Chapter Eleven
The Little Notebook
The parents were surprisingly on board with the once-a-week hooky days—even enthusiastic.
“The five-day work week is a crime,” was Albert’s opinion.
They didn’t spend all the time goofing off on those days.
They did some schoolwork too. It was Hilary’s first time being ahead of the curve in math, and it was intoxicating to come into class and realize he already understood everything the teacher was saying, though it also meant he was even more bored during lessons.
So he started reading again. It was almost easy to stare down the teachers once he remembered that if he was expelled, Trenton would drop out too, and they’d be losers together.
After hearing “put that away” for the fifth time in a day, he just said, “I promise to make up for what I missed later.” The teachers didn’t really know what to do with that, especially because he was scoring nearly perfect grades on all his exams. One teacher still tried to take his book away.
It was whisked out of his hands too quickly to stop.
Hilary could have tried to grab it back, but that would have landed him in Krinkle’s office again—something he was certain would ruin the man’s day, especially if it was in the middle of a pen-counting session.
So he tried again with the honest approach.
“I appreciate the work you do, but that book is my personal property. Please don’t steal from a child. ”
She actually threw it at his head, but he got it back, and with the bonus of having her pointedly ignore him after that. Trenton was impressed. “You’re getting reading privileges faster than I did.”
Taken altogether, it was difficult to deny things were going well.
Hilary’s grades were up, his mood was up, and he wasn’t being forced to spend time with annoying people or the girlfriend from hell.
Best of all, he finally had a true friend.
One as good as the books promised. The Sam to his Frodo, the Jonathan to his David—or was he Jonathan in the scenario?
In any case, for the first time in his life, he had someone who seemed to make everything better, who he could trust with anything.
So he couldn’t understand why he was feeling so antsy.
He thought it might be worry that Trenton would soon realize what a boring dildo he was and leave him, but the boy wasn’t stingy with his affection and was more than happy to give him all the assurances he might want.
“I’m the boring one,” he’d say. “I don’t even have aspirations.
The only thing I want in life is to spend time with you.
” And Trenton didn’t lie. Not even to the people he didn’t like.
So Hilary could believe him when he said they were together for the long haul.
But the agitation only grew worse, an itch he both couldn’t scratch and couldn’t ignore, growing and growing until he was forced to act or risk exploding with it.
It happened on a hooky day. The weather was especially cold and windy, so there weren’t any major plans.
They’d gone out briefly to scout for Christmas trees, but Annette said they weren’t allowed to bring one home until mid-December, which was still a week away.
Hilary was taking a lot of showers by then.
Trenton seemed to think his fingers would get frostbite and fall off if he didn’t warm himself the moment he walked through the door, so after the tree shopping, Hilary stayed under the water until his toes were pruney.
He hadn’t even known that could happen and couldn’t wait to show Trenton.
But somehow, when he came out and saw the boy sprawled out across the bed, book in hand, he jumped on top of him instead.
It was meant to be a total knockout, a crushing defeat, but Trenton’s reflexes were godlike. The boy managed to set down the book and catch hold of him without so much as losing which page he was on.
“Hey, handsome,” Trenton said—the usual greeting.
It was then that Hilary thought of something else. Something that was sure to get a reaction. “Let’s fuck.”
Trenton’s laugh was a bark of surprise. “Hallelujah, is it my birthday again?”
Hilary touched that smile. “That’s right. How do you want it, birthday boy?”
Trenton was grinning, big square teeth on full display. “What brought this on?”
“I’m horny.”
It wasn’t what he meant to say, and for a moment everything skittered to a halt. Trenton blinked, unsure of how to proceed when he didn’t know whether it was a joke. A valid deliberation. Hilary wasn’t sure himself.
He chose to smile as if it were a joke, and said, “What, you don’t get horny?”
Trenton wiped at a wet spot on his cheek. Hilary hadn’t dried his hair well—or at all. "Sometimes.”
And he knew it was too dangerous to go forward. Not without a plan. But he also couldn’t seem to turn back. He flopped down beside Trenton on the bed and hooked a leg over him. Still smiling, nothing but casual. “What do you think about when you do it?”
Trenton was still looking for clues. “It?”
“Touching yourself.”
It was a mistake. A worse mistake. They were too far in, and he had no idea what expression he was supposed to be making. The smile he was wearing felt stuck. Plastic.
Trenton frowned. The boy could feel the anxiety in the air, the awareness of too many things going wrong. “Nothing much.” And Trenton was thinking. Always thinking. Putting together every piece of the puzzle. Dangerous.
"What do you mean, nothing?” And Hilary could hear the way his voice was curdling. “Are you a robot?"
Too intense. Why was he getting irritated? This was supposed to be funny. Casual. He had to circle back to casual. But Trenton got in the way of that.
"What do you think about then?"
Shit.
“Guess.”
But that was also wrong. Hilary didn’t want Trenton guessing. That was the last thing he wanted.
He sat up, too abrupt. “Forget it.”
Trenton grabbed at his wrist. “Hey.”
Hilary’s laugh came out wrong. Not casual at all. More like splinters stuck in his chest. “Why are you being so serious? It was a joke.”
And Trenton was looking at him, with those relentless eyes. They would know. They were finding out already. He jerked free.
“Hilary—”
“Just go home.”
“But—”
“You’re always here. Would it kill you to give me some space occasionally?”
There was hurt there. Hilary saw it hit, and he cringed from it, hating it. But he needed to hurry. If he didn’t—
“Is that what you want?” Trenton asked.
The boy was composed, and still thinking, those eyes too sharp.
Hilary was left with no choice but to shut it down. “Read the fucking room.”
Trenton stood up. He didn’t take the book. “Alright.”
It was too sudden. Hilary had been prepared for a fight, but Trenton went just like that. No goodbye. No demands for an explanation.
It was a shock. Even knowing he’d brought it on, even knowing he’d been aiming for it, Hilary couldn’t believe it.
Call him a co-dependent fool, but he wasn’t prepared for Trenton leaving.
The boy always stuck to him. Could be relied on to stick to him.
Even if everyone else flaked or tried to leave, Trenton would be there.
Had promised to be there. Hilary watched the boy put his shoes on.
Watched him take the jacket with the keys inside. Watched the door shut behind him.
Hilary ran, stumbling over the clothes he’d dropped on the floor when he’d come in.
He went down to one knee but then was scrambling forward again.
He got to the door, his hand on the knob.
It was shaking, and not only his hand. He pulled it back, tucking it against his chest, and sank down by the door, unable to move forward.
The need to move, the urgency of it, was paralyzing him.
But then the door was wrenched back open, and it was Trenton, his eyes leaping coals. “And that’s it? You’d just let me walk away?”
Hilary stared, stupid with incomprehension. Trenton seemed to be on fire, a burning storm. And then those hands came down and took hold of him, lifting him by the shirt. Hilary heard something tear, some stitches giving way. “You would just let me go? Like we were strangers? Like I didn’t matter?”
Hilary began to cry, and it was a hopeless kind of crying. Empty-headed and overcome, too scared to have other thoughts.
Trenton made a sound, and not a good one. The sound was angry. All of him was angry. But the hands were still there. They hauled Hilary up like he weighed about as much as his school bag and went out the door again.
Trenton still had the keys in hand, and he used them to unlock the Shitheap, shoving Hilary into the passenger seat and tossing his jacket into his lap. “Put that on.”
Hilary couldn’t. He’d forgotten how to make his hands move.
Trenton made the sound again and forced his friend’s arms through the sleeves.
He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t rough either.
He did the seat belt too, needing to jerk it twice before it would come.
At the sound of the click, Trenton didn’t draw back.
Instead, the boy took a hard grip on his chin and kissed him. “Stop crying.”
It almost worked. The kiss was unexpected. Trenton didn’t usually initiate, and he was so angry. But then the tears came again, big, fat drops that burned his cheeks. “Fuck you.”
Trenton shut him in and went around to the driver’s side, checked the mirrors briefly, and pulled out. “How long are you going to cry over an idiot like me?”
There was something about just hearing the boy’s voice that helped. Even angry, Trenton was soothing, and the only thing Hilary wanted near him. “Who’s crying over you?”
They stopped at the 7-Eleven. Hilary didn’t think anything of it, his mind still blank, only panicked at the thought of Trenton leaving.
But the boy wasn’t gone long. When he got back, Trenton dropped a couple of things into his lap.
A banana and a Snickers. The biggest surprise, though, was the large Slurpee he jammed into the cup holder. “Drink.”