“Yeah, we’ve been over this.”
He rolls his eyes and tosses his shoes across the room, toward his dresser. “While you’ve been dealing with The Brotherhood, I’ve been dealing with other shit. Other guys cornering me. In the bathrooms, in the hallways. In classrooms. Threatening to … do things.”
“Hurt you?” I ask quietly.
He glances at me. “Among other things.”
I remember the comment made on the lacrosse field that day, the comment that sparked all this. Or, I thought sparked all this. Turns out that wasn’t the first straw, but the last one.
I purse my lips into a line. I don’t want to think about what he means.
“A lot of it was already because I’m gay, but I’ve been getting it worse because I’m associated with The Brotherhood’s marked bitch. Everyone’s been taking it on themselves to … put me in my place, I guess.”
I look down at my hands, spreading them apart. The smeared ink of Olive’s number has long since rubbed off my palm.
Rafael pushes his hands into his face for a moment before lowering them and looking directly at me.
“The more your reputation dips, the worse things get for me. You’re protected by The Brotherhood. No one but those boys is allowed to touch you. I don’t have that luxury; I can get beaten to a pulp by any Tom, Dick, or Harry that feels like letting out their feelings on the gay kid. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Alex,” he adds dryly, “but there’s only three of The Brotherhood, and quite a lot of the rest of the student body. You’re good at math. You figure it out.”
He laughs, but it doesn’t sound happy.
I shift uncomfortably, but I’m not sure if he’s done, so I don’t want to say anything.
“I stop associating with you, and all this stops. Or, well, most of it,” he amends. He scratches one of his shoulders. “I’m still gay, after all. There will always be someone who has a problem with that.”
“But you’ve been helping me.”
“Yeah.”
I still can’t really look at
him. “You just wanted to protect yourself for once. I should have realized that.”
He shrugs. “I’m sorry if that sounds selfish.”
I sigh as I think back to when we first met. Right here in this very room, I basically blackmailed him into keeping my secret, to helping me. He’s gotten nothing but shit for it since. I’ve taken him for granted.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I was just … stung, I guess.”
He nods. “Understandable. I should’ve phrased it better, or explained all this to you sooner.”
“Yeah, speaking of … why didn’t you?”
“How was I supposed to?” he asks bitterly. “You had so much going on, anyway. Seems like every day you get yourself in some new sort of shit.”
“Yeah. I guess.”
It’s quiet again for a while, but the air feels less tense. After a while, he sighs.
“I’ve got a date to the dance.”
“You do?” I ask enthusiastically, snapping my gaze to him. “Who—”
“Don’t get too excited. It’s a girl. Pity date, I think.”
“Oh.” I deflate. “I’m sorry.”
“She’s okay. She didn’t get her own date. She’s just trying to save face.”