Chapter Nine – A Little Less Conversation

After spending the whole weekend thinking about it - and with Dad and Casey constantly offering me adult advice about what to do - I realize that I have to talk to both Brett and Quentin and make a real decision.

While I'm replacing my books in my locker, I'm kind of waiting for Brett to show up and flirt with me. He doesn't. Then I head towards the classroom, trying to think of what I want to say to Brett when I see him. What about Quentin? I want to see him, too, having not seen him for the past couple of weeks.

I don't see Brett until English, but he doesn't even look at me, not even after class, when I call his name as he's walking out. But I still haven't thought of what I want to say to him yet, and I don't go after him.

"Hey, Elvis, are you coming to lunch?" Jade asks, as I've begun heading in the opposite direction, towards the library.

"Not today," I reply, "I've got something I need to do." I feel like this is a part of the movie where I'm on a mission to accomplish something important and there's a musical montage going on. In my head, the music continues as I walk through the library and look around.

When I spot Quentin, in the far corner of the room, re-shelving some books, the music slows down, and it stops when I approach him.

"Quentin?" I say his name kind of soft like, afraid that he might be mad at me for not talking to him sooner. He turns around and looks at me, reaching for another book.

"It's been a while," Quentin says, and his voice betrays no emotion. I wonder if he's angry with me.

"I'm sorry. I've been eating lunch with some new friends," I tell him. He puts the new book on the shelf and reaches for another one.

"Like Brett Stephens?" he asks, and now I can tell that he's angry with me. His voice is hard and I take a step back.

"What?"

"Brett Stephens. I saw you guys leaving school together. Are you... I mean, is there something with you two?" He finally looks at me now, and it's not so much anger as it is hurt. He's hurt. Does this mean...?

"I don't know," I reply, "I mean..." I shrug. Quentin looks at me, putting the book down. "Well, what happened is..." I sigh, and start over, telling him what happened with Brett and me at my dad's house. Quentin listens to the whole thing without saying anything until I'm finished.

"Your dad is right," he says, once I've finished speaking. He shrugs. "I mean, if Brett's just going to leave like that, when he could have defended himself to your dad, just says that he's a jerk. I'm sorry, but that's how it is."

"What should I do, then?" I ask, "I mean… I like how he makes me feel when we're together. I know it's not good for me, but…" I shrug again. I sit down in one of the chairs and Quentin sits down next to me.

"How does he make you feel?" he asks. I want him to put his hands on top of mine and make me feel better that way, but he keeps his just sitting in his lap, like he's holding back on purpose.

"Well, I mean… I've never been kissed before, you know? And I don't want to lose that." I sigh, "I mean, I've always been attracted to him, and I never expected him to like me back. He's always made fun of me."

"He still makes fun of you," Quentin says, "I've seen him. His friends are around and he calls you names. Why do you let him do that to you?" He makes it sound like it's the easiest thing in the world to do. Hey Brett stop it. Yeah, right. It's never worked before, why would it work now?

"What am I supposed to do?" I'm whining, I know, but Dad and Casey have spent the whole weekend telling me I need to do something but no one is telling me what I'm supposed to be. I may be eighteen, but I'm still only a kid! I don't know everything!

"Do you like him being mean to you?" Quentin asks, finally putting his hand on the table. He's still not touching mine, though, and I wish he was. But my own hand won't slide across the table to meet his, like I want it to. "I mean, is that something you get off on?" He won't look at me, though, apparently finding the wood grain on the table much more fascinating than I am.

"What?" I don't know what he thinks he's getting at.

"Do you like abusive guys? Is that what you go for?"

"No!" I exclaim, a lot louder than I need to be in the library. I lower my voice, "I don't like it when he's mean to me. I want him to be nice to me all the time. I want somebody to do stuff with. Someone who treats me well." I slide my hand over until our fingers are touching. He looks up, into my eyes.

It's like a movie moment, with slow, romantic music and our hands touching and the unbreakable gaze. I want to kiss him.

"I would treat you well," he says softly, "I'll be nice to you forever. I'll take you to the movies, to a restaurant, anywhere you want to go." He scoots his chair forward a little bit, "Elvis, I want to be your boyfriend."

I am frozen. I know what I have to say. I know what I have to do. But still, my brain doesn't work for a moment, and I'm just staring at him. He falters.

"Elvis?" he asks, looking worried. He thinks I'm going to say no. In slow motion, like I'm moving through water or something like that, I see Quentin let go of my hand and slide his chair back, away from me. He seems to be miles away before I can find my mouth and my voice to speak.

"Yes," I say, sounding like a man who hasn't had water for several years. "Yes, please. Be my boyfriend." I reach my hands out for him. He's not a mile away, because a smile breaks out on his face and he pulls me towards him, kissing me once on the lips, a soft, chaste kiss, but it's gentle and giving and so perfectly right. Then it's over as soon as it began, but Quentin's looking at me, brushing my hair from my face.

"I should probably save that for when we're not in school," he says, smiling sheepishly. Then he holds my hands together, rubbing his thumb over the top.

"I think this is the choice I'm supposed to make," I say, "I think this is the right thing to do."

"I do, too," Quentin says, smiling at me. Before I get the chance to say anything, the bell rings, and I've got to head to class. I don't really want to leave him, not when we just got everything set right, but I don't want to be late for class, either. Besides, I still have to talk to Brett. I don't know what I'm going to say to him, but I have to say something. I have to give him the chance to redeem himself. Maybe I'm just trying to convince myself that he still wants me. But I don't want to let it go right yet.

At the end of the day, I want to rush to the library and find Quentin, but I know that I need to talk to Brett. I know where he's got his last class, and I head in the direction of the science wing. I see him at the end of the hallway, walking out of the classroom flanked by two of his friends. I almost stop and turn around, because I know he's not going to talk to me with his friends there. But I don't let myself do that. I need to talk to him. So, I take a deep breath and walk down the hallway, my heart pounding faster with every step that I take.

Then, suddenly, Brett and his friends are in front of me, and they're all looking at me.

"Hey, fag, get out of my way," Brett growls. I know he's acting this way because his friends are right there, but I don't let it deter me.

"I need to talk to you, Brett."

"What the fuck do you need to talk to him about?" Sam asks, "Just get out of the way." He pushes me with his hand. I stand firm.

"I just wanted to ask you why you left my house so quickly when my dad showed up." For a moment, I watch as Brett's face falters, and he looks worried. He glances at Dustin, on his left side, and then at me.

"I don't know what you're talking about." His mask is back up.

"I think you do. You just don't want your friends to know." I'm not expecting one little sentence from me to make him change his mind about the way he's acting, but what happens next is not what I'm expecting, either.

"Brett went over to your house?" Sam asks, like he's actually interested in this, and not just to use it against me later. I nod.

"He's been flirting with me for the past couple of weeks. He wanted to come over to my house and have sex with me but my dad showed up," I explain.

"Why would he do that?" Dustin asks, scoffing. Sam just gives a knowing smile.

"Well, he's gay, for one," Sam replies.

"We know Elvis is gay," Brett interjects, obviously trying to stop the conversation before it gets in too deep for him.

"No, I meant you," Sam says, poking Brett in the chest with his pointer finger. Brett's eyes get wide and he takes a step back.

"No I'm not." He holds his hands up like that's going to protect him.

"You told me you were," Sam says, "You used to flirt with me. You kissed me that one time at your house when you thought that I was sleeping." He grins like he's telling everyone a really big secret. Which he is. I mean, I knew Brett was gay from the way he acted when we were alone, but I didn't know he'd done so with other people.

"That was…"

"Look, I never said anything because I thought you were, you know, experimenting and stuff," Sam said, shrugging.

"Brett is gay?" Dustin asks, still stuck on that part. He shakes his head like he can't believe it.

"I'm not experimenting!" Brett exclaims, "I'm not gay! Elvis is lying! Why would you believe him over me, anyway?"

"For one, because I saw you with him before you left school on Friday," Sam points out, "The way you were touching him was definitely gay. Sorry, buddy, but you have no defense left. Now are you going to apologize to Elvis or what?"

"Apologize?" Brett's voice goes up an octave as he obviously becomes more uncomfortable. I'm surprised that Sam seems to be on my side of this whole ordeal.

"Well apparently you're not a really good boyfriend," Sam says, "A good boyfriend would have stayed and defended himself and what he was doing. But you just left like a little pussy." Sam shook his head. Then he looks at me. "You're not going to stay with him, are you?" he asks me.

"I already have a real boyfriend," I reply, smiling in spite of myself, "And I had come here to tell Brett that I can't see him anymore."

"What?" Brett steps towards me, "You can't do that!"

\"I can. Besides, Quentin treats me well." I cross my arms over my chest.

"Quentin?" Brett asks, surprised, "The library fag?"

"Better watch how you use that word," Sam warns, "You're one, too."

"Bye!" I say, waving as I head down the hallway in the other direction. I find Quentin waiting for me around the corner and he pulls me into his arms.

"I saw the whole thing," he says, brushing my hair from my eyes, "You did a good job." He bends down and brushes his lips on mine, but I don't let him stop there. I pull him closer, kissing him harder and longer.

"Would you like to come over?" I ask, breathless, when we finally separate.

"I'd love to," he replies, taking my hand. I find it hard to believe that I've finally gotten everything I wanted. I have the perfect man, new friends, and a parent that isn't completely nuts. I count that as a plus mark in my book.

THE END