinterested, but I didn’t want to seem clingy or creepy or accidentally grab her ass either.

Over her shoulder, Robbie made a kissy-face gesture. But rather than nasty mocking, he was beaming. Like he was ecstatic for me. For a few seconds, I could forget he was depressed.

She finally pulled back, happy, and maybe a little embarrassed, like me. “Just . . . thank you.”

“I’m uh. I’m glad you like it, Keisha. Really.”

She shifted her weight from foot to foot. “So hey, I was wondering . . . do you want to sit with us for lunch today? Robbie, too, of course,” she added quickly as an afterthought.

Robbie shook his head and got to his feet. “Nah, you guys can go suck face on your own. I’ve got stuff to do.”

“Robbie!” I hissed.

Keisha laughed and blushed. “Well, I hope I’ll see you both at my party.”

“What party?” Robbie asked.

“Tristan didn’t tell you you’re invited to my birthday?” Keisha asked with a hint of disappointment.

It was my moment, the chance I was waiting for. I knew it was sort of wrong and self-serving, but I put Robbie on the spot. “I was going to. I just was worried he’d say no.”

“
Say no to what?” My brother asked.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Maybe my brother would say no to me, but I was certain that anyone would have a hard time telling Keisha no. She was too sweet.

“I’m having a party for my birthday at the old cinema,” Keisha said. “I’d really love it if you and Tristan came. I mean, I know it’s been really rough for you, but it’d mean a lot, you know?”

My brother became stock still, freezing the way I often did when I was put on the spot. And, for a moment, I felt absolutely horrible.

“You don’t need to if it’s too much,” I said quietly.

My words seemed to snap Robbie out of it. Politely, he said, “Maybe.”

“Please try to come.”

“No promises.” Without another word, Robbie walked out, frowning at me. Like he was disappointed in me. I was disappointed in me, too.

Keisha smiled at me. “Come on, Tristan. Come eat with us, please.”

“Won’t they mind?” I asked, not feeling quite as enthused as I did a few minutes ago.

“Probably, but I don’t care. You’re my friend.”

I picked up my tray and followed Keisha to the table. Heather and Durrell looked surprised to see me, and more surprised when Keisha pulled up a chair at the end of the table next to her.

I ate lunch relatively quietly, listened to everyone else talk, nodded my head accordingly, and kept smiling. The more I smiled, the more Heather seemed to hurt. She squirmed in her seat, looking quickly between Durrell and me, an uncertainty on her face. I grinned in return. Being happy with her friends was my best weapon. I didn’t even need to say anything nasty or be a jerk, just show Heather that I could live without her in my life. Besides, I liked joking around with Keisha. She was really smart and really funny. She was also really pretty with her dark skin and even darker hair with its constantly changing style. Even though I wrote her a short story, maybe I’d get her earrings for her birthday. It’d look great with the curlhawk.

The rest of the day I was smiling, thinking about lunch, thinking about Keisha more as I thought about Robbie less. I started feeling optimistic. Things were finally going right. Things were finally going better than just back to normal.

At the
end of the day, Robbie was waiting at my locker. “So, about Keisha’s party . . .”

“It’s Saturday,” I said, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to go. Dad and Mom’ll flip out if I try to go without you.”

“It’s right after a game. Matinee
, remember?”

“Do you need to go out with the guys afterward?” I asked hesitantly.

Robbie stalled. He pulled his fake piercing in his mouth when he bit his lip. “How much do you like Keisha?”

Truthfully, I said, “I don’t know yet.”

“But you think you might like her? More than a ‘she’s pretty and I’m horny’ sort of thing?”

I thought about it for a few moments. Keisha
was
pretty. Very pretty. Her face was unique, angles making her look almost goddess-esque. The way she styled her dark brown, curly hair always complemented her personality. Fun. Sweet. Strong. And most importantly, kind.

“Yeah,” I said. “I really think I do.”

Robbie nodded. “Pretty sure I owe you.”

“Seriously? You’ll go?”

“I can be nice once in a while,” Robbie said, forcing a smile that made him seem even sadder. I wanted to embrace him but I didn’t trust myself not to back down, to give myself a reason to be miserable. Robbie going was a gift to me. And like hell I was going to blow it. Not this time.

23

I
t was weird not being on the ice for a game, and even weirder watching warm-ups. I sat next to Dad, halfway up the stands. Dad never liked sitting on the glass unless it was a championship game. Being further back allowed him to see the big picture and to watch the scouts’ reactions. Mom sat on the other side of us. She hadn’t said a single word to me. She also wasn’t glued to her iPhone, surprisingly, fingers bunching up around the strap of her purse.

Robbie skated up to center ice for the opening face-off. We had never been the biggest guys on the ice at 5’10, but Robbie looked downright tiny. The referee dropped the puck, both centers’ sticks snaked out. Robbie moved in a slight daze as the puck left his possession. He rarely lost the opening face-off. Beau barked something to him as our opponents redirected the puck and forced it into our zone. Robbie chased after them, unsteady on his skates.

“He looks terrible without you,” Dad murmured.

With each shift, Robbie scrambled for the puck, head swiveling each side to find someone to pass to before he’d get trapped. He fell down with each hook and trip, all uncalled, like the refs were ignoring him. Their defenders rattled him off the puck, forcing him to dump and chase.

“Pass it to him,” I said beneath my breath as Robbie skated to the slot, the net wide open. Henry wouldn’t even look at him. Robbie banged his stick against the ice, trying to draw his attention but it was no use. From afar, I heard my twin scream something but his words were unintelligible.

The first period ended. The second came and went, two goals against. The third not much different, except Beau was able to score, the puck going just below the blocker.

Only when there was less than two minutes to go did the team started passing the puck to Robbie. He tore up center ice looking almost rabid, passing the puck back toward Raiden as he looked to his right. Immediately, I felt sick. Robbie was looking for me.

He received the puck on its side, barely able to get possession. But the goalie fell for the move, skidding and leaving a wide open net. My brother’s shot hit the crossbar. On the rebound, he missed the net altogether.

The end buzzer sounded. A 2-1 loss when it should have gone into overtime.

Robbie stayed on the ice a bit blankly as he looked around the stands for us. I stood up and waved, trying to draw his attention, but he skated back toward the locker room. I don’t think he saw me.

“Check on your brother. I’m doing damage control,” Dad said, getting up and making a beeline toward the press box. Mom surprised me as she got up and followed him. If she was interfering, then it was a lot worse than I’d thought. His draft rankings were dropping faster than the New York Stock Exchange. One bad game could make a difference from a high second, or even possibly late first rounder from a seventh, or worse.

I frowned and went down the steps, scooting along the concourse before I slipped into the locker room. I could hear screaming before I even opened the door.

“You played like shit,” Coach said.

“They wouldn’t pass to me.”

“Don’t give me excuses. Maybe you’re just some gimmick, like your brother.”

I pressed against the side of the lockers, out of sight, until I saw Coach stalk out.

Then I heard another voice. Henry’s. “It’s God punishing you.”

“Don’t you dare bring God into this.”
Robbie’s voice escalated. “I was wide open.”

“Just like how the net was wide open and you missed.” I was surprised. It was Raiden’s voice, without question. There was something in his tone besides anger. Something I couldn’t put my finger on.

“
That wouldn’t have been a problem if—the hell are you doing?”

There was a scuffling, then a loud shriek. Robbie’s shriek. “GET OFF!”

Finally, I exploded into the locker room. It was empty. I raced to the showers just as they shoved my brother on the floor in one of the stalls, nude. Holding him as Henry turned the tap as hot as it could go. My brother’s skin was red as a lobster.

I ran as fast as I could toward the group, shifting my body to hip-check Henry hard into the shower wall. Henry grunted, doubled over. “The hell is wrong with you?” I snarled, twisting the faucet off. “All of you!”

“Stay out of this, Butter,” Beau said.

“Not if you’re not going to protect one of your teammates. How can you call yourself captain?”

Beau’s lips pulled in a taut line. “Clear out,” he instructed the others, leading the pack, not offering an apology.

Robbie began to shake hard, hands clenching into fists. His face screwed up in an effort not to cry. I grabbed a towel and knelt next to my twin, ignoring the wetness that soaked through my pants, and handed it over. He pressed it to his face instead of his red body.

I stood and caught eyes with Raiden, who stood by the edge of the showers. I didn’t think he’d been one of the ones holding my brother under the burning spray, but I hadn’t been focused on them, I’d been focused on Robbie. Anger burned on my face. “Coward,” I spat.

Raiden looked like he might speak before he shook his head. He looked at Robbie before turning his back, casting one last glance over his shoulder. I swore I saw a tear streak down his cheek but he was gone before I could check. Coward.

I waited for Robbie to get to his feet on his own, turning my back to give him privacy as the shower turned on. It felt like hours before he stood next to me, towel around his waist, skin back to its normal hue.

“You okay?” I asked.

“The scouts . . .” Robbie inhaled, voice as shaky as his shoulders. “Did I blow it?”

I understood not to press. “
Dad and Mom are doing damage control.”

“Then it was worse than I thought.”

“Everyone can have a bad game.”

“You know that’s not true.”

And though I didn’t want to, I said, “Yeah. I know.”

Robbie bit his lip and walked past me to his stall. He pulled out his hockey bag and rooted through for his clothes.

“You know,” I began, “
You don’t need to take it.”

“Take what?”

“This sort of treatment. Maybe you should quit.”

“Are you serious?” Robbie’s head snapped up. “Hockey’s the only thing I have left that doesn’t make me want to . . .” He trailed off.

“All the draft stuff’s making you miserable,” I pressed. “Dad’s making you miserable. The team—I mean. There are other choices out there.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t love hockey,” Robbie said. “I’d rather die than quit.”

And in that moment, I understood why Robbie tried to kill himself.

My brother dressed quickly and silently. I rubbed my hands together as I waited. I knew he loved hockey,
breathed
hockey, but it was hard to imagine anyone putting up with this.

I was surprised to hear him say, “Wanna drive back with me?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” I said. We walked out to Robbie’s car and got in it. I shot a quick text to Dad as a heads up, but he didn’t reply.

As we drove, I wondered what to text Keisha about her party. There was no way we’d be able to go. Not after what Robbie endured. I already was trying to think of what to text her when Robbie asked, “
So, what does semi-formal mean?”

“Huh?”

“For Keisha’s thing. That’s tonight, right?”

“You . . . still want to go?”

“Not really,” he admitted. “But you want to.”

“You just got the shit kicked out of you—”

“
Thanks for reminding me,” Robbie grumbled.

We drove in silence. “You really wouldn’t mind? We don’t need to stay the whole time, I just . . . want to see Keisha. Give her a present or something.”

“I already said I’d go,” he muttered. “Just leave it be.”

And so, right or wrong, that’s exactly what I did.