What They Always Tell Us (16 page)

The theater is across town, at the older mall, the one with no good stores in it anymore. The parking lot is crowded, and James has to circle around a few times before settling on a spot far away from the entrance, near where the lot edges up to the highway. If he looks to his left, he knows he could see the glowing sign of the La Quinta, which is just across the street. He can almost feel the light of the sign burning into his face, a shameful reminder. He slams his Jeep shut and turns toward the mall, careful not to look the other way. What would Clare think if she knew? She’d think he was a scumbag, probably.

“It’s packed,” Clare says, seeing the inside of the theater lobby as they approach. “All of Tuscaloosa out for a night on the town.”

And it’s true, all kinds of people are out for a night at the movies—young and old, black and white, couples and groups of friends, even parents with kids. Right away James sees a few people from school, not great friends but acquaintances. He and Clare wave to a few of them, but nothing more. There are also a lot of kids from the county schools here. A lot of the guys are in tight jeans and snakeskin boots, like they’re going to a rodeo or something. Their girlfriends are wearing tight jeans, too, or else miniskirts, even in this weather. He sees one guy, tall and beefy in jeans with a blue plaid shirt tucked in, his longish black hair tucked under a trucker cap. A football player, probably. And the girl holding hands with him is Alice.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath, but Clare hears and says, “What?” Then she sees them.

“It’s no big deal,” he says.

Clare narrows her eyes at him. “Whatever you say.”

“It isn’t,” he says. “I just hate running into her. She’s such a psycho.”

Clare sighs. After Alice and her oaf boyfriend—or whoever he is—buy their tickets, they walk over to the concession area, thankfully not noticing him and Clare.

James buys the tickets from a girl who seems way too happy for such a busy and annoyingly crowded night. Clare insists on buying the popcorn and Cokes and Sno-Caps.

The inside of the theater is warm, smells of popcorn, and is swarming with people, dotted throughout in every row under the milky orange lights. They manage to find two seats midway down, not too close to the screen, but not too far away. The floor of their row is sticky with spilled soda and melted candy and who knows what.

James is careful to stare straight ahead at the screen, afraid of turning and seeing Alice. If she’s in here, she’s probably seen them already. Maybe she’s kissing her boyfriend, maybe hoping James will turn around and see her, all in love and shit. He keeps his hands on his thighs, careful not to use the armrest because he doesn’t want to bump arms with Clare. He especially doesn’t want her to think he might be putting the moves on her.

When the lights of the theater fade and the movie screen bursts with activity, James breathes easy, feeling safely hidden away in the dark embrace of the movie.

After the movie lets out—it was pretty good but reminded James of too many other movies he’s already seen—he feigns interest in the credits so they can avoid the mad dash out the door (and, of course, Alice). Then, when the crowd has thinned, they both hit the bathrooms. The girls’ has a line that eases out the door, and by the time James finishes peeing, Clare is still nowhere to be seen.

He stands off to the side in the lobby, waiting for her. Soon he sees Alice exit the bathroom, and he thinks about ducking behind one of the big potted plants. She sees him before he can make any attempt to hide.

He looks away, hoping she’ll just sneer from afar. But before he knows it, she’s in front of him. He can smell her perfume. “So, you and Clare Ashford are back together, huh?” she says, arms folded over her chest.

“No, we’re not. We’re just friends.”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you are, James. I don’t care.”

Yeah, sure you don’t,
he thinks. He sees her turn away, maybe searching the theater lobby for her meathead boyfriend.

“I’m going out with Shane Rollins,” she says, turning back to him. “He’s the quarterback at Hillcrest. A football player.”

“Oh, really? Gee, I thought he was quarterback on the basketball team.”

Just then, Clare walks up and stands next to him, like she is unsure of how close she should get, maybe afraid that Alice will try to scratch her eyes out. Clare says, “Hi, Alice.”

But Alice just gives James a shit-eating grin and turns and walks away.

“Let’s get out of here,” James says.

In the Jeep, Clare says, “Sorry about that.”

“About what?”

“Alice. Sorry that you had to talk to her. I know it must be weird.”

“
She
came up to me. She told me about her new redneck football-playing boyfriend.”

“God, I’m lucky I don’t have to run into Mason at school.”

“Who?”

“Mason, my ex. You know, the college guy.”

“Oh yeah.” Mason. Shane. All the guys who came after him. Well, he can see why Shane wants Alice—he clearly just wants an easy lay. That’s the only reason any guy wants Alice. And she just likes him because of the football thing. Whatever.

“I feel sorry for her,” Clare says.

“Why?” he asks, incredulous, almost laughing, thinking immediately of his slashed tire.

“I don’t know. I mean, she seems nice. She just…she has a chip on her shoulder, I guess. I’ve always tried to be nice to her, unlike some of the other girls. But she hates us, so I guess we all hate her back. Except me, really. It just doesn’t seem like she has any friends.”

“Well, she’s a psycho bitch, if you ask me.”

Clare sighs. “Oh, James.”

“What?” he says.

But all Clare says is “Never mind.”

After he drops off Clare—she gives a cursory good-bye and then dashes to her house—James drives around the city. It is late, but not past his curfew, and he doesn’t want to go home yet. He drives away from home first, through the mostly empty city streets, past strip malls with Laundromats, hair salons, copy centers, past a McDonald’s and a Subway and a Chinese buffet place. There’s the Krispy Kreme where their dad used to pick up doughnuts on Saturday mornings. Alex always wanted the powdered ones, but James liked the glazed and the chocolate iced, washed down with a glass of milk. They haven’t gotten doughnuts in a while.

He drives by Central High, which looks eerie in the darkness, devoid of lights and activity. Will he ever miss this place one day? Grown-ups are always saying these are the best years of their lives. But is this as good as it gets? He hopes with all his heart that it’s not. For his sake. And for Alex’s.

When he finally gets home, the house is dark, though his mother probably has one ear open in her light slumber, waiting for the sound of James’s return. He enters through the kitchen door and goes directly to the fridge for some water. After he takes a big gulp from a bottle, he hears a voice.

James follows the sound, walking softly through the foyer to the living room, where he sees the moonlight framing Alex in the front window. His back is to James, and he is holding the cordless to his ear. “Yeah, tomorrow is good,” he hears Alex say softly. Then Alex chuckles. “We’ll see about that.”

Who is Alex talking to? James knows he shouldn’t be snooping in the dark, but Alex has to have heard his Jeep pull up, right?

“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow. You’ll pick me up, right?…Okay…. Yeah, you sleep well, too.” He chuckles again. “Night.” Then James hears the beep of the off button. He quickly backpedals across the foyer, then into the kitchen. He coughs so Alex knows he is there.

Alex walks in right after that. “Oh, hey. You scared me there for a second.”

“Sorry. Just got home.”

Before James can ask him who he was on the phone with, they are both bathed in the headlights of a car that has turned onto their street. James expects the car to zoom on by, but it doesn’t. It slows and stops across the street, at Henry’s house.

“Who’s that?” Alex asks. They both go to the window and peer out.

The car looks like a sedan or something, a dark color. Maybe a BMW, maybe a Mercedes, it’s hard to tell. Then its lights flick off, though James can still hear the engine running.

“It’s right in front of the mailbox,” James says. Soon, James can make out a hand reaching from the driver’s window and placing something in the metal mailbox.

“Weird,” Alex says.

The car’s lights suddenly flick back on, and both he and Alex pull back from the window. The car drives off, and as it passes James can see now that it is a Mercedes, can hear the distinctive gurgley sound of its diesel engine.

“I wonder what that was all about,” James says.

“Did they leave something in the mailbox?”

“Looks like it.”

“Weird,” Alex says again.

It’s like they are in some creepy movie, like the one he saw previews for at the theater tonight. Feeling caught in the moment, James makes for the front door, which he unlocks and eases open.

“What are you doing?” Alex whispers.

James steps out into the cold night and creeps down the steps, across the lawn. Alex, he realizes, is following him now, even though he’s barefoot in sweatpants and a T-shirt. They both pause at the curb, as if waiting for cars to come by. Then James walks to the mailbox.

“James,” Alex whispers loudly, before approaching.

He pulls down the mailbox lid. Inside he sees an envelope. He pulls it out. Alex is now at his side, peering at the envelope as well. The nearest streetlight provides a little light, enough for James to see that no name is written on the envelope.

“It’s thick,” James says.

He hands it to Alex, who hesitates before grabbing it and squeezing it. “What is it?”

“Money. It feels like money.”

Alex looks up at him in the darkness and nods before shoving it back inside the mailbox. James reshuts the lid. They both dash back across the street, inside the house, where James relocks the door. They both stand there for a minute, as if they’ve escaped some close call, before Alex says, “This is so strange.”

“Yeah. Who’d be dropping off money?”

Just then the upstairs hall light flashes on. “Boys? Is that you?” Mom shouts.

They look at each other, and to James the moment is almost electric, like in just a few short minutes they’ve bridged a divide.

“Yeah, Mom,” Alex says.

She appears at the top of the stairs. “What are you two doing?”

“Nothing,” James says.

“Well, go to bed. It’s late.” She flicks off the light and they hear her go back to her room.

They climb the stairs, then pause at James’s door.

“You want to look out my window?” Alex whispers. Alex’s window faces Henry’s house, but James’s looks out at the backyard.

“Nah, I better get some sleep,” James says.

“Okay,” Alex says, sounding a little disappointed.

“Good night,” James whispers.

“Good night,” Alex whispers back.

Later, in bed, James wonders who the hell would have dropped off an envelope full of money in the middle of the night. Now that he can’t sleep, he wants to cross the hall to Alex’s room, to see if he is looking out the window, thinking the same thoughts he is. It’s only then that James remembers he forgot to ask Alex who he was chatting with on the phone. But he knows it was Nathen. No doubt about it.

Alex

A
lex had touched the envelope himself, and it
felt
like a wad of money—soft and papery and just the right size. But who would leave money in a mailbox in the middle of the night? And why?

Instead of trying to get some sleep—he is, after all, running with Nathen the next morning, so he needs his rest—he stations himself in front of his window, opening the blinds just so. Henry’s white house is lit by the moon and the spillover from the streetlight. Maybe Mrs. Burns will creep out of the house and grab the envelope and run back inside. Or maybe Mrs. Burns’s mailbox is some weird drug drop spot, and whoever left the envelope is using it unbeknownst to her, and soon another car will swing by for a pickup. Whatever it is, Alex feels a charge of excitement, like something dangerous is going on right under their noses.

He thinks about waking up James, having him stand here with him to keep watch. He wants to talk with him about it. Maybe he has an idea of what’s going on. It’s like this sense of mystery has bound them together again. Even if it turns out to be nothing, can’t they laugh about it?

But he just stands there, frozen, like he’s afraid of even crossing the hall and knocking on James’s door. That’s the thing with James lately. Sometimes—like tonight—he seems like the brother of old, like he’s slowly but surely coming to see Alex as his younger brother again and not some oddball. But then there are the days—more common—when he shoots Alex those dismissive looks, when he is silent and aloof. Alex also feels a little guilty about the situation with Nathen—like he’s somehow betraying James, or wronging him in some way. How could James ever understand? So Alex keeps quiet, too, keeping this secret deep inside.

He takes one last look out the blinds, hoping for more intrigue. But nothing happens. It’s just a quiet and cold January night, so he crawls into bed and closes his eyes and waits for sleep to take over.

In the morning Alex puts the envelope incident out of his mind. Nathen is picking him up for their Sunday jog at the rec in a little while. Each morning when he wakes now, Alex still can’t believe he is a full-fledged member of the cross-country team—it’s all real, not some hazy fantasy he has dreamed up. For the first time in his life, he’s on an
actual team.
And he earned his place through his own skill and hard work. (Not like T-ball, when they basically had to take any kid who wanted to play.) James has always been the one to excel at sports. It’s not that Alex was never interested in them, it was just that James always got there first. James conquered soccer, and then baseball. Even basketball for a while. Then he found tennis. By the time it was Alex’s turn, he naturally shied away, because he knew he wouldn’t be the star that James was. What was the point?

But now, with running, he feels like he has found
his
spot in the athletic realm, one that stands apart from James. In the practice runs so far, Alex keeps up with most of the other guys, except for the best runners like Joseph Ewusi-Mensah or Donald McClendon. It’s tough, of course, because there are technical things to consider now—he can’t just go out and run mindlessly like he used to. This is a sport, and there are tactics and methods. He has to focus on his stride and how his feet land on the ground. “Get up on your toes,” Coach Runyon will shout at him when he lands on his heels too much. Then there’s the pacing. “You’re going out too fast,” Coach says. Some days he feels like he has a limp, his legs are so sore. Still, he is adapting to the schedule and to the rigor of it all, slowly but surely. Coach says it just takes time for a body to get used to the distances and speeds and routines and all the hard work. Plus, Coach reminds him, his body is still growing, which further complicates things.

He likes his teammates—a serious, hardworking bunch, both tall and short, lean-bodied, all business during practice. But after practice, they’re nice to him, talking to him, giving him encouragement and pointers. He thinks some of them might even be his friends.

During their most recent session, Dr. Richardson said he can tell Alex is doing better. “You seem more upbeat, positive. I think this cross-country thing is great. It’s good for you both physically and mentally.” Alex nodded in agreement.

What Alex didn’t mention to Dr. Richardson was Nathen. He really doesn’t know what’s going on between them, but something
is
going on, that’s for sure. Something good. Ever since that day at the rec, they’ve been more than just teammates. More than just friends, even. Though they are both of those things, too. It’s like they are explorers in some new, uncharted land, explorers who don’t really know how or why they got there. And for now, they haven’t stopped to ponder it—they just keep exploring, discovering, never looking back. Mainly it has been kissing and touching here and there, when they can find safe moments. They haven’t even really talked about the situation. When they’re together, stuff usually just happens.

But there had been one night, when Nathen whispered, “Let’s take this slow.” Whatever “this” was. They had been in his Jeep, making out while parked in the deserted Foodmax parking lot. Between each kiss they had nervously looked around, making sure no one was watching, that no other cars were coming.

“Okay,” Alex had said back, feeling relieved but also excited and anxious.

Because what they are doing is wrong—right? Wrong and unnatural. Sinful. Boys should only kiss girls. (Kiss and all that other stuff.)
Not boys.
Yes, it is wrong, wrong, wrong. Well, at least that’s what they always say—the Bible, the preachers, the politicians, the other boys in his school who use the word “faggot” like it’s the only putdown they can ever come up with. Everyone, it seems, says it’s wrong.

But maybe it’s not. Maybe
they’re
wrong.

He wants to chat with Nathen about it, but he’s afraid to disrupt what they have. Like if he makes one false move, everything will collapse and he’ll go back to his old life, a life without purpose. A life of things that are simply meant to be good for him but really aren’t.

After their run and shower, Nathen and Alex stop off at Subway to get a sandwich. The rec had been crowded today, full of students still caught up in the New Year’s resolution workout frenzy, even though it is the end of January. The locker room, too, had been packed with guys, which made Alex a little nervous. He and Nathen barely looked at each other while they undressed, made toward the showers, and then dressed again.

Now, in Subway, seated at a table by the door, they wolf down their sandwiches.

“Maybe we’ll just start running outside again,” Nathen says.

“Yeah, okay.”

“I mean, it was almost too crowded at the rec to get a good rhythm going, you know? All those sorority bitches and their fat asses.” He burps and Alex gets a whiff of roast beef.

“Disgusting.”

Nathen laughs and balls up his napkin and tosses it at him. Under the table, their legs touch, like by accident. But Alex knows it’s on purpose.

Alex turns to look out the window, and he nearly spits out his Coke when he sees Tyler drive up and get out of his car. He doesn’t say anything, but Nathen turns to look out the window and says, “Oh, great.”

At least Tyler’s alone. No Kirk in sight. He’s wearing khakis and a pale blue oxford with a dark green tie under a navy blazer. Just getting out of church, Alex guesses.

The bell on the door jingles as he enters. Tyler notices the two of them right away. “Oh, hey, guys.” He comes over, his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, man,” Nathen says, but Alex says nothing, just looks down at his half-eaten chicken marinara sub.

“Let me guess,” Tyler says. “You guys just came from a run?” He smiles, like what he said is really amusing.

“Yep.”

“You two are, like, always together. You dating or something?” he says, laughing.

“Ah, fuck off, Tyler,” Nathen says, smiling like he knows it was just a joke. “Why are you all decked out?”

“Some of us go to church on Sundays.”

Alex wants to say,
Wow, aren’t you a saint,
but he just turns away and looks out the window at the cars whizzing by. He wishes Tyler would just whiz on by, too. Tyler’s only acknowledging him—barely—because Nathen is around.

“Not me, dude,” Nathen says.

“What, no Hindu church on Sunday?” Tyler says, laughing again. He’s a real comedian, this guy.

“Dude, I’m not Hindu,” Nathen says, sounding more exhausted than angry.

“I’m just kidding, man,” he says, smiling big, all self-satisfied. “Well, listen, I’m gonna grab a sub and head out. But let’s hang out soon, okay?”

Nathen just nods. Alex continues to stare outside.

“Later.”

He’s gone, but not completely. Alex can still feel his eyes on the two of them while he’s in line getting his sandwich. Alex feels raw, exposed. He even shivers, like he’s standing naked in the cold outside air. He has half a sandwich left, but all of a sudden he feels full. He wraps it up for later.

“You okay?” Nathen says.

“Yep.” He slurps the rest of his Coke.

It seems like Tyler will never leave, but he finally does. They both watch as he struts to his car, his sandwich bag swinging along beside him. “That guy’s a real asshole,” Nathen says. Under the table, Alex feels Nathen’s knee against his own, a gentle rub.

Nathen drives him home, the songs on the radio the only noise filling the air. It’s a sunny day, a washed-out blue sky dotted with a few cottony clouds. Soon it will be February, the last stretch of cold before March ushers in the beginnings of spring.

“So, my folks are gonna be away this weekend,” Nathen says. He pulls the Jeep up to Alex’s house. “At some conference.”

Alex’s heart swells and races.

“You maybe want to come over one night? Maybe sleep over?”

“Like, spend the night?” Alex says.

“Yeah, like, spend the night.” Nathen drums the steering wheel and stares ahead, all casual about it.

Alex pauses so he doesn’t sound too eager. “Sure.”

“You think your folks will let you?”

He’d forgotten about them. And about James. For a moment, the outside world had slipped away. But now it’s back, demanding explanations. “Oh. I don’t know. What would I tell them?”

“Well, you can tell them that we have a six a.m. run the next morning and that it’ll be easier if you’re here so we can wake up together. I mean, sometimes Coach makes us do that on weekends, usually when it’s warmer. Tell them it’s his idea.”

“Okay. I’ll tell them that.” Though Alex is not sure if he will. He doesn’t want to lie to his parents, but what can he tell them? No matter what he comes up with, James might smell a rat.

“Cool,” Nathen says.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bud.” Nathen pats his hand, briefly.

More than anything he wants to lean over and kiss Nathen. But who knows who’s watching from the house. It’s too risky. So he just smiles and steps out. “Bye,” he says as Nathen drives off. Before he goes inside, he stares across the street at Henry’s mailbox. He’s almost tempted to go check it for the envelope, but he doesn’t have the nerve, here in the daylight.

Upstairs, he sees that James’s door is open. James is lying on his bed with a book. He pauses at the doorway. “What are you reading?”

James puts the book down, then flips it back to show him the cover. “
Pride and Prejudice
for AP.”

“How is it?”

“It’s not bad for a chick book.”

Alex steps inside. “Um, so, what do you think about last night?”

James sits up, becoming animated and interested. “That was weird, huh?”

“Yeah, totally weird. I mean, who do you think did it?”

“No idea. But something’s fishy, for sure.”

“Yeah. It is. You think we should maybe tell Mom and Dad?”

“Why?”

“I dunno.”

“Let’s leave them out of it for now.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Maybe you can find out something through Henry,” James says.

“Yeah, maybe.” But, really, what could Henry know? Clearly, by dropping the envelope off in the middle of the night, this person—whoever he or she is—is trying to keep everything a secret.

“It’s something to do with his mother, I bet,” James says.

“You think?”

“Yeah. There’s something off about her.”

“I guess so,” Alex says. It’s not like he hasn’t thought the same thing.

James lies back down and picks up his book but still looks at Alex, as if waiting for more. But Alex has nothing to offer. Alex can’t really imagine grilling Henry, nor can he imagine snooping around in Henry’s house like he’s a Hardy boy or something like that. He feels at a loss.

“Well, I’ll let you get back to your reading now,” Alex finally says.

James just nods, like all of a sudden, he doesn’t really care about the previous night’s intrigue.

Thursday night after dinner, Alex sits downstairs in the den with his parents, who are watching a TV show about lawyers. James is upstairs, studying or on the phone, who knows. Alex is trying to study vocabulary from an SAT prep guide, but he’s having trouble concentrating on the words—or the TV.