Chapter 13 #2
“You can tell a lot about someone by how they play. I found that out recently.”
Callum’s smile falters slightly, and his eyebrows furrow, appearing pensive, like he’s angry.
“You don’t know me though. Not really,” Callum says, his tone harder, but in a way that he’s more upset at himself and the world around him than Mason.
“I used to.”
Callum’s smile is fully gone now, replaced by him rubbing his face and his cheeks flushed. Mason feels like he’s just hit a nerve and addressed the elephant in the room.
Mason’s never addressed the fact that they used to be best friends since they “reconnected.”
He feels like he’s overstepped with how Callum is reacting. But there’s no overstepping to do.
They aren’t friends anymore.
They don’t have any established lines to vault like the scrimmage line did for the number of yards players have to cross.
“Brown! The browning jewel of the Hornets!” Joel bellows and claps Callum on the shoulder.
Callum’s expression immediately changes back to his confident grin, doing a complex handshake with Joel.
Mason takes a sip of his beer and his gaze darts between Joel and Callum, who apparently think Mason phased into the wallpaper and disappeared.
Mason sighs, takes one last fleeting look at Callum and walks off, not wanting to be ignored or have the worse alternative of speaking with Joel and having to do some weird “bro-handshake” that he never knows how to do no matter how many times he tries.
He walks back into the kitchen and actually sees Alex from The Goldberg. Mason had lied about Alex being there to Jenna, but now he doesn’t have to lie again.
Alex waves at him and beckons him over as he takes a sip from a red cup of his own.
Mason points to himself, turning to look around to see if he’s gesturing to anyone else, sees that there isn’t, and walks over to him.
“Hey. You came. Is this your way of finding out more about the secret clubs on campus?” Mason asks.
Alex smirks. “I don’t give away all my secrets, but you’re onto something.”
Mason nods and takes a sip of his drink. “Have you ever come to one of these?”
Alex shakes his head. “Nope. I’m not the most outgoing, and I’d rather be in my dorm playing video games with a large pizza, but I’m here for The Goldberg. And to scope out the cute guys.”
Mason chuckles and looks at the crowd. “Well, you made a good choice. There are a lot of them, here.”
Mason turns to look back at Alex, who’s staring at him with a shy smile. “I know.”
Mason blushes. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Mason says, smirking playfully. He has no idea how to flirt in all honesty.
He thought that making playful jabs was the only way to do it. When someone compliments him, especially another guy, he doesn’t know what to do except stand there awkwardly and say, “Thanks.”
Alex flashes him a toothy grin. “You know, I read the article you originally handed in for the paper. Sounds like you know Callum pretty well.”
Mason purses his lips. Callum isn’t supposed to be part of the conversation right now. He’s talking to a tall, cute, boyish looking brunette guy who’s into him and who Mason doesn’t mind being flirted with by.
“Yeah, he plays well,” Mason says, not taking the bait.
“You write so articulately. And descriptively, too. You have an eye for detail, and you know how to take a snapshot of a specific moment and make it come to life.”
Mason laughs softly. “Thanks.”
“I might have read it… a hundred times,” Alex admits bashfully.
Mason widens his eyes. Oh, this guy has got it bad for him.
“Committed to your position on the paper, are we? How did you even get ahold of that article?” Mason jokes. Alex laughs and takes another sip of his beer.
“I’m cc’d in the emails Fiona gets. She likes to think of me as her personal assistant when no one else is around, so she always loops me into emails.”
Mason nods and makes a mental note for that in the future.
He has to admit, he’s enjoying himself. He has his reservations about getting involved with someone on the paper, but he wouldn’t mind being asked on a date or making out in a dark corner with Alex.
“What got you into writing?” Alex asks.
Guilt pangs through his chest. Alex has no idea that he’s actually a physics major and has no interest in becoming a writer. It’s all a facade.
“My mom. She’s the editor for The Meridian Tribune.”
Alex’s eyes bulge. “Wait—you’re April Fanning’s son?”
Mason raises his cup in the air bitterly. “The one and only.”
“She’s amazing at what she does. Now I get it. I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re meant to be a writer.”
His stomach begins to churn. Yet another person telling him that he’s meant to do journalism. Another lie he’s living.
“Yeah, my mom was ecstatic when I told her I got on The Goldberg. I’ve been wanting to be on the paper forever, since Montgomery’s my family’s Alma Mater.”
He hates how easily the lies slip out of his mouth. He has no reason to lie to Alex, but for some reason he is. For some reason he has this paranoid idea that this conversation will make his way back to his mom.
Alex smirks. “Well, you’re destined for greatness then. I should take notes from you.”
Mason plasters a smile on his face, then takes another swig of his beer to distract himself from telling yet another lie.
He looks to his right and sees Jenna now making out with the dumb jock from before. He shakes his head and lets it happen. Jenna needs to have some fun every once in a while, just like he does.
He glances into the living room. He recognizes one of the cheerleaders standing in front of Callum with her arms around his neck, standing on her toes.
Mason’s chest clenches. It’s the same mental image he’s always had of Callum ever since they stopped being friends.
He’s the popular jock who gets with all of the cheerleaders. That he’s nothing more and nothing less. And this image proves that.
He wonders if Callum knows that girl’s favorite song and if it’s on his party playlist. If he texts her as the sun rises before practice.
He’s staring now. Mason keeps watching as she gets closer and closer to his face, like she’s begging him to kiss her. And who wouldn’t want Callum to kiss them with those lips?
“Mason?” Alex says.
Mason snaps back to his conversation with Alex.
“Yeah?” Mason says, blinking his eyes quickly.
“I asked if you wanted to get out of here.”
Mason turns to look at Callum and the cheerleader again. Now, they’re making out. Full-on mouth sucking.
“I—I actually have to… go—” Mason stutters as time starts to move in slow motion as he’s running for the nearest exit.
The sliding doors to the backyard have crowds of people in front of them, so he makes a beeline to the front door instead, making eye contact with Callum as he passes, the pain in his chest growing white-hot as he stumbles through the door, bumping into a few people in the process.
He’s on the grass now, and the cool, early October air on his skin is piercing, but it’s better than the suffocating heat of inside the frat house.
He’s standing next to the house now, putting his back on the wall. Bile creeps up in his throat. Or maybe it’s puke.
He doesn’t know why he’s feeling the need to run and never look back from the party. Callum was making out with a girl. That’s nothing new.
That’s “normal Callum behavior” according to everyone on campus.
Alex thinks he’s destined to be a great writer. Also, nothing new. Everyone back home tells him this, and he hears about it endlessly from his parents.
Why is everything suddenly making him so upset now?
It’s not like he’s in love with Callum or anything. He hates him. But maybe that’s a lie. Just another one to add to the ever-growing tree of fabrications he’s sowing.
“Mason?” a familiar voice calls out.
It’s that voice. The last voice he wants to hear.
A large hand lands on his shoulder and grips it tenderly. “Are you okay? Callum’s voice asks, his tone soft.
Mason swats Callum’s hand away.
“G-Get the hell away from m-me,” Mason slurs, the beer now revealing how much of a lightweight he is.
“What’s wrong?” Callum asks, his voice thick with concern.
Mason isn’t sure why he’s so concerned. They hate each other. They’re forced to keep interacting and play nice, but at the end of the day, they aren’t friends for a reason.
They’re just complete opposites.
But there’s something about Callum’s voice that reminds Mason of the old Callum. The one who defended him from the bullies.
It sounds foreign and familiar at the same time.
“Everything’s wrong. What—What isn’t wrong?” Mason says, the words pouring out slowly like molasses.
“I have a hard time believing that,” Callum says, his tone still soft, but there’s a slight edge to it, like he’s resentful of Mason.
Callum acts like Mason has been given all the good things in his life and he has nothing to complain about. Callum used to know what would be wrong.
Everything used to be wrong. It still is.
Mason scoffs. “Of course you wouldn’t get it. You left me like a pair of old shoes in your closet that were too small for you to fit into.”
Callum blinks, likely surprised by Mason’s candor and his ability to string words together into a simile while inebriated.
Callum blows a sigh out of his mouth, his jaw clenching as he paces.
“Help me understand then, Fanning.”
“Mason. My name is Mason,” he hisses through his teeth. How many times does he have to say it? Why does Callum never listen?
Callum walks in front of him and puts his hands on Mason’s shoulders. “Mason. Tell me what’s going on.”
Mason pushes himself off the brick wall and shoves Callum’s hands off of him. “Why do you suddenly care? This whole friendly act? After what you did to me? You wanna be friends with me? You want to suddenly forget how you treated me?”
Callum stares pointedly at the ground.
Mason points his finger at Callum. “You already have everything. You have the team, you have the girls, you have the fans, you have the scholarship, the money, you have the prestige, what else do you want?” Mason says, shoving Callum hard, sending him a few steps back.
He’s angry. He’s seething. This has festered for years and now he finally has the chance to say all the things he’s wanted to say to Callum. How much hurt and loss he’s endured at Callum’s hand.
“Whatever it is you want from me, I sure as hell am not going to give it to you! I’m not some loose end you need to tie together. I was your best friend!” Mason’s voice breaks.
He holds the back of his hand up to his mouth and his chin wobbles and tears stream down his face. He swipes away at them, hating himself for crying in front of the person who’s causing them.
He’s been able to hide his hurt for years, behind willful ignorance and sarcasm, but with one red solo cup of beer and he’s back to square one again.
Callum says nothing. There’s nothing to say. It’s the reality of their situation. Mason begs for answers, but Callum seems to have none.
Callum finally looks away from the ground to Mason and locks eyes with him. “I’m sorry, Mason. You didn’t deserve any of it, I—”
Mason scoffs. “Oh, you’re sorry? Don’t you think I deserved that apology years ago? Your apologies mean nothing to me now. I don’t—I don’t want to hear it.”
He feels like he’s out of his breath, his chest clenching and his stomach churning as he looks at Callum.
He feels lightheaded, like he’s going to faint. It must be some kind of somatic response to all the suppression he’s done over Callum.
Callum hangs his head. “There aren’t any words for what happened. I want to explain. I wish I could—”
Mason interrupts him again. “How was it so easy for you? You saw me sitting alone at that lunch table. You were about to sit with me, and then your stupid jock friends came up to you with their stupid fucking handshakes. And you—you just let them make those… snide remarks about me doing my homework at lunch like some dweeb. And then you just looked at me and walked away, like I meant nothing to you anymore.”
Callum clenches his fists and his jaw ticks. “Mason. Please. Let’s not do this while you’re drunk—”
Mason shakes his head. “No! I never want to see you again. I’ll get the editors to put me on some other section of the paper, or I’ll leave The Goldberg myself just so I don’t have to say anything good about you ever again!”
He feels so stupid. He feels utterly clueless. The past couple of weeks was just his na?ve thirteen-year-old self letting his crush come back up again, clouding his judgment and the reason why he hates Callum in the first place.
He has good reason, and now he’s being reminded of it. He should never have given Callum a chance.
Mason storms past Callum, thinking he can probably walk back home from where he is. Jenna will understand.
Callum grabs Mason’s arm and forces Mason to look at him. “It wasn’t easy, Mason. I question myself every single day ever since. I remember it, Mason. I’ve thought about you every day since,” Callum pleads, his voice small and strained, like his words are being carved out of him with a scalpel.
Mason’s chin wobbles as he looks at Callum. He looks like a kicked puppy.
Mason has done most of the kicking.
Mason stares at Callum. They’re both staring at each other.
They both feel so much smaller than before, like they’ve stripped each other of their armor and discovered who they were protecting underneath all the pomp and prestige.
Mason sighs, looks at the ground, rips his arm out of Callum’s grasp, and walks away. There’s nothing else Mason can say.
He needs to get away.
He walks down the sidewalk away from the party. Something bubbles up in his throat, and he thinks it might be a cough, but as the bubbling turns into a full-on retch, it ends up being puke.
He lets it all out on the grass, his chest heaving, his eyes stinging from the effort. He sighs and stands back up, feeling oddly emptier than before.
He continues walking around aimlessly, hoping his brain will somehow allow him to find his way back to his dorm subconsciously.
Never again will he go to a frat party, especially with Callum present.
Tonight, he had the guts, he spilled them, then puked them out.
Just like the lies he tells every day about his feelings for Callum and his academic aspirations, the truth will come out sooner or later.
He just wishes it hadn’t ended up like this.