Thinking Straight (19 page)

“I'm not ratting.”

He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “I knew you wouldn't.”

We sit there for a minute, him watching me and me poking into my shoe with a finger. I know he's waiting for an answer, but I don't know if I'm ready. I stall for time. “Why couldn't you get to Ray?”

“Charles. Ray was Charles's roommate before you, remember? He kept a pretty tight leash on Ray, especially after Marie reported Ray and Leland. Charles stuck to him like glue, determined not to let him slip.”

“So how did Ray get away from him?”

“After Prayer Meeting on the second night of his SafeZone assignment, he begged Charles to let him go to the chapel alone. Charles undoubtedly knew that John would be watching Leland…”

“John?”

“John McAndrews. He's Leland's roommate.”

“Not Rick Caruso's?”

“No. Rick's just a hanger-on. He's kind of a McAndrews groupie.”

“How did Leland and John get into different Prayer Meetings?”

“Bit of a long story having to do with John's status here. He's like me—keeps coming back. But for different reasons. For now, I'll just tell you that he's definitely not in our circle. Enough said?”

“For now.”

“Fair enough. Anyway, Charles insisted on walking Ray to the chapel, but he agreed to leave him alone in there. Ray must have sneaked back to the nearest bedroom that had no one in it at the moment, took a sheet from the bed, tore it into strips, and tied them together. Then he hung himself from the balcony in the chapel.”

Holy shit, for real. This explains a lot about Charles's behavior, especially since Leland's Apology. “Wait—you said Ray begged Charles. But Ray was in SafeZone.”

“He wrote.”

Something about Nate's tone makes me remember one of my burning questions. “What happens to the pieces of paper that SafeZone kids write on?”

Nate looks at me out of the corner of his eyes for a second. “Why do you ask?”

“Someone collects them, don't they?”

“Have you ever looked at the bottom of the wastebasket in your room?”

“No. Why would I?”

“It identifies your room. So it identifies you. And your handwriting.”

“And they go through the trash,” I finish for him. “I thought so.”

It's Nate's turn to be curious. “What made you think that?”

“Harnett told me I was abusing the writing option. That I wasn't using it only for emergencies. So if she knows what I write, then either Charles and Sean deliberately turned them in to her—they're who I wrote to—or someone goes through the trash. But they know, don't they? Charles and Sean? They know someone goes through the trash. I wrote to Sean to ask who the heck you were, and he crumpled it up and stuffed it into his pocket.”

Nate looks worried all of a sudden. “What made you ask him about me?”

“You seemed like contradiction after contradiction. One minute you're giggling at lyrics you know are obscene even though I'm only humming, and the next you're spouting scripture like everyone else here. Then you give Leland a quiet shoulder squeeze when he needs it, but you yell at Sheldon and me for nothing. So, yeah. I knew there was something wacko going on. But if it's any comfort to you, I would never have guessed about the circle.”

He's nodding. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. I just need to be really careful how I balance those two sides. And I'm guessing you had a better chance than most to notice it, 'cause I was focused on you.” He shifts his leg position and says, “So. What do you think? Will you meet with us?”

“Sean's in the group?”

Nate looks a little uncomfortable. “No. Sean…well, Sean supports us, but he's in a tough position. He works for the church most of the year. This has been his summer assignment for a few years now, and he needs it. He avoided prison on condition that he work here—Reverend Bartle spoke for him—and he can't afford to be caught in a group like this. Plus I think he's still too confused about the gay issue. So. Will you meet with us?”

What would Will do?

“Yes.”

Nate extends a hand to me, and I take it. He says, “Be here tomorrow night after Prayer Meeting. Follow me inconspicuously so you'll know how to get in. And Taylor, I think you should know that this is the first time I know of that someone's been asked to join so soon after they got here.”

I nod, not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing. “Who else is in the group?”

He just grins at me. “You'll meet them all, I promise. And now I have a suggestion I think you'll like. Would you like to write a couple of lines for me to give to Will next time he shows up?”

Would I! “Now?”

“I have a pen and I have a piece of paper. Here you go. And Taylor, no names. But if you can think of some symbol or something that would help him be sure it's from you, include that.”

I think for a minute, imagining Will coming all the way out here all those times just to exchange notes with Nate. Which is a risk for everyone. Much as I want to think of him as close by, it's almost worse knowing I can't see him except through Nate. So I write, “You'll be there; I trust that. And soon I'll be with you. So no need to do this again. GLYASDI.” I fold it up and hand it to Nate. He opens it.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, kiddo. It's my reputation on the line here, and the safety of several others depends on us doing everything right.” He reads. “Um, what's
GLYASDI?”

“It's IM lingo. God Loves You And So Do I. He'll know it's from me.”

“Cool. I like it. You're telling him not to come again?”

I take a shaky breath. “It seems best.”

Nate looks at me hard for a few seconds. “I knew we were doing the right thing with you. And now, my friend, we need to get back. I'm hoping Charles is asleep, but if he isn't he'll be watching the clock on account of you. Plus someone will be prowling the halls looking for reprobates and curfew breakers.”

“Wait—how are you helping him?” Suddenly it's important.

“I'm trying to give him some balance. Working with scripture to help him let go of the guilt. Otherwise he'll make himself crazy in no time.”

“Does Harnett know?”

“Let's just say she knows I have a way with some of the residents.”

“Did I do something wrong tonight? Using scripture to make my points?”

Nate thinks for a minute. “No, not wrong, exactly. It was like you were taking on a role that's traditionally used by program leaders, though. Kind of a teaching role. You're new, so you couldn't have known that. But it shows a certain initiative that most kids who come here don't have, at least in the beginning, and later they don't show it the way you did. If new kids show initiative, it's in other areas. Like rebellion. Now, we need to get outta here, brother!”

It feels great to have him call me that, and I'm grinning as I grab my Bible and get onto my feet. On the way to the door I ask, “What do you think I should do with the article? I've been trying to come up with a good hiding place.”

“Taylor, if you so much as pick your nose in this place, they'll know. Tear it up in little shreds and flush it down a toilet.”

“I can't do that!”

“You have to. If you can't promise me you will, I'll have to take it back and destroy it myself. You gotta understand, if someone finds it, you won't be the only one taken down.”

“I told you, I wouldn't rat.”

Just before opening the door to leave the laundry room, Nate stands still and looks at me. “Did Reverend Bartle take you to the chapel your first day here?”

“Yeah.” It's a scene I'd rather not remember.

“Do you even remember what you said? And do you want to do that again?”

“But…God, I can't destroy this! It's all I have of Will.”

“Are you kidding?” Nate hits me on the shoulder. “He talks to you in your head, doesn't he?”

So I promise. But it hurts.

Back at the room, Charles has gone to bed and left my desk light on for me, like I'd done for him yesterday. Was it yesterday? All I know is that it's Wednesday night, I'm out of SafeZone, Will is waiting for me and I'll be with him again in five and a half weeks, and—the most amazing thing of all—this place is either nowhere near as crazy as I'd been thinking or it's even crazier.

I sit for a little while at my desk, Bible open to Will's note. I don't read the article again; it would only make me angry. And I don't want to feel anything negative right now. So I focus on the green ink at the bottom. “I'll be here.” And “KOTL”—Kiss On The Lips. I close my eyes for a minute and imagine that. Of course, body parts other than lips get involved in my fantasy, and I'm going to be in trouble if I don't stop.

A glance at my watch tells me it's too late to be up without breaking a rule. I fold the note again and decide the safest thing for now is to put it inside my pillowcase. In the morning I'll figure out what to do. I haven't brushed my teeth or anything, but it's too late for that. I can get away with having to take a leak in the middle of the night, but if I'm caught brushing my teeth it'll be suspicious.

Lying in bed trying to fall asleep, listening to the sound of Charles's even breathing, my mind keeps going to the conversation with Nate. To what he's asked me to do. Jesus, to what I've agreed to do. What was I thinking? But how could I not? Nate was right; I do get Jesus the same way he does. And it is what Will would do.

Will. I decide I haven't thought about him nearly enough today and that it's time now. Especially considering all those trips up here he made. He must have come up here the day after I gave his sister that note.

That's so like him, you know? The green ink. The “I'll do it my way” attitude. He sees what's right, and he just does it.

I've thought of Will as brave ever since that day in World History, when he stood up to Ted Tanner. Here's Will, the new kid, and he knows he's gay even if Ted doesn't. He could have pretended he didn't know that interesting fact about King Richard. Or he could have just let Ted cackle like the idiot he is without responding to him. But that's not Will.

The day I called him brave to his face was a couple of months ago. He'd turned seventeen and gotten his license, and we drove together for a while—our first road trip—and ended up at this park area. It was a gorgeous spring day. You know, where all kinds of sap starts moving, like the kind that makes me want Will and vice versa.

We found a remote spot where it looked like kids probably came at night and left their crap behind. Empty beer cans, used condoms, the occasional shoe. It was away from everyone else, which was its most appealing quality for us at the time. We took advantage of it.

I think I like kissing in springtime more than in any other season. The air was just cool enough to make me acutely aware of the warmth of Will's body, of his breath, of his lips everywhere they touched me. And they touched me everywhere. So I knew he was feeling that warmth when I returned the favor.

We like taking turns going down on each other. That day, I went down on him first. I felt like some old pro. And I did it all perfectly, if his response was any indication.

Because we were sort of in public, we hadn't actually undressed, and he fastened himself back up and then did for me what I'd done for him. After we kissed, he got up saying he had to take a leak, and I decided to lie there just as he left me, all exposed, until he came back. My soft dick lay there, too, sort of flopped over like a flag after the breeze dies, and I concentrated on the temperature difference—warm inside, cool outside, the sun overhead just beginning to make promises of heat.

“Well, well. Mike, what have we got here?”

I sat up so quickly I nearly hurt my exposed tender parts, and the sight of two tough-looking guys staring down at me caused me to shove myself back into my pants so fast it's a wonder I didn't castrate myself with the zipper.

Mike, I guess, said, “Some tender young morsel by the look of it. Hey, cutie. What's with the indecent exposure? Can I get in on the action?” He grabbed at his crotch with one hand, holding what looked like a bag with a six-pack in it with the other, while the guy who'd spoken first moved toward me.

I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could, but Mike's cohort pushed at me and I fell backward.

Suddenly Will was standing beside me.

“Hello, boys,” he said. “Here for a tryst?”

I could tell by the looks on their faces they weren't quite sure what that meant, but Mike decided to treat it as rhetorical. “So this tender meat isn't here alone, eh?” He looked down at me, still prone on the ground like some lame child. “Hey, Stu, they're fags.”

As I was scrambling up again I was thinking, Where's King Richard when we need him?