Chapter 23 A Fork in the Road #2
Standing there alone in the hall, seething with self-disgust, Matt had vented his feelings in the tried-and-true method of guys who inhabited men’s bodies but still had teenaged brains: he’d punched the wall. Punched it again.
Later, alone in his room, holding an ice pack to his right hand, watching his digital clock blink away minutes, Matt wallowed in regret.
Idabel had been right: he had been reckless and selfish, risking other peoples’ futures for his own carnal satisfaction.
How did one make amends for such things?
He’d already felt Coach’s judgment. Another month of cleaning the locker room.
Benched for two games—at Coach’s choosing.
(Coach was not entirely giving up on his dream of a winning season.)
Someone knocked on Matt’s door.
Matt hoped it was Idabel, knew that it wasn’t.
The door opened. In came Paul.
Matt had not seen Paul since Saturday evening, when Paul had been inducted into the GM. He had left before Paul had chosen who would top him. He assumed Paul was here to give him the juicy details. He wasn’t in the mood.
Neither was Paul apparently. He closed the door behind him, pushed his glasses back up his nose. Sniffled. His eyes were red and puffy. He had been crying.
Paul clutched a folded paper in his hand.
“Have a seat,” Matt said. He pointed to one of the desk chairs.
Paul shook his head. “I’m dropping out of school. Tomorrow.”
Matt had been reclining in the makeshift daybed.
He sat up. “What? Why? Is it about money?” Matt knew that Paul’s family didn’t help with his college expenses, that he existed here on a shaky hodgepodge of scholarships, work study, and student loans.
So shaky that Matt had discovered Paul had only three changes of clothes, had been wearing them multiple times between launderings.
One raggedy pair of tennis shoes. All of which had made for unpleasant odors.
Matt had taken Paul to a thrift store, where fifteen dollars had doubled his wardrobe and replaced his shoes.
Spared Paul’s dignity by saying the money was payment for the tutoring.
Paul’s voice quavered. “It isn’t about money. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had. I won’t betray you. I won’t.”
“I know you won’t.” Matt smiled. He pointed to the folded paper in Paul’s hand. “Does your dropping out have anything to do with that?”
Paul nodded, handed Matt the paper. “I’m supposed to copy that in my own handwriting, sign it, and hand it to the dean. I won’t do it. They can’t make me.”
Matt unfolded the paper. It read:
Dean Smith:
I am a freshman here at MCU. I need to tell you about something bad that has happened to me.
A few weeks ago, Matt Griffith, another freshman, asked me to start tutoring him. I agreed. I assumed our tutoring sessions would be in the library. Instead, Matt wanted them in his dorm room. He doesn’t have a roommate.
It seemed strange to tutor in a dorm room, but I agreed to do it. After a few sessions, he insisted that we close the door and lock it. You can probably guess where this is heading. He wasn’t really interested in tutoring.
Matt has made repeated sexual advances on me. He has asked me to perform sexual acts on him, things I won’t describe here. Things that disgust me. Things I have refused to do.
I am straight and don’t want to sin.
Respectfully,
Paul Olson
Matt felt gut punched. This had been the shittiest day of his life. Correction: second shittiest. Nothing trumped getting raped. Still, second place to rape was pretty fucking shitty.
Someone was gunning for him, had written this letter and instructed Paul to copy it and hand it to the dean. Paul had never been to his room before tonight. Matt had never made advances on Paul.
Matt knew only one someone vile enough to write such lies. Someone who excelled at getting gay kids kicked out of MCU. Someone who had threatened him and his friends: Colton Langley.
“Who gave this to you?” Matt asked.
“That guy I thought was my friend. The one who’s been coming to my room to play chess.” Fresh tears streaked Paul’s cheeks.
“What’s his name? Is it Colton Langley? I told you to stay away from him.”
Paul shook his head. “Mike. Odd last name. Sounds Klingon.”
In other circumstances Matt would have smiled at Paul’s Star Trek reference. Not tonight.
“Mike Huebsch? Short? Skinny? Looks like a ferret?”
Paul nodded.
Matt’s instincts had been correct. Huebsch was Colton’s toady, and Matt had not thought to warn Paul about Huebsch. One question remained, though: what made Colton think Paul would write this letter and give it to the dean? What leverage did they have against Paul?
“You know Mike’s been coming to my room to play chess,” Paul said. “He always insisted we play when my roommate was gone. Mike said he wanted the door closed so he could concentrate. Nothing happened, but everyone in my dorm has seen him coming to my room, seen the door closed.”
Paul sniffled. “Tonight, Mike showed me two letters. The one you’re holding is the one I’m supposed to write about you.
If I don’t, he’ll hand the dean the other letter, the one from him, claiming that I came onto him.
Basically, same accusations. I just have to choose whether it is you or me that gets screwed, school-wise.
I’m not gonna tell lies about you just to save my skin. ”
“And I’m not gonna let you take the fall either,” Matt said. “There has to be a way out of this.”
Paul shook his head. “It’s a classic chess move. Called a ‘fork.’ The same piece, the black knight, for example, is positioned to capture either of two white pieces. The white player gets one move. He can save one piece, but not both.”