Authors: Michael Barakiva
Alek was painfully aware of how out of place he was in this crowd. Wearing his khakis and a green short-sleeved Izod that his mom got him for his birthday, he looked down the table at a cornucopia of color, metal, and rough materials. Alek could tell that all of the Dropouts had been buying and wearing whatever they wanted to for years.
“How come he gets to sit here?” the guy with the doubly pierced eyebrow and shaggy hair complained from one end of the table.
Alek shifted in his seat, wondering why Ethan had chosen to subject him to this unique and cruel form of torture.
“What’re you talking about, Pedro?” Ethan asked.
“Look, Ethan, when I was with Stephanie I wasn’t allowed to bring her to our table. Do you know how pissed she was when I didn’t sit with her during lunch? She said it was one of the major reasons that she dumped me.”
“I think the fact that you didn’t shower was another, Pedro,” a guy with spiky bleached-blond hair responded. The entire table erupted with laughter.
“Good one, Josh,” said an Asian-American D.O. next to him sporting a Mohawk.
“Don’t be such a dick, Pedro. You know Stephanie couldn’t sit with us because she’s a chick,” Ethan responded nonchalantly.
“So you’re saying that because you’re into dudes, the people you’re with are allowed to sit with us?”
“I’m saying that only guys are allowed to sit at our table, so I’m allowed to invite Alek to sit with us.”
“That blows.”
“Think of it as a gay perk. Like not having to worry about pregnancy.”
The table howled again, and Alek felt himself relax just a little bit. He had always lived outside of the Dropouts and observed them with awe and horror. You never saw a D.O. by himself: they always traveled the school in a pack, like wolves. But being at their table, he could see that they ate and fought and laughed like everyone else.
Alek leaned in to Ethan. “Does everyone here really know you’re gay?”
“Yeah.”
“Was it hard to come out to them?”
“In my head, it was really hard. None of them are gay, and I’ve known most of these guys since I was a kid. But one day during freshman year, at this very table, we were going around the table talking about which teacher we’d most like to bang. When it got to me, I said, ‘Mr. Spack.’”
An image of the athletic history teacher with broad shoulders flashed into Alek’s mind.
“At first they thought I was joking,” Ethan continued. “But I wasn’t. Josh”—Ethan pointed to the guy with spiky bleached-blond hair—“was like, ‘So what does that mean? You’re into dudes?’ And I was like, ‘You got a problem with that?’ And Josh was like, ‘No way—I’d definitely bang Mr. Spack over Ms. Schmidt,’ and that was that.”
“That easy?” Alek asked incredulously.
“Well, yes and no. Two seniors jumped me after school, but I sent them running.”
“You beat up two upperclassmen when you were a freshman?”
“And got beat up by them,” Ethan admitted sheepishly. “But after those two assholes graduated, everyone knew better than to give me shit.”
One of the guys pounded his fist on the table. “No more whispering, girls.”
“Shut it,” Ethan hollered back.
Alek busied himself with unpacking his lunch.
“What you got there, dude?” the Asian-American D.O. sitting diagonally from Alek asked him.
“Yeah, it looks whack,” Jack said. He got up from the far side of the table and walked over until he was directly across from Alek.
I can’t believe I’m sitting across from the guy who almost beat me up just a few weeks ago,
Alek thought to himself. He wondered if Jack remembered pinning him down on the other side of the tunnel.
Jack snatched the container out of Alek’s hand. Alek felt Ethan about to react, but he jumped in first. He needed to show Ethan he could stand up for himself.
“They’re
soudé
fruits,” Alek said, while Jack continued to inspect the Tupperware that contained little purple bulbs soaking in brine. “Haven’t you heard of them?”
“I haven’t been to Bangladesh or wherever they come from.”
“They’re an Armenian delicacy, which makes sense because they only grow in Armenia. Something about the climate there, I guess. When they fall from the tree, they have to be harvested immediately; otherwise they become poisonous. But when you get them in time, they’re delicious.”
Jack climbed up and leaned over on the table to get a better look. The other guys stopped talking and looked over.
“I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a
soudé
fruit,” Jack declared.
“Whatever, man.” Alek threw the phrase away exactly the way he’d heard Ethan say it, letting the end drag off like he couldn’t care less. “I guess that means you don’t want to try one, which is too bad, ’cause it’s the best damn thing you’ll ever taste, but if you don’t want it…”
Josh piped in from the end of the table. “I did a science report on them when I was in fifth grade. They’re legit.” Josh’s hair was so blond it was almost white, and he spoke with a flat authority that dared to be contradicted. Alek didn’t know if he’d ever sit at this table again, but after Ethan, Josh was his favorite D.O.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to try it,” Jack backpedaled.
“Nah, you’re probably too scared.” And to make his point, Alek grabbed the container out of Jack’s hand, opened it, and popped one in his mouth. He chewed enthusiastically, letting the bliss of the experience show on his face. “Damn, that’s good.”
“Okay, man, hand one over,” Jack said. When Alek pretended not to hear Jack, he barked, “I said give me one of those
soudé
fruits!”
“That’s no way to talk to him, douchewad,” Ethan barked back.
“It’s cool, Ethan,” Alek reassured him. He slid the container across the table, landing it next to Jack’s hand. “You may want to try a little piece first, just to make sure you can handle it.”
Jack looked at Alek defiantly, stuck his fingers into the Tupperware, snatched two of the dripping bulbs, and tossed them straight into his mouth. The entire table watched as he started chewing, slowly at first, and then more vigorously.
“Dude, you’re right! They’re awesome—tangy and—”
Alek put his hands on the table with concern. “Did you just say
tangy
?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God!” Alek screamed, putting his hands on his face. “Spit it out, dude. Spit it out! The
soudé
fruit is supposed to be sweet. It’s only tangy when they’ve been left on the ground too long. Then it’s lethal!”
“Holy shit!” Jack screamed, spewing half-chewed purple chunks all over himself and the guys sitting close to him.
“Give him some water!” Alek yelled. Someone tossed Jack a water bottle from down the table, and he began gulping and spitting violently, trying to remove the remnants from his mouth.
“Call the nurse! Call 911!” Jack screamed between curses and eruptions.
“Dude, you’re getting that shit everywhere!” one of the guys cried, wiping liquid off his face.
“Seriously,” Alek agreed calmly. “You’re totally overreacting.”
“You were the one who said they were lethal!” Jack screamed.
“I was just kidding, man. God, can’t you take a joke?”
“What?”
“You dumb-ass,” Alek continued. “There’s no such thing as a
soudé
fruit. These are just pickled eggplants. Baby eggplants, soaked in vinegar and brine until they shrink down to this size. They’re harmless.”
Everyone was silent as they processed what he’d said. This was the deciding moment, Alek realized: would they appreciate the joke he had played, or would they turn on him for humiliating one of their own ten minutes after he had been invited to sit down with them?
From down the table, Josh’s blond hair bobbed up and down as he heaved with laughter. “You should’ve seen yourself, fool,” he managed to get out between guffaws. “Spitting eggplant everywhere, freakin’ out that you were gonna die. What a bitch. It was hilarious.” Ethan started laughing a second later, and soon everyone joined in.
“You got served, dude,” Dustin said, slapping Jack heartily on the back.
“He got you good,” Pedro agreed.
Soon, even Jack joined in the laughter. The Dropouts’ table was a mess: sodas had been spilled, lunch trays knocked over, sandwiches trampled on. But no one seemed to care.
“What does
soudé
mean, anyway?” Ethan asked.
“‘It’s a lie’ in Armenian,” Alek said, laughing now.
“Alek,” Jack conceded through his own laughter, “you are one sick dude.”
14
“
Lemme get this straight. Your parents are gone for the week.”
“Yup.”
“You don’t have anyone staying with you or looking after you?”
“Nope.”
“And your mom left you some coin?”
“Yup.”
“When’s the party, dude?” Ethan exclaimed, leaping with joy.
Alek and Ethan were walking home after school that day, but for Alek, it felt more like floating than walking. After the
soudé
incident, Ethan’s friends had warmed up to Alek. He knew he’d never be one of them, but he’d settle for not feeling like a total outsider when sitting at their table. Algebra was an exercise in tantalization, sitting so close to Ethan but not being able to talk to or touch him. Every now and then, Ethan would look over and catch Alek staring at him. Ethan would flash a trademark smile, then stare at Mr. Weedin intently, pretending to be engrossed in the lesson.
Alek and Ethan reached the entrance to the tunnel underneath the train station.
“What are you going to do now?” Alek asked.
“Well, usually I hang out and skate,” Ethan said, dropping his board and hopping on top of it. “But I think you and I are going to have an impromptu New York City adventure today instead.”
“Today? We can’t go into the city today!”
“Why not?”
“For one thing, if my parents found out, they’d kill me!”
“And where are your parents right now?”
“Good point,” Alek conceded. “But I still need to call them today. From the landline.”
“No prob. Go home, call them, and be here in time to get on the 4:33. That’ll still leave us plenty of time to spend some QT in the Big Apple.”
Alek thought for a moment. Ethan’s plan was solid. “I’ll be there.”
Ethan leaned in, gave Alek a kiss on his cheek, and walked away, his board slung over his shoulder.
Alek’s cheek blazed. He stood, watching Ethan walk away. His cocky swagger had been the first thing to catch Alek’s attention, as he strutted across the cafeteria or down a school corridor. The swagger said,
I’m my own man, and if you don’t like it, I couldn’t care less.
The elastic line of his underwear was peeking above his pants again. But this time, Alek didn’t look away. Ethan suddenly turned around and caught Alek staring at him. He winked, blew him a kiss, then threw his board on the ground, jumped on top of it, and rolled away.
Alek went home and tried to figure out how this sudden jaunt to New York would affect his schedule. He had promised his parents that he’d mow the lawn that day, and he wanted to keep his word. He was also planning on writing a paper comparing
Romeo and Juliet
to
Love’s Labour’s Lost
for his English class, but since it wasn’t due until Friday, he could put that off until tomorrow.
Alek was changing into his lawn-mowing clothes when the phone rang.
“Hello?”
“Hey, sexy,” a deep voice breathed into the phone.
“Um, who is this?”
The husky voice continued, “I’m thinking about blading over there and showing you.”
“Becky?”
“C’est moi!”
she responded, dropping the act.
“What’s going on?”
“We still on for tonight? I’ve got a great movie and some delicious microwavable kettle corn to celebrate your first night on your own. Well, second, I guess, since your folks left yesterday, but you know what I mean.”
“Um, Becky, do you mind if we reschedule for tomorrow?”
“Well, you know what a busy social life I have. Hold on. Let me see. Do you want to tell me why you’re canceling on me with such little notice while I flip through my calendar?”
“Ethan asked me to … Well, he thought it might be fun to go into the city tonight, what with my parents away and everything…” Alek stammered.
“And did you tell him that we had plans?”
“Honestly, I totally forgot until you just called.”
A long pause followed.
“I know that I have every right to get pissed, but I’m going to take the higher road. That’s how gracious I am. Like a princess. Like Audrey Hepburn in
Roman Holiday
. Alek, go and have fun tonight.”
“Really? You’re not mad?”
“Forget about it. Have a great time, reflect on what a great best friend you have, and we can watch
The Object of My Affection
tomorrow.”
“You’re the best, Becky.”
Alek hung up the phone and changed into shorts and an old T-shirt.
* * *
The second hand of Alek’s robot clock methodically clicked its way around the face while Alek spoke to his mom on the phone, one hour and one mowed lawn later.
“So everyone’s having a good time?”
“Yes, Alek, thank you for asking. Today, we went on the
Maid of the Mist
cruise through Niagara Falls, and tomorrow we’ll be visiting the Armenian community in Burlington, across the Canadian border, so the youth chapter can research their heritage projects. You know, you might think about joining next year.”
“Sounds great, Mom.”
Grass protruded from Alek’s hair and stained his fingers. He knew that his parents could afford a motorized lawn mower, but his dad insisted on buying the manual kind because it would help his sons “build character.”
“So, everything’s good?”
“Well, almost everything.”
“What is it, Mom?” Alek walked over to the shower and turned the water on so he could jump in the second he got off the phone.
“It’s just, traveling with the Hovanians can be so trying. Nothing is ever good enough for them. Why, just today, Mrs. Hovanian insisted on going into the kitchen of the Armenian restaurant where we had lunch to show them how to make real kibbi.”