Read T.J. Klune - Bear, Otter, and the Kid 2 - Who We Are Online
Authors: TK Klune
My biggest concern when our mother had come back was just how far this was going to push us back, just how much ground we’d lose after all we’d done this summer. I still remember coming home that night after she’d shown up, after I’d broken things off with Otter. How limp he’d been in my arms, his eyes wide and glassy. I remember how angry he’d been, both at her and with me. I wish I could say that his anger toward me hadn’t been justified, but we all know that it was. I’d acted the only way I could think of, having been pushed into a corner. I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to take him away from me, and I curse her again in my head, wondering what cracks lay beneath his surface, if any. He’s shown an uncanny resilience this last time, and I hope it’s strong enough to do what we’re about to do. I hadn’t wanted this to happen, not really, but Otter convinced me, saying it wouldn’t be fair to the Kid if we didn’t. I had sighed, but in the end, agreed.
His face goes slack as he looks me in the eye. “You know,” he says seriously, “I think you’re way more nervous about this than I am. It’s just skipping a grade, Papa Bear. It’s not like it’s anything big.”
“Nice try,” he says, seeing right through my bullshit. “I’m the shortest no matter where I go, and the kids will only be staring at me because of how spectacular I am.”
He looks annoyed. “I can take care of myself,” he retorts. “I’m not worried about a bunch of hormonal fifth graders on the cusp of puberty.”
Otter snorts from behind his paper but doesn’t say anything. He hasn’t changed the page in a few minutes, and I know it’s because he’s listening to what we’re saying. But I also know he understands that this needs to be between me and the Kid, at least for now. He’s said what he’s needed to say to me about the matter, knowing that the final decision needs to be mine. And yeah, I’ve already made up my mind, but I wouldn’t be Bear if I didn’t second-guess every little thing I did.
I sigh. “I know you can,” I tell the Kid truthfully. And I do, really. But hell, I’ll be the first to admit that this whole thing scares the crap out of me. I remember how little I was when I got to the fifth grade, how hulking all the other kids seemed to be. Granted, I never had the support Ty does, or the brains, but I’m still worried that this is too much, too fast. With all that’s happened in the past four months, I wonder if the Kid needs another change this quickly. This could all very easily just blow up right in our faces, and what then? Send him to the fourth grade and pray a therapist can fix all the damage?
Oh God, speaking of therapy, I haven’t yet told the Kid that our attorney told me and Otter that we’d most likely have to visit a therapist for the whole custody thing. To make sure that I was a fit guardian and the Kid was not in danger. Or insane. The last time I’d broached the subject of a therapist a couple of years ago, the Kid had told me that the only people who go to therapy are the ones that have no friends to cry to. I hadn’t bothered to tell him at the time that he didn’t have any friends besides me. Back then, that just made me sad. Now, I would be totally fine if I was his only friend in the world. And not because I don’t want him to go out and make friends (which he seems to be doing, at an alarming rate). No, I’m just worried about that poor therapist being exposed to the brain in the Kid’s body. Ty’s not exactly… subtle.
I’ll save therapy for another day. Procrastination is fundamental when raising a child. Consider that another one of Bear’s Life Lessons (trademark pending approval).
“Well, good,” he says, getting up to put his bowl in the sink. “God knows you’ve probably already thought this through to death. Honestly, Bear, it’s one of your more endearing traits, but don’t you ever get tired of hearing yourself think?”
Otter coughs. Ass.
“Fine,” I say as I throw my hands up into the air. “But I swear to God, Tyson, you’d better tell me the minute—no, the
second
—something
He grabs his backpack off the counter and brings it to the table, pulling out what he refers to as his “Genius” folder. In it are test scores, report cards, extra reports he’s written even though he didn’t have to. There are letters of recommendation from previous teachers and other school staff, a carefully thought out six-page letter he’d composed explaining in detailed bullet points exactly why he felt he should be moved forward (second revision, of course; the first one had included such gems as “Point One: I won’t have to cause a nuisance and interrupt the teacher to correct one of his or her egregious mistakes,” and “Point Six: It’ll look way better for the school district if they decided to take pity on an almost-orphaned underprivileged boy who one day hopes to make a difference in the world. If you don’t, you will all look like monsters. And also, I have a lawyer,” and finally, “Point Eighty-nine: I’m a vegetarian. Studies have shown a vegetarian’s brain works at a higher capacity than those that eat the flesh and drink the blood of our animal companions. If you don’t believe me, look it up on Wikipedia.” Like I said, subtle).
“You sure this is all we’re going to need?” he asks me, poring through the papers for at least the ninth time in two days. “It would suck to get there and have them tell us no because you forgot to include something.”
“I asked Erica,” I remind him for the hundredth time. In two days. “She went over your…
proposal
and said everything looked fine. You know this. Now you’re worried? Why?”
He looks up from his bullet points and watches me plainly. “Because
you’re
worried, Bear. And it makes me nervous. You know when you worry, I worry. It’s just something we do.”
I almost grin at this, but I’m able to squash it before he can see the mirth crawling behind my lips. He’s right, obviously. We’re practically the same, he and I. Not that that’s a bad thing, at all. We’re just… slightly neurotic. Slightly.
“We’ll be fine,” I tell him. “Just remember, if you just so happen to think something that probably sounds like it shouldn’t be said out loud, chances are you probably shouldn’t say it.”
“You should probably do the same,” the Kid says. “I don’t want to have to explain to the principal, my future teacher,
and
the superintendent why my older brother who’s petitioning to become my guardian is attempting to form words but instead looks like he’s a gorilla that’s struggling to learn sign language.”
“I don’t do that!” I snap.
Otter chuckles and farts to cover it up. God, he’s so gross.
This, of course, sets the Kid off, and Otter follows suit, and in turn it sets
me
off, and even though I can’t really explain why it’s so funny, there’s just something about the three of us, in this kitchen, in this house, able to laugh like nothing had ever gone wrong, like things weren’t still so uncertain, that we still didn’t have the fucking fight of our lives ahead of us, something that just rights itself and locks into place.
we meet Tyson’s new teacher, who seems to know Otter a whole hell of a lot better than I would have thought. Or hoped. Or cared to know. I’m not laughing anymore.
We’re sitting in the principal Judd Franklin’s office, a short squat man with tiny eyes that are spaced too far apart and remind me of a goldfish, along with the superintendent, a woman by the name of Leslie Parker, whose gigantic boobs look like they are about to burst out of her tight suit coat and send the buttons flying at us like pornographic shrapnel. Every time she takes a deep breath, I think about ducking, but somehow, I’m able to restrain myself. It’s probably not helping that I’m staring at her chest (not in a sexual way at all, just amazed) so when I hear a polite knock on the door, I’m thankful for the distraction.
“That’ll be Mr. Trent,” Principal Franklin says, rising from his desk and walking over to the door. He smiles slightly at Tyson, but it comes out more as a grimace, and I wonder at it for a moment, until the door opens and in walks the Kid’s new teacher.
I am startled, if only for a moment, to see a handsome man walk in, his stride confident, his smile wide and flashing white, even teeth. His short brown hair is perfect on the top of his head, nary a hair out of place. The stubble on his face is on its way to a full-blown beard, and it adds to the masculinity that seems to ooze from this self-assured man. He’s big (almost as big as Otter), the muscles of his thighs tight against his dress pants, his shirtsleeves catching on the rises and ridges of his biceps, straining and pulling. I sit up straighter and puff out my chest a little bit, unsure why I’m doing so even as I do it. I know when I speak I’ll have dropped my voice an octave to make myself seem more manly, and when I shake his hand, my grip will be tight and strong. Stupid, I know, but I’m a guy. It’s what we do.
But what strikes me the most about Mr. Trent is how young he looks. I doubt he’s older than Otter is, maybe just a few years older than I am. That would mean he’s just graduated from college and must have only been into the job a year or two. I don’t know why I expected Ty’s new teacher to be some old guy. It bugs me, for some reason.
But then it’s made worse when the teacher smiles over at us, first to the Kid, then myself, and then it hits Otter and the grin gets wider and becomes knowing, almost intimate. I wonder at this for a moment until I look back at Otter and find him staring back, his eyes wide, that crooked grin in full display. Oh man, does it hit then.
Shit
.
It starts in my toes with a little buzz. My feet tingle as it moves onto my ankles and calves. My knees feel itchy and then my thighs. My groin hurts, and then it hits my stomach and ignites like fire to gasoline. It roars up through me, encapsulating my lungs and heart, my esophagus. It burns past my eyes, which harden, and then it starts to scald my brain, and only then do I know what it is, only then can I give it a name. This whole process has only taken mere seconds, but when it hits me, I can do little about it. Jealousy. Good Christ, I’m feeling
jealous
of some guy I’ve never met, but who my stupid fucking boyfriend can’t stop smiling at and why has no one said anything yet
and why is everyone just fucking staring at each other!
I clear my throat, but Mr. Trent beats me to it. “Oliver?” he says, pleasantly surprised. “Wow, what are you doing here?” His voice is exactly as I’d thought it would be, deep and whiskey rough, as if he’d smoked two packs a day for thirty years. It’s kind of hot. If you like that sort of thing. I don’t.
Neat. David. His name is David. How wonderful for him. How absolutely biblical. Apparently the heavens have opened up and choirs of angels are falling from the sky in a big fat ray of sunlight, all singing, “
Daaaa-viiiiid,
” and all I want for him is to be smote (smited? Smoted? One of those things that means fiery death pain) for staring at my boyfriend.
Oh come on, Bear
, it laughs.
Did you really think that there was only you and Jonah for Otter? That Otter hadn’t been with anyone else? Of course he was with other people. You weren’t his first anything.
The fight for you is all I’ve ever known
, he whispers from somewhere in my head.
It sighs.
Well, whatever. So Otter loves you and blah, blah, blah. But isn’t that look on his face right now just a hoot? Jesus Christ, this David guy must walk on water or something.
David Trent ignores the Kid and me completely as he walks over to Otter, his hand outstretched. Otter stands, and their hands and fingers touch and grip, and that knowing look is still in David’s eyes, and before I can stop myself, I picture David’s hand wrapped around Otter’s cock, and the blood rushes to my dick, making me feel like a pervert. An angry, jealous, stupid pervert who is wondering why his boyfriend and his little brother’s future teacher won’t stop shaking hands, and it’s like they’re
holding
hands, and how sweet for them. How awesome for those two. I’m pissed off now, even though it’s literally only been twenty seconds since the guy walked into the room, this guy who looks perfect, has the perfect body, the perfect smile, the perfect ass that I seem to be staring at. Why the hell am I checking out this guy’s ass? I don’t check out other guys asses, that’s not who I am. Maybe I just need to see if it’s better than mine.
It is. Of course it is. It looks like you could bounce a quarter off it. A whole roll of quarters, if you were into monetary kink. I bet Mr. David Trent, fifth grade teacher at Seafare Elementary, knows it too. The slut. He’s not going to be Ty’s teacher. Ever. I’ll fucking home school the Kid if I need to. I’ll quit my job and stay home all day with Ty and teach him stuff about… well, whatever it is that fifth graders are supposed to learn. I don’t care. He’s not coming here. Maybe we should move too. Like, to the other side of the country. And stay in our house. Forever.
Finally (after what feels like
days
) Otter and Captain Ass Muscles stop shaking hands and drop their arms back down to their sides. Otter seems to realize that he’s gazing lovingly into another man’s eyes, and he darts a look over at me. I attempt to school my face from the scowl I’m sure is there, but he catches it before I can make it disappear and has the decency to look at least moderately guilty. I squint at him and tilt my head slightly to the left, sending him the message,
Um, what the fuck?
without actually saying the words. We’ve perfected this form of silent communication to the point it’s almost scary.