Status: All systems suspended.
Then it starts again. The thing that happened after Ryan Dervitz, in the Dairy Queen bathroom with my head between my knees. A rush of memories—Mom’s eyes welling up when I told her, Dad alone in the backyard staring up at my old treehouse, his hands stuffed in his pockets. And then Father Mike calmly crashing through my consciousness, like some movie hero busting down the door to a burning house. His face fills up the whole screen in my head. It isn’t an angry face. He never needs to be angry, not really, because he’s so sure he’s right.
Stop. Stop. Stop.
I shove Abel away.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing—just—”
I have to walk. Which way is the hotel parking lot? I don’t even know. I just start moving my feet. I dart across the street on a green light; a red car swerves and honks. My eyes flick over a sea of cars and lock onto the Sunseeker’s roof in the near distance. I pick up the pace. Abel’s big boots clap the blacktop behind me.
“What, you’re mad again?”
“No.”
“You are!”
“Stop talking, okay?”
“Brandon, look.” He swings in front of me. “I just—I was trying to help. I thought I could snap you out of it. Hey!”
He grabs my arm. The Sunseeker’s three rows away. His breath warms the side of my face.
“It’s not a big deal,” he whispers. “Okay?”
It’s not such a great exchange, is it? A few moments of pleasure, in exchange for—
“So is this how you act?” I shove his hands away. “Like, the day someone dumps you?”
“What?”
“You know.” I have no clue what I’m doing, but it’s too late now. “It’s kind of gross, that’s all.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your ‘relationship.’”
“I’m not in one.”
“You were this morning.”
“I don’t live in the past.”
“I’ll say. You trying to get back at him?”
“No! No. That’s not what—”
“I think that’s exactly what it is.”
“Brandon, I swear—”
“You think you’re so much better than he is? I think you just got lucky.”
“Lucky?”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “That he cheated first.”
“Well, fuck you very much.”
“No thanks.” I start for the RV again.
“Right. Riiiiiight. Because anyone who touches precious little you has to be completely pure, oblivious to all others, a paragon of—”
“I’m not talking to you.”
“Oh, fine. It’s fine. I mean, if we did it and you liked it, then you couldn’t feel sorry for yourself anymore, and then where would you be?”
He ducks in front of me again, sticks his hands on his hips.
“Get out of my way,” I mutter.
“I’m not good enough for you anyway, right? Like, who knows what I’ll make of myself? You want a med student with perfect hair and a wine cellar. ‘Ooh, look at us! We’re pre-engaged! He gave me his promise ring and someday we’ll get married and adopt an orphan from Zimbabwe and name him Aiden!’”
“Are you done?”
“Plus what would the rest of the Thumper family think?”
“My parents are not Bible thumpers!”
“They sure had it in for me.”
“Right.”
“I saw them. The way they looked at me when I met them? Tell me they weren’t judging me.”
“Maybe you deserve to be judged a little.”
He flinches like I’ve punched him. I want to take it all back, tell him there’s a monster snarling in my throat right now and he’ll say anything, anything to keep Abel away from me.
He steps close. I feel his breath feather my forehead. He touches his finger to the tip of my chin and tilts my face to his.
“I get it,” he says. “I’m a sinner. Is that right?”
“No—”
“You’re just like them. Just like your parents. You hate yourself, don’t you?” His fingers brush the side of my face, skate the curve of my jawline. “Or do you just hate me?”
“I didn’t mean it. I was just—”
“See, I knew something was off. Right? When you said you used to be an altar boy, I was like ‘how does he not have issues?’” He claps my shoulders. “Stellar job pretending, young man. Very convincing pantomime of sanity. I was fooled.”
“Abel.”
“Like, I can’t even be mad. You know? I just feel sorry for you.”
I wriggle away, speed-walk for the Sunseeker.
“Hey!” he calls. “Brandon!”
I walk faster.
“There’s no Zander, is there?”
He knows. He knows. I confirm it when I stop too short in front of the Sunseeker steps, as if the labyrinth monster from Episode 3-8 just reared up in front of me and peeled its black lips back from eight dripping fangs.
“Oh my God,” he says. “It’s true.”
Sweat prickles my neck. My stomach rethinks the lattes.
“I thought all those stories you told me sounded like bullshit but you know, I was like, ehh, his first love, you always remember it in such glowing terms and all. God, everything makes sense now!”
“Shut up.”
“That’s why you never had me over. Your stupid graduation party—that wasn’t family-only, right? You were just too chickenshit to invite me.”
“Abel—”
“What a coward. Unbelievable. You’re a virgin, right?”
My fists curl up.
“What is it? Do you like, see Jesus weeping on the cross when some guy tries to kiss you?”
“Stop talking.”
“What about when you fap? You’re not supposed to do that either, right? Do you have to flagellate yourself? Wear a hairshirt to bed? I bet you confess your—”
My hands crash into his chest and he staggers two steps backwards. This weird strangled sound punches out of him and he tugs down his t-shirt, gasping in a breath.
“What’re you doing?”
Crazy. He’s staring like I’m crazy. My palms smack his shoulders this time.
“Oh God, you’re ridiculous!” He catches both my wrists. “You’re seriously going to fight me?”
I yank free, answer him with another shove.
“Great.” He’s laughing. He shoves me back a little. “Do it! Get it all out, baby. Maybe then you’ll—”
I don’t hear the rest. I run right at him, ramming him with my whole upper body until his legs give out and we’re falling together and when his back hits the pavement it sends a rude jolt through my body: oh God I’m on top of him what do I do? How do I fight? I’ve only seen it on TV. I don’t want to punch him, Dad says one punch can kill someone if you know the right spot and I don’t but what if I hit it by accident? Abel lets out this nasty snicker then, like I’m some pathetic little kid, and my whole body lights up with rage and I feel my hand shoot out and Abel grabs his face, twisting away from me.
“Owww!” He shouts at the pavement. “Son of a bitch!”
My hand tingles. Blood trickles between his fingers.
“You slapped my nose, dipwad!”
“I—”
I made someone bleed.
“Son of a bitch!”
He kicks my leg with his heavy boot, hard. I kick him back. He lunges at me and we roll over and over, scratching and pulling, a cartoon cloud of elbows and hands and knees. He won’t give in and neither will I so we scuffle like that on the pavement until we hear the Sunseeker door swing open somewhere behind us, and Bec yells: “Guys. GUYS.”
I roll off him. He shoves me once more. I spit out gravel.
“What’re you doing?” Bec says.