23. Give Me That Dick
23
Give Me That Dick
The next morning, I grudgingly joined Ben in his silver Impala, tucking my backpack and my cane between my knees. I could walk short distances without the cane, but a whole day at school? I had a feeling I’d need the walking aid by lunch.
Ben helped me out of the car in the school parking lot, and our hands clasped between us as we walked toward the doors of the brick building. It was surreal in a way, entering the school like it was any other Monday. It didn’t matter that my world had been, once again, turned on its head. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t the same Silas that I’d been before.
That Silas was buried six feet under, beneath a fresh mound of earth and a tombstone reading my father’s name.
The Silas I was now flinched at the bright fluorescent lights and the overwhelming noise of the busy hallway. It was so loud, and the cacophony of voices and slamming metal lockers threatened to overwhelm me.
I nearly stopped in the middle of the hallway to cover my ears with my hands, but Ben’s arm steadied me. “You okay?”
Tightening my grip on my cane, I nodded. “Yeah. It’s just… loud.”
He frowned at that, clearly unaffected by the noise that seemed amplified to my own ears. “Okay? Um, let’s get to your locker, and then you gotta meet with the principal.”
“Awesome.” I gritted my teeth and gimped down the hall, ignoring the heavy stares that followed me.
At my locker, Ben dropped my backpack he’d been carrying, squatted down, and rifled through its contents. I opened my locker, and he grimaced. “Your locker is a mess.”
“Wanna organize it for me?” I asked sweetly, and he smacked my thigh gently.
“I’ll have to. If I’m gonna be your pack mule, I’ll need to fix this chaos.”
“It’s not that bad.”
“It’s pretty bad.” He grinned up at me, and I patted the top of his head like a dog. “I gotta run to my locker before we go to the principal, so—”
“I can do it myself,” I said automatically, even though it was a lie, and motioned to the books in his hands. If I had my cane, it would be rather difficult to carry my books as well. But knowing Ben would most likely be late to all his classes because he was helping me didn’t sit right.
Straightening with my supplies in his hands, his own backpack strapped to his back, he leaned in and pecked my cheek. “It’s fine, Si. I wanna help.”
“Maybe they can make an exception to the no-backpack rule. Then I can carry my own stuff.”
“Maybe. We can ask.”
The choir lesbians passed us as I helped Ben situate my books in such a way that he could hold them and still offer me a steadying arm. We’d never really spoken before. For some reason, they’d never liked me.
So imagine my surprise when they paused at my side and turned toward me.
“Hey,” the dark haired one—Casey or Callie? Something with a C —said.
“We heard about the accident,” the blonde—I wanted to call her Meghan—added.
“Uh,” I said.
“We’re sorry about your dad,” Something-With-A- C started.
“And your… leg,” Maybe-Meghan finished.
“Thanks,” I said, stupefied.
Then they smiled, linked arms, and continued their trek down the hall.
“Who are they?” Ben asked.
“Choir lesbians,” I said with a shrug.
He nodded. “Lesbians are cool.”
“I guess.”
As I shut my locker, I spotted my group of friends approaching, Kim and Caroline in the lead. Harris, Jordan, and Ronnie trailed behind. I smiled wanly as Kim and Caroline each greeted me with a kiss on my cheeks.
“Hey, what are you all doing here?” I asked, giving the guys a nod in greeting.
“We’re here to help,” Kim said succinctly. “We looked over your schedule and ours over the weekend and created a chart.”
Caroline passed out a color-coded chart to everyone, even Ben. I balanced on my good leg and studied it over Ben’s shoulder.
“Those with classrooms closest to yours will help you get to and from classes,” Kim continued. “We’ll meet in the mornings by your locker to get your books sorted out, and you’ll have someone during each passing period to carry your stuff.”
“I can do it,” Ben said, but Kim was already shaking her head.
“During the fourth passing period, you have a class in C hall and Silas needs to be upstairs in A2. There’s literally no way you’d get to class on time.” She patted his arm. “Jordan needs to be upstairs, so he’ll meet Ronnie at the A-hall steps for the hand-off.”
“I feel like this is the world’s most boring relay race, and I’m the baton,” I grumbled, and Jordan laughed.
“Dude, you totally are.”
Kim cleared her throat pointedly and drew everyone’s attention back to the chart. “Okay, I’m up first, so give me your books.”
“Actually, we have to go to the principal first thing,” Ben said as the seven-minute bell rang.
“Oh.” Kim frowned, then checked the chart. “Okay, who has Silas after first period?”
“Me,” Caroline chimed. “What books do you need?”
“Um,” I said intelligently.
Ben shook his head and scribbled something on the corner of each of their Silas Charts. “This is his locker number and combination. Divide the books as best you can. Tomorrow, we’ll get it figured out. Right now, we gotta head to administration.”
“Don’t give out my locker code,” I protested, but he was already done. Everyone else ignored me, turning to my locker as Harris spun the combination lock. “You guys suck.” They all gave me matching looks of annoyance, and I backed down. “Sorry, you guys are actually really awesome for doing this.” I waved at the charts in their hands. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Kim said with a smile. “Now get going, gimpy.”
I flipped her off as Ben directed me down the hall toward the front office.
The meeting with the principal went surprisingly smoothly. Principal Moore outlined my graduation strategy, which included a lot of make-up projects and extra credit assignments in many of my classes. He eyed the cane resting next to my chair but didn’t say anything about it.
When I asked for a special allowance to carry my backpack with me to classes, he pursed his lips. “We’re already allowing you to carry your cane—”
“Allowing me? I need it to walk,” I said, and he nodded placatingly.
“Yes, of course.”
“Why—”
“It can be used as a weapon,” Ben whispered, and I balked.
I’d never considered using it to beat anyone with, at least not here at school. “Right. I forgot about the terrible world we live in.”
“Please, do not use it as a weapon,” Principal Moore said seriously.
“I won’t!” I hesitated, amending my vow. “Unless I need to. Seeing as I’ve been the victim of more than one assault in this building, I can’t actually make any promises.”
He winced at that. So did Ben. I didn’t.
“But I will try to keep my violent tendencies under wraps.” I smiled innocently, and Ben shook his head, sighing like it was my fault his life was so difficult.
“Yes, well, you do that. I will speak with Vice Principal Fields and send a memo to the teachers about the cane. The backpack… I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, I guess,” I said as Ben rose and offered me a hand to help me stand.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Brigs,” Principal Moore said as he stood with us, straightening his tie. “The administration is here to help every student, and we will do all that we can to help you through the last few months of your education.”
Dumbfounded, I gaped at him for several seconds. “Uh, thank you.”
He stretched his hand over the desk, and I took it automatically, shaking it. “Let us know if you need anything. I know your time here hasn’t always been pleasant, but we hope to rectify that. For you and future students.”
“Good,” I said as our hands parted. “Thanks.”
“Ms. Donald will write you both a hall pass.” He gestured to the door. “Get to class, boys.”
The secretary, Ms. Donald, handed over our passes and sent us on our way with a too-cheery smile. I carried my cane in one hand and twined the fingers of my other hand with Ben’s as we headed to my first period class.
My limp was pronounced, but my hip didn’t ache the way it had when I’d first woken up in the hospital. As I’d predicted, I was leaning more heavily on my cane by lunch. By the end of the day, I was practically dragging my leg behind me, the damn thing feeling like a thousand-pound slab of concrete.
I collapsed into Ben’s car, sighing heavily in relief as my first day back at school reached its end. My body was weary, and I actually fell asleep on the drive home, rousing only when Ben shook me by the shoulder.
“Sorry.” He grimaced as I sat up straighter, wiping a hand down my face.
“You’re fine. Sorry for falling asleep on you.”
With a chuckle, he opened his door. “You’re still recovering. I’m shocked you made it through all your classes without falling asleep.”
When he made it to my side of the car and assisted me out, I said, “I can’t afford to sleep during class. I have homework and extra credit assignments up to my eyeballs.”
“I’ll help.” We walked to the front porch hand-in-hand. “We’ll get it all done.”
“I know. It’s just a lot.”
That afternoon, the realtor came by the house to meet with Will and take pictures. Brad Colton was a thirty-something acquaintance of Dan, Sadie’s husband, and he was nice enough. His smile was a little too big and plastic, but most salesmen had that vibe. He was nice and easy to work with, so that was something.
Ben and I focused on homework while Will and Brad discussed a plan for selling the house. In the end, they decided to put it on the market on the first of May with the caveat that I wouldn’t move out until after graduation, even if a contract of sale was signed before then.
As Cora taught Ben and I how to make an easy chicken and rice casserole, the technician from ADT arrived. I left Ben with Cora as I walked around the perimeter of the house with the technician, so he could assess the access points.
By the time the casserole was done, Brad had left, and the ADT technician was wrapping up. He showed us how to download the app and use it to arm and disarm the alarm. I could hit the panic button in the app or on the control panel itself. Even Ben downloaded the app so that he, too, would receive notifications should something—or someone—trip the alarm.
Part of me felt like it was overkill, but then I imagined what it would be like once Cora and Will left for California and I’d be sleeping in this big, empty house alone, and I was relieved that Will had arranged it.
When Will realized that Ben planned to stay the night, he sat in Dad’s armchair and glared at us. We ignored him, working on my mountain of homework. I told Ben not to help, but I was secretly grateful when he did anyway.
Before we headed to bed for the night, Will grabbed my arm and muttered in my ear. “Keep it down, okay? I really don’t want to hear my little brother getting boned.”
My jaw dropped. “Getting boned? Way to assume I’m a bottom. What if I’m the one doing the boning?”
Will blanched. “I really don’t—”
“I’m a good top. Ben, tell Will how good of a top I am!” I shouted up the stairs where Ben had already gone to shower.
“I’m gonna pretend that I didn’t hear that!” I heard him yell back from my bedroom.
“Same,” Will said, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Just for that, I’m gonna make sure Ben fucks me, and I’m gonna be really loud about it,” I said with a scowl, before I marched—limped—up the stairs. “Ben, get your naked ass over here and fuck me!”
“La, la, la, I can’t hear you!” Ben called from the bathroom a moment before the shower turned on.
Ben didn’t fuck me, but as we lay in bed that night, Will and Cora sleeping on the other side of the shared bathroom, I smacked my hand against the headboard in a steady rhythm.
“Oh my God, Ben, you’re so big!” I grunted obnoxiously. “Ugh, ugh. Yeah, baby, give me that dick!”
“I’m not a part of this,” Ben cried.
I heard Cora laughing, and then Will groaned, low and throaty. “Fuck, Cor, you’re so wet!”
And I shrieked in horror. “No! Unacceptable! That’s homophobic.”
“You can’t call everything homophobic,” Will shot back. “That’s not fair.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I making life difficult for another cis, straight, white man?”
“Cora, I think it’s time we move out,” Will said.
Ben covered my mouth to stop my rant before I really built up steam, and I glared at him. “Bed time,” he said.
I licked his palm, and he pulled away with a grimace.
“Real mature,” he said.
“I know you are, but what am I?” I said, and Ben’s brow furrowed. “Shit, that was a self-burn. Damn it. I blame it on the concussion.”
Shaking his head, he sighed and pecked my head above my healing scar.
The next morning, as Ben got dressed for school, he pulled his California hoodie out of his overnight bag, making me freeze with my jeans halfway up my thighs. He fisted the material before straightening and holding it out to me.
“I was hoping you’d want this back,” he said hesitantly. “You don’t have to, but—”
“I do,” I said quickly, and his shoulders dropped in relief.
“Oh. Good. That’s real good, Si.”
I took it from him and pulled it on, inhaling the spring soap and spearmint that had soaked into the fabric. And Ben, he smiled.