The Book of David (20 page)

“I'm just sick of hearing about how he's the best at everything. He's the star of the show. He's got the fastest two
hundred on the swim team. He's a great singer. He bagged a buck. Blah blah blah.”

“It's not Jon's fault he's good at a bunch of stuff,” I said. “You even think he's funny when he's bagging on me.”

“I just miss hanging out when it was just you and me, man.” Tyler actually sounded sincere when he said this.

I smiled at him. “Dude. Chill out. It's just a trip to the freaking mall. You don't have to throw him a parade.”

“Fine,” he said. “Whatever. When are we going?”

“Let's hit it after practice tomorrow night. I'll pick you up. Text me when you're home from physical therapy.”

It still makes me nervous to hang out with Tyler and Jon at the same time. I don't know why. It used to be that I was afraid that Tyler would call Jon names and stuff. Now I think it's more that he'll figure out something's going on between me and Jon.

God, I hate this whole situation sometimes. It's just so complicated. It's bad enough trying to hide this from Monica and my mom and dad. I wish I had somebody I could talk to about this who would get it. There are these sites online that offer “support for gay teens.” They all have hotlines to call, but what would I say if I called? I clicked onto a chat screen on one of the sites, and somebody came on and asked if they could help me. I just sat there staring at the curser blinking on the screen; then I closed the box.

I mean, what's my end game here? Play well at college? Then what? Hopefully get drafted into the NFL? I mean, even if that were a possibility, I'm not gonna be able to come out then. Sure, there are people coming out of the closet all over sports. But football? And then have it be all over the news? My dad would flip his shit. Mom would have a breakdown. How is somebody sitting at a computer on the other side of the country going to fix that? How are they going to be able to help me?

This is what happens when I let my head run with this idea. It just seems totally hopeless. But how long can I hide what's going on with me and Jon?

We actually had fun getting fitted for tuxedos. After practice, I picked up Tyler, and then we swung by to get Jon. He had called the place over by the mall to make sure they'd still be open after I got done with practice at six p.m.

When we got there, we looked around at the mannequins and at the selections they had hanging on the racks. I decided to go with basic black, single breasted with a white shirt. The shirt I picked has a full lay-down collar with French cuffs. My grandpa gave me some cuff links before he died that I've never really worn, so I decided I'd try them out.

Jon went with an ivory-colored dinner jacket with a shawl
collar and black tuxedo pants. I think he's going to go with a long skinny tie. He kept talking about Frank Sinatra and the Rat Pack as his inspiration.

I held Tyler's crutches for him, and he hopped into the dressing room to try on a few things. When he poked his head out of the door, he had this grin on his face, and I realized I hadn't seen him smile in a long time.

“You assholes ready for this?” he asked.

Without waiting for an answer, he swung the door open and took a couple of hops out into the area by the mirror, holding his leg in the brace out in front of him. He was wearing a powder-blue tuxedo that looked like it came straight from the seventies, with a giant ruffled shirt and a bow tie the size of my head. I almost fell down, I started laughing so hard. Jon silently walked over and held up his hand for a high five. Tyler laughed and smacked it.

“You win, man,” said Jon. “That's the bomb.”

“You think this is it?” Tyler asked.

“Dude . . .” I was wiping tears out of my eyes. “If you wear that, you are the biggest badass our school has ever seen.”

Tyler looked at the lady who was running the place and said, “I'll take it.”

He says he'll be off his crutches for the dance on Friday. Hopefully Erin won't kick him in the knee when he shows up that night.

I am so pissed right now, I don't know what else to do except write about it. Thank God I threw this journal into my backpack this morning because I had it out last night and was running late to school this morning. So, instead of taking the time to hide it under the mattress again, I just tossed it in with my books. It's almost like I knew I'd need to write in it.

I'm not sure if I'm more mad at Tyler or at Jon. Tyler was just a total dick at lunch, but then what about Jon? How come he didn't give me the whole story? I mean, what is his deal?

Okay, I have to start at the beginning. I'm so angry, I can barely sit in this study hall. I feel like running until I freaking drop dead.

So, we're sitting at lunch today. Jon is telling Tyler and me how much the limo his dad is renting for us is going to set us back. Once we get the financial details worked out, we spring it on the girls: We're picking you up in a limo. Amy, Monica, and Erin are totally excited about it. Monica is practically in tears. She throws her arms around my neck and kisses me full on the lips right in the middle of the cafeteria.

“Was this your idea?”

I shake my head. “No. I was gonna toss you in the back of my truck.”

She giggled and said, “Then who? Tyler?”

Tyler said, “Nope. This was all Jay.”

We all sort of turned to look at him, and he had this weird look on his face. He was staring at Jon.

“You mean Jon?” Erin asked.

“Didn't used to be Jon, did it?” Tyler was still staring at Jon, who was sitting there sort of frozen, not looking at Tyler. His face had gone sort of pale.

“Jesus, Tyler. What are you talking about?” Monica could sense that Tyler was up to something. She has a strong no-bullshit meter.

“Dunno. Why don't you ask Jay here?”

Tyler had this smug look on his face that made me want to smack him. My stomach was instantly in knots. Whatever this was, I could tell it was going to involve Tyler being an ass. I remembered that night I told my dad we'd talk about USC later, and I took a deep breath.

“Tyler, what the hell?”

He turned to me. “Did a little digging on Facebook last night and clicked a few links. Found out our boy Jon Statley here used to go by Jay at his high school in Chicago. Big interview in the
Chicago Tribune
back when he was a sophomore.” He turned to look at Jon, and his tone became mocking, like he was talking to a baby. “Turns out little Jay got picked on a lot at school.”

I'd had it. I slammed a fist down on the table and made everybody's trays jump. Tyler held up both hands. He wore his little shit-eating grin. “Dude. Chill. I'm just reading what it says online. Isn't that right?
Jay?
”

Monica was pissed. “Tyler, you're such a moron. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Wanna tell her why you were being picked on in Chi-Town, buddy?” he asked Jon. “Or should I?”

Jon looked up at Monica and over at Amy, then glanced down the table at Tyler and Erin. He looked at everybody sitting there. Except me. Slowly, he pushed his tray back, slung the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder, and stood up. He stared Tyler down for what seemed like a long time.

“Tell 'em whatever you want, tough guy. I'm out.” Then he turned and slowly walked out of the cafeteria.

When he left, Monica whirled on Tyler. “You are such an asshole. What is the big deal? What was this all-important issue you just had to bring up?”

“Dude started a GSA in Chicago, Monica,” Tyler said.

“A GSA?” Amy was confused.

Monica rolled her eyes. “A Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“What's that?” asked Erin.

“It's a club where gay students and straight students meet up to be supportive,” Monica said. “Jeez. Don't you watch TV?”

“They actually have those in high schools?” Amy frowned.

“Uh, yeah. Just not ours.
Yet
.” Monica shot this at Tyler, who rolled his eyes.

“
Ever
, if I can help it,” he said.

“It doesn't mean anything,” I said. “Who cares if he started a Gay-Straight Alliance?”

“Doesn't
mean
anything? Dude!” Tyler was laughing. “Are you kidding? Before Jon transformed himself into a singing swim god and changed his name, he was the laughingstock of his high school. Dude is a total homo.”

“No, he's
not 
!” Amy was pissed now. “He's a really good kisser, and he's my date for homecoming. You're just an asshole, Tyler.”

“Oh . . . okay. Sure. Great.
I'm
the asshole. Fine.” Tyler crossed his arms and shook his head. “Actually,
I'm
the one who's telling you the
truth
. But sure. Side with the closet case who has you all dazzled.”

I wanted to kick Tyler in the knee under the table, but I knew I couldn't. I couldn't stand up for Jon too forcefully, either. I couldn't do anything because I didn't have the whole story. I wasn't getting it from Tyler, that's for sure. I grabbed my tray and stood up.

“Where you going, champ?” Tyler asked it as a question, but I heard a challenge.

“To find Jon,” I said calmly. “Jesus, Tyler. He's got a girlfriend,” I said, nodding at Amy.

“Does he?” Tyler asked. “I mean, does he call you that?”

Amy sighed and stood up, grabbing her tray. “So he started a club, Tyler. Doesn't make him
gay
.”

“Nah. Course not,” said Tyler. “Just makes him a guy who wants to hang out with a bunch of gay guys.”

“Or maybe,” I said, “it just makes him
nice
.”

Monica was on her feet too. “Not that you'd know anything about that, imbecile.”

“Imba-what?” Tyler asked.

“You're the one into digging around online, Tyler. Look it up.”

Amy and Monica and I tried to find Jon before the bell rang for this class, but his Jeep wasn't in the parking lot. I'm pretty sure he skipped out for the rest of the day. I tried to call him, but his phone went straight to voice mail and he hasn't answered a single text.

I could kill Tyler for bringing this up, but I want to see what Jon has to say for himself. I could tell from the look on his face that this really got to him. I wanted to reach over the table and grab his hand and tell him it would be okay.

Of course, at the same time, I also feel like shaking Jon and yelling,
What the
hell,
dude?
This is too close. It's too much. If Tyler could find that stuff online, anybody can find it. Once they do, how long before they start looking at me and wondering about whether I'm gay?

And am I actually gay? Shit. Why does this have to be so complicated? I don't even know how I feel inside right now, or what I want. My shoulders are so tense as I'm scribbling in this journal that I can feel the knots forming in my neck. It's like I'm hunched over this notebook, bracing for an impact, like at any moment the ceiling could collapse and the building and my whole life will come crashing down around me.

I have to talk to Jon.

I texted Jon from the parking lot after practice to tell him I was coming over. When his mom opened the door, she smiled, and I knew he hadn't told her what had happened at lunch.

“Jon told me you boys had a good time picking out tuxedos,” she said.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said. “Is he here?”

“Of course.” She swung the door open for me and called up the stairs, “Jon, honey!”

Jon was already on his way down, pulling a hoodie over his head. He walked past without looking at me. “We're gonna study for our chemistry test, Mom. Back in a couple hours.”

His mom smiled. “Have fun!” Jon was already in his Jeep, waiting for me. Mrs. Statley gave me a quick hug. “See you this weekend—in formal wear!”

I waved good-bye as I walked down the porch steps. I heard the door close behind me, and I took a deep breath, then climbed into the Jeep.

“What the hell?” I asked.

“Why did you come here?” Jon pulled out of the driveway.

“You disappeared, man. You haven't answered any of my texts or calls all day. What is going on?” Jon was headed down toward the park at the river and took a corner a little too fast. “Jesus, dude. Slow down.”

He didn't speak again until we were parked not far from where we had gotten into the backseat together a month ago. Jon jumped out and slammed the door, then walked toward the picnic tables under some big elm trees. In the distance, I could see joggers and bikers and moms with strollers on the running path that crossed the bridge by the dam. I followed Jon to one of the stone tables. He sat on it with his feet on the bench, watching the last light fade behind the hills.

“Jon?”

When I said his name, he didn't turn around. Instead he crossed his arms on his knees and buried his face. I slid onto the table next to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't!” Jon shrugged me off and scooted away from me on the table. His face was red, and there were tears streaming down his cheeks.

When I saw that, something in me snapped—not in an angry way—but like a light switch coming on. I saw a look of frustration and fear in his eyes that I recognized. I knew these feelings, because I'd felt them, too.

I stayed where I was sitting on the table. It was almost dark now, and the breeze coming off the river was crisp and cool. The lights blinked on across the bridge. After a bit I decided to try again.

“I'm sorry about Tyler,” I said.

Jon rubbed a sleeve across his face and gave a short, bitter laugh. “But . . .”

“But what?” I asked.