Trailer Trash (30 page)

And they danced.

It was perfect, as far as Nate was concerned. Far better than it would have been at the school, because there were no prying eyes. No chaperones to tell them they were dancing too close. There was just the two of them, and the candlelight, and the music. Nate held Cody tight, smelling the clean, shampoo scent of his freshly washed hair, letting his hands wander slowly over Cody’s slender body as one song became two, and two became three.

And the best part of all was the way Cody reacted.

They’d fooled around enough since Christmas for Nate to recognize Cody’s arousal, and not just because of his erection brushing against Nate’s as they moved. Cody’s breathing became shallow and ragged. He shivered as Nate’s hand moved up the curve of his spine. He whimpered when Nate lowered his mouth to Cody’s throat, letting lips and tongue play over his pounding pulse. And when Nate pulled back enough to see Cody’s face in the flickering light, he could see the need he’d kindled in Cody, as much by accident as by design.

“Still think this is stupid?” Nate asked.

Cody moaned in frustration, practically melting against him, guiding Nate’s lips to his own. “God, yes.”

One little kiss, and Cody was clutching at him, struggling toward the couch, his desperation making him clumsy and impatient. Nate barely had time to lower him onto the couch, to unzip Cody’s pants and slip his hand inside before Cody was gasping, arching into him, crying out as he came.

“Jesus,” Cody gasped at last. “That was—”

“Seriously hot?”

Cody laughed. “I was going to say it was pretty shitty of me, considering you’re the one with the birthday.”

Nate chuckled, adjusting his jeans over his own erection. They still had plenty of time before curfew, and Cody had never left him hanging for long. “How about this for my present: next time I ask you to dance—”

“Yes!” Cody laughed, pulling him into a kiss. “I promise I’ll say yes.”

Despite Nate’s nonchalance about their relationship, Cody knew they were playing with fire.

He’d already gone more than half the school year without anybody starting a fight with him. That was a record. He figured he’d skated through the first half of the year because of Logan’s friendship, but that wouldn’t save him now.

Still, Cody was used to the adversity. He’d been pushed around for most of his life. He knew when to put his head down and keep his mouth shut. Just a few more months and he’d be done with Walter Warren High School forever.

But Nate . . .

Nate changed everything. He may have thought he was being subtle, but he gave too much away. He stood too close. He touched Cody too often. His smile said just a bit too much.

For himself, Cody didn’t mind. He was used to the rumors, and immune to the word “fag,” even though it made Nate grit his teeth. But he had a sneaking suspicion Nate had never been in an actual fight in his life.

It’d be a miracle if that was still true by graduation.

Nate continued buying magazines, even though most of them regurgitated the same bullshit every time. Yes, even straight people could get AIDS. It seemed ridiculous that this simple truth still counted as news, but it did. The
U.S. News & World Report
from January and a
Newsweek
in February both sold the same tired advice: be more careful who you sleep with, and use a condom. The most helpful bit of information arrived a few days after their makeshift dance, when Nate brought him a
New York Times
dated February fifteenth.

“Not quite fresh off the presses, but fresh off the truck that brings the New York newspaper into the back reaches of Wyoming, I guess,” Nate said.

There, beginning on the lower half of the front page and continuing for more than a page afterward was what they’d been searching for—“Fact, Theory, and Myth on the Spread of AIDS.” For the first time, there were real-world questions with real-world answers. “Can the virus spread through oral sex? Federal epidemiologists suspect it can because the virus is present in semen and vaginal secretions and thus might enter the cells of the body through cuts or mucous membranes in the mouth or throat. However, they have not documented any cases.”

Cody read the article start to finish three times.

But while poring through magazines and newspapers, Nate and Cody had been looking for one other thing: a place to go. They kept hoping to find a casual mention of homosexual communities in places other than San Francisco or New York, but they never did. If the articles were to be believed, one might actually think gay men only existed in two cities in all of America, but Cody knew that couldn’t be true.

“Forget the magazines!” Nate finally said one day in early March, throwing one across Cody’s living room. “We just need to pick a place and hope for the best.”

The next day, he brought a giant atlas of the United States to Cody’s house, and they sat at the kitchen table and began flipping through its pages.

“What’s between Chicago and Wyoming?” Cody asked.

“South Dakota, Nebraska, and Iowa.”

“Not Nebraska,” Cody said. “Only difference between Nebraska and Wyoming is they got more corn.”

“South Dakota doesn’t sound much better.”

“Okay. So what’s Iowa like?”

Nate shrugged, smiling at him. “I have no idea.”

The very next day, Cody ditched PE and spent the hour in the school library.

A quick run through the card catalog turned up several books with entries about Iowa. Two in particular seemed promising, and Cody waded into the aisles, trailing his fingers over the spines of the books as he searched. Once he had a stack in his arms, he settled at one of the desks along the wall and flipped to the pertinent pages.

What he saw took his breath away. Some pictures showed only fields, and some showed rolling hills, and some showed towns and small cities, but in every single case, he saw nothing but green. Miles and miles and miles of green grass and green fields and towering, deciduous trees. He’d never seen so much green in one place in his life. After growing up in the barren, wind-swept plains of Wyoming, where the only green around was dusty sagebrush and a few wind-beaten pine trees with their branches all growing on the leeward side of the trunk, the sight of so much lush vegetation was mind-boggling. Almost miraculous. It looked cozy and rural, and yet Chicago was only a few hours away. Based on the pictures, Iowa winters could be harsh, but that didn’t scare him a bit. Not after living in Wyoming. Just the promise of all that green come springtime was enough to make him want to pack up and move the very next day.

One other bit of information caught his attention. The state’s law criminalizing same-sex sexual activity and been repealed in June 1976. It wasn’t quite the same as “Hey, gay people, we want you here!” but at least they wouldn’t have to worry about actually being arrested for what happened in their bedroom.

Iowa. He’d never given the place much thought before, but suddenly, it was the only place he wanted to be.

He dropped the books in the return bin just as the bell rang and headed for Nate’s locker, wanting to tell him what he’d found.

But as he rounded the corner, he discovered a circle of people around Nate’s locker, and his heart sank. He pushed through the gathering crowd to find Nate backed against the bank of lockers by Brian Anderson. Brad Williams stood only a step or two behind Brian, obviously working as Brian’s backup.

“I know it was you!” Brian yelled, shoving Nate backward, even though Nate had nowhere to go. “I know you told your dad.”

Nate still had a notebook and his English text in one hand. His cheeks were red, but he was calmer than Cody expected. “I didn’t—”

“You must have. You saw us at that party—”

“But I didn’t tell my dad. I swear it.” He was lying, though. Cody could tell, although he couldn’t quite have said how he knew. There was just something about Nate’s eyes that told him the denial wasn’t entirely honest.

And obviously Brian didn’t believe him either, because he poked Nate hard in the chest. “Then why’d he get arrested?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“It was your dad who busted him!”

“My dad doesn’t talk to me about his work. I don’t know anything—”

“Liar!”

Brian grabbed Nate and slammed him against the lockers. Cody moved fast. He hit Brian from the side, shoving him away from Nate, trying to put himself between them. “Leave him alone!”

His attack knocked Brian back a couple of steps, but he recovered quickly, sneering. “Oh, look,” he said over his shoulder to Brad, and to the onlookers. “Nate’s trailer-trash butt-buddy is coming to his rescue.”

Cody squared his shoulders and stepped forward. It wouldn’t be the first time Brian Anderson had punched him, and if it brought the teachers running before they got to Nate, he’d be okay with it.

But the teachers were quicker than he gave them credit for.

“Break it up!” Mrs. Simmons shouted, pushing her way through the gathered students. “That’s enough. Mr. Lawrence, you know better than to fight in the hallways. And Mr. Williams, I think your mom has quite enough to deal with right now without having to come down to the school for a conference with the principal.”

The rest of the students began to shuffle toward the classrooms. Brian took one step toward Cody, but his eyes were on Nate. “I’ll get you, man. You’re gonna pay.”

“
Mr. Anderson
!”

Brian scowled, but moved away. Nate turned to his locker, and Cody edged closer, noting how Nate’s hands shook as he dialed his combination.

“What the fuck, man? You narced on Brian?”

Nate scowled and yanked the locker door open. “Not really. Not like that. Not the way you make it sound.”

“What, then?”

He tossed his book inside and pulled another one from the shelf. “It was ages ago. At the end of Christmas break. I’d forgotten all about it.”

“So you
did
narc him out?”

Nate slammed the locker door shut and turned on Cody. “Jesus, can you stop taking his side for one minute and listen to me?”

Cody scrubbed his hands through his hair, trying to calm his racing heart. “I’m not taking his side. I’m just asking—”

“I didn’t really mean to tell my dad anything, but he was hassling me about spending time with you, telling me you’re a bad influence, and I was just trying to tell him it was bullshit. I just wanted him to know those assholes from the Grove aren’t the saints he makes them out to be, that’s all. And I slipped. I said Brian’s name, but I didn’t realize he’d know who I meant. I didn’t think he was going to go after them!”

“But he did?”

“Apparently. I guess. I don’t know.”

Now that the moment had passed and his adrenaline was fading, Cody could almost see the humor in it. “You don’t know?”

“I have no idea, all right? Like I told Brian, my dad doesn’t talk to me about his work. I didn’t know anything about it until Brian slammed me against the locker and started screaming at me.”

The bell rang, and Nate scowled at the ceiling. “Great. Now I’m late for physics. And you’re late for math.”

“Whatever.” The good thing about being in the degenerate math class was that just about everybody turned up late. “You better find a way to apologize, or to convince him you had nothing to do with it. Either that, or you better be ready to fight him next time he comes after you.”

“He won’t. He was mad, but I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know, Nate. You can’t just assume this’ll go away. You heard him—”

“Can we talk about this later?” Nate glanced at his watch, as if he needed it to tell him he was tardy. “I gotta go.”

Cody sighed, defeated. “Whatever. Steer clear of Brad, all right?”

“I always do.” Nate turned and headed down the hall, but stopped and turned on his heel after a few steps. “Thanks for trying to come to my rescue.”

For all the good it did
, Cody thought.

Because no matter what Nate said, Cody knew it wasn’t over.

It was Monday when Brian caught up with them again. It was a gorgeous March day, and spring was in the air, the breeze warm and the sun high in the cobalt sky. Nate’s dad had finally agreed to let him drive the Mustang again, and Cody hadn’t needed to wear the thick coat Logan had given him. He had only a zip-front sweatshirt over his T-shirt.