I would’ve thought that Rafael would find this surprising, but instead, he cracks a grin.
“Ah, so you’ve made them wrestle with their sexuality. That’s hilarious.” He glances once more over his shoulder. “About damn time someone did.”
Sure. I just wish it wasn’t me.
I’ve got enough on my plate without making one—or more—of my bullies start to wonder if there’s something more he’d like to do to me aside from just pushing me around.
Even if the thought does make those treacherous butterflies in my stomach make a reappearance.
Math class. I’ve been dreading it all day because the entire Brotherhood will be there.
Sure enough, they’re already in their seats when I walk in and past their desks. They all glance down and avoid my eyes. I remember at the beginning of the year how they would jump at the opportunity to trip me or order me around.
Even when they were avoiding me thanks to Jasper’s temper, they didn’t avoid me quite like this. Not, at the very least, to the extent that Heath scoots his chair ever so slightly to face away from me.
“Look at them,” Rafael says in a whisper that’s almost gleeful as I sit beside him. “I never thought I’d live to see the day that The Brotherhood was struggling with the thought that they might be gay.”
“Stop it,” I say, pushing his arm, but he grins and shakes his head.
“Oh, no. I can see it. That’s what gay panic looks like.” He flips open his textbook. “I should know. I’ve seen that look in the mirror countless times.”
I ignore him as the professor makes his way to the front of the classroom to start class. He lets us know what the lesson is going to be, then tells us to get out last night’s homework.
“Uh … Alex,” he says after sliding his finger down the list of names in the roll book. “Why don’t you collect everyone’s papers today?”
The whole thing’s a charade. Most of the professors pretend to pick someone at random, when in reality, they almost always pick me. The Brotherhood’s punching bag.
Though maybe not anymore.
I hate doing this anyway, I always have. It feels like middle school. Reluctantly, I get to my feet and head down my row first, doing my best to “accidentally” skip a few of my classmates who are still frantically writing down answers. The pounding in my head doesn’t help my mood.
The Brotherhood sit stoically at their desks—or so I think before I get closer. Beck has his arms folded so tightly his muscles are bulging. Heath has his chin on his hand, trying to seem nonchalant, but his other hand is on the desk, and he’s drumming his fingers rapidly on the wooden surface. Not even Jasper seems relaxed. I see his jaw working as I approach.
They’ve all got their papers sitting as far away from them as their desks allow without actually allowing them to fall off. I collect them quickly and move on, but something tells me that they feel far more awkward than I do.
“Dude, chill,” I hear Heath whisper to Jasper once I’m past them.
“I can’t,” Jasper whispers back, and something about the way he says it makes me freeze. It sounds familiar.
And then it hits me. I remember. Not the whole night, no, not even the whole situation. But the relevant parts? Oh, yeah.
I remember.
The music gets louder. People are dancing in the limited space in the bar. We’re all there, too, dancing, laughing. I don’t understand a word of the song playing. It’s all in German.
I feel loose. My hand brushes someone else’s.
“Sorry.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Soft.”
“Rough.”
“From lacrosse.”
Laughter, more music. I stumble and fall backward. He catches me, grabs me by the hips. We laugh, and he bends to whisper in my ear, “You look so much like a girl. You’re so small.”