Chapter Fourteen
The Potato Gun
No one expected them to go to school the next day—not even Annette, who, for once, was prepared to hear out the benefits of homeschooling.
Maybe that’s why they went. Or maybe it was because it no longer mattered.
They’d go when they felt like it, and otherwise not at all.
And anyway, if it really was going to be the last time, they needed to say goodbye to all their spots.
The exams had finished with the fart bomb, so that day was the yearly Christmas charity event that took place at the school.
Hilary was curious about it, but more than willing to stay home if he had to.
He had no interest in pushing Trenton to do anything when he might still be feeling the aftereffects of the Liquid Ass.
But Trenton assured him he was fine, and so they went.
The event had many booths. Some were hosted and manned by students, but others were from local businesses looking for end of the year karma and maybe a little free advertising.
Mrs. Parson was there with lots of tea and cookies.
She didn’t charge anything for them, but there was a glass jar on the table, and everyone left something.
They tried to help her a bit, but she shooed them away.
“Go and enjoy!” And it wasn’t just a suggestion.
“And take lots of pictures. My bridge friends are always demanding pictures.” She even gave them some spending money.
Trenton tried to refuse, but after they’d walked away, they found she’d managed to slip it into the pocket of his jacket after all, a little Christmas bonus.
They bought so many treats. Cider donuts, and fudge, and savory pies with different fillings.
Nothing was healthy, and it meant eating in public, but Trenton shared it with him.
Usually only a bite or so, but he tried everything, and it tasted so much better that way.
There were games too. Some of the usual things you see everywhere.
Ring toss, corn hole, and balloon darts all had a couple of booths each.
There was a kids’ pool full of rubber ducks with little colored stickers on the bottom that translated to different prizes.
Hilary scooped up a couple and won the cheapest-looking ring he’d ever seen.
And yet, when he grabbed Trenton’s hand and slipped it onto his friend’s little finger (it was too small to fit any of the others) the boy got all misty-eyed and asked if they could go to the bathroom.
Hilary was surprised when Trenton pulled him in with him—used to waiting outside—and right into the stall where he was shoved up against the stall partition and kissed to within an inch of his life. “Damn,” he said, a little lightheaded. “What happens when I give you the real thing?”
Trenton grinned and leaned in for a second round. “Only one way to find out.”
Whatever satisfaction he’d gotten from winning Trenton the ring was overshadowed when Trenton bought ten rounds at the shooting gallery and hit every one of the prize targets he aimed for, knocking over a good half of them despite being rigged never to fall over.
“How in the hell…?”
Trenton’s ever-growing pile of loot was stacked up on the counter beside him. Knowing Hilary’s taste, most of them were snacks, but there was also a cute canister with two tickets to the local movie theater.
“Oh?” Hilary asked, after seeing what was inside. “Who are you taking with you on your date?”
Trenton finished reloading and aimed the gun barrel at a music box with a tiny ballerina on top of it. “My fiancé.”
Trenton’s prowess at the shooting gallery had a lot of people looking nervous—especially considering what had been done to him in the bathroom the previous day.
“They all think you’re going to come back and shoot up the school.”
“Should I?”
“That would interfere with our movie date.”
“Oh, well, forget it then.”
The real secret behind the impressive shooting prowess was a potato gun Trenton had gotten from his grandma back when he was eight.
The boy still had it, though it hadn’t been one of the things they’d managed to get into the two garbage bags.
“We’ll go back for it,” Hilary promised the boy.
“Where’s your grandma now? She still alive? ”
Trenton shook his head.
“Right. Because the universe takes screwing up your life seriously.”
“If that were true, it never would have given me you,” Trenton said, dropping his love bombs as casually as always. “But it’s alright. She and I weren’t close. I just really liked the potato gun. It was my second favorite present.”
“What was the favorite?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
The gallery shooting owner wouldn’t sell Trenton any more shots after the first ten, nor would he sell any to his companion, thinking he’d be a marksman as well, but there were other things to do.
They got their faces painted by members of the art club.
“Did you do the murals at the Halloween party?” Trenton asked the student painting his face—an odd bit of sociability for him.
He didn’t talk much to people younger than seventy.
“I did some of the forest,” the girl said. “And Bailey did a lot of the pirate ship.”
Bailey was the one painting dragon scales on Aspen. She was doing a great job too. A lot more meticulous than any of the others were being.
Hilary leaned over to whisper his newly-discovered epiphany. “I think they’re dating.”
Trenton was shocked and more than a little insulted to hear it. It made Hilary laugh. “What’s with that look?”
“She’s supposed to like you.”
“I’m taken.” And not a girl, he didn’t add. There were only so many times he could make the same point.
“That wouldn’t have stopped me from loving you. I don’t think she would have been a good girlfriend after all.”
“I don’t think anyone would be if you’re using yourself as the measuring stick. Maybe you should be my girlfriend instead.”
Trenton flashed his ring. “I’m already fiancé. Girlfriend would be a step down.”
It was a wonder the thing hadn’t fallen off. The cheap gold paint was already chipping, and Hilary’s useless heart felt like it was being squeezed through a hole the size of a needle.
Trenton touched his cheek, irritating the person doing his face paint. “Don’t make that face. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
“Forever?”
“You have that already.”
The face paint got fucked to hell after another session in the bathroom. “It still sort of looks like a tiger,” Trenton said once they were adjusting themselves in front of the mirror.
“One on the losing end of a fight, maybe.”
He ended up washing it off, though he made Trenton keep his, even though he looked more like a green billiard ball than an ogre.
They were making a final circuit around the event (looking for anything good they might have missed) when someone called out to them.
When he saw who it was, Hilary’s chest filled with dread.
Seth was dressed in a clown suit in front of the sign, Hit the target, win a prize.
“I didn’t know you were a target, Mr. Goldshine,” he said, hoping a smile was the appropriate choice.
Seth laughed. “Ask my wife—or rather, don’t ask her. She’ll kill me. How have you been? You’ve been scarce lately. Are scholarship applications so strenuous these days?”
Time seemed to stop, but only for him. Trenton was unaffected. “We finished those last month.”
“Then we’ll be seeing you around more, won’t we! Now that finals are over. You know, the first night of Chanukah is tomorrow. I was hoping—”
“Sir.” It was hard to speak. His surprise was still interfering. “Sir, that’s not—I’m not with her anymore.”
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Seth seemed perplexed. “What do you mean? It’s only temporary, right?”
“No, it’s—we broke up.”
Seth was thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”
It was impressive, really. It seemed that even without him, Varda had managed to keep the pretense going.
Punishing him only for the sake of punishing, not because she was really being affected by it at all.
If not for this chance meeting—and she thought she’d taken care of that, hadn’t she?
With the Liquid Ass. If it had kept them at home, just how much longer could she have kept the deception going?
He tasted copper as he spoke the next words. “We broke up the night of the Halloween party.”
Seth was beginning to be upset. “If this is about the necklace—”
“Yes, it’s about the necklace,” Trenton said, the full weight of those eyes coming online. “The necklace she destroyed when she was up in the art room with Axel Marlin, ruining herself and whatever chances she had with Hilary.”
“Axel?” And if Seth had an issue with being spoken to so sharply, it was subsumed as his own anger crackled to life. “She’s with that bastard again?”
“I don’t think she ever stopped.” And Hilary knew—he knew what he was doing.
It wasn’t surprise anymore. It was revenge.
For the backpacks and the textbooks and the near-hospital visit.
For making Trenton cry and be shaved bald and for calling him a Whale that very first day in the studio.
Hilary put on a wistful kind of face, a delicate balance of uncertainty and heartbreak.
“It’s a little embarrassing, but I was the last to find out.
In hindsight, it was obvious, but I guess I just wanted it enough to pretend.
” He made his lip tremble a little and hoped it didn’t look stupid. “I thought she was the one.”
Too much? It might have been, though Seth had already stopped hearing him. “That bastard.” The man’s skin was growing mottled; his hands clenched into fists. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill that piece of shit.”
Hilary ducked his head and made an apology—or half of one. Trenton was already pulling him away.
“Why did you say that?” Trenton was visibly upset, nothing at all flat about his expression. “Did you really think she was—"
“Of course not. I couldn’t stand her.”
“Then why—"