Authors: C. Kennedy
“What’d asswipe want?” Jake asked.
Michael peeled a banana. “He wanted to tell me some of the guys on the team are slacking, but I think it was an excuse to ask why Christy was hanging with us.”
“And?”
Michael swallowed a bite of banana. “I listened to him rant about gays and then told him he could be kicked off the team for the fight with Lisa and discriminating, and could get the team penalized and make the school look bad. Then I told him there were rumors about him being queer because he messes with Christy in the locker room.”
Jake cracked up. “You said that?”
“Yeah. It’s true. Well, maybe I embellished that last part a little.” He took another bite of banana as Christy shook with silent laughter. “Are you laughing? You’re laughing.” Michael set the banana peel down and unwrapped a ham sandwich.
Christy scribbled sloppily
Touché.
Michael laughed as he bit into the sandwich.
“One day Jason’s going to be on to you, Michael,” Jake said in earnest.
Michael unscrewed the cap to a bottle of cranberry juice, took a swig, and leaned in to whisper. “Don’t care. We graduate in two months, and everyone will know when I take Christy to Prom anyway.”
Christy’s jaw seemed to have come unhinged.
Jake shook his head. “You’re serious.”
“Dead. What’s your dad going to say when he finds out?”
“He knows. Figured it out a long time ago.”
Michael paused in his consumption, more than a little surprised. “How do you know?”
Jake looked around to make sure no one was listening and leaned in. “Ah, when we were about fourteen, he asked if I was into you.”
It was Michael’s turn to gape. “Why didn’t you tell me, bro?”
“Didn’t think it mattered.”
“He’s okay with it?”
“’Course. The only thing he cares about is the press. He made me promise, if you turned me to the dark side with your evil ways, that I’d give him a heads up. He didn’t want to hear it on the five o’clock news.”
Michael huffed a laugh as he finished the last of the sandwich. “You better give him a heads up about me and Christy.”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
Jake leaned closer to Christy and donned his lawyer voice. “You will recall, Mr. Castle, that we discussed how oblivious Michael could be only moments ago.”
Christy nodded.
“I will now present exhibit A. Michael.”
“What?”
Jake looked at his watch and leaned in, keeping his voice low. “You’ve known Christy approximately seventy-two hours. Would it not be prudent to give yourselves some time to get to know each other before you go public?”
“Before you tell your dad? No.”
“Christy, pay attention. I will now present exhibit B. Michael.”
“What?”
“Do you think Christy might want to get to know you better before he goes public?”
“Oh. Now that you mention it, maybe.” He looked at Christy. “I did tell you I have an awareness problem, didn’t I? I think I did.”
Christy laughed silently as he scribbled
Major problem
.
“Now, now, don’t be critical.”
Christy doubled over in laughter, and Jake and Michael joined him. Christy was breathless when he sat up.
Still laughing, Michael asked, “You all right?”
Christy nodded and coughed a deep, chest-rattling cough.
“Whoa, nasty cough. Have you been sick?”
Christy shook his head and wagged a finger at his neck.
“From that?”
Christy nodded.
“From what?” Jake asked.
Michael glanced from Jake to Christy and back again. “His neck injury.”
“Oh. Sorry, man.”
The first bell rang, letting them know they had five minutes to finish up.
“Did you eat?”
“We ate while you were talking to Whitman. Hey, I just remembered, I’m not going to be at practice today. I have to go to some black-tie thing with my dad tonight.” Jake made a face.
“Going with Becca?”
“Don’t know.”
Michael arched a brow, uncertain whether he should ask.
“Had a fight last night,” Jake said, answering the unasked question as he stood. “Good talking with you, Christy. Keep my number handy. I’m always available for a Michael consultation.”
Michael laughed and stood. “Ignore him.”
Christy stood and teetered.
“Whoa.” Michael steadied him with a gentle hand on his arm.
“No touch” rule, Michael,
the little voice reminded him. Michael immediately released Christy’s arm. Actually, it was more like a “Christy touches first; then it’s okay” rule.
Christy’s hands shook as he slung his backpack over his shoulder.
“Let me take that.” Michael made to take it from Christy, but he held onto it. “Don’t worry how it looks,” he whispered. Christy gave him a wary look as he reluctantly relinquished the bag. “Jake, call me tonight.”
“You got it. Keep my digits handy, Christy. Never know when you might need ’em. Later.”
Michael guided Christy through the throng of students in the corridor. They stopped where the hallways intersected, and Christy took his backpack from Michael.
“You okay? You look a little pale.”
Christy mouthed, “Fine.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Christy smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It amazed Michael that, in less than three days, he’d come to know Christy’s ever-varying smile and expressive eyes. “Where’s your class?”
Christy pointed down the mathematics hallway.
Michael made an educated guess. “Calculus with Howard?”
Christy nodded.
“Did you make a list of your classes for me?”
Christy’s face showed that he only now remembered the list he’d written. He pulled it from a backpack pocket and handed it to Michael. Michael dug his chicken-scratched list from his jeans pocket and handed it to Christy before opening the folded note. It turned out to be a three-page letter. “I definitely got the better end of the deal. Thanks.”
Now, Christy’s smile did reach his beautiful eyes, but it was tinged with inexplicable sadness.
Michael bent and whispered, “You have the prettiest eyes in the world.”
Christy rolled the subject matter in question and slung his backpack over his shoulder with considerable effort. “Bye,” he mouthed.
“See you after school.”
He watched Christy make his way down the corridor until he could no longer see him in the throng of students, then headed to class.
M
ICHAEL
had just finished the last essay question on his English exam and turned the test over when a siren encroached on his hearing. He looked out the window to see an ambulance pulling into the school parking lot. Thinking someone got hurt in gym, he ignored it. When he heard a clamor in the hallway and someone shout Christy’s name, dread shot through his veins. Something bad had happened to his pretty Christy. He crammed his belongings into his backpack, said a quick “Gotta go, Mr. Sanders, sorry,” and bolted from the room.
He entered the hallway in time to see two EMTs wheel a gurney around a corner faster than Michael thought safe. He shot down the hall and out the front doors of the school and caught up to them as they loaded Christy into an ambulance.
Michael made to climb in, and an EMT pushed him back. “Out! Sorry, kid.”
“What happened to him?”
“Can’t tell you that.”
“At least tell me what hospital you’re going to!”
“Can’t tell you that either.”
The EMT slammed the doors in Michael’s face, and he was left standing in the parking lot as the ambulance peeled away. “Screw this.” He sprinted for his car.
Michael followed the ambulance through the streets, careful to watch his speed while he kept one eye on the road and the other on the ambulance. He racked his brain and tried to remember what hospitals were on this side of the city. He went to call his mom and remembered he didn’t have his Bluetooth on. He fumbled for it in the center console and veered out of lane. He corrected quickly when someone honked long and loud. At the next stoplight, he put the Bluetooth on and dialed his mom’s back line.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in class?” she answered cheerily.
“Mom, I’m on Main at Sixth. What’s the closest hospital?”
“What? Why? Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. It’s Christy. He’s in an ambulance, and they wouldn’t tell me what hospital they’re taking him to.”
“What happened to him?”
“They wouldn’t tell me. What hospitals are around here?”
“In that area, it would be Saint Elizabeth’s, but Wellington’s patients usually go to Mercy. It’s a private hospital.”
“I know where Saint Elizabeth’s is. Where’s Mercy?”
“You’re at Main and Sixth?”
“Now Eighth.”
“Is the ambulance in front of you?”
“Way up ahead. I can barely see it.”
“If it turns right on Center Road, it’s heading to Mercy. Follow Center until it ends, turn left, then make a quick right. The road will wind through maple trees for a quarter mile, and you’ll come upon a four-story antebellum mansion. That’s it.”
“Thanks.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I don’t know. He looked pale and shaky after lunch but said he was fine.”
She sighed audibly. “They probably won’t let you see him, honey.”
Michael squinted as he watched the red and white dot in front of him make a right turn onto Center. “I know, but I have to try.”
“Be careful driving, and stay in touch.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
M
ICHAEL
concentrated on his driving and cursed the traffic that filled the streets at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Why aren’t you people at work?
He turned right on Center and followed his mom’s directions, and slowed down, looking through the ancient sugar maples for a mansion-like building. When he came upon it, there was no mistaking it. It was a massive, old manor. He parked, shot from the car, up the four steps to the porch, and through the front door. “Excuse me, where’s your emergency room?”
Michael’s sudden appearance clearly flustered the nun at the reception desk. “We don’t have one, sir. We’re not open to the public. Do you have an emergency?”
“An ambulance brought Christy Castle in. I’m his boyfriend. They wouldn’t let me ride with him.”
She frowned and rose from her seat behind the desk, clearly displeased. “Sir, I apologize, but I’m afraid we can’t help you.”
“I’m his boyfriend!”
“Sir, please don’t raise your voice.”
Michael pinched the bridge of his nose and fought to gather his calm. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Please, I need to know what’s happening. My name is Michael Sattler. I’m Christy’s boyfriend. Dr. Villarreal can verify that for you.”
“I can, Mother Claire,” Rob said as he came through the door.
“Oh, Dr. Villarreal, thank you for coming so quickly.”
“Of course, Mother. This is Michael Sattler, and he is, indeed, Christy’s boyfriend. Michael, this is Mother Claire.”
“Nice to meet you,” Michael said quickly, anxious to know what had happened to Christy. Obviously irritated that a gay boy would dare to grace the doorstep of her sacred hospital, Mother Claire merely offered a curt nod.
“Is Christy in his room?” Rob asked kindly.
His room?
Rob made it sound as if Christy was a regular here.
“They only brought him in about five minutes ago. Best wait a few moments.”
“I’ll take Michael to the chapel. You’ll find us there?”
She pursed her lips. “Yes, Doctor.”
“Thank you.”
Rob guided Michael firmly by the elbow through a door on the far side of the reception area and down a dimly lit, carpeted, soundproofed hallway. This didn’t look like any hospital he’d ever seen. It looked like a fancy hotel. They turned left into an even more dimly lit chapel, and Rob pointed to a wooden bench at the back of a curtained booth. Michael sat, and Rob took a seat across from him. “Christy will be all right.”
Still struggling for calm, Michael asked, “What’s wrong with him? They wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“They can’t. You’re not a relative.”
“I know the rules, I—” Michael swallowed his words and chose new ones. “What happened to him?”
“Because of the damage to Christy’s esophagus, fluid sometimes gathers in his bronchial area, causing an asthma-type reaction.”
“He has asthma?”
“I said asthma-type reaction. His lungs are fine.”
“What causes it?”
“Exertion, excitement, exhaustion, a few things can cause it. He hasn’t slept in two nights.”
Michael breathed a long, shuddering sigh and leaned back against the uncomfortable bench. The adrenaline that had flooded his system had bled away, and he felt shaky and weak. “Why didn’t he sleep?”
“Is that a rhetorical question?”
“No.”
“You’re serious?”
Michael clenched and unclenched his fists, his frustration getting to him. “Tell me why he didn’t sleep, please.”
“Michael, you’re the first young man to demonstrate a genuine interest in him. Not to mention, he’s been infatuated with you for months. He’s elated, excited, hopeful, confused, and terrified. You name it. His nervous system is in shambles.”
“He didn’t sleep because of me,” Michael said flatly.
“That and he struggles with nightmares. Being emotionally heightened, for lack of a better term, causes them to increase in frequency and intensity.”
“How do you know?” Michael realized he was taking his anger out on Rob and apologized quickly. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude.”
“You’re upset. It’s understandable. I check on him every couple of hours through the night, and he is also monitored while he sleeps.”
“Monitored? How?”
“He is filmed while he sleeps.”
“Why?”
“We study what he says during his dreams.”
“He can speak?”
“He isn’t supposed to until his larynx is healed, but he can’t prevent it when he dreams.”
“What are they doing to him now?”
“They’re removing fluid from his bronchial area.”
“Then what happens?”
“He’ll probably sleep for the remainder of the day and evening and wake tomorrow. They’ll check his oxygen saturation and, if it’s all right, they’ll release him.”