Chapter 1 #2
If Tean were being honest, he’d have to admit that Jem was part of it too.
In some ways—maybe in the ways that counted most—Jem was closer to Daniel.
He certainly seemed to understand him better than Tean.
Although why that understanding manifested as slapping and throwing each other on the ground and trying to break each other’s arms—
“Oh my God,” Jem said with a laugh as he scratched Tean’s back through his coat. “Stop thinking about it.”
“I just don’t understand why you two think it’s so funny to try to smack each other in the face.”
“Because it’s hilarious.”
“What if someone gets hurt?”
That only made Jem laugh more, for some reason.
Their route took them through Rainbow House’s entry hall, where signs on the walls and posters on easels promoted that night’s all-ages drag show. As they followed a hallway toward the back of the house, tense voices filtered out from behind a partially closed door.
“—not going to do anything,” a woman was saying. Tean recognized her voice—it was Nasha, the woman who ran Rainbow House. “We’re going to have a pleasant evening, and we’re going to have fun, because he hasn’t done anything.”
“Hasn’t done anything?” The voice was high—fem, yes, but also with emotion. “I saw him two weeks ago at the Glitter Hole, and he had a kid who was barely legal on his lap.”
“Key word: legal. He’s not breaking the law.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
Jem tapped on the door, and it inched open.
“Excuse me, we’re in the middle—” Nasha began. But she stopped when she saw them. “What’s up?”
“Everything okay?” Jem asked.
“We’re fine—” Nasha began.
“We’re not fine,” the other speaker—the drag queen in the velveteen suit—said over her. “Unless you call having a pedophile prowl around Rainbow House ‘fine.’”
Nasha made a face, but it vanished a moment later. She was a woman of average height, with dark skin and her hair in a textured crop. “That’s not what’s happening,” she said. “Wendell isn’t a pedophile.”
The drag queen snorted. “And I don’t have a dick tucked up my crack. You should have seen him when those boys walked into the room. His wienie looked like a homing missile.”
“Who is this?” Tean asked.
“His name’s Wendell, and everybody knows him.” With a dirty look at Nasha, the drag queen added, “Everybody knows what he likes, too.”
“He’s lonely,” Nasha said. “That’s all.”
“And he writes you a big check every year.” To Jem and Tean, she added, “He’s a pervert. And that’s coming from me.”
“If somebody’s causing problems,” Jem said, “we can have a word with him.”
“The show is open to the public,” Nasha said, but she didn’t have a lot of conviction in her voice. “We’re trying to create a welcoming atmosphere.”
“Throw his ass out,” the drag queen said. “You’ll see him when you walk in there—older guy, plaid shirt, smells like a whore’s armpit.”
Jem gave them a mock-salute.
“Seriously,” Nasha said, “unless he’s causing a problem, don’t bother him—”
Jem didn’t answer. He just offered his most reassuring smile—the one that occasionally gave Tean flights of panic—and eased the door shut. Then he turned to Tean and said, “Ready to kick some ass?”
“I heard that,” Nasha said inside the office. “We’re not kicking anyone’s ass.”
“She has to say that for legal reasons,” Jem said, but more quietly.
“I don’t think she’s only saying it for legal reasons,” Tean said. “I think she’s saying it because she doesn’t want us to do anything.”
“Her mouth says no,” Jem said. “But her eyes say yes.”
“That’s incredibly problematic.”
“Babe, we’re not talking about sex stuff. You know I love consent. This is just ass-kicking.” And without waiting for a response, Jem started down the hall. “Come on.”
Tean didn’t have much of an option except to hurry after him.
At the back of Rainbow House, a previous owner had created a large living area by knocking down walls.
Part of the space was given over to a kitchen, which these days was used for snacks and activities more than for cooking meals.
The rest of the room was filled with couches, loveseats, and chairs, with a massive television on the far wall.
Most of the time, the seating was arranged in functional clusters, so that multiple groups of teens could socialize at the same time.
Tonight, however, the seating had been pushed back, and a temporary stage had been set up against the far wall.
The room was already three-quarters full.
The crowd was mostly White, although Tean spotted a handful of Latine faces.
And while he recognized many of the teens and tweens from the times he’d been to Rainbow House before, the adults were, for the most part, new to him.
Some of them—especially the men—wore wary, closed-off expressions.
Others were more animated, talking and laughing.
A few had the—by now, familiar to Tean—look of parents who had been dragged to yet another event for their child, and they were already thinking about the laundry they had to do when they got home.
Daniel and his friends had taken over a sofa near the back of the room.
They were piled together on it, and Tean didn’t miss the fact that Daniel had managed to end up sitting on the doe-eyed boy’s lap.
Justin, he had called him. Justin also had one hand on Daniel’s thigh.
High on his thigh. And looking very comfortable.
All of that went through Tean’s head in the first instant.
In the second, he saw the man.
The drag queen’s description had been accurate.
The man had a head of thick gray hair that made Tean think of a chinchilla, and he wore a hideous plaid shirt with jeans that managed to look both expensive and ridiculous at the same time—oversized studs, flashy stitching, and a boot cut that swallowed his feet.
He was pressed up against the arm of the sofa, looking down at Daniel and his friends, talking in a voice too low for Tean to hear.
And Daniel was looking up at him. His cheeks held that same hint of pink.
The way he angled his head exposed the smooth lines of his neck.
He was playing with the cropped tee, teasing it up to expose more of his defined stomach.
The older man said something, and Daniel laughed.
Tean opened his mouth to say something to Jem—his brain had only gotten as far as umm—when Jem said, “You motherfucking piece of shit!”
Not said, Tean’s brain told him a moment too late. Shouted.
And then Jem launched himself across the room.
The older man—Wendell—presumably—was starting to turn in response to Jem’s shout when Jem hit him.
It was a full-body collision: Jem threw himself at the other man in a flying tackle.
Even across the room, Tean heard something crunch when Jem’s shoulder connected with Wendell’s chest. Then the force of the impact sent both men crashing into the wall. The old house shook. Someone screamed.
Wendell lost his footing, and Jem followed him to the floor. Wendell was finally starting to twist and turn, to squirm out from under Jem and get away. Jem didn’t let him. He was shouting, “Motherfucker!” and “You piece of shit!” as he scrambled to stay on top of the older man.
“Hey!” a guy shouted from across the room.
“Get off of him!” another man yelled.
Tean was still standing there.
Jem reared back. His face was flushed, and his hair had fallen out of its usual neat part. He looked like he was trying to catch his breath. He brought his arm back and landed a punch, and the crack of his hand against Wendell’s face echoed through the room.
“Stop! Stop! Stop!” Daniel was screaming. He’d pressed himself back into the sofa, his legs drawn up to his chest.
Finally, Tean’s brain kicked into gear. He lurched into a run. Jem drew his arm back for another punch, and Tean caught his wrist. Jem yanked, trying to free himself.
“Jem!”
“Get off me!”
“Jem, stop!”
Jem shoved Tean with his free hand.
Tean staggered, but he held on to Jem’s wrist.
“Get off me!” Jem shouted, his voice rasping, the pitch rising—like he was the one who had been hurt.
“Somebody do something!” a woman shouted.
“I’m calling the police!” announced another woman.
Someone was still screaming. Daniel, eyes wide, was so pale it was like the blood had been drained out of him.
Jem gave one last jerk, trying to pull free from Tean’s grasp.
Then he shuddered, his head dipped, and he panted for air.
After a moment, his head came back up. He blinked.
His eyes were glassy, and Tean thought of sleepwalkers, how you weren’t supposed to wake them.
Then Jem muttered, “Let go,” and he got to his feet.
Tean let go.
A moment later, Jem was pushing out through the back door. The night made a black rectangle against the warm light of the room.
“Call your dad,” Tean said to Daniel. The words were thin because he was breathing hard himself, even though he hadn’t done anything—hadn’t done anything, just stood there and watched. “Daniel, did you hear me?”
Daniel started, and his eyes came to Tean. They were wet, and he was blinking.
“It’s okay,” Tean said, keeping his voice as soft as he could. “Call your dad.”
With a nod, Daniel pulled out his phone. But his hands were shaking, and as he tried to place the call, he started to cry.
Tean knelt next to Wendell, but the man twisted away from him.
“Don’t touch me!” His nose was bleeding, and the rug of gray hair had pulled away from his scalp in back, exposing the strips that were supposed to be holding it in place.
He touched his face and stared at the blood on his hands, and then he got to his feet, dragging himself up with one hand on the wall.
When Tean reached out to steady him, he snapped, “Get the fuck off me!” Wendell cast a wild glance around the room, at all the faces staring back at him, and broke into a shuffling run toward the front of the house.
Daniel was talking into his phone. Sobbing into it.
“Keep an eye on him,” Tean told the doe-eyed boy. Justin, Tean reminded himself. His name was Justin. “I’ll be right back.”
Outside, the cold came at Tean from every direction, the breeze shifting and then shifting and then shifting again.
The sounds of traffic floated in from the street, and beneath them, barely audible, Jem’s labored breathing.
Tean’s soles scuffed the steps as he went down.
An old tread creaked. And then frozen grass crunched as he started across the lawn.
There weren’t any lights back here, and what reached them from the street was barely enough to suggest outlines: the bulk of Rainbow House, and the pickets of the sagging fence, the shed where they stored all the equipment for summer games.
And Jem, a silhouette pacing back and forth.
When Tean got closer, he could see Jem’s fists were still clenched, his shoulders tight. He took a moment, trying to think of what to say. And then he asked, “Are you okay?”
Jem spun toward him, and the movement was so fast and so unexpected that Tean had to fight the urge to step back. But all Jem did was point a finger back at Rainbow House, and the light and warmth spilling out of the back door. “Did you see that?”
Yes, Tean thought. Yes, I saw it. But he said, “See what?”
“Did you see him with Daniel? Jesus Christ, Tean, did you see?”
“Yes. Jem, what—”
“He was about five seconds from putting his hand down his pants. Did you see that?”
This time, Tean didn’t say anything.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jem’s laugh was short and ugly, and he wheeled away again, taking those fast, furious strides before he turned back toward Tean.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. There’s no way this is real.
” He stopped. He put his hands to his head.
In the darkness, it was difficult to tell, but Tean thought maybe Jem was pressing hard, like he was trying to hold himself together.
His voice was different—the anger again, and now under an incredible strain, like it was about to break. “Oh my God, this cannot be real.”
“Jem,” Tean said quietly, “take a breath. I don’t know what’s going on, but everything’s going to be okay. Can you take a breath with me?”
From inside Rainbow House came raised voices.
When Jem spoke again, the forced calm was even worse, somehow, than the strain.
He was still barely more than a shadow, and somehow that made him seem much, much younger as he wiped his eyes.
“I’m good. I’m okay. Sorry about that.” Another laugh, this one disbelieving rather than angry. “I promise I’m not crazy.”
Tean’s phone started to buzz.
“I know him,” Jem said. He laughed again, and now it was ugly. And the edge in his voice was too sharp for humor when he continued, “He was my foster dad.”
The phone was still buzzing.
On the other side of what felt like thick fog, something in Tean’s brain recognized that it was probably Ammon calling. That Daniel had called him, sobbing and incoherent, and Ammon was undoubtedly panicking.
Tean didn’t let himself think about it too much. He answered the phone with “Hey, everything’s okay, but I think you should come down here.”
The silence lasted a beat too long. And then Tean’s dad said, “What?”
“Dad?”
“What’s going on?” His father’s voice was stiff. “Is something wrong?”
“No. Everything’s okay. I’m sorry, I’m in the middle of something. Can I call you later?”
“Your grandfather passed away tonight.”
Tean wasn’t sure how long it took before he said, “What?”
“Your grandfather is dead,” he said. “We’re all getting together at my place.”
“Oh. Dad, I’m sorry. How are you doing?”
“I’m all right.”
Jem was still standing there. Still a shadow.
“Dad, I’m really sorry. I’m handling something right now, and it’s kind of an emergency. Can I call you in a bit—”
“You’re always busy. You don’t need to call back.”