Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 27
By Wednesday morning, I felt almost human again. My head was clear, my fever was gone, and I wasn't coughing every ten seconds – though I still had a lingering tickle in my throat and my body felt like a medium-sized horse had drop-kicked me. Still, it wasn't enough to stop me from making the day happen.
This was Jack's day.
The fact that he'd never had a birthday party still didn't sit right with me. Not even once. No balloons. No cake. Not even one of those sad store-bought cookie cakes with his name spelled wrong. His parents apparently considered birthday parties "frivolous" – the kind of thing reserved for children "who needed to feel falsely special for no reason."
Actual quote.
It wasn't like they couldn't afford it. Jack's family was loaded. Old money , according to Jack – like, scowling oil portrait in the hallway money. But instead of using their wealth to give their only son a halfway decent childhood, they used it to remind him that joy was for other people. As far as they were concerned, if they had to be miserable, then Jack should be, too. It's true what they say: money can't buy you happiness.
And yet, they paid for prep school.
"Why do they even pay your tuition if they hate you so much?" I'd asked once.
Jack had shrugged. "I think they like the idea of saying they have a son at Harrison West. Just not, you know… me. Plus, it keeps me out of their hair."
His home life was a riddle wrapped in an enigma and wrapped again in a velvet smoking jacket.
Mine couldn't have been more different. Middle-class. Normal. My mom's an attending ER physician at a county hospital. My dad – before we lost him – ran a successful contractor business. We didn't fly first-class or have a private chef, but I got birthday parties every year, solid Christmas presents, and vacations to places like the Grand Canyon and Dollywood. (Do not get me started on Dolly Parton. She is my patron saint, my muse, my emotionally supportive hologram.)
So yeah – Jack was getting a party. And not just any party. He was getting his party. Dave & Buster's, arcade chaos, mozzarella sticks, the works. It wasn't going to fix the past, but it was going to carve out one damn good memory for the future. And hopefully, it would earn me some extra cuddles and smooches later that night. Maybe he'd even play with my joystick after the arcade.
After the final bell rang and we were excused from clubs and sports, the dorm turned into a hurricane of teenage boy energy. Everyone rushed to their rooms to change, because there was no way anyone was wearing a uniform to Dave & Buster's. Jack and I got back to our room first, and I tossed off my blazer and threw it on the heap on the floor.
Mark poked his head in ten minutes later, already mid-complaint. "If I have to wear that polyester straight-jacket one more time, I'm filing a lawsuit."
"You say that every week," Jack said, tugging on a black Henley.
"One day, someone will listen," Mark replied, dramatically flopping onto our bed like a fainting duchess.
I changed into a soft, faded green hoodie and black jeans. Jack wore a dark gray bomber jacket over a slim-fitting T-shirt and dark jeans, paired with those black boots he always swore weren't designer, but absolutely were. His hair was brushed back, and he looked… well, like a damn movie star. He'd even shaved his peach fuzz for me!
"You look so hot," I said, as casually as I could manage.
Jack smiled. "You always say that."
"Because it's always true."
He stepped closer, fiddling with the zipper on my hoodie. "You clean up nice, too, boyfriend ."
"Glad I'm not coughing up phlegm in front of your cake," I muttered.
Jack leaned in and kissed my cheek. "You're the best boyfriend in the whole world."
"That's true," I said.
"Thank you. For planning all this."
"I'd throw you a hundred parties if I could."
"Just one is more than I ever got before."
We stood there for a second, forehead to forehead, until we heard Jonah's voice from down the hall shouting, "IF ANYONE BORROWS MY MESH SHIRT WITHOUT PERMISSION, I WILL CURSE YOUR FAMILY LINE."
I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Emery was already there, looking like he'd just stepped off a Shanghai fashion runway.
He was in black skinny jeans, a manga T-shirt, glossy black shoes, and a Louis Vuitton sling bag. His iWatch gleamed under the lights. His hair was freshly combed and sprayed into position, and the air around him smelled unmistakably of Versace cologne. In a word, he looked HOT!
"Damn," I said, foaming with toothpaste. "You're not playing around."
Emery glanced at me, casually checking his skin in the mirror for flaws. (Spoiler: still none.) "Figured I'd make an effort."
"You look good," I said, rinsing my mouth. "Is it… for someone?"
Emery hesitated for half a second. "Can I bring someone tonight?"
"Yeah, of course. Who is he?"
"Kit. Kit Wheeler. He's in tenth grade. We've been hanging out."
I raised an eyebrow. "Hanging out?"
He bit the inside of his cheek. "Yeah."
"Cool," I said, grinning. "The more the merrier."
"Thanks," he said quickly, then went back to applying a microscopic amount of concealer and eyeliner like a pro.
After wrangling everyone into shoes and jackets, we made our way to the front gates of Harrison West, where a large Uber van was waiting. The air outside was crisp – early spring in Michigan, the kind of weather where the cold bites at your fingertips even though everything looks warm. The sky had turned a pale purple, and the budding trees lining the path still swayed, as if it were late March.
Emery stood near the curb with the handsome, muscular, sporty boy I instantly recognized as Kit Wheeler. Kit had that golden-retriever-gym-class-hero look – dirty blond hair that flopped perfectly over his eyes, sculpted shoulders, and thighs that made his joggers look painted on. His face was open, curious, and he had a slight tan like he'd just come back from a beach volleyball tournament in Ibiza.
"Hey guys," Emery said, casually. "This is Kit, my … umm … friend."
Kit smiled and gave a little wave. "Hey. Thanks for letting me tag along."
Most of them greeted him politely. Christian gave a friendly nod and fist bump and said something unintelligible that made Kit chuckle. Jonah tilted his head, narrowed his eyes like a cat studying a new houseguest, and said:
"Hm. You've got serious 'boy who eats trail mix on planes' energy."
Kit blinked. "Uh. Thanks?"
"That's not an insult," Jonah added helpfully. "Trail mix is elite."
To his credit, Kit laughed, a little thrown off, but good-natured. "I guess I'll take it."
Mark was the only one who didn't seem overly friendly with Kit. He just mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and gave him the stink eye. Fortunately, Kit didn't seem to notice, and it suddenly became clear that my "private detective" service was needed now more than ever.
Jack leaned into me as we climbed into the van. "You think he knows what he just signed up for?"
I smirked. "Probably not. But it's too late now."
"Well, I suppose he can just hang out with Christian and talk sports the whole time."
I nodded supportively as I plotted my next move.
Once everyone was in and buckled up, we took off toward a night of arcade chaos, fried food, and hopefully no emotional catastrophes.
But as we pulled away from the front gates, I caught Kit sneaking a glance around the van – at Jonah, at Mark's glittery belt, at Jack's hand on my knee.
And for a split second, I couldn't tell if he was just curious… or something else.
I tucked that thought away. Tonight was about Jack.
But I made a mental note to keep an eye on Kit Wheeler.
Just in case.
Dave & Buster's was like a cathedral of overstimulation – neon lights, booming sound systems, the electric buzz of arcade machines, and the scent of fried food wafting thick in the air like a greasy perfume. For a teenage boy, it was paradise.
That said, it was also rural Michigan, which meant that stepping through the front doors was like entering the live studio audience of a Duck Dynasty reboot.
"Okay, guys," I said as we walked through the parking lot, "tone it down in there, alright? No PDA, no glitter, no singing Wicked at full volume."
"Awwww," Jonah moaned.
"Seriously," I muttered, glancing nervously at the nearby crowd of hillbillies and rednecks, most of whom looked like they hadn't seen a toothbrush – or a dentist – since the first Bush administration. One particularly lovely lady was clad in a white halter top with a large ketchup stain on the front (or I hoped it was ketchup), neon pink yoga pants, and had a large and very detailed tattoo of Donald Trump's orange, bloated face on her left titty.
Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore!
The crowd inside was about 40% children's birthday parties, 30% sweaty men in camo hoodies and red MAGA hats, and 30% people who looked like they were one beer away from getting into a fistfight over a pitcher of lukewarm beer.
"'Oway ublicpay ecfectionay,'" I hissed at our crew.
Jonah grinned like I'd handed him a sword. "Pig Latin? Nicholas. That is both sexy and subversive."
Mark blinked. "Did he just curse at us?"
"No public affection," I translated.
Christian rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that tracks."
We were led to our reserved table in the back of the restaurant area—thankfully tucked away where we wouldn't be on full display – and it was honestly kind of hilarious. Blue streamers dangled overhead, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JACK! balloons bobbed in the corner like they were shouting his name, and off to the side sat a massive chocolate fudge cake waiting for its big reveal. I could already picture Jack turning three shades of red, sinking lower and lower in his chair, maybe even trying to crawl under the table when everyone started singing.
I squinted at the cake. "Wait… does that say?"
"Fudgepacker," Jonah announced proudly. "Fifty bucks to the waiter. Best money I've ever spent. It was between that or 'Creampie.'"
Jack practically doubled over. "That's so messed up. I love it."
Jonah smirked. "Although I could still spell out 'creampie' on your pale white ass with my—"
"Jonah!" Christian and I snapped at the same time, like an angry chorus.
Did he ever stop to think about how comments like that might make Danny feel? How was that supposed to be healthy – for either of them?
I glanced over at Kit, our newest recruit, to check his reaction. His face was bright red, and he was biting his fist to keep from laughing out loud. By now, he had to know he'd stumbled into the Harrison West Gay Mafia.
Then it was time for our drink orders. Unfortunately, nothing from the bar for us, although some of their cocktail choices looked mighty delicious and fruity. We all started with Red Bulls to stay sharp for the arcade chaos to come. Our waiter – who looked alarmingly like a younger version of Danny DeVito on meth – took our appetizer order while visibly regretting his line of work.
"Let's start with the fried pickles, papi chulo queso, kickin' chicken potstickers, and the barbacoa fries," I said, trying to sound like an adult despite Jonah making obscene fry-related gestures with his hands.
"I want something I can eat like a goblin," Jonah told the waiter. "Ideally with claws."
"Noted," the guy mumbled.
Once the apps hit the table, it was every man for himself. Hands everywhere. Queso flying. Potstickers were disappearing faster than Jonah's last shred of dignity.
"Jonah, please stop making out with the ribs," Emery said.
"I am one with the ribs," Jonah replied, licking barbecue sauce off his fingers. "We have merged. I am reborn."
I got the ribeye, Jack ordered cajun shrimp pasta, Mark and Emery both got the fish & chips (which Jonah loudly referred to as "the twink twins' nautical voyage"), Danny ordered creamy chicken pasta, and both Christian and Kit went for the spicy smashed burgers, which immediately turned into a contest over who could finish theirs fastest without crying.
The second round of drinks was a split between more Red Bulls and IBC Root Beers, and by then, we were deep into delirious banter territory.
"You ever notice how mozzarella sticks are basically just cheese in a sleeping bag?" Jonah asked.
"I hate that you said that," I said.
"I'm gonna start calling burritos 'carb coffins,'" Mark muttered.
"Do you think shrimp are just ocean bugs?" Danny asked.
"Danny. Not now."
Jonah turned toward Kit, narrowing his eyes like he was trying to cast a hex. "So. Kit."
"Uh… yeah?"
"What are your intentions with our dear Emery?"
"Jonah …" Emery groaned, covering his face.
"I just want to make sure you're not gonna wine-and-dine him and then disappear into the night like some rogue Abercrombie model."
"I… I just like him," Kit said, visibly sweating. "He's cool."
"Hmm." Jonah sipped his root beer as if it were a rare vintage. "Acceptable. For now."
"I'm not property!" Emery shouted.
"Not with that attitude," Jonah replied.
Christian just shook his head and reached for more fries. "I don't know how we survive him."
"By leaning into the chaos," Jack said.
By the end of the meal, we were over-caffeinated, sugar-buzzed, and dangerously close to being banned from the establishment.
Time for the arcade.
We loaded up our Power Cards and scattered like hyperactive squirrels. I immediately ran to the skee ball machines, laser-focused on my mission to win Jack the giant panda bear. And I did! It took like twenty-five rounds and a slightly awkward moment where I accidentally knocked over a toddler's bucket of tickets, but I did it.
"You are such a sap," Jack whispered, hugging the panda.
He squealed (yes, squealed) when he saw it.
"Maybe. But I'm your sap."
Around the arcade, the boys were pure chaos. Jonah was practically screaming into the mic at a Guitar Hero machine, like he was auditioning for screamo night. Mark and Christian were locked in a trash-talking death match over NBA Superstars, swearing at each other like real coaches on the sidelines. Danny somehow beat everyone at Hot Wheels: Victory Lap and celebrated with a ridiculous little jig that involved finger guns, pelvic thrusts, and way too much eye contact.
Eventually, a tired-looking manager in his thirties trudged over and muttered, "Guys, I'm gonna need you to keep it down a little." He sounded less angry than just… defeated.
Jonah immediately lowered his voice to a stage whisper, still screaming off-key into the mic. Christian zipped his lips in mock seriousness—then unzipped them two seconds later to tell Mark he sucked. Danny just kept dancing, completely unapologetic.
Jonah blinked. "What is this, a library? "
At 9:30, like good little gay disasters, we piled into the Uber van and began the trip back to campus, riding a wave of pop, exhaustion, and lingering mozzarella residue.
The van ride was a riot. Jonah narrated the trip in the voice of a Regency butler. Mark tried to get Christian to admit he once cried at The Notebook. Emery had his head resting lightly against Kit's shoulder for half the ride. And at one point, Kit took off his cap and carefully placed it on Emery's head, adjusting it with a smile.
Emery turned the color of a ripe tomato.
I gave Jack a look. He gave me one back.
Oh. So that might be happening.
Back at Linden, the dorm was quiet and dimly lit. And of course, waiting in the entryway like a jump-scare in a horror movie was Mr. Johnston.
He stood with his arms folded, expression unreadable.
"You're early," he said.
"We're obedient and respectful," Jonah said. "We're good boys. Mostly."
He nodded once. "Showers. Bed."
Everyone filed past him like inmates heading to roll call. I was the last one.
Just as I passed, he spoke again.
"Don't think of this as a favor , Nicholas," he said, voice low and slick. "Think of it as a quid pro quo. "
His breath hit me like a crime scene – rotten cabbage, vaginal discharge, and the sour stench of soiled baby diapers. I nearly gagged on the spot.
I bolted to the showers, scrubbed away the night, and practically leapt into bed with Jack, who was waiting for me naked under the covers, eyes glowing with soft joy.
"Hey," he whispered.
"Hey, my Little Prince."
He pulled me close and brushed my cheek with his hand.
"That was the best birthday ever ," he said. "Like, the actual best. I've never felt like that before. Like I mattered. Like I was important."
I pressed my forehead to his, my voice low but fierce. "You matter. You're everything to me – and to all of our friends. Don't ever forget that. Even if someday we fight, or you're hurting, or I'm too stubborn to say the right thing, I need you to hold on to this – how much I love you, how much I need you. That never changes. Not even when we're angry."
His eyes fluttered shut, and I felt the shaky breath he let out against my cheek, like the words had slipped past his defenses and landed exactly where they needed to. And in that moment, I realized how much of my own strength came from him – and how lost I'd be without him.
"I know I'm only fifteen," he blurted, words rushing out before he could stop them. "But this isn't just some stupid high school crush. I know what love is. And this… this is it. I'm sure of it. You make me feel safe. You make me feel loved. Like I'm not just some total screw-up. You make me want to be better. For you. For us."
I couldn't speak for a second.
But then I did.
"I love you, too, Jack. More than I can even put into words. This isn't some phase – we're real. I'm really in love with you. I'm not always great at saying how I feel, and sometimes the words don't come out right, but please believe me when I say this: I love you with everything I have. Every part of me. When you're around, everything feels lighter, better – like the world makes sense. You make me believe I can do anything."
Jack smiled and let out a shaky laugh. "God, you're such a sap," he said, his eyes shining. "But you know what? I love you for it."
My face went hot instantly, and all I could do was duck my head, blushing like an idiot.
We kissed. Soft. Gentle. Familiar.
Then we pulled each other close and rewatched a couple of episodes of Young Royals , laughing softly, and snuggled skin-to-skin under the blankets.
"Nick," Jack asked tentatively, "is that a slide rule in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"
I turned so red, the glow from the tablet screen was all it needed to spotlight my embarrassment. "Well, it's not a slide rule, because I don't have any pockets at the moment, so I guess maybe I am a little … horny."
"Do you want me to help you with that?" Jack whispered softly.
I was truly at a loss for words. "I mean … ummm … yeah, if you want to?"
"Did you remember to lock the door?" asked Jack.
Without waiting for a coherent response from me (and Jack would likely have been waiting for a long time), he wrapped his right hand around my stiffening boyhood, caressing my crown, shaft, and balls ever so gently, and running his fingers through my thin bush of pubic hair. After several short minutes of Jack driving me out of my mind with lust, I was already right on the verge of exploding. Seeing the state I was in, Jack decided to drive me even wilder by stopping and starting repeatedly until I almost couldn't take it anymore. I was squeezing the poor boy's ass so hard I thought I might rip it off.
Eventually, after I begged him to let me finish, Jack gradually picked up the pace, and with a few more short strokes, I gasped and spent myself all over the sheets, leaving quite a large puddle. After that, I could barely see straight, but gathered my wits about me and managed to return the favor, showing him how much I loved him when words failed me. His boyhood was so beautiful, perfectly straight and pointing perpendicular from his body. The skin was so soft and silky, and his balls were as smooth as a baby's bottom. I just wanted to fondle him forever. All in all, it was kind of awkward, clumsy, and ended way too soon, but this brief experience had just opened a brand-new door in our relationship, and I loved him even more for it. And I guessed we would be doing it a lot more … among other things. And even after satisfying each other, I was still hard!
When we finally drifted off, together, I felt… whole.
Loved. Safe. His.
Jack and I were officially the same age now. Fifteen. No more cradle-robbing jokes, no more smug little smirks about how he was the "baby," even if it was only by a couple of months. Not that fifteen felt drastically different from fourteen – except it kind of did. In kid years, one birthday can feel like a whole decade. We weren't little kids anymore, especially after last night. We were becoming men.
Pretty soon I'd be getting my learner's permit, then my mom was already lining up driver's ed classes for me, and as soon as I turned sixteen and (hopefully) got a car, I could drive Jack and me anywhere we wanted. And when I was a junior, I'd even be allowed to keep my car on campus. I couldn't stop picturing it – all the trips we'd take, all the adventures waiting for us. Maybe we could even take Jonah with us once in a while … stuffed in the trunk, of course. It felt like everything was finally opening up, as if life were just beginning.
I told myself it was all going to be perfect. But deep down, I knew life had a way of testing promises like that.
And our relationship was growing and maturing as well. It wasn't like we'd gone wild or done anything scandalous. But still – something shifted. Some invisible line had been crossed, and there was no going back. Not that we wanted to. What we shared had always been rooted in something profound and emotional, but now that connection was tethered to something physical, too. Real. Intimate. Powerful. And dangerous.
We hadn't exactly been subtle before. But now? We had to be careful – extra careful. We didn't need another close call like the last one. Especially not with someone like Mr. Johnston creeping around, waiting for any excuse to separate us or worse. It wasn't fair that something so good and beautiful had to feel so risky. So, we renewed our pact: always double-check that the door is locked and do not make too many overtly suggestive comments to our friends. We would never hear the end of it, and it would be around the school within minutes. OMG, Nick and Jack had SEX! This was just for us.
And especially not around Jonah.
However, we still needed to speak with him. Badly.
For weeks, something had been bothering us about the way Jonah treated Danny. They were supposedly "boyfriends," but you wouldn't always know it by watching them. Sure, they held hands now and then or curled up together during movie nights, but beyond that? There was nothing tender. No quiet compliments. No soft glances or affectionate moments that made you believe it was real. Just Jonah being Jonah – loud, flirtatious, cracking crass jokes, and batting his lashes at almost every cute guy in the room. Most of the time, it felt like Danny was just... there. Like an accessory. An afterthought. And we couldn't tell if Danny didn't notice, or if he noticed everything and just didn't say a word.
Danny didn't deserve that. He was sweet, quiet, decent, and gentle. The kind of boy who probably still blushed when someone said "ass." Heck, I wasn't even sure he was jacking off yet. And here was Jonah, treating him like a prop in his stand-up routine.
It didn't sit right. Of all people, Danny deserved the perfect boyfriend, someone who would truly treasure him. And Johan … sweet, sweet Jonah … was not living up to that.
We were still stewing about it when, five minutes later, Jonah burst into our room like a one-man tornado, muttering furiously to himself.
"Why do people say Kleenex sometimes and tissue other times?" he demanded of no one. "Is it like, one is a brand name and the other is… what? The government term? Are there tissue spies? Is this a deep state thing?!"
He spun on his heel, flopped dramatically onto the rug, and propped himself up on his elbows, peering at us like a confused puppy with a dirty mind.
But we weren't smiling.
"Jonah," I said. "We need to talk."
He grinned mischievously. "Have I been a naughty boy? Do I need a spanking? I prefer it on the bare bum, please" he said in a terrible British accent.
"Jonah, this is serious," Jack said.
His expression instantly shifted to wary. "Okayyy. Is this about the Kleenex thing? Or are you jealous about my butt again?"
"No," Jack said. "It's about Danny."
Jonah rolled his eyes and groaned like we'd just announced a pop quiz. "What about him now?"
"You're not treating him right," I said bluntly.
Jack added, "You flirt with everyone in front of him. You make crude jokes constantly. You dismiss him like he's annoying."
"I do not ," Jonah shot back, already defensive.
"You do," Jack said.
"Dude," I added, "he's your boyfriend. At least, he thinks he is."
Jonah scoffed. "And I'm supposed to what? Sing him lullabies and call him my snuggle bunny?"
We stared at him.
"You don't have to be corny," Jack said. "But how about just not being a dick?"
"If he doesn't like how I am, he can go find someone else," Jonah muttered, brushing lint off his hoodie.
The silence was instant and thick.
"You actually believe that?" I asked, stunned.
Jack's face hardened. "That's messed up."
Jonah folded his arms. "Whatever. I'm just being honest."
"No," Jack said. "You're being an ass."
There was a long pause, and I could feel the tension tightening like a rope between the three of us.
"We love you, Jonah," I said. "You know that. But what you're doing to Danny – it's not cool. You're using him. And if you dump him like some half-eaten apple on the sidewalk, maybe we don't want to be around you anymore either."
Jonah blinked. For a second, he looked like he'd just been slapped. Then, suddenly, he dropped to his knees with a thud.
"No," he whimpered, voice cracking. "Please – don't say that. Don't say that! "
Jack and I both froze. I don't think either of us had this reaction on our bingo cards.
"I'm sorry," Jonah sobbed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just – I don't know what I'm doing. But please don't stop being my friends!"
"Why are you so upset?" Jack asked gently.
Jonah looked up at us, face bright red and blotchy, eyes wide and terrified. "Because I love you! You know that!"
Silence.
"I thought you said you were over that," I said. "You know that's not going to happen. Jack and I are together."
"I love you," Jonah repeated, voice shaking. "I think about you all the time. I feel it when I'm around you. When you let me cuddle you. When you talk to me like I'm not just Christian's little brother. When you treat me like I matter. That's what love is, isn't it?"
Jack and I exchanged a glance, both stunned.
"And Danny?" I asked softly. "Do you love him ?"
Jonah hesitated. "I don't know. Not like I love you two."
"Well then," Jack said quietly, "you need to figure that out. Because you can't keep leading him on."
I nodded. "He deserves someone who will treat him like the sweet guy that he is. And if that's not you, then let him go."
We walked him to the door slowly, but he clung to us the whole way like a shipwrecked sailor. His hands gripped my wrist. "You didn't mean it, right? About not being my friends?"
"You need to think, Jonah," Jack said. "Really think."
We shut the door behind him, relieved to be alone again after that drama.
The air in the room was still buzzing from the emotional aftermath.
"Well," I said, exhaling hard, "that was intense."
"Did not see that coming," Jack muttered.
I kept turning it over in my head, wondering if we'd handled the whole Jonah situation the right way. Should we have been gentler? Or harsher? The way he'd sounded so cold when it came to Danny – it just didn't sit right with me. It wasn't fair to Danny if Jonah was just stringing him along, playing at something serious when he didn't really mean it. And we had our own track record with Jonah … his "crush" on both of us, his little "announcement" in the cafeteria that caused so much trouble. He just didn't think before he did or said something, and how it might affect other people.
Jonah liked to think he was so mature, the kid who had it all figured out. But the truth? He wasn't. He was still just a kid himself—still in middle school, still trying to figure out where he fit. And he had a lot to learn, especially about people's feelings.
I just hoped Jack and I could be better role models for him, show him what it looked like to take those feelings seriously. Maybe it was just a phase, maybe Jonah was going through something he hadn't told us about. But the way he'd been treating Danny—dismissing him, brushing him off—that wasn't okay. He needed to be confronted about it, maybe more than once, until he really got the point.
The problem was, reprimanding Jonah was easier said than done. He was this sweet, funny little guy, and it was hard to come down on him without feeling like you were kicking a puppy. Still, if he kept on like this, it was Danny who'd end up hurt. And that was the last thing any of us wanted. Maybe we should talk to Christian about it instead, but Christian already had so much on his plate. It was a tough situation.
I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. "Okay, so. Spring break?"
Jack groaned. "God, we're so screwed."
Everyone else had big plans. Danny was off to his grandpa's ranch in Montana – which, I swear, used to be an actual Cold War doomsday cult compound, bomb shelters and all. Only Danny could turn that into a wholesome family vacation. Christian and Jonah were jetting off to Amsterdam with their parents, which sounded like the setup to an international incident just waiting to happen. Mark was spending the break on a yacht in the Caribbean, acting like it was just another Tuesday. Emery was flying to Hong Kong to visit family and sharpen his Cantonese until it could cut glass. And Kit? Kit was hiking through Patagonia with his parents, the outdoorsy prince he pretended not to be but absolutely was. I rolled my eyes at all of them, but honestly, I wouldn't have traded this ridiculous group of people for anything.
And us?
"My mom's working all week," I said. "I might be able to go to my grandma's in the U.P., but… probably not."
"My parents won't even talk about break … or anything," Jack muttered. "They haven't even said a single word to me since they got that phone call from the Dean a few weeks ago. And if I don't come up with something soon, I'll probably get stuck with Mr. Johnston."
We both made gagging noises.
"I swear," I said. "If I have to spend a week with someone whose breath smells like putrid eggplant, cherry-flavored pickles, and anchovies, I'll walk right into Lake Michigan and drown myself."
"He probably creeps around in public bathrooms just 'cause he likes the smell."
"Eww, that's foul … but totally believable."
Jack snorted. "We'll camp out at Danny's fallout shelter and wait for nuclear winter."
"Or we'll dig a hole under the tennis courts and live like moles."
"We could start a secret gay mole society."
I grinned. "Our motto can be: We burrow deep – but we cuddle deeper. "
Jack burst out laughing and collapsed beside me.
We had no money. No plan. No backup.
But at least we had each other.
Before we finally went to sleep that night, though, and despite being exhausted, Jack and I still had one bit of "business" to continue with from the night before. Something we enjoyed very much and were working very hard at getting better at.
Authors deserve your feedback. It's the only payment they get. If you go to the top of the page you will find the author's name. Click that and you can email the author easily.* Please take a few moments, if you liked the story, to say so.
[For those who use webmail, or whose regular email client opens when they want to use webmail instead: Please right click the author's name. A menu will open in which you can copy the email address (it goes directly to your clipboard without having the courtesy of mentioning that to you) to paste into your webmail system (Hotmail, Gmail, Yahoo etc). Each browser is subtly different, each Webmail system is different, or we'd give fuller instructions here. We trust you to know how to use your own system. Note: If the email address pastes or arrives with %40 in the middle, replace that weird set of characters with an @ sign.]
* Some browsers may require a right click instead
