Chapter 24 Lachlan
LACHLAN
Spots flared in my vision when I saw those tools looming over Isak. They pushed a button inside my brain. One marked “MINE.”
It’s a familiar button. I just don’t normally activate it in front of him. Before, when I’ve stuck up for him, it’s been a gentle suggestion outside his earshot—hey, lay off Isak.
This was …
I don’t know. I don’t give a damn that I can’t claim him for real anywhere but in a literal closet. Nobody touches what’s mine.
The only other person I feel this strongly about—although in an entirely different way—is Quinton. It’s bad enough that all that fighting goes on around him, but I do the best I can to keep him away.
Shut it down. Don’t think about home. 195 days.
I bow my head after Isak stalks off. I need to get to class, too. But I don’t move.
A hand slaps my back, and my whole body jerks. “Hey,” Vince says. “You okay?”
“Huh? Yeah. Sure.” My knees wobble slightly.
“I didn’t know that guy was your neighbor.”
“Isak?” I clear my throat. “Yeah. For my whole life. I’ve known him since we were little kids.”
‘Known him’ is exaggerating. Sort of. At least, there’s an enormous gap in my knowledge.
“You don’t talk to him much.”
I shrug. “As kids, we were good friends until we had a falling … apart, I guess. It was around when I started playing football.” And my uncle forbade me to spend time with Isak. “We stopped hanging out. I haven’t really talked with him in years.”
Except, ever since senior retreat, we get each other off in the dark with minimal discussion.
“You have to admit he’s a little weird.”
I have to restrain myself from reacting physically. From defending Isak by punching my closest friend in the face. Very carefully and intentionally, I shake my head. “Isak is … himself. In some ways, I think he’s less weird than everyone else, because he doesn’t hide like the rest of us.”
Vince seems to think about that. “What do you mean?”
“With Isak, what you see is what you get. It feels more honest.”
“You really think everyone else hides things?”
“Of course,” I blurt, tucking my bracelet back under my watch. Then kick myself for saying it.
Perking up, Vince asks, “Oh? What are you hiding?”
With an exaggerated eye roll, I scoff. “Nothing.”
Everything.
I’m hiding every fucking thing from everybody. Which no one needs to know.
We head to history class, passing a duct-taped notice on the stucco wall of the administration building announcing tickets on sale for Browser History.
Talk about increasing the pressure.
Perhaps I shouldn’t quit. Maybe acting a part would be the most honest thing I could ever do.
During fourth period, for the first time ever, Isak initiates a meeting. My cock thickens in automatic response to seeing his name pop up on my phone screen.
Isak
Usual spot?
I weigh doing what I should do versus doing what I want to do. It’s not much of a contest.
It doesn’t count if you don’t touch him.
Me
See you in ten?
My fingers hover above the screen, about to change his name back to “That hot girl from camp.” But I don’t. If I’m old enough to excuse my own absences, I should be old enough to have privacy on my phone.
Isak
Can you make it 5?
Me
OMW
I raise my hand. “Mr. Henry, may I be excused to use the restroom?”
He nods, and I take off, carrying a new bright orange spatula hall pass, trying not to run.
In the closet, Isak sucks my dick, and it feels so fucking good.
He takes care of himself as usual. When we’re done, we pant in the dark, eyes adjusted enough that we can see each other’s outline and some hazy details.
“Fuck, that felt good,” I whisper. I reach out to stroke his face, but I pull my hand away just in time.
“Yeah,” he whispers back. He clears his throat, clearly wanting to say something else, but I can’t handle it.
“Don’t tell anyone about us,” I say, hiding my cringe. Here I go again, being a total asshole to him.
“Sheesh. I fucking know.” He leaves the closet with his head held high, not looking at me again.
Lunchtime rolls around, and I come up behind Francesca, who’s sitting with Vince, Darin, Tatum, and some of the other cheerleaders at a table in the middle of the cafeteria. The room is noisy, with everyone talking and eating. It smells like that fake pizza they sell every day and spilled milk.
“I have deemed you sandwich-worthy,” I proclaim, like I’m some sort of king bestowing an honor upon a subject.
I set my bag on the bench, glad to see she has nothing but a diet soda in front of her.
Not that a Manny’s Original isn’t a hundred times better than cafeteria food, but it’s important not to waste. I glance around and wave at my friends.
I gently place my hands on Francesca’s narrow shoulders, and she tilts her head into my arms in a weird sort of hug, her perfectly brushed stick-straight medium brown hair swinging down her back.
“Hey, Lachlan,” she says, not looking up from texting someone.
Should I ask Cheska to prom? After all, she’s a cool girl and gorgeous. Today she’s in a pale pink T-shirt that contrasts with her golden-brown skin, and denim shorts that show off her tanned legs.
And she meets the criteria: My uncle won’t say anything if I take her. The pictures with her will look good.
Still, there’s a tightness in my chest at the idea, and my stomach sinks.
Raising a foot, I straddle the metal bench next to her. I open my backpack. “You good?”
She nods. She has lip gloss on, making her mouth pouty. I find the plastic bag and take out two white paper-wrapped bundles. “One for me and one for you. I stopped by Manny’s before school.” I set them down on the table and prepare to dig into my lunch.
She hesitates before unwrapping her sandwich, then bites her lip. “Hmm.”
Catching her dubious expression, I frown. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she says hurriedly.
I raise an eyebrow.
She sighs. “It was nice of you, and thanks, but I’m watching what I eat.”
“Okay.” I don’t need to apologize for trying to do something nice for her. But I guess I got it wrong, so I apologize anyway. “Sorry.”
“And there are so many nitrates in salami.”
My shoulders sag, then I straighten up again and paste on a smile. “Okay. I’ll remember that next time.” If there is a next time. I’m thinking it’s a no on asking her to prom.
Cheska pats my hand. “Don’t worry. It’s all good. Does anyone else want Lachlan’s amazing sandwich?” I’m slightly annoyed. It’s my sandwich. Shouldn’t I decide who gets it? Vince raises his hand, and before she passes it over to him, she glances at me. “Is that okay?”
I bat my eyes at Vince. “I suppose someday you could be sandwich-worthy.”
Vince mockingly presses his hands over his heart. “Thank you.”
I laugh.
Francesca picks up her phone again and goes back to typing on it. And I feel … dismissed.
I focus on my lunch and start talking to Darin and Vince, who at least share my love for good sandwiches.
“Everyone up for a party Friday night?” Darin asks.
“Where?” Vince asks.
“My house.” Darin shrugs. “We don’t have weight training, and my parents are going out of town.”
“I’ll be there,” Vince says.
“Me, too,” Francesca says.
Everyone else nods.
“Yeah, I’ll go,” I say. Unless I have rehearsal. In which case I’d be late.
I won’t have rehearsal if I don’t take the part. I gulp and look at the guys.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. “Can we talk about something?”
“Sure,” Vince says.
“I got offered a lead role in the spring musical.”
“Congrats!” everyone says at once.
“Browser History?” Vince asks, glancing at a flyer on the wall. “What’s that about?”
“It’s a sort of science fiction or meta story where deleting things online makes them disappear in real life. Memories gone, people dead, places erased. That sort of thing.”
“Whoa,” Darin says.
“Cool,” Vince adds.
I look at my hands. “I’m not sure I should do it, though.”
“Because you have to sing?” Darin asks.
“Why would I have tried out for a musical if I wasn’t willing to sing?”
Vince raises a skeptical eyebrow. “You can sing?”
I shove him. “Yes, fucker. I can sing.”
He presses his lips together and nods. “Okay, you’re kind of a performer. I can see you doing it. So what’s the problem?”
“I’d be playing a gay character,” I say, hoping my cheeks stay their regular color.
Darin holds up his hands. “Hey, that’s cool. It’s no big deal. It’s acting.”
I glance around at everyone else. They’re nodding at me. “We’d know it’s fake,” Cheska says, laying a slender finger on the back of my hand. I stare down at it. I don’t want her touching me.
All of my friends are okay with me acting gay, as long as it’s not real.
It’s not real.
I feel nauseated. I don’t think I’m going to be able to finish my Manny’s Original, which is tragic. Hunching over so no one can read my screen, I pull out my phone.
Me
If I do this role, we can’t
I stop typing. We can’t fool around anymore? You can’t suck me off? We can’t be together?
We aren’t together. What am I worried about?
Me
If I do this role, we need to go back to the way things were.
Before senior retreat.
What I don’t say is: If I kissed you onstage and still got to have you in the closet, I couldn’t hide how awesome and amazing I think you are.
How beautiful and unique. How even the little crumbs of you that you give me are more than I ever could dream of.
And then my whole life would come tumbling down.
Isak
K
Shit. He’s back to one-letter responses. That makes my eyes sting.
But it’s for the best. If everyone found out how I really felt about him, I’d be screwed.
So, okay. Maybe I do this. We can act onstage, and I’ll ignore him everyplace else.
Which is a shitty thing to do, but self-preservation kicks in.
As it is, I don’t know what my uncle will say if he finds out I’m in a fucking musical.
If he finds out I’m playing a gay character, he’ll go ballistic.
My only chance of getting away with it would be to play it off, like, come on, it’s just an act. I’m not really into Isak.
Even though I am. I so am into him.
For the rest of the day, I spend every moment worrying about kissing Isak in public, in front of everyone.
When it’s the only thing I’ve wanted to do for months now.
Fuck it. I’m doing the show.