“Okay.” Normally I don’t like people ordering me around, but with Rafael I’m just going to have to deal with it. The alternative being, of course, getting found out.
Rafael grabs his lighter and pats his pockets a few times to check for the cigarettes we both know are already there. It’s a nervous habit.
“All right. Let’s go.”
I nod and follow him out of the dorm, down the stairs, and into the courtyard. Rafael keeps muttering instructions out of the corner of his mouth in a never-ending stream.
“Walk faster. Head up. Don’t use your hips like that, Jesus Christ, Alex! Do you want both of us to get expelled?”
I try to keep everything in mind, but it’s a lot to keep track of. An impossible amount to keep track of. Just moving my body feels different, unnatural, like I’ve been possessed by a demon that’s fighting me with every step. It doesn’t help that I’m easily distracted by the swarms of people in the hallway so much that Rafael eventually grabs me by my hood and throws me out the main doors and into the fading sunlight.
I pat myself down as he follows me out and around the corner, out of sight of the main hall. “Can you please stop that?”
Already lighting a cigarette, Rafael doesn’t reply. He just jerks his head to indicate I should follow him as he walks off toward a couple stone benches beneath a hardy mountain pine. I do as I’m told.
I sit down on one of the benches, wincing as the cold surface pushes right through my pants and almost freezes my ass. Rafael shoves a cigarette in my face. When I don’t immediately take it, he rolls his eyes and jams it right against my closed lips.
“You don’t have a choice, Alex,” he snaps.
I swipe it out of his hand. “Fine. Just give me the lighter.”
He obliges, and I struggle for a few moments to light the cigarette in my hand. Once I finally have it lit and inhale my first lungful—quickly followed by raucous coughing—Rafael snatches the lighter back from me and leans against the trunk of the pine tree.
“Opening week,” Rafael says simply.
I finish coughing and squint up at him. “Yeah?”
He closes his eyes as he takes in a long draught of his cigarette. I wait for him to breathe it out and flick the ash away.
“School’s going to be holding sign-ups for clubs and stuff. You should really think about what to join.”
“I’m just gonna lie low,” I say with a sigh. I attempt another inhale of my cigarette, and though I cough less this time, my voice is even hoarser when I add, “Don’t want to draw attention to myself.”
Rafael shakes his head. “Nope. Doesn’t work that way.”
“Why not?”
He exhales a line of smoke again. “Anybody who’s anybody is a part of, well, something. Not in a club, you’re a loser. A target.” He flicks the ashes off the end of his cigarette, and they fall and fizzle out in the dirt.
“I’m already a target.”
“Which makes it even more important for you to blend in. You’re going to need friends. Allies. And by that … I mean you’re going to need someone other than just me.”
“And here I was thinking we were going to be bosom buddies.”
He ignores my comment.
“So, the real question here, is what kind of boy you’re going to be.”
“What?”
“There’s all sorts,” he continues. “I’m the gay one, obviously.” He says it flat and dry, almost stoic, his gaze fixed on the mountain peaks. I wonder what kind of boy he wishes he could be. It’s got to be something more than this self-proclaimed stereotype. “That Neville kid, he’s the wimpy, nerdy kind. The Brotherhood are the alpha male type, obviously.”
It’s my turn to squint up in the direction he’s been staring. “Do I have to pick a type? I mean, can’t I just be … me?”
He lets out a single syllable laugh. “You gave up that right the minute you accepted your spot here.”
“Okay,” I reply, my brow furrowing. I look down at my lit cigarette and try to think. “What if I want to be the sensitive type?”