“I kind of thought it would be spiked.”
He chuckled. “I think that only happens in movies.”
“Oh.”
I brought my cup to my lips, right as someone bumped me from behind. I spilled it all down my front.
“Crap.” I looked around for napkins or something. “Um. Be right back.”
Landon thumbed the water off my chin. “You need help?”
“I’ll be okay. Just give me a second.”
The locker rooms were shut, so I had to make my way to the South Hall bathrooms. Chapel Hill High School didn’t have paper towel dispensers, only air dryers, so I went into the third stall to grab some toilet paper.
I dried off the front of my jacket as best I could, and then my pants where I’d gotten a big wet spot right around my zipper. If I’d been wearing black it wouldn’t have shown up that much, but on my light blue suit the dark spots were noticeable.
Noticeable, and deeply suspicious.
I rubbed at the spots, but the flimsy single-ply toilet paper in use at Chapel Hill High School just broke apart into little white pearls of debris.
What was the point and purpose of single-ply toilet paper?
“Hey. No jerking off at school, Dairy Queen.”
I spun around and banged my shin on the toilet bowl, which was great.
Trent Bolger was at the sinks, washing his hands and looking at me in the mirror.
I always pictured Trent Bolger as the kind of guy who never washed his hands after going to the bathroom.
“Leave me alone, Trent.”
I brushed the little white crumbs off my pants and went to wash my hands at the farthest sink from Trent’s.
I hadn’t done anything, but I still had to wash my hands when I’d been in a bathroom.
It was a thing.
Trent stuck his hands under the dryer. “Having fun with your boy?”
It was an innocuous question, but nothing about Trent Bolger was ever innocuous.
“Yes.” The only other hand dryer was right next to Trent, and I didn’t want the water to get onto my cuffs.
He gave me this sidelong look, and then he said, “Did you paint your nails?”
“Yeah.”
He snorted—an alarming experience, given the size of his nostrils. “I don’t know what Chip sees in you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Don’t act like you can’t tell. He’s got such a boner for you.”
I swallowed.
“Chip is my friend. Sorry if you’re jealous or whatever.”
Trent rolled his eyes. “Hardly. Chip and me, we’ve been friends forever. And we’re family now. I’ll still be here, long after he gets over you.”
He pushed past me, slamming my shoulder on his way out.
“Later, D-Cheese.”
THE FORESKINNED FIDDLE
I waited in the bathroom for a few minutes, playing on my phone and turning what Trent had said over in my mind.
Trent Bolger was a bully, no matter what anyone said. No matter how many times he avoided punishment because he was on Chapel Hill High School’s varsity football team.
And Cyprian Cusumano was my friend. Even if I still didn’t understand why, exactly.
But what did Trent mean, that Chip had a boner for me? He was jealous of us being friends, and jealous that Chip was outgrowing him, and he would say anything to make trouble.
There was no way Chip liked me as more than a friend.
For as long as I’d known him, Chip had only ever dated girls. If he liked guys too, he would have said something.
Even if he didn’t like me, he would’ve said something.
Right?
I slipped my phone into my pocket. Landon was waiting, and I refused to let Trent Bolger ruin my night.
“You okay?” Landon asked as he led me back to the dance floor.
“Yeah.”
“Your face is red.”
“It’s hot in here.”
Landon’s hands rested on my hips as we swayed along to the music—DJ Loud Noises had picked a nice slow song, one I’d heard Dad sing to Mom when he thought no one else could hear.
I waited for one of the chaperones to come along, but no one did.
“This is nice,” Landon said. He stepped in closer to me, so close our bodies were nearly touching. I could smell his cologne and a little bit of his sweat too.
The song switched to a faster one, with thrumming bass and some innuendo-laden lyrics. Landon stepped closer, and even though I was okay with breaking the Chaperone-Mandated Minimum Distance, I wasn’t sure I was comfortable with him grinding against me on the dance floor. Not when everyone could see us.
Landon did this thing where he rolled his hips against me. I arched my back to pull away a tiny bit.
“What?” he asked.
“I just don’t want to get in trouble,” I shouted over the music.
He rolled his eyes.
“You’re no fun.”
All around us, everyone else was dancing and smiling and even stealing a few kisses here and there.
But Coach Winfield was prowling the fringes of the dance floor, frowning at anyone who got too close to their dance partner.
Landon followed my gaze and kind of shrugged. He backed away, just a little bit, but kept dancing. I did my best to keep up, swiveling my hips to the beat. I wasn’t the best dancer, but I wasn’t the worst. Years of dancing at Persian functions had at least given me a sense of rhythm, and some decent footwork.
Cyprian Cusumano, on the other hand, was an abysmal dancer, but he didn’t seem to care. I caught sight of him across the gym: He was jumping and flailing and smiling and laughing, like he didn’t care who saw him. He caught my eye and waved, this goofy grin splashed across his face. I shook my head.
“What?” Landon shouted. He glanced behind him and watched Chip hopping around. “Wow.”
He took my hand and spun me around. I grinned and spun him back.
And then I decided to risk it: I leaned in and gave him a super-quick kiss, barely more than a peck on the lips.
“Kellner!” Coach Winfield bellowed from behind me. “Watch it!”
“Sorry, Coach.”
He stared me down for a second—despite being a few inches shorter than me—and then disappeared back into the nebula of dancing bodies.
Landon started laughing.
“How did he do that?”
“Coach Winfield has it out for me.”
“Well. You’d better behave, then.”
“I’ll try.”
When the heat from so many people packed together started getting to me, I led Landon off the floor to rehydrate. The drinks table was a mess, though, so I pulled him out to the hall. As soon as the gym doors closed behind us, the wall of noise pressing against us fell away, except for the bass hum that reverberated through the soles of my shoes.
I dabbed the sweat off my forehead with the back of my hand. “I can think again.”
“I can breathe again,” Landon said. “I think some of your classmates forgot their deodorant.”
“That’s a recurring nightmare of mine. Forgetting my own deodorant.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “I just don’t ever want to be that guy who smells bad.”
“You always smell nice.”
“Thanks.” I wound my fingers through his and led him down the hall toward the bathrooms where I’d run into Trent Bolger earlier. There was no wait for the water fountain.
Landon drank his fill, and then stood aside for me.
Once again, I wished Chapel Hill High School used paper towels, because that would have been great for wiping off my sweaty brow.
The hallway walls were lined with pictures of Chapel Hill High School’s student athletes. Closest to the Main Gym was the varsity football team; and next to that, above the restrooms, the JV team. Landon nodded at the row of photos.
“You got a picture up somewhere?”
“Down the Art hall.”
“Show me?”
I led Landon back past the gym toward the Art hall. The fluorescent lights were off, except for a few intermittent panels that were always on at night. Our dress shoes sounded like hooves clop-clop-clopping on the tiles.
As we neared the corner, the photos changed from the varsity wrestling team (where a photo of Chip in his red-and-black singlet from last year still hung on the wall), to the JV wrestling team, and finally to the varsity men’s soccer team.
Go Chargers.
Here’s the thing: I don’t photograph well. I think it’s genetic.
Iranians always frown in photos.
(As a Fractional Persian, I only looked constipated, but still.)
I was wearing my jersey and had my arms crossed in front of my chest: the Standard Student Athlete Pose. We took the photo the first week of school, before I got my hair cut, so my former halo of black curls framed my face.
“Your hair was so cute.”
“Yeah? Maybe I should grow it out again.”
I rubbed the back of my head.
Landon reached up and put his hand over mine. “Nah. It’s sexier this way.” He pulled my head down to kiss me.
I kissed him back, but not too hard: We were still at school, and it just felt weird to be making out in the halls of Chapel Hill High School.
The sound of echoing footsteps made me pause, my lips hovering over Landon’s. I opened my eyes and looked around, but I didn’t see anyone.
I rested my forehead against Landon’s. He slipped his fingertips under my waistband, right along my hip crease.