Chapter 9
NINE
Sailor Song - Gigi Perez
16 YEARS OLD
My toe catches on something, and I go down hard in our living room. With a crack, my palms slam into the floor, which just makes me tired and pissed.
“What the hell?” I glance back. I tripped on a keyboard. One that hadn’t been there last night.
“Fucking Christ.” I yank myself up. Our trailer is always a disaster. It’s not dirty—I make sure of that—but it’s always cluttered. I just can’t keep on top of my moms. I’ve tried, but it’s too much. They always bring back new things—and old things—and promptly forget about them. I swear they can’t see the piles of shit.
I shuffle to the fridge to grab something to eat. The trailer is silent except for the hum of the fridge. Both of my moms are at work, like usual.
The cool air feels good against the heat in the trailer. I have a window unit, but it really can’t keep up. Snatching a cheese stick from the fridge, I eat it in the silent kitchen. I can’t even hear the clock ticking. I glance at it. It’s frozen. It must have run out of batteries. Now, where are they at? I know we have extras. I rack my brain, trying to figure out where I last saw them. Was it in the bathroom or in that pile of things by the door?
When I’m done, I pour a bowl of cereal, wolf that down, and then grab a bag of pretzels. Every move I make feels so loud in the silence.
With a bit of excitement, I remember I beat my game last night. It had been one of my favorites, with stunning graphics, cowboys, and a storyline that kept me guessing. Just remembering it makes me realize that it’s over now.
That realization comes with an empty feeling, and I stare at the bag of pretzels. I wish I had someone to talk to about it.
The fridge hums. I suck in a breath and get ready for my shift. I work as a lifeguard during the summer. It’s fine, I guess. There are some people from school who also work there, but they don’t really talk to me. It’s like they think being gay is contagious, and they’ll catch it if they talk to me for too long. That, or the girls try to bag me as the “gay best friend,” and the boys think I want to fuck them. Which is gross. I do have standards, and I wouldn’t fuck anyone from school. The few people who are okay I don’t hang with often ‘cause I refuse to have people over to my place. I’m not embarrassed—I know my moms can’t help it—but I don’t want to add more fuel to the Logan’s-a-weirdo fire.
When I make it to work, the day is awful. The kid pool has to be closed multiple times for brown torpedo sightings, aka shit, and the parents yell at me about it. It’s hot as balls, and no matter how much sunscreen I put on, I feel the sun searing away at my shoulders. Minute by minute, the shift ticks by as we listen to super loud, terrible pop music. Finally, to top it off, when I’m doing a last walkthrough to make sure everyone is gone at the end of the day, I find a kid in the locker rooms. I scare him so bad he pukes on the floor before running off.
Oh. Awesome.
“Logan!” Sammy calls for me through the locker room door. At least, I think her name is Sammy. She hasn’t given me the time of day.
I drop my head against a locker. “Just go. I’ll lock up.”
“You sure?” I can hear that she wants to go.
“Yep.” I have the keys. Screw it.
It takes me another twenty minutes to clean up the vomit. By the time I’m done, I’m sweaty, in a foul mood, and fucking hungry. I lock up and march down the steps. The parking lot is shaded by trees, which immediately take some of the heat away. Most of the cars are gone, except a van parked a few spaces away from mine.
I’m searching for my keys when I hear something over the buzz of cicadas. It sounds like music…like strings. It’s…a fucking guitar? I look around. I don’t see anyone. The notes are crisp and clean, playing a haunting tune.
As I look around more, I see a van parked by itself by a large tree. Behind the tree, a leg sticks out. I move closer, seeing that someone is sitting with his back to the tree, playing the guitar.
And then whoever it is starts singing. His voice is clear and…burdened. As I stand and listen, I realize it sounds like he’s lived multiple times and gotten let down every time.
I’m drawn closer.
As soon as I see the singer’s face, the world slows. I don’t know him, but I recognize him as one of my coworkers, and he’s beautiful. He has ash-brown hair, clear, pale skin, and pouty lips. The sunlight dapples across his face and hands as he picks at the instrument. He might be the prettiest person I’ve ever seen.
Then he looks up, and I’m met with stunning hazel eyes. A ring of caramel brown on the outside fades into light green by his pupils. For a second, his eyes look haunted, like I caught him before he could put his guard up. They look..lonely. Just like me.
Then, he jumps. “What the fuck?”
I’m startled out of my staring.
“What are you doing?” He grabs his guitar, and his eyes shift to guarded.
I search my memory for his name. “I was just locking up. Thought everyone had left.” What the hell was his name? I had only seen him briefly at orientation, and he was always on the other side of the grounds than me.
“Okay?” He’s glaring at me.
I blink. “Greyson!”
He frowns more. “Yeah…?”
“That’s your name.” I grin.
Greyson puts the guitar down. “Do you need something?”
“No, I just thought…that was pretty. What were you playing?”
Greyson cocks an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say anything. It’s clear I’ve made him uncomfortable. He wants to get away. To run from me.
Which piques my interest. What is he hiding?
“Sorry.” I raise my hands. “Didn’t mean to spy. Just didn’t realize anyone was still here.”
Greyson starts to put his stuff away. Which immediately makes me want to keep him with me. “You don’t have to go.”
He ignores me, packing up his stuff, putting it in the van, and shutting the side door.
Before he can get to the driver’s side, I move to lean against his driver’s door. Greyson’s eyes widen when he sees me, then narrow.
“Get the fuck out of my way.”
There’s a challenge in his voice, but I see the doubt in his eyes. He doesn’t want to push things. A bolt of satisfaction runs through me. For some unknown reason, I want him to stay. I notice he has a small birthmark on his chin. It looks like a big freckle right in the middle of his chin, and in the right light, it looks cleft.
“You gonna be at work tomorrow?” I ask.
There’s a moment of hesitation, then Greyson steps up to me. “Fuck off, creep.” We’re inches apart, and suddenly, I feel electricity around me. All the hair on my arms stands up, and I watch Greyson’s pupils widen. He smells like sunscreen and something else…I pull a deep breath in. Summer. He smells like chlorine and hot skin and…summer.
“Back. Off,” Greyson grits, but his pupils are huge. He’s shaking slightly. I don’t want to back off. Irrationally, I want to pin him against the car and taste those pouty lips. I want to press my face into his skin and smell the sunscreen, but then I see fear flash across his gaze.
Real fear. Like he’s afraid I’m going to hurt him. Immediately, I raise my hands in surrender and back off. “Whatever, man.”
Greyson juts his chin at me, then climbs in the car, slamming the door.
It takes everything in me not to rip it back open and slam him back against the car. To ask him why he’s so goddamn sad.
But I don’t. I watch him drive off, then I march back up to the pool house to check the schedule. He’s on it for tomorrow, and it’s the same shift as me.
I grin. My summer just got a whole lot more interesting.
The next day, Greyson tries to avoid me, and the more he does, the more curious I get. Why doesn’t he want to talk to me? The whole day, he works in spots across the pool from me. Which works just fine for me. I can watch him even better from here. At the end of the day, Greyson rushes away while I’m busy clocking out and leaves before I can catch him. He doesn’t look scared anymore. Just…angry.
Which just inspires me to try harder.
The next day, I get Greyson before he can go, stepping in front of him before he can get down the steps of the pool house. His skin is pinker today, like he forgot to put on sunscreen and is paying for it.
“Greyson! You’ve been avoiding me.” I cross my arms.
He tries to dart around me, but I just calmly step in front of him.
“Fuck off, faggot.” The words come out angry, and his face gets even more redder.
I roll my eyes. “Make me. I just wanted to talk. A little dramatic, don’t you think?”
Greyson crosses his arms. He’s not quite as tall as me, but he’s close. His arms are toned, just like his whole body. “What the hell do you want?”
“You sick?” I narrow my eyes at Greyson. Earlier today, I watched him run to the fence and puke over it. I was trapped with a kid at the time, or I would have checked on him.
“What? No. Now get out of the way.” Greyson tries to leave.
I step back in front of him, bumping him back. With that little touch, there’s electricity, and I smell sunscreen again.
“Then why were you puking?”
Greyson turns his hazel eyes on me, and they look angry. They’re pretty when they’re angry. I mean, his eyes are pretty all the time, but I love when he’s glaring at me.
He growls, “None of your business!”
“Sure it is. It is when I have to watch your side of the pool because you’re away from your spot.”
“I couldn’t help it.” Greyson is squirming, and it sends a bolt of satisfaction through me. He’s uncomfortable, but he’s no longer running. I just need to get him to open up. Not because the details are important but because he doesn’t want to tell me. Anything Greyson wants to hide from me, I want to see even more.
I say, “I could tell Carol. You know how much of a stickler she is for the rules.”
Slight fear washes across his face, followed by anger. “Well, then I’ll tell her you’re accosting me!”
“Accosting?” I laugh. “Jesus, okay, Shakespeare. As if she’ll care. But she will care about getting sued ‘cause a kid drowns ‘cause you weren’t at your chair.”
He narrows his eyes. “You’re a cocksucker.”
I grin. “Got me.”
“Fuck you!”
“If you’re offering. Now, tell me.”
He throws his hands up. “I saw someone get sick. There, is that what you wanted?”
I look down at him and cock an eyebrow. That wasn’t the answer I was expecting.
“Now get out of my way.” Greyson darts around me, but I snatch a hand out and grab his arm. The touch makes electricity roll through me.
“You saw someone get sick?” I frown, thinking about what happened right before Greyson ran off.
“Yes, okay? I puke when other people do. Get over it. Now let me go.” He tries to shake away from me, but I’m not done with him yet. Mostly because I love touching him. I love having him look up at me with those angry, bratty eyes. I want to tame him. To watch the moment he realizes that he can fight me, but he can’t win.
Come to think of it, I do remember a kid puking into a trashcan right by Greyson’s seat. I didn’t think twice about it, but that does make sense.
Greyson stiffens, and I see the wind up for the punch before he hits me. I let go of him, smiling. “Fuck you.” Greyson swings, but his balance and aim are thrown off. He shrugs his backpack firmly on his shoulder and darts away from me.
I let him go because I won this round. And oh so sweet was that victory. I will win every time. I’m bored this summer, and Greyson just became the best entertainment.
Every day, I try to get a word in with Greyson, and every day, he works to avoid me. The days he isn’t working feel so damn long now. I figure out his number and text him when I’m not around him. He always sends something aggressive back and calls me all kinds of names, but it just makes it more fun. Greyson never blocks me, and sometimes I catch him watching me with lingering interest, so I know I have him. He’s just playing hard to get, which turns me on like never before.
The next time I see someone puke into the pool, I’m up before anyone moves. Greyson has launched himself toward the fence, and I get there in time to rub his back. As soon as he’s done hurling, he stumbles backward.
“What are you doing?”
“Making sure you don’t choke.” I grin.
“Don’t touch me.” Greyson pants for breath but doesn’t move any farther away. He’s much more pale than normal.
“You good?”
He sucks in a few deep breaths. “Yeah…yeah.”
Then, we walk back to the pool together. Well, I try to walk with him, and Greyson ignores me.
This goes on for weeks. Greyson pukes every single time a kid does at the pool, which is often. It’s endlessly entertaining. Even better than my game at home. With this game, someone is playing with me. I can’t predict exactly what he’s going to do next or what insult he’ll shoot my way. Slowly, day after day, Greyson stops fighting me. I learn that he hates puking, and I can tell he secretly loves it when I stand by him every time. He starts to accept me like one would an annoying child.
Then, one evening, we’re both changing in the locker room. Everyone else has left, and it’s my turn to lock up again. I draw my shirt over my shoulders. I’ve gone all summer without a burn, mostly because I put sunscreen on every day. The smell reminds me of Greyson.
“So, what you doing tonight?” Greyson doesn’t turn around. We’ve been on a friendly truce, but this week, he seems more agitated than normal. Something is bothering him, but he won’t tell me what.
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Nothing.”
“Oh.” The silence is thick. I glance over at him and find him watching me. He quickly looks away. My stomach lurches. What’s going on? Is he okay?
“Do you want to…go to the mall?” I need more time with him. I can’t have him disappearing like he always does after his shift.
“Oh, uh…no, I’m kinda tired.” He seems like he deflates.
Damn. I debate in my head for a second. Do I invite him to my place? I never invite people to my place. Greyson stuffs his things into his bag.
“You okay?” I ask him.
“Fine.” He waves me off but won’t look at me.
I cross my arms. He’s definitely not okay. “You’re not fine. You’ve been snippy all week. So tell me what’s wrong.”
Greyson sighs. His shoulders are tense. I can tell he doesn’t want to. Which worries me.
I drop my voice and put a hint of warning in it. “Greyson.”
“It’s nothing. I just don’t want to go home, okay?”
My stomach sinks. What the hell is going on at his home? I always suspected he wasn’t happy there, but he refuses to tell me anything about his home life.
“Okay.” I try to play it off. “We can go to my place. More quiet.”
Greyson is silent and tense. But he doesn’t say no. He rubs the back of his neck.
“C’mon.” I clap him on the back, joking to lighten the mood. “What are you afraid of?”
“I guess…fine. Just once.” He sighs.
Excitement and anxiety run through me at the same time. Is he safe? I don’t know if he is, but I can protect him if he’s with me.
“Cool.” I clap my arm around his shoulder and pull him along. “But you can’t say anything about the mess.”
By the time we pull up to my house, I’m sweating. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. The last time I had friends over, they tittered about my hoarder house for weeks. They always said they were out of something and then would add, “But I bet Logan has it.” I tried to tell them my moms weren’t hoarders and that they both had really bad ADHD, but it didn’t matter.
When I get out of the vehicle, my heart is racing. I’m not sure why it matters, but I don’t want Greyson seeing the mess.
He steps out of his own car, showing no judgment about the trailer park. “Got anything to eat?” He strides past me and up the stairs.
I swallow, moving up as well. “Yeah, I uh…” I trail off as I push the door open, and he steps inside. The place is cluttered, like it always is, with a trail from the door to the kitchen, then off to the left to my bedroom.
“I have sandwiches.” I try to fill the empty space.
“That’s fine.” Greyson just shrugs off his backpack and dumps it on the floor. “Ham?” He doesn’t look stressed. In fact, he looks more relaxed than when we were at the pool.
“Uh, yeah.” I move to the kitchen. “Sorry it’s hot; my room has AC.” I pull out the things to build our sandwiches with.
Greyson just shrugs, then spots something on the couch. “Shit, you have this?”
I glance over. It’s the case to my game. The one I beat earlier this summer. “Oh, yeah.” I make both our sandwiches with pretzels. They add a delicious, salty crunch.
“Fuck, I’ve always wanted to play.” Greyson snatches it up.
“I can teach you.” I bring the food out to him, suddenly bashful. “If you want.”
“Fuck yes.” Greyson grabs the sandwich, glancing at me. Our eyes meet, and again, I see that vulnerability that I saw the first time I met him. There’s so much hurt in his eyes that it makes me want to fix it. To make him feel anything but that.
Greyson clears his throat and puts on a joking voice. “Let’s go, fag.”
I chuckle at the name he’s given me this summer. “Okay, pretty boy.”
“Don’t fucking call me that.”
With the mess forgotten, we went to my room, and I taught him.
That was the best summer of my life.