Swing for the Fences

by Little Buddha

Chapter 10

The night of the Halloween party had arrived.

And I was nervous as hell.

I'd never broken a school rule in my life. Not even the small, dumb ones. I followed dress code. I turned in homework early. I even organized my pencils by length. But there I was, dressed all in black, hoodie zipped up, gym bag over my shoulder, creeping out of Linden Hall after lights out like some kind of teenage cat burglar.

Before I left, I'd asked Jack if he wanted to come.

He didn't even look up from his sketchbook. "Nah," he said. "Not my scene."

Fair enough.

I told him I'd be back later, and he just gave me a noncommittal shrug. Better than nothing.

Outside, the air was brisk and sharp, the kind of cold that bites your cheeks and wakes up every nerve in your skin. The smell of woodsmoke and rotting leaves lingered in the air like ghosts. Perfect Halloween weather.

I met Noah at our usual spot by the grove of trees, where the moon filtered through the thinning canopy. He was dressed in black, too, his hoodie pulled low over his forehead.

"Took you long enough," he whispered with a grin.

"I had to time the squeaky stair," I said. "Almost blew my cover."

"Welcome to the underworld," he said. "Costume time."

We ducked behind some bushes and changed quickly. Noah emerged shirtless – yes, shirtless – in only black speedos, suspenders, a black bow tie, a top hat, and a fake beard. "Sexy Abraham Lincoln," he declared proudly, striking a pose.

"You're going to freeze to death."

"Worth it."

"But then I might have to give you CPR," I grinned.

"Even better!"

My costume was equally ridiculous: some mash-up between a punk skeleton and a runway reject. I had on a shredded hoodie, painted-on bones up my arms, and Noah had convinced me to let him smear black eyeliner around my eyes before we left.

"You look like a depressed Hot Topic mannequin," he said, admiring his handiwork.

"Thanks. I hate it."

"You're welcome. Let's go."

We darted through campus like shadows, looping behind the athletic fields and around toward one of the old storage buildings, supposedly abandoned. Rumor had it one of the upperclassmen had stolen the key earlier that year, made a copy, and returned the original before anyone noticed. Now the place was party HQ.

And maybe haunted.

The inside of the building smelled like mildew and forgotten things. We climbed a narrow, rickety staircase to the top floor, our steps echoing like we were trespassing in someone else's memories. The door at the end of the hall creaked open into … not the chaotic rave I had imagined.

Instead, the room was lit with soft blue and orange string lights. "Hotel California" played from someone's Bluetooth speaker. About two dozen guys were milling around – some in costume, some not. Paper ghosts and cobwebs hung from the ceiling. A big plastic punch bowl sat on a folding table surrounded by cans of beer, red solo cups, and a half-eaten bag of Doritos.

It was weirdly chill. Almost… cozy.

And completely surreal.

"Drink?" Noah asked, already filling two cups with spiked punch.

"Sure," I said, heart hammering. "But I must warn you, I never drink, so I probably have a very low tolerance for alcohol."

Noah rubbed his hands together deviously. "All the easier to molest you, Nick"

I took a sip. It tasted like Hawaiian Punch with a hint of battery acid.

"Delicious," I lied.

We wandered the room, and Noah introduced me to a couple of the upperclassmen he knew. First was Jake, who wore a full Regency-era waistcoat, powdered wig, and frilly lace cuffs, but had paired it with a pair of mirrored aviators and a Bluetooth speaker clipped to his hip blasting synthwave. "I'm Lord Byron – but if he did ketamine," he declared with a crooked smile, offering a limp handshake and reeking faintly of White Claw and whatever cologne comes in a skull-shaped bottle. "So does anyone want some Special K?" Jake asked to no one in particular.

Then there was Theo, draped in a crushed purple velvet cape, wearing a tarnished Burger King crown covered in glued-on rhinestones, and sporting a sash that read "Homecoming Mistake." He had smeared black eyeliner down his cheeks like teardrops and was drinking a mimosa out of a chalice made from a repurposed deodorant canister. "I am the King of Regret," he declared gravely, voice echoing just slightly thanks to some Bluetooth reverb. "My reign began after a karaoke incident in '22, and I haven't known peace since." He extended his goblet toward me in a mock toast. "To chaos, poor impulse control, and anyone who's ever sent a voice memo at 3 a.m."

Noah just grinned. "And that," he said, "is what passing your APs gets you."

"Best part about this party?" Theo slurred. "You don't remember it."

"Charming," I said. I was so glad I had Noah here to protect me. He'd never leave me alone with these mentally-questionable people.

Christian was there too, in a loose, unzipped leather jacket over a black tank top and painted-on jeans, looking unfairly attractive. He raised his solo cup when he saw me.

"Kincaid," he said. "Didn't know you had it in you."

I shrugged. "Me neither."

"You throw a decent spiral, by the way. We need to get you in on more scrimmages."

My ears burned. "I'd drop every pass."

"You'd learn fast, and I'd help you."

I smiled and nodded, but my stomach flipped for reasons that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

Someone passed a joint around, and the scent of weed bloomed instantly. Noah took a hit and passed it to me with a grin.

"You in?" he asked.

I hesitated. "I don't know…"

"Come on, Kincaid," he said. "One puff. For science. For living your new life to the fullest!"

I took the tiniest possible hit and immediately coughed so hard I thought I might throw up a lung. Everyone laughed, but it wasn't cruel. Just… warm. Christian patted my back and rubbed my shoulder until he was sure my coughing fit was over, and I might very well be in love!

Time blurred after that. We drifted from group to group. I sipped punch until the room felt fuzzier around the edges. I think I danced for a few songs, though "dancing" might be generous. Everything had this soft, strange glow to it.

And then…

Then Fleetwood Mac's "Rhiannon" came on and everyone started cheering.

I froze.

The first haunting chords and guitar riffs rang out across the speakers, and Stevie Nicks' voice floated through the air like some ethereal spell. It was witchy and dreamy and perfect. The lights seemed dimmer. The string lights twinkled like stars.

My brain was probably mush from the punch and the pot, but I couldn't help myself.

I started dancing, even trying to emulate the famous Stevie Nicks twirl.

Awkwardly.

Stiff at first. A little shuffle. A weird sway of my shoulders. But then I leaned into it. Let my arms move. Let my body feel the pull of the music. I didn't care if I looked ridiculous. In that moment, it felt like I was somewhere else entirely – someone else, channeling the aura of the great Stevie Nicks and Fleetwood Mac. I could've used a tambourine, though. If anyone didn't know I was gay after that performance, they sure did now!

A boy who didn't care what people thought. A boy who danced to Fleetwood Mac in a skeleton hoodie at a secret party in a haunted building.

I caught Noah watching me from the corner of the room, sipping his drink with a lopsided grin.

I smiled back.

And maybe, just for a moment, I felt like magic.

But a few songs later, things shifted.

Noah took my hand and led me toward the far side of the room near a boarded-up window.

"Come here," he murmured, voice low.

We stood against the wall, faces close, the music now something heavier. His eyes were glossy and half-closed. I could smell the alcohol and weed on his breath.

He leaned in and kissed me.

It wasn't gentle or sweet. It was messy, alcohol-heavy, a little sloppy. His breath was hot and tasted like weed and fruit punch. My head was spinning, but not just from the kiss.

His lips found mine again, rougher this time. His hand pressed against my chest. Then down toward my stiffening boyhood.

My whole body tensed.

I was horny . But also totally messed up and uncomfortable with the situation.

I pulled away.

"No," I said, my voice barely audible.

He blinked. "What?"

"I just – Not here. Not like this. I don't want this to be the first time I… I don't know."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "It's just a party, Nick. No one cares. Just let me give you a blow job and you'll feel much better. I'll even swallow."

" Well, I care!"

I stepped back. The fuzziness in my head started to swirl, and the weight in my chest pressed heavier than before.

Noah exhaled sharply and shook his head. "Whatever. Don't be such a pussy."

That hit me like a slap.

I turned before I could say something I'd regret and walked away, heart pounding, gut twisted, face burning. And Noah didn't come after me.

I dropped onto a beanbag chair in the corner and buried my face in my hands.

Somewhere nearby, someone laughed. Someone else started a new song – Lady Gaga this time.

I stared at the ceiling.

Everything was spinning. I was praying that Lady Gaga would come see me. "I'm one of your little monsters!" I screamed, eliciting more hilarious laughter from the crowd. They loved me! They really loved me!

And then…

Darkness.

I woke up groaning.

My head felt like it had been stuffed with cement and wrapped in duct tape. Every sound was a personal assault on my senses. The light slicing through the blinds felt like it had teeth.

"Ugh," I croaked, rolling onto my back.

"Don't move too fast," Jack said.

Even his voice hurt.

I peeled my eyes open slowly, blinking against the pain until the fuzzy shapes in front of me sharpened. Jack was sitting on the edge of his bed, arms crossed, watching me like I might try to make a break for it. But where the hell would I be going feeling like this?

And then it hit me.

The party. The ridiculous costume. The weed. The punch. Dancing to Rhiannon . Noah.

Then darkness.

"What… happened?" I rasped. "How did I get back?"

Jack sighed. "Christian found you passed out and half-dragged, half-carried you back here. He used your phone to call me, and I let you in. You were lucky. One more minute and Miss Cuthbert probably would've caught us. She's the 'mean' one."

I groaned and dropped my arm across my face. "Oh God."

"Yeah, 'Oh God' is about right." Jack got up and crossed the room. "You want water?"

I nodded weakly. He handed me a cold bottle, then placed a small aspirin bottle beside it. On the desk, a brown recyclable container sat unopened.

"I grabbed you some breakfast before they closed up. Eggs and potatoes. Nothing fancy. Figured you'd need it."

Despite the jackhammer inside my skull, my stomach growled. I sat up slowly and took the water and aspirin, then opened the container and picked at the food.

"You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?" Jack asked.

I winced, more from his tone than my headache.

And since when did Jack care about anyone but himself?

"I don't know. I wasn't thinking. I guess... Noah said it would be fun. Everyone else was doing it."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Classic. Look, I drink sometimes. I've smoked. But you? You've never touched anything. You're built like a string bean and weigh, what, 110 pounds soaking wet? You can't just jump into the deep end and expect to float."

"Okay, okay," I muttered. "You've made your point."

He didn't say anything for a moment. Just stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight. Then he sighed and sat down across from me.

"I'm not trying to be a jerk," he said. "I just... I was worried . You could've gotten hurt. Or caught. Or both. And I swear, if that had happened, I would've thought about letting you deal with the fallout yourself. But... I probably would've bailed you out anyway."

That last part came out quiet, reluctant. But it meant a lot.

I nodded slowly. "Fair."

I poked at the eggs again. They weren't good, but they were warm, and they were food.

"What about Noah?" I asked. "Did he get back okay?"

Jack's face hardened. "Haven't seen him. Not sure I want to. If I do, I might give him a piece of my mind that involves one of my Doc Marten's and his crotch. Yes, I fight dirty and I'm scrappy."

"Please don't," I said quickly, too quickly. "Just… leave it. It wasn't his fault. I was the one who kept drinking."

Jack didn't look convinced. "He let you get that messed up and then he abandoned you after you didn't let him get in your pants. That says something."

I had no retort for that.

A knock sounded on the door. Jack got up and opened it.

Christian stood there, hands in his hoodie pockets, accompanied by his little mini-me.

"Hey," he said. "Just checking in. He alive?"

"Barely," Jack replied.

Christian gave me a quick once-over. "You good?"

"More or less. Thanks for, um, dragging me back."

He nodded. "No problem. Just... take it easy next time."

I gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I'm learning that."

"Good," Christian said. "Not trying to be your dad or anything, but don't do that again. Especially not in a drafty old building with a creepy piano in the corner."

I blinked. "There was a piano?"

Jack snorted. "You were way past noticing."

Jonah stood there in the doorway, looking like a street urchin but in designer clothes and an impish grin. He looked me over thoroughly from top-to-bottom, then scurried after his brother out the door. Perhaps he just brought him along to teach him a lesson, kind of like "scared straight" or something. I kinda just wanted to snuggle him.

The door closed behind him. I dropped my head into my hands.

Jack said nothing, but he stayed in the room. Kept glancing over like he was making sure I wasn't going to fall over or throw up.

Later that afternoon, after chugging two more bottles of water and napping for another hour, I ventured down to the common room to watch the Lions game. I half-expected whispers or stares, but all I got was a few smirks and some gentle teasing.

"Nice moves last night, Kincaid."

"Didn't know you could dance like that."

I grinned sheepishly and shrugged. "Neither did I."

Christian was already on the couch and motioned for me to join. I sat beside him, and after a minute, he slung an arm casually around my shoulder and pulled me into a one-armed hug. Friendly. Warm. Comforting. Hesitantly, I laid my head on his shoulder, but he didn't push me away. I asked him where his little brother was, and he told me he was probably off somewhere hustling the little old lunch ladies at bridge.

The Lions lost, but no one really cared.

By evening, the world had mostly stopped spinning.

Jack and I were both at our desks, trying to work on homework and pretending like our brains weren't still partially liquefied. He kept tapping his pencil against his notebook, glancing over occasionally.

"You sure you're okay?" he finally asked.

I nodded. "Yeah. Just… embarrassed. Mostly."

Jack nodded back. "Just don't let it happen again. You're better than that."

And then the door creaked open.

Noah stood there.

His hair was unkempt, his hoodie too big, his face pale and a little puffy.

"Hey," he said. His voice was rough. "Can we talk?"

We didn't say anything as we made our way across the darkened quad. The wind had picked up, sharp and dry, kicking up dead leaves and stinging my cheeks. Every step we took crunched underfoot, but still, it felt like the silence was louder than anything.

By the time we got to our tree, I was shivering.

Without a word, Noah unzipped his jacket and offered it to me.

I hesitated. I wanted to say no. I wanted to act like I was totally fine without him, like I didn't still want to wrap myself up in him even when I was furious.

But I was freezing.

And I was tired.

So I took it.

It was still warm from his body, and it smelled like him – like whatever detergent he used, plus his skin, and something sweet and woodsy that I'd come to associate with just... him. My stomach twisted at how comforting it was.

We sat down on the grass. Not touching. Not even looking at each other.

Noah cleared his throat. "So..."

I cut him off. "You were supposed to be taking care of me. Not let me out of your sight."

He blinked, startled. "Nick, come on—"

"No," I said. "Let me talk."

He shut up.

I stared at the ground. "I'm not mad that I drank. Or smoked. Or danced like a total idiot. I chose to do those things. I'm not a baby." I looked up at him. "But you knew I'd never done any of that before. And you didn't stop me. You didn't even try . And then you practically tried to molest me when we were both wasted. Not cool."

Noah looked down at his hands. "I thought you were having fun."

"Yeah, I was – until you started groping me, called me a 'pussy,' and I passed out in a corner and had to be dragged home by someone else."

He flinched at that.

"And the worst part is... I didn't feel safe. Not with you. Not last night."

Noah let out a slow breath, still not looking at me. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I guess I'm used to my friends being a little more independent and mature."

"But you did," I said. "And you keep acting like it's just 'normal.' Like that makes it okay. Like if everyone else is doing it, then it can't be a big deal."

He shifted uncomfortably. "I dunno, man. I've just... I've been to parties like that. That's how people act. To me, that's completely normal. I've never seen anyone who needs a babysitter before."

That was totally uncalled for. First he calls me "immature" and then suggests I'm not independent enough and need a "babysitter." I started to gather up my stuff to leave.

"Nick, wait!" he called. "That all came out totally wrong. Just please don't go yet."

"Well, I don't want to just act like everyone else," I snapped. "I want to know that the person I'm with actually cares about me. Like, for real. Not just when it's convenient or easy or fun. You knew I wasn't comfortable last night, but you did nothing to try to make me feel more at ease."

He looked at me finally, and his voice was quieter. "I do care, and you're right. I guess I've got a lot to learn"

"Then act like it, " I said. "Because right now, all I see is someone who won't take responsibility for anything. You're just looking for a good time, and to hell with anything that gets in the way of you having fun, even if it's someone you supposedly 'care' about."

His jaw tightened. "I said I was sorry."

"That's not the same."

We were quiet for a long time.

Then I muttered, "Maybe I shouldn't expect so much from you anyway."

Noah's brow furrowed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You won't even call me your boyfriend," I said, staring at the sky. "You keep saying 'go with the flow' like we're just – whatever. Casual. Like none of it really matters."

He didn't respond.

"And it does," I added. "It matters to me. "

He rubbed his face with both hands, frustrated. "Does the label really matter that much to you?"

I looked at him sharply. "Yeah. It does. You're the first boy I've ever gone out with. I wanted it to be perfect and romantic and sincere. And that's not how it's been. You're not the same person I fell for. I gave you my first kiss, and now I kind of regret it."

Noah looked like I slapped him across the face.

"Being 'boyfriends' isn't just some label you slap on because it sounds nice," I said, my voice cracking a little. "It actually means something. It means being there for each other, even when stuff sucks – especially when stuff sucks. It means you care enough to protect them, to make sure they feel safe, and wanted, and… I don't know… like they matter. It means you're not just messing around – you actually want this, whatever this thing between us is, to be real. It's like a promise. Maybe a dumb, teenage promise that probably doesn't mean much to anyone else, but it means something to me ."

No, I wasn't the world's greatest orator, but I think he got the point.

Noah was quiet.

"I've been going through a lot of stuff lately, Noah. I've had no one to talk to about it and I'm here all by myself, far from home. I thought you were that one person I could always go to when I need to talk or need comfort. Yeah, you've done that a couple times, or tried, but not for the big stuff. I try to talk to you, but you never seem to take it seriously, like all the problems I've been having with my roommate."

Noah sounded exasperated. "Okay. Fine. If it'll make you feel better, we can be 'boyfriends.'"

I sighed heavily. "You just don't get it. It's not like calling us the magic word 'boyfriend' is going to fix everything, fix all my problems or your problems or our problems. Maybe we just have very different idea of what it means to be with someone. To really be with them."

Noah just looked at the ground for several moments, kicking dirt back and forth. He clearly didn't know what to say. Maybe no one had ever stood up to him like that. Maybe he was always used to getting everything he wanted, on his terms.

"You matter to me, Nick. More than anyone else right now." He hesitated, then scratched the back of his neck. "I'm falling in love with you, Nick. I want to be a better person, not the same party kid from back in New York. But I need your help."

I swallowed hard. My throat was tight. My chest felt too full. He knew just what buttons to push.

We sat there in the silence for a while. The wind kept blowing. The branches above us creaked. I could feel my heartbeat in my fingertips.

"I need to feel it, Noah" I added after a while. "Not just words. I need to know I'm not just another... boarding school fling."

His eyes softened. "You're not. I swear. And I'll try to be better. I'll try to show you instead of spending all our time just looking for a place to make out. I'll try to be more romantic, if that's what you need."

I nodded, slowly. "Okay."

He leaned in, cautiously this time, like he was afraid I'd push him away.

But I didn't.

The kiss was slow, deliberate—more like a question than an answer. His hands moved to my cheeks, fingers trembling. I kissed him back, and this time, it didn't feel rushed or uncertain. It felt like something was being repaired, carefully, one piece at a time.

When we pulled apart, he rested his forehead against mine.

"We'll figure this out," he whispered.

"Yeah," I breathed. "I hope so. I want to make this work."

We stood and walked back to the dorm, our fingers brushing, then locking together.

When I opened the door to our room, Jack was sprawled on his bed, flipping through a worn paperback.

"Well," he said, without looking up, "did the two lovebirds kiss and make up?"

My cheeks turned red. "Sort of."

Jack raised an eyebrow. "What does that mean?"

"It means I really gave him a piece of my mind, stood up for myself. Set some ground rules if we're going to keep seeing each other," I said, awkwardly."

"Way to go, Nick!" exclaimed Jack. "I'm really proud of you for sticking up for yourself."

I laughed. "I guess I was pretty bad-ass."

He set the book aside and stood up. "I hope it works out like you want it to."

I hesitated. "Thank you. For earlier. For taking care of me."

"Anytime," Jack said. "I'm here for you, even when he's not."

Jack didn't say anything more for a second. Then, to my complete surprise, he stepped forward and wrapped me in a quick, tight hug.

"You're my best friend, Nicky," he said into my shoulder. "I'd give you everything you wanted and more."

I smiled. "I know, Jack. You'd be an amazing boyfriend. The best."

Deep down, I knew that was the truth, but why couldn't I accept it?

Because I knew this wasn't over.

There was more to be said, more to experience before it all came to a head.

This was still just beginning.

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