Chapter 27. Liam
The rec lounge is at its craziest at the end of the day, the only time we have to really behave like the boys we are. Weirdly, everything smells like burnt popcorn, even though we almost never get popcorn.
Jack is dealing cards at the center table, holding forth as usual, recounting the story of his first tattoo gone wrong, the Batman ink stretching as he waves his hands around, as if to illustrate his horrible taste in tattoos.
I'm to his left, feet up on the next chair.
Next to me, Miles pretends not to pay attention, a paperback splayed across his palm, but his eyes flick to the game every time Jack slaps a card down.
Miles has been looking at Jack and smiling, which is the weirdest thing to happen in this Academy.
Ethan walks in with Tyler at his side. Tyler still has the hoodie drawn up, but his eyes flick over everything at once, the exits, the people, the guard at the corner post. Old habits, probably — a bunch of kids here do that.
Tyler has been back from the hospital for a couple of days, but this is the first time Ethan has told me he's bringing Tyler to rec.
Jack spots them first. He waves a card overhead, grins wide. "E! Get over here. We need someone with actual brains to keep Marsal from cheating."
I flip him off without looking.
Ethan hesitates for just a second, then nudges Tyler forward. Tyler hangs back half a step, shoulders high. He has curly brown hair, much shorter than Ethan's, but they have the same eyes.
"Got someone I want you to meet," Ethan says, and I hear it, and my heart does a little flip. I think he means me!
Jack stands up and executes an over-the-top bow, flourishing an invisible hat. "Is this the legendary brother?"
Tyler snorts. He tries to hide it, but the sound escapes before he can stop it.
I lean back, balancing on the back two legs of my chair, and nod at Tyler. "Welcome to hell," I say. "You must be the one who taught Ethan how to look like he's got a stick up his ass."
This time, Tyler smiles, like he wasn't expecting us to be nice to him. When I first arrived, I also thought everybody was going to beat me up.
Well, only Ethan did.
"Guilty as charged."
Miles closes his book and nods to him too, without smiling, but the simple acknowledgment is a lot for Miles.
Jack pulls out the next chair, pats it. "We're playing bullshit. World's dumbest game, but it's tradition."
Tyler glances at Ethan, and Ethan gives him the smallest nod, and I can see how proud he looks, and it's so damn fucking cute. Tyler slides into the seat, tucking his knees under the table.
I deal him in. "House rules: don't get caught, don't cry if you lose, and never trust anything Jack says, ever."
Jack grins. "Especially when I say you're winning. And ignore the part about crying. Liam is always crying."
"No, I'm not!" I exclaim. But he's right: I'm always crying.
Miles says nothing, but slides the discard pile closer to Tyler, a subtle invitation.
That's extremely extroverted for Miles. Tyler looks at the cards, then up at Miles.
Then he accepts the cards and smiles at us.
It's a little sheepish, which I don't expect from him.
He looks like someone who might be okay.
The game starts. Tyler watches a few hands, then throws in with a bluff so obvious Jack calls him on it instantly. Tyler groans, head in hands. "I suck at this."
"Practice makes perfect," Jack says. "Or at least less embarrassing. You'll have a lot of time to practice."
We chuckle.
I lean in, voice conspiratorial. "The trick is to remember that everyone is lying. Including yourself."
Tyler nods, takes it in. The next round, he wins. And the round after that, he wins again. By the third hand, he's trash-talking Jack and openly gloating. Jack throws his arms up. "We have a prodigy, folks. Someone check his sleeves."
The table laughs.
I glance over at Ethan, who's been standing just behind us the whole time watching it unfold. His face is so proud, it makes me want to cry. My Daddy is so cute. I pat the empty chair beside me. He sits, his leg brushing mine under the table.
"He's good, your little bro," I say, just for him.
"Yeah," he says. "He is. Thank you, baby."
He gives me a kiss on the cheek. Tyler watches it happening, but doesn't say anything. He only smiles, which is pretty good. It means he accepts us.
The game goes on. Tyler fits in like he was always here, and I watch Ethan relax. I feel so relieved I don't have words for it.
?
Tyler has been back from the hospital for three weeks now.
He came back thinner than before, which I didn't think was possible, but with steadier eyes.
The tremors are gone. He eats everything on his tray, which Ethan monitors with the focused attention of someone who has done this before.
Not with Tyler, but with me, and I know what that look means.
Tyler started MMA two weeks ago. He's a natural, which is deeply unfair, because some of us have been at this for over a year and still get winded after two rounds.
He doesn't say much, same as always, but on the mat he's a different person.
Loud, even. It makes Ethan smile in a way I don't see very often, that private, unguarded smile he mostly saves for me. But weirdly, I don't mind sharing it.
The rec hall fills up slowly for roll call, everybody still half asleep, including me.
We're forced to line up in rows, like we're a squad.
Things are getting chilly again, at least in the morning, and I can't say I'll miss summer, except for the break and the water fight.
Besides that, summer is torture: heat and mosquitoes.
"Heard he's going to talk about the MMA program today," Harry mutters, appearing at my side, looking bored as usual.
At least he's not terrified anymore. The boys that were being mean to him are all gone. Disappeared from one day to the next. No one asked questions, as they were bullies. No one misses them. But it’s insane how money can make that happen in a blink of an eye.
Ethan is on my other side, already with that stiff military posture, not sleepy or slouching at all. He's such an adult.
"Rodriguez told me yesterday," he says.
My heart picks up speed. The MMA sessions have been my salvation since I got here. It was how Ethan and I first bonded. I love the structured violence, the discipline, the way my body actually listens to me when I'm on the mat.
"What about it?" I try to keep my voice neutral, but Harry's not fooled. He shoots me a knowing look.
"Guess we'll find out. But don't worry, if they cancel MMA, you can stop embarrassing yourself on the mats for once."
I roll my eyes. Harry loves to say stupid shit like that. He's not even in MMA, he doesn't know how I fight. I look at Ethan, but he's not looking at me. Griff is waiting for everybody to be quiet, so he's doing his part to help, as expected of him. Such a model student.
The noise level drops as Griff barks: "GENTLEMEN."
We all shut up, because we know better. Next thing, he'll start dishing out punishments for the ones who are still talking.
"Morning," he says. Then he starts reading the names from his clipboard. "Adam. Addacott. Barney… Farley. Farley."
Tyler and Ethan. I always chuckle at this part.
"Marsal."
"Here," I say, and he moves on.
When he's done, he drops his head, closes his eyes, and says, "Prayers and good thoughts."
We get a moment of silence. I don't think about anything in particular. When he thinks we've had enough, he looks at us and starts the morning announcements.
"Few quick items before breakfast. First, maintenance will be working on the gym showers tomorrow morning. Shower in the dorm block." He pauses, consulting his clipboard. "Second, the library has received a donation of new science textbooks."
I catch Miles's expression shifting from baseline neutral to mildly interested.
"Third," Griff continues, "there will be random drug tests starting Monday. I expect everybody to be clean, of course, but you know how the board requires it every trimester." His gaze sweeps across the room, landing nowhere specific but somehow making everyone squirm.
"Finally, I have an announcement regarding the inter-academy MMA tournament scheduled for three weeks from now."
Most of us are in MMA, so most of us are interested. A chance of getting out of Aspire, sleeping in a hotel, having fun.
"Aspire will be sending a team of eight to compete against Westlake Academy," Griff says, his tone matter-of-fact despite the electric tension spreading through the room.
"These competitions build discipline and focus.
As you know, we want you to go back out into society, and this is a chance to demonstrate progress that could help your case. "
My palms are suddenly damp. I wipe them against my pants, trying to control my breathing.
Ethan looks at me for a moment and smiles, just for a second.
He has been chosen twice before. Last year he didn't go, and I suspect it had something to do with wanting to stay with me.
I wasn't chosen last year because I was still a rookie, but I've improved so much since then.
"The selection process was based on skill level, behavioral record, and demonstrated commitment to the program," Griff continues. "I'll read the roster."
The silence is absolute now.
"Reed Hoffman."
Of course. Reed is the best MMA fighter in the academy, and probably in the other academies too. He wins every year.
"Ethan Farley."
I break into a grin and grab his hand for a second, before letting go.
He smiles, also only for a second, before going back to that neutral face.
Ethan's one of the best fighters. Still, I feel a surge of pride so intense it's almost embarrassing.
That's my person up there, being recognized for something he's exceptional at.
"Tyler Farley."
This gets a reaction. Whispers ripple through the room.
Tyler's a rookie and rookies rarely get the chance to leave the facility.
But Tyler is good. He has a ridiculous natural talent and Ethan has been training him personally ever since he got better.
He's better than me, no matter how much I train.
I watch Tyler's reaction. He smiles and immediately looks for Ethan, who's also smiling and nods at him. They're very cute together. And I don't even feel jealous saying this.
Griff continues through the list. Santana, Cedric, a guy named Dan. With each name called, my hope dims. Eight spots.
"Jack Perry," he says. I look at Jack, grinning, and he jumps in place, surprised and excited.
Seven places already filled. Dozens of guys with more experience, more muscle, more everything than me.
"And lastly," Griff says, pausing to turn the page on his clipboard, "Liam Marsal."
The world stops.
For a second, I think I've misheard. My name doesn't belong on that list. But Griff is already moving on to logistics, practice schedules, permission forms, transport details, rules we'll apparently be destroyed for breaking. And around me, the room has resumed its background noise.
Jack's hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing hard enough to hurt. "Holy shit," he says, grinning so wide it must ache. "You made it! I mean, I knew you would, but you know, you're up against gorillas, man."
I still can't speak. Ethan is looking at me with so much pride in his eyes it's almost strange to see on him.
"Good job, baby!" he says. For one awful second, I wonder if he asked Griff to put my name there. But Griff wouldn't do that. My heart's hammering against my ribs. Ethan's eyes say everything: I knew you could. I knew you would.
Harry adjusts his glasses. "Well," he says, "at least when you get your ass handed to you, your friends will be there to collect the pieces."
I made the team. I can't even believe it.
Griff dismisses us with a reminder to be good. As the crowd disperses, I stay where I am, still shocked, until Jack forces me to move, and Ethan is looking at me, waiting.
I've never been prouder of anything in my life.
Later, after art class, I'm waiting for Jack in the hallway because we have carpentry next and I cannot face that alone. Ethan is already gone with Miles to their nursing program.
Jack doesn't come out with everyone else.
I watch the door. Santana shoulders past me. Two other guys I don't know well. Then nobody. The hallway empties in that fast institutional way, bodies moving to the next place they're supposed to be, and the door stays open, and Jack isn't walking through it.
I lean against the wall. I've got maybe two minutes before the next bell and a legitimate reason to be annoyed.
Then I hear him laugh. From inside the classroom, his real laugh, not the performing one, the one that makes him sound like a crazy macaw. I haven't heard it in a while, actually. Since his sister's news he's been doing the loud version mostly, the one that's a little too fast.
I don't go in. I just stand there for a second listening to it, that laugh, and thinking about nothing in particular, just that it's good to hear.
Then Vikki says something I can't make out and Jack laughs again.
I push off the wall and head to carpentry alone. Jack shows up four minutes late, slightly flushed, the reference book Vikki gave him tucked under his arm even though we're not going to art again until Thursday.
"You're late," I tell him.
"I know," he says, grinning, and doesn't explain.