Guyliner Page 4

  “Connor.” When he didn’t respond, Allyson kicked him under the table. “Knock it off. You’re staring.”

  “What?” He turned back to his girlfriend.

  “You’re staring. I can’t believe you’d stare at someone because they’re different.”

  “I’m not. I mean, I don’t mean to. He brought his car into the shop this afternoon, then, on the way home, I came across Roy and Clint giving him a hard time. I guess I was thinking about that.”

  “Jerks.” Allyson took a bite of her strawberry sundae. “What’s their deal? Or were they just being their usual redneck selves?”

  “You know them.” He grabbed the cherry off the top of his own caramel sundae. “Anyone even slightly new or different gets targeted. They couldn’t deal with his eyeliner, I guess.”

  As if sensing that he was the focus of their conversation, Graham glanced in their direction. Connor raised his hand in greeting.

  Allyson twisted in her seat to get a better look. “I think he’s exactly what this town needs.” At Connor’s raised brow, Allyson continued, “You know, Green Valley is completely boring. Have you noticed the complete lack of racial diversity? And God forbid anyone is actually openly gay. We need something to knock the town into the twenty-first century.”

  “And somehow one eyeliner-wearing boy is going to change all that?”

  “Maybe not, but he might show a few of these narrow-minded jerks that being different really isn’t all that scary. Especially if he’s as good on the soccer field as people are saying. If there’s anything this town respects, it’s their sports heroes.”

  “True. People still talk about my dad’s reign as all-state pitcher.”

  “Exactly.” Allyson pushed aside the remainder of her sundae and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “So, you want to tell me what’s wrong?”

  Connor blinked. “Huh? Nothing’s wrong.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. You’ve been distracted for weeks now, and tonight you’re acting really weird. Is it your dad again?”

  He grabbed the excuse. It was true, for the most part. His behavior tonight might have been fueled by his completely insane reaction to a boy wearing eyeliner, but any distraction for the last few weeks could be placed firmly at Dad’s feet. “I guess. He’s been on my case again about college and saving money. The daily lectures are driving me crazy. The closer I get to graduation, the more determined he is that I be perfect.”

  “You’re only a junior. Graduation is more than a year away.”

  “No kidding. Can you image how bad he’s going to be next fall when applications and essays are due? He seems to think I’m going to self-destruct or something.”

  “You know he only wants the best for you, right?”

  “Yeah, and luckily what he wants for me and what I want for me seem to be in sync, but man, if he doesn’t get off my back, I’m going to snap.”

  “Have you tried telling him how you feel?”

  Pausing with the last bite of ice cream raised to his mouth, Connor rolled his eyes. She tucked her silky-looking hair behind her ear, a knowing look on her face.

  Connor smiled and pushed aside his empty bowl. “You’ve met my dad. Do you really think he’s the type to talk about feelings?” His smile faded. “It’s not worth it. A little over a year, and then I’ll be off to college and I can get out of this town. Fifteen months and then I’m out of here.”

  “Well,” she said, getting up and piling the sundae bowls, spoons, and napkins on the tray, “before you get out of town, we should probably get out of here. I need to get home. Mom wants to go to the early church service tomorrow.”

  After taking the tray from her, Connor threw away their trash and followed her to the door. She stood aside and let him hold the door for her. She’d given up on lecturing him whenever he opened a door for her. Yes, she was more than capable of doing it herself. Yes, it was a chauvinistic habit, but his mom would skin him alive if he didn’t do it. It was manners and respect. And maybe a bit about tradition and old-fashioned expectations. So he held doors open for her and she rolled her eyes. It worked for them.

  Catcalls and whistles exploded from the corner where the soccer players gathered. He looked over, and Paul Grossman, one of the team’s starting forwards, let loose a piercing wolf whistle and shouted, “You two have fun, lover boy!”

  Connor ignored him, but heat crept up his neck even as he and Allyson stepped out into the cool spring air.

  Allyson reached down and grabbed his hand. “I swear some of those guys are children. Debbie went out with Paul once and… well, let’s just say the word octopus came up. Something about way too many arms and slimy fish lips.”

  “You girls actually talk about stuff like that?”

  “Of course. Don’t even try to pretend that you don’t in the locker room with the guys.”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “But what?”

  “Well, most of the time we know they’re full of shit.”

  “Have you ever made stuff up about us?” She was smiling, obviously not concerned about his answer.

  He rolled his eyes and deadpanned, “Our sexual exploits are legendary in the locker room.” He looked at her. “You know me better than that.”

  “I do. You’re a perfect gentleman, and I wouldn’t expect anything less. In fact, there are some girls—and I’m not naming names—who are completely jealous. Not only are you hot”—she batted her lashes at him in an exaggerated fashion—“but you’re also not some overgrown hormone with too many hands.”

  Connor opened the car door and waited for her to settle in before closing it and moving around to the other side.

  He spent the short trip around the hood obsessing about the question their conversation had inspired. By the time he settled behind the steering wheel, he decided her answer would save him loads of humiliation later. Of course, he didn’t get the nerve to actually ask it until he pulled up in front of her house.

  How to say it without sounding crude? “Does it bother you? That I’m not more physical, I mean?” They’d never really talked about sex or the other physical stuff. She’d have said something about it if she was worried. It was the kind of person she was. But maybe she was waiting for him to bring it up?

  Why did this shit have to be so complicated?

  “No. Actually, I like that I don’t have to wrestle with you to protect my virtue whenever we go out.”

  That made him smile. “Protect your virtue? Have you been reading those historical smut books again?”

  She grinned and shrugged. “Maybe, but you know what I mean.”

  He wasn’t sure that she believed what she said. Her smile was too quick. Too bright. He was a total coward, though, so he let it drop.

  When they arrived at her house, the porch light was on, and the front window glowed from the television inside. He walked her to the door, his brain bubbling with questions.

  After unlocking the door, she turned to Connor and reached up to give him their habitual hug good night. Maybe he could prove to her that he was attracted to her and prove it to himself at the same time. As her hands hit his shoulders, he jerked her to him and mashed his mouth down on hers.

  Oh shit. Big mistake.

  First, he didn’t know what to do now that he’d gone that far. Second, her startled gasp made it clear she hadn’t expected it. And third, well third was the worst. It felt like kissing his sister.

  Connor stumbled back, releasing his grip. Her mouth and eyes were open wide in shock. He took two more hasty steps back, nearly falling when his heel caught the edge of the cement walkway.

  “Connor?” Her voice was quiet, hesitant. “Is everything okay? Do you want to come in?”

  That capped it. He’d made a complete ass of himself, and now she stared at him with sympathy. Or, even worse, pity. “No. I’m fine. I’m just tired. Long day, you know. I’ll see you at school, okay? G’night.” Despite the urge to run away, he walked to his car slo
w enough to hide his panic but fast enough to get him the hell out of there.

  As soon as he was out of sight of Allyson’s house, he pulled over. He leaned his head against the headrest and closed his eyes. “Man, I’m so screwed.”

  Chapter 5

  “YOU’RE NOT really going to wear that, are you?” Graham’s mom gave his outfit the hairy eyeball as he came into the kitchen.

  Graham looked down at the T-shirt. The long-sleeved shirt was beige with two-inch black letters that spelled out the words “I can’t even think straight” and colorful stripes—the complete rainbow spectrum—ran the length of one sleeve from shoulder to wrist. Compared to some of the shirts in his closet, it was pretty tame. He could have pulled on the tie-dyed one with the big yellow smiley face that declared “I M R U?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed a bagel from the breadbox on the counter. “It’s nice going to a school that doesn’t have uniforms.”

  His mom set her coffee cup down on the kitchen table next to the newspaper. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “What are you getting at?” Not that he really needed to ask.

  “This is a small town. I’m not sure you should be flaunting….” Her voice trailed off.

  “What? My gayness? I am who I am, Mom. People will either accept it or they won’t.” He took a bite of the bagel and then wished he hadn’t when he tried to swallow. The thick bread stuck in his suddenly tight throat. He went to the fridge and pulled out a can of soda. He popped the tab and washed the lump down. “I thought you were okay with me being gay. You said you were.”

  She sighed. “Honey, I am okay with you being gay. I love you for who you are. But not everyone is going to see it the same way.”

  “No kidding.” He was reminded of it every time he looked at his scars in a mirror.

  “I don’t want to see you get hurt.” The word again remained unspoken. “You’ll be graduating soon and going on to college or playing with one of the national soccer leagues. You’ll have time then to… express yourself.”

  “Do you seriously think that being in college or touring with a bunch of jocks is somehow going to keep me from running into idiots and assholes? I won’t spend my life hiding who I am.”

  “That’s not what I want. Only, do you have to wear those T-shirts and the makeup? I can’t understand why you’re going so far with this.”

  “Mom, this isn’t some kind of phase. I’m not some kid trying to find new and shocking ways of expressing himself. This is me, this is who I am. I’m not going to change, not for you and not for a bunch of rednecks who might be offended.”

  “I don’t want you to change. Just… just be careful.”

  Graham sighed. Fighting with his mom wouldn’t help anything. She was mostly right, but then, so was he. He could tone the image down, try to fit in. He had any number of “normal” clothes he could wear, and no one held a gun to his head and told him he must wear eyeliner. Back in St. Louis when he’d been worried about what others might think if they found out he was queer, he’d done his best to dress and act “normal.” In the end, it hadn’t helped. When his family moved to Green Valley, he’d promised to be true to himself, no matter what others thought.

  The discussion with his mother left him grumpy when he arrived at school. A pop quiz in English, then finding out he had to take a math placement test that afternoon instead of soccer practice, didn’t improve things. By the time lunch rolled around, he was pretty much pissed at the world. He went through the line, adding food to his tray at random. He paid the cashier and eyed the cafeteria. This was the worst part of being the new kid. Where to sit at lunch? Ideally, he’d prefer an empty table, but he found none. There were only a few open seats scattered throughout the echoing room. He considered taking his tray into the hallway when someone called his name.

  “Hey, Parker! Over here.”

  Someone from the soccer team, he couldn’t quite remember his name—Paul?—waved to him from a table near the center of the room. Recognizing other faces from the team, he walked over. A couple of players shifted, while the one who had called him over snagged a chair from the table next to him.

  Graham was immediately sucked into the team’s discussion of their upcoming match against Wharton Grove. Luckily he didn’t have to say much. He nodded and chimed in with an occasional “yeah” here and there.

  Maybe it was the discussion with his mother, or maybe he was paranoid, but he felt disapproving eyes on him as he ate. A glance to the left showed a couple of guys talking softly to each other and glancing in his direction. At another table, a group of girls talked behind their hands, giggling and eyeing him speculatively.

  So far the guys on the soccer team seemed to accept him. A couple of the players were a bit reserved, but none had done or said anything rude. Compared to some of the people he’d met the last couple of years, he’d take coolly civil over openly hostile any time.

  As if determined to prove fate had an evil sense of humor, a big body crashed into the back of his seat and a lunch tray tumbled down his head, scattering cold corn, fries, and a hamburger smothered in ketchup and mustard over his shirt. A yellow-and-red smear trailed from the neck of his shirt, across the phrase that set his mom off that morning, and ended in a large orangish splat at the hem. Graham flicked corn from his hand and looked up at the fake contrition on Roy’s face. Clint stood behind him, hunched over with laughter.

  “Whoops!” Roy crowed. “I’m such a klutz.”

  Travis, the captain of the soccer team, glared at Roy. “Not cool, bro.”

  Graham couldn’t tell if Travis spoke up because of the mess on Graham or because the scraps had overflowed onto Travis’s tray.

  “I’m sorry, Guyliner. Let me help clean it up.” Roy reached over and tipped the remainder of Graham’s lunch into his lap as well. Then he and Clint sauntered off, roaring with laughter. Clearly they were less concerned about people witnessing stupid pranks in the lunchroom than they were of fighting in the street. Probably the difference between assault charges and detention. Good to know they had their standards. Stupid pricks.

  “Jesus, what’s their deal?” Graham glared after Roy and Clint.

  Travis grimaced. “Don’t let them get to you. Clint is pissed that when you came here he got dropped to second-string goalkeeper. He’s started the last two years, so he figured he was too good for second string. He quit the team.”

  “And Roy?” Graham grabbed a napkin and tried to wipe away the worst of the gunk. He gave up when his efforts only spread the mess.

  “Roy’s an ass. Total sociopath. Clint’s probably his only friend, so that’s excuse enough for him. Your particular style is just extra.”

  Clenching his jaw so tightly he thought his molars might crumble, Graham looked around. The rest of the students in the cafeteria waited in silence for Graham’s reaction. Forcing a smile, Graham stood up. “He’s pissed I wouldn’t go out with him. Some guys are so sensitive.” Laughter trailed after him as he made his way to the gym to change into his practice shirt.

  Chapter 6

  CONNOR RUSHED into the locker room, already unzipping his duffel bag. The student council meeting had run behind schedule, making him late for practice. Coach Petrewski didn’t mind his athletes being involved in other activities, but he did expect that if it came to a scheduling conflict, baseball would take precedence. Connor whipped around a bay of lockers and collided with someone. As they fell to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, Connor twisted his body so he hit the floor first. A sharp elbow knocked into his cheek, and he hit his head against the tiled floor.

  “Ow! Man, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” He shook his head to clear his vision, and he got a look at the person he’d run into. Ice-blue eyes rimmed with thick black eyeliner stared down at him.

  “Crap!” Connor tried to jerk into a sitting position but Graham’s lanky body draped awkwardly over his. He stopped moving and stared at the other boy. Every cell in his body vibrated. It was like something o
ut of a chick flick. Time stood still, and he expected music to swell at any minute, a violin concerto to signify that this was a Moment. A capital-M moment.

  He swallowed hard and tried to moisten his dry mouth.

  Graham didn’t speak, apparently caught in the same spell.

  He didn’t know how long they lay there looking at each other, neither moving. It could have been seconds, minutes, or days. What he did know was, no matter how terrified the thought made him, Connor didn’t want the moment to end.

  The swishing sound of the locker room door opening was a cold splash of reality.

  Graham scrambled off Connor, trying to roll away. The space in the alcove of lockers, with the long bench in the middle, was not designed for two full-grown boys, sprawled on the floor. As he rolled to the side, Graham braced his weight with his arms but immediately fell forward as Connor’s duffel bag, which was under his hand, slid over the glossy tile. Graham’s head hit the thick leg of the changing bench. He winced. “Shit.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Woo-hoo! Look at that. If it isn’t Guyliner and the Golden Boy. I think we’ve interrupted something.” Roy rocked on the balls of his feet. “You must have been desperate to go at it in the locker room. Getting off at school? I never figured you for a PDA kind of guy, Fitzpatrick.”

  Perfect. Just effing perfect. Clint and Roy leaned against a tiled wall. Both wore workout clothes and were flushed and sweaty. Football season may have been over, but they’d obviously been making use of the weight room.

  “I so don’t need this right now.” Glaring at Roy, Graham levered himself to his feet and held out his hand to help Connor up. “I’m not in the mood for your shit.”

  Connor couldn’t speak. He took the offered hand and pulled himself up. When he finally made it to his feet, he crossed his arms over his chest. He’d never thought he could be hot and cold at the same time. Embarrassed heat burned his skin while icy dread shriveled the pit of his stomach.