The recruiter wasn't a handsome man. Not by a long shot.

In fact, he reminded me of the white haired love child of Linda Tripp an

d a
male walrus. He was just that grotesque. What with his bald head, drooping
jowls, and tubby midsection, there wasn't much I could do to keep from
jumping him right then and there.
Except not.
Even though this Mr. Howard Gilmore Jr. wasn't much of eye candy, his wo
rds
were worth listening to. His words, layered with smarm as they may have been,
were my ticket out of a future filled with crack houses and sardonic comments
about low-class life. Yes, his words were going to be one half of my ultimate
savior. My skills on the green were the other half.
From the first moment he'd met me, I could tell Howard Gilmore Jr., or
"Gilly" as he'd been christened back in '71 by the Brown Crew team, wanted
me. Not in the sexual sense. Rather in the "duffer" sense. If his constant
phone calls and gifts of golf towels, tees, and golf balls (all emblazoned
with the Brown University logo) weren't indicative of his desire, his
notarized scholarship contract was.
Four years, room and board taken care of, transportation pass and food
budget provided. All contingent on little old me bolstering the Brown golf
squad and stabilizing the winning tradition for the next four years. All I
had to do, according to Gilly, was make the All Ivy squad at least twice.
Considering their desparation to get me on the first thing smoking to
Providence, impressing the coaches wasn't going to be difficult.
Gilly would see that my needs would be taken care of. When he said that,
I
didn't really take a shine to figuring out what might lurk beneath the
surface. Instead, I took it as the schmoozing it was likely intended as.
Besides, being schmoozed didn't feel so bad.
"Mr. Young," Gilly said, his voice cooed with practiced charm, "I guaran
tee
you that if you shake hands with the Bears, you won't regret it."
I scratched my chin in contemplation, "You say you're willing to accommo
date
'certain requests.' Define what you mean by that."
"Well, anything within reason."
"Oh, nothing huge," I hid my smirk as I tried to see how much I could ge
t
before I agreed, "I mean, for me to reach my competitive zenith, I'll need
certain things."
He smiled knowingly, "Name your price."
"My living situation is important," My smirk now emerged in full, "If I'
m
going to be comin' in sixty under par, I'll need rest and relaxation. That
ain't something you can get with a roommate."
Gilly nodded, "I can get you roomed with a 'phantom student.'"
"Intriguing. Please continue."
"We tell the registrar that you have a roommate, your name goes down as
sharing a dorm room, you just tell people he's 'out' and presto - you've got
your own room."
I smiled fully, "I like the sound of that."
Inside, I almost fell over. I was shocked at how easily and how readily
this
guy had given me exactly what I wanted. Now, if my genes were more infused
with evil, I likely would have pushed it a little further. Maybe I would have
tried to bargain taxi service out of him. Taking advantage of the NCAA's
"under the table handjobs" had always sounded like so much fun.
But I didn't. All I wanted was to get the holy hell out of my house and
into

a world where I wouldn't constantly have to fight for everything. This

scholarship was just that opportunity. The last thing I wanted to do was push
this guy and have him yank it back away from me.
I decided to stay my hand with the solo room.
Gilly arched his eyebrows, "Anything else?"
I scratched my chin again, "No. No, I think that will be more than enoug
h."
He nodded happily. I could tell that he was pleased. For just a moment,
the
absurdity of the situation really caught me. Here was this "old money" former
PGA mainstay nearly creaming his Sans-a-Belts over me. Only in America would
you find a white trash kid like myself being adored by the rich because my
ability at golf. Well, maybe in Japan too.
"There's only one more step." Gilly said, pulling a crisp white stack of
paper from his briefcase.
I nodded, "Show me where to sign."
As I scribbled my name on the dotted line, Gilly seemed to notice how
quickly I did so. Seeing someone so eager to leave home must have been odd to
him. It must have been completely alien to his culture of kids living at home
until thirty.
"You're awful eager to get out of here." He said.
I had moved on to signing the next section, "Well, if you'd lived here a
s
long as I have, you'd understand."
From down the hall, I could hear a stirring in the bedroom. Internally,
I
grimaced and sped up my signing. First the financial section, then the
academic, then the athletic, then the ultimate signature at the bottom. As
soon as my hand completed the final "g", all done with Gilly's fancy Cross
pen, a rush went through me.
It was really happening. I was really getting out.
Gilly looked at the papers and smiled.
"Excellent!"
I heard more rustling down the hall. Then some hacking and coughing. Tim
e
was running out.
"Yeah yeah," I said hurriedly, practically dragging Gilly out of the din
ing
room towards the front door, "Excellent. Time to go."
He seemed taken aback, "Well - well, all right then. We'll wire your tic
kets
on August 24th. Everything will be taken care of from then on."
I opened the front door and nearly shoveled him out, "Kickass. I'll be t
here
with a smile."
"CODY!" Bellowed a voice from the room.
"Oh dear," Gilly said in a concerned tone, "What was that?"
"Nothing! That was nothing. That was just a poltergeist."
Gilly cleared his throat, "Well, keep yourself in shape on the links. We
'll
need you in top condition."
"Uh uh, yeah," I said, trying to close the door, "I'll be sure to do tha
t."
"CODY!" The voice bellowed again, louder and angrier.
"Hold on," I said to Gilly, "SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
When I turned back, I saw that Gilly seemed to be quite taken a back by
my
sudden roar. I chuckled, coughing slightly against the burn in my throat,
"You gotta be forceful with those poltergeists."
He nodded, "Yes - I suppose you do."

A beat. A long beat of silence.

"We'll see you this fall, Cody."
I smiled, "Maybe sooner!"
I didn't wait for a response before shutting the door with a thud. Once
it
was closed, I sank back against it. I felt the cool, cheap steel through my
t-shirt. Oh, it felt good. It felt like heaven. Heaven in the form of a posh
East Coast University that would provide the opportunity for social
betterment.
"You ever talk to me like that again, I'll melt down your little fag clu
bs
and make a goddamned lamp!"
I looked up at the grizzly form of my stepfather. A defiant sneer crosse
d my
face.
"You touch my golf clubs and I'll cut your hands off with a box cutter,
old
man."
He didn't make any more threats after that.
CHAPTER TWO
Brown University knew how to take care of its recruits. If nothing else
impressed me about them, I would give them this much. They certainly had a
very effective knowledge of what would make a young high school graduate feel
wanted. Even more so, they understood what the survivor of a broken home
would need to pick his world up.
First class air travel.
As my flight from Los Angeles to Providence prepared for its final desce
nt,
I sighed happily. What they said about extra legroom was certainly true.
Legroom and all the free orange juice you could drink. It was like an
airborne Valhalla.
My mind tried to drift back to my less-than-heartwarming goodbye to my
family. It so desperately tried to conjure up images of my stepdad telling me
to never come back. But I fought it. I fought it because I knew that thinking
about it would lead to tears. And tears were the last thing that I wanted to
deal with. Especially on the happiest day I could ever remember having.
When the plane landed, I could hardly control my excitement. Practically
bounding off the plane was the only thing I could do. My feet felt like they
were traversing some huge trampoline.
As I walked up the jetway to the terminal, I thought about all the new
things that I would be seeing. I'd be experiencing a New England fall and
winter, all sorts of new chowders, the inherent snobbery of rich college
kids. Some new concepts were more alluring than others.
Once in the airport terminal, my eyes immediately caught the small white
sign. Apparently, the university had dispatched one of their best town cars
to pick me up. Complete with stoic driver.
At that point, I was ready to French kiss the dude.
As he lead me through security and through the baggage claim, to pick up
my
miniscule bag and golf clubs, I inhaled deeply. Sure, the airport smelled
just like any other I'd ever been in. But Sweet Holy Christ, did she smell
good. I even enjoyed the throng of funny talking Nor'Easters. They were like
weird little aliens with their "kahs" and their "fah fuh me tuh criti-size."
But, just the same, they were okay with me.
When we stepped out into the late summer air, goosebumps stood up on my
bare
arms. The balmy heat was like nothing I'd ever felt before. It wasn't like
the dry, arid warmth of L.A. or the searing burn of my weekends in Palm

Springs. It was almost soft heat. Soft like a pillow.

"Sir?"
I opened my eyes, "Huh?"
The chauffeur indicated the open car door.
"Ah," I nodded with a smile, "Goodwork, Jeeves. We'll see that you get a
little extra whore in your bonus this week."
He didn't laugh.
I exhaled and looked at the ground. It wasn't surprising, but I'd pretty
much asumed it. I had a lot to learn about being a member of the East Coast
collegiate elite. They required no joking at all and a deep sense of personal
loathing. I knew more than my share about that, to say the least.
As I got into the back of the car, I saluted him from the brim of my new
,
official Brown baseball cap. You had to show these people respect. Even
though they may act like a television show, they still deserve our respect
and accomodation.
The inside of the towncar was frosty and air conditioned, complete with
polished leather seats. Through my jeans, my ass slid against the varnished
surface with ease. Living the high life was truly amazing. I could hardly
believe that rich people ever got anything actually done with these kinds of
resources at their disposal.
As the car pulled away from the airport and coasted down the highway lik
e a
cloud, I took note of my surroundings. My surroundings. The surroundings of
my new home. My new 'hood. I would be hangin' with the homies in Providence,
Rhode Island. I'd be golfing with the Brown Bears. The Brown Bears of
Providence.
Outside of the car, I watched the sky turn golden as the sun set. It loo
ked
so beautiful. The sunset was different here. It wasn't like the smog choked
sky death that was the L.A. setting of the sun. This was a real sunset. With
horror, I was forced to ponder the possibility that I was already becoming a
transplanted East Coaster.
By the time the car had reached the first indications of a university
district, night had fallen. I rolled down my window and inhaled the sea
breeze air. Salty and damp. The evening was warm but with the breeze, it felt
perfect. It cooled my lungs.
All around me, I could see the tall buildings of the university. I could
see
the dorms and the assorted student facilities that I'd soon be using. At each
intersection, I took notice of the road signs and assorted "back to school"
banners. I saw the welcome signs and the posters imploring us to "register
now!" They were so pretty.
I looked at the driver, "Wayland House."
His jaw tightened, "I know, sir."
Apparently, they don't like "no money" in these parts. I took solace kno
wing
that he likely hadn't attended an Ivy League school if he was acting as such.
Therefore, I guess "no money" was better than "drive a towncar for your
living money." It made me feel much better. It even quelled the need for a
cutting comment.
Before long, and before I could no longer control the smartass side of m
e,
the car pulled up outside my new home. Since it was still fairly early on,
there weren't many people there yet. As Gilly had informed me on the phone,
they brought the new athletic recruits in early to get settled. To give us
the "pick of the beds." Not that that mattered in my case, he'd joked.
He was a feeble old guy.
"Wayland House on Brown Street." The driver said, opening my door for me
.

I stepped out into the cool night air. Once again, it washed over me and
goosebumps raised on my skin. I inhaled deeply and took the sea scent back
in, loving every bit of it. Somewhere far off, I heard seagulls squawking.
The sound of healthy birds had become something of an oddity to me in my
years of L.A. living.
The thud of my golf clubs being set on the sidewalk brought me back. The
driver pulled out my bag and set it down next to the clubs. He could have
kicked them around like a soccer ball for all I cared. Then I remembered.
Taking out my wallet, I pulled out a twenty dollar bill. A suitable tip
for
all his hard, bemused work. But he stopped me.
After shutting the trunk of the car, he leaned in. Briefly, his face too
k on
a sardonic smirk that made me feel close to him. Suddenly, he didn't seem
quite so snobbish and disdainful of me. He smiled, rubbing his hands
together.
"Hey - kick some ass here, okay?"
I smirked, realizing where he was coming from, "Will do, chief."
He smiled again. Then he got back in the car, shut the door, and drove o
ff
into the clement New England night. For a second, I wondered if maybe this
wasn't going to be as easy and breezy as I'd originally thought. Maybe this
school was actually going to be a challenge. Maybe I'd actually have to work.
Then I smiled.
As long as I played decent golf, I didn't have to do shit!
CHAPTER THREE
When I saw my room for the first time, I wondered what the hell I would
have
done if I'd had to have a roommate. The damn thing didn't look big enough for
a pygmy, let alone one college student. Let alone two adult male college
students. I was gripped with an odd pity for everyone else who would have to
share a dorm room. It just seemed so damn - unfair.
It only took me a few minutes to unpack what clothing I'd managed to
salvage. All I had to my name, wardrobe wise, were a few t-shirts and pairs
of jeans, my good golf outfit, my golf shoes and my regular shoes. Hopefully,
I could maybe panhandle some money for more possessions.
But it didn't matter. All that mattered were my babies. My clubs. My magic
wands. As long as I had my steel swords to battle the braggards, brogues, and
breezenmires on the golf course, I'd be okay. If worse came to worse, I could
always hustle at the driving range. Hell, hustling didn't sound bad at all. I
immediately made plans to do it the next day.
I was halfway through checking my clubs for scuff marks when there was a
knock at the door. I looked up to see a reasonably pleasant young guy
standing there. He was about twenty one with short spiked brown hair. Didn't
do anything sexually for me, but he wasn't a trashbag, either.
"Hey, you Young?"
I nodded, "My Christian name is Cody."
"Hey Cody, I'm Eli. I'm the RA. Let me know if you need anything."
I nodded again, "Cool."
"You play golf?"
"It's why I'm here."
"Ah. Scholarship?"
"Hell yeah."
He nodded, "The athletic director will probably be by tommorow to talk t
o
you. He's a nice guy. Won't give you any trouble."
"Sweet."

"Where's your roommate?"

"He's - out." I said, pleased with myself.
When Eli left, I realized that I'd had my first encounter with the nativ
es.
The college natives. Something about that seemed weird to me. I'd always
heard that the college population was pretty different from the general. I
could only wait and see.
Once I'd finished cleaning my golf clubs, fatigue jumped up and bit me i
n
the ass. I yawned as I stretched my shoulders, unwinding from the stress of
the day. Another yawn hit me as my eyelids felt very heavy. I tossed my hat
onto the dresser and ran my fingers through my hair wearily. So many new
experiences.
I stood up and walked over to the door, not having the energy to try and
navigate to the bathroom. With a sigh, I shut the door and locked it. My
stomach felt an odd twinge of homesickness as I looked at the room that would
be my new home for the next four years. Well, until I could bargain my way
into someplace better, at least.
It was that weird feeling of excitement and nervousness that always hits
. It
always hit me when I was sleeping someplace other than home. This new room
that smelled of lemon cleanser and had bare white walls, brown curtains, and
polished wood floors. This was my new home. For the first time ever, I would
be sleeping in a clean, nice bed in a clean, nice room.
If you'd asked me, I'd have said that the only time I'd ever sleep in a
nice
bed would have been a casket. When I was dead. Dead and buried. But,
apparently, that wasn't going to happen. What ever would I do with my new
lease on life?
When I'd stripped my clothes off and climbed underneath the covers, I st
ared
at the ceiling. In the darkness, the painted white plaster was cloaked in
shadows. From outside the window, the moon came gently through the dark brown
drapes. Against the glass, I could hear branches rustling softly.
It felt like a hotel room. Like a clean hotel room used to house rich ki
ds
looking for a free ride at the Ivy League's best party school. Well, I wasn't
rich but after my first eighteen years, a free ride sounded pretty damn
sweet.
CHAPTER FOUR
The next week before classes began passed without much incident. More pe
ople
arrived at the school. Most everyone in my hall was perplexed and slightly
bitter about how a poor bastard on a scholarship like myself had gotten his
own room. But then, even though they were dumb rich kids, they put two and
two together. If only they'd been born holding golf clubs rather than silver
spoons! Oh if only!
I'd golfed with the athletic director twice, impressing him both times.
I'd
also golfed with the coach of the team, apparently showing him that his money
had been well spent. I hadn't expected that being a member of the Brown golf
team, you automatically gained access to several local country clubs. Another
perk, another day.
When I'd arrived back at my room after my third round that day, I found
my
schedule had been delivered. After opening the envelope and reading the
welcome letter, I perused the small blue and white print out. A smile crossed
my face.

Luck had been on my side for the first time. I'd managed to get into eve
ry
class I'd signed up for. If this was yet another of the perks of an athletic
free ride, I'd take it.
Ethical Theory at 9:15, Intro to Political Science at 10:15, Diplomatic
Relations and Philosophy at 11:15, and English 103 at 12:15. From then on, it
was smooth sailing. There was also a pesky part about maintaining a minimum
2.0 GPA but that was no problem. It was the advantage of being a PoliSci
major: plenty of opportunities for me to use my charisma for bargaining
purposes.
In between impressing the new hierarchy, I'd also made it out to a drivi
ng
range. After three days of work, I'd managed to frisk $4500 from the assorted
masses on the putting green. Back in L.A., I'd have been lucky to get a few
hundred in the same time frame. This new life among the rich was going to
work out fine.
I used the money to buy a TV and bargain my way into a halfway decent la
ptop
computer. As well as some decent clothes. And a new collapsable putter. And a
stereo. And assorted school supplies. And A Jamba Juice frequent visitor
card. Plus a somewhat acceptible cell phone for emergencies only, of course.
It wasn't until the actual morning of class that I began to feel just
a bit nervous about the actual academic end of things. I wouldn't have to
worry about actually golfing in competition until the spring, so my only
obligation was schoolwork. That gave me about seven months of squeaking by
and dealing with jackhole professors! Maybe this whole thing wasn't as cherry
as I'd thought.
Walking across campus to my first class, my palms began to sweat. Even
though I'd managed to get the sorts of clothes that helped me blend in, I
still felt exposed. I felt like a stranger in a strange land. By the time I'd
reached the English building, I was convinced that they could smell my
trashiness.
Almost on relfex, I checked my armpits for any stench. Any stench of my
low-income upbringing. Then I began to scold myself. There was no way I would
be able to fool these Ivy League suckers if I constantly acted all froggy. I
just needed to relax and look like I belonged.
As I weaved through the student population, I became fairly confident in
my
abilities. Everything seemed to be working, everything seemed to be okay.
Turning my attention to the task at hand, I looked for my classroom. Scanning
the small panels, I finally found the right one.
Upon entering the room, I was immediately struck at how different it was
. In
my high school, a decent classroom was something that hadn't once been a
broom closet. This, on the other hand, was more than decent. This was the
penthouse suite of classrooms. Stadium-style seating, LCD display screen,
walls straight out of the nicest conference rooms in corporate America.
For once, I was nearly speechless. But only for a few seconds before I
realized that any prolonged silence would elicit stares from the students who
had already arrived. The funny thing was, they didn't look all that snobbish
or unapproachable.
I took a seat at the back of the class, not really sure what to do. I
assumed that since the class was so big, I'd likely have to take notes. Or
maybe this was a "raise your hand and contribute" kind of class. I cursed
myself for not finding out more about the actual academic side of this
experience.
Nervously, I wiped the sweat from my palms onto my pants. I was too youn
g
for this kind of stress. Eighteen is way too young to have to deal with the
possibility of a high society flame out. Next would come baldness and skin

picking. All because I never learned what the proper mode of college class
behavior was.
"Hey."
I look in the direction of the voice. Then I nearly died when I saw him.
He looked about twenty-one, probably not older than that. He had somewha
t
shaggy dark brown hair and the brightest blue eyes I'd ever seen in my life.
He was thin, but not skinny or bony. The perfect definition of slender. I
could only imagine what he must have looked like under his Abercrombie
threads.
"You all right?"
His lips moved flawlessly, his tanned face looking kind and concerned.
Something about him just hit me deep down inside. I didn't know if it was his
husky voice or his amazingly precise stubble. He just seemed perfect.
I nodded my head, trying to get my mouth to form words. My mouth had gon
e
completely dry, my tounge felt like a dry piece of cardboard. From deep
inside my stomach, an intense fluttering almost turned my stomach inside out.
"Yeah. I'm fine."
Once I'd managed to spit out the words, I inhaled a deep breath and got
my
bearings back. The only thing that could help me now would be to find my
somewhat adept sense of charm. Of course, it decided to desert me right at
that very moment.
He smiled. It was an odd smile. A smile with only half of his mouth. It
was
the perfect horndog kegger smile. My insides collapsed as I realized that he
was probably just another privledged frat boy reaching out to the new kid.
But then again, the smile seemed genuine. It didn't seem like the smile
of
an asshole.
"You new?" He asked, reclining in his seat.
"New at what?" Ah, there it was.
He chuckled. Another oddly genuine thing.
"You've been here a while?" I asked, trying to play it cool.
"Senior year."
"So - you're probably ready to shoot yourself, huh?"
He chuckled again. It was like heaven to me. Normally, making others lau
gh
was more of a bitter satisfaction. But making this guy laugh was weird. It
made me feel good.
"Only every day." He sighed, sounding about eighty years old.
"Well, cheer up. You only have eight months before you go sit behind a d
esk
for the next fifty years. Enjoy it while you can."
Then he laughed. A real laugh. My knees turned to jelly at the sound. Ne
ver
before had someone's laughter had such a profound affect on me. Hell, never
before had making someone happy made me feel so odd. It gave me a warm
feeling inside. It shocked me to realize that making someone happy, if only
for a fleeting moment, made me happy. It made me feel good.
"What's your name, chief?" He asked me, extending his hand.
"Cody." I said, praising yahweh that my voice hadn't picked that exact
moment to crack like it often did.
"Trey." He responded, his name a perfect Ivy League handle.
Our hands closed in on each other, seeming to me like slow motion. When my
palm touched his, my world felt like it was exploding in some cliched burst
of bright light. The sensation of his warm, soft skin against mine was pure
heaven. Even better was the tight grip of his fingers; perfectly muscular but
with zero of the overly masculine shit that I couldn't stand.

When our hands parted, I could still feel the pressure of his fingers on
my
palm. It was a sensation I never wanted to lose contact with. Desperately, my
mind tried to find a way to bond with him somehow. To form some sort of
connection.
Before I could try and tag him with some sort of dorky conversation star
ter,
Trey frowned slightly. I could tell he was thinking. Maybe he was thinking of
why in the hell someone like him, someone probably popular and socially
gifted, would be talking to someone like me.
"Cody Young?"
I was taken aback, "Uh, yeah."
Trey smiled, "So you're our new golf star?"
"Well, that depends on your definition of 'star'," I paused, "Are you on
the
golf team?"
"Four years runnin'." He sighed, sounding old again.
"How's the scene around here? Do they appreciate the fine art of wasting
time on a pointless club game?"
"They do okay," Trey said thoughtfully, "Just don't expect to get too mu
ch
tail with it."
That shouldn't be a problem, I thought to myself. Just as easily as my
social adeptness had arrived, it left me again and I felt helpless. A tight,
congested feeling seized my chest. I felt cold drops of sweat roll down
between my shoulder blades. Why was this happening? I struggled to maintain
my sanity, but it was a challenge.
Just as my mimi panic attack was cranking up, I realized that Trey had s
aid
something. Or asked me something. Or something entirely different. For the
first time since I could remember, I squelched the frenzy inside and pulled
everything together.
"I'm sorry," I blinked, "What did you say?"
Trey looked slightly derailed. It was adorable beyond words.
"I asked if you played any other sports."
"Oh," I took a deep, relieved breath, "No. Unless you count playin' the
hoes."
Ouch, that was a clunker. But Trey laughed. He actually laughed. I felt
like
doing a softshoe tap dance. This guy had actually laughed at the lamest of my
lame "sink like a stone" jokes. I almost felt like crying. The scariest part
was how ungodly close I was to actually crying.
"Do you?" I asked, composing myself in time to notice his wry look, "Pla
y
any other sports, I mean. Not playing the hoes."
He laughed again, "Yeah, one or two."
Oh, so he was a jock. My impression of him would have been tarnished if
not
for everything that had come before. Specifically, me noticing how hot he was
and him laughing at my dumb jokes. Maybe he was one of the decent jocks.
"What sports?"
"Golf, of course, and basketball."
Not too bad, I thought. If he was going to be a jock, it helped that he
wasn't a four sport, four star asshole. If he played football and baseball
along with the golf, I would have wished him good day. But golf and
basketball, it was a combination that only excited me more.
Right as I opened my mouth to keep the river flowing, I saw the ring. Th
e
big, gaudy ring on the third finger of his left hand. Once my eye caught
sight of it, my stomach felt like it decomposed all at once. The ring wasn't

ugly, it was quite attractive. Very expensive looking and regal.

It was a frat ring. A big, homophobic sphere of brotherhood.
Strike three, you're out. Head back to the pink dugout, Cody.
I didn't say anything else. I sat back and accepted a future bereft of c
ute
guys and any chance at true love. My stepdad was right, and it killed me to
realize it. Gay guys would never find real love in the real world. I suddenly
felt the urge to weep and sing Barry Manilow songs.
Trey noticed my sudden coolness, however.
"Something wrong?" He asked, the concern in his voice shaking me slightl
y.
"No. I'm okay."
He didn't seem convinced.
I inhaled, "So you're in a frat?"
He looked down at the ring. A sense of understanding seemed to come acro
ss
his face. For a brief moment, it felt like he could see right down to my damn
core. I felt like I should autmatically say something about "fags" or
"queers" to defer the sudden rush of homophobia that had to be coming.
Instead of the stream of hate, different words came out.
"We prefer to be called 'Greek Society.' Not frat."
I tried to find him as endearing as I had before. But it wasn't happenin
g.
All the compassion in the world couldn't change his status as one of
America's fine young assholes. Born and bred to replenish the asshole supply
in the corporate structure.
Trey smiled apologetically, "We're not all date rapists, Cody."
"I'd hope not."
"Seriously, you should come visit sometime. After you get over the naked
cheerleaders and pissed-on toilet seats, its actually not too bad."
I tried to smile with condolence, "I don't think so."
Mercifully, before I could say anything else, the professor arrived. I w
as
quietly thankful that no more awkward conversation could taint the air
between Trey and I. Although my head knew that being a frat guy pretty much
killed my chances of becoming friends with him, my heart still ached. I knew
that seeing him on the golf team would be painful. Seeing him in class every
day would be worse. But I guessed that was part of college life: thousands
upon thousands of crushed romances.
But as much as my head tried to work logically, my heart felt broken.
Shattered, really. In just a few short minutes, I felt like I'd met and lost
the love of my life. The immediacy of the situation was jarring to me. Never
before had I ever had these feelings so quickly. Normally, my sense of love
and devotion needed an agonizing amount of time to analyze itself. It was the
main reason why I never actually found someone.
With Trey, it felt so different. I felt like I could immediately imagine
waking up to him, spending time with him, doing every sappy thing couples
did. All in only about five minutes of interaction. Never before had I been
so scared and elated all at once.
But the frat thing. There was no way I could see him every day and deal
with
the probability that he was - making jokes. Making gay jokes about me. Even
if he didn't know I was gay, he probably still made all sorts of fag jokes.
As much as my heart tried to convince me otherwise, my head
disregarded his compassion and sweet disposition. It was the most painful
internal dogfight known to man: the head versus the heart, no holds barred,
fight to the death.
For the next fifty minutes, the professor lectured. As far as I
could tell, it was about the basic structure of the course and the basic
tenets of ethics and how we might apply them to whatever. After about the

third sentence, I stopped listening. All I could do was sit there and swallow
constantly against the lump I felt growing in my throat.
When the class ended, thankfully before the lump became to hard to
handle, I got up and rushed out of the room. I wanted to look back, to see if
Trey even noticed, but I didn't. If he did look back, it would have been
painful beyond words. If he didn't look back, it would have been worse.
As I hurried down the hall, I cursed whoever had given humans the
ability to love. It was such a damn painful emotion. Painful like a nice,
swift kick right in the balls. Quick and brutal with a lingering nausea.
My hands hit the doors and I barrled out into the warm air. The sun
had come out and it was shaping up to be a beautiful late summer day. Once
again, the scent of the sea breeze caught my nose. Like it had the first
night, it calmed me down and brought me back to earth all at once.
I bent over, my hands on my knees, inhaling the air. Sweat began to trickle
down my forehead. The congestion finally seemed to go away in my chest,
letting my breathe fully.
"Are you okay?" A concerned voice asked.
I looked up and saw a worried face. She was about nineteen, with
long brown hair and hazel eyes. She was tall. Almost taller than me. She was
like a fawn. Almost immediately, I felt comfortable. She just had a very
calming way about her.
"Yeah," I said, standing up straight, "I just got a little
claustrophobic."
Yeah, claustrophobic inside my own body. But I left that part out.
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile. She reminded me of the chick
from Just Shoot Me. The one who played Maya. Except a younger version.
"First day?"
I nodded as I mopped the sweat off my face.
"What class do you have next?"
I cleared my throat, "Into to Politics. Political Sciene, or
something like that."
"That's my next class, too. Its at Cooper Hall."
I didn't know what to say. I imagine that if I were straight, I
would have been drooling over this girl. But that wasn't a problem.
She raised her eyebrows, "Want me to walk you there?"
I nodded, and followed her down the path. For the first time, I
noticed that I was in the center of the university. A large, open space with
cement pathways and benches all over the place. In the sunlight, it was
actually quite beautiful. There were lots of surprisingly un-snobbish looking
students there, as well.
"My name is Gina, by the way. Gina Lopez."
"Oh," I snapped back to reality, "Cody Young."
We shook hands. She had a rock solid handshake with no trace of
traditional female submission. That was another of my bodily contact peeves.
Feeling her grasp my hand with confidence was a welcome sensation.
"Where you from, Cody Young?"
"San Diego, if you want me to pin it down to once place," I said,
feeling much better, "You?"
"Orlando," She paused as we turned a corner and headed down a tree
lined path, "You're here on scholarship, aren't you?"
I wondered how the hell she knew, "Yeah ..."
"Relax. I'm not going to call the campus police."
"How could you tell?" I asked, wondering what I'd done wrong.
Gina smiled gently, "You don't have the swagger that most young,
babyfaced freshman have when they come in here."
"Oh really?"
"Most newbies come in acting like everyone should bow down to their
'old money' bloodline," She paused and looked at me, "You don't act like
that. At least not at first."
We approached Cooper Hall, a large gotham-esque building.

"I wouldn't know how," I said softly, "To act that way, I mean."
She smiled, "Oh, I'm not complaining at all."
I smiled back, blushing a bit as we came to the door. Like any
decent gentleman, I held it open for her. For a second, Gina looked like she
was going to complain. I was worried that she might take my gesture the wrong
way and lay into me for acting like a chauvinist.
She didn't. She entered the building and I followed, getting
goosebumps from the cool air provided by the air conditioner. I felt it in my
armpits where I'd been sweating pretty heavily. Thankfully, I'd gone with a
dark t-shirt as my upper body wardrobe.
"That's another way to tell you're not like the usual freshmen."
Gina said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
"Huh?"
"Most freshmen hold the door open and then expect a blowjob in
return. I could tell that you were doing it because you've been raised that
way."
I laughed, "Christ, is there any way I'm not screaming 'fresh faced
young trash' at the world?"
Gina put her hand on my arm, "Its not a bad thing. Trust me on
that."
"All right," I conceded, "I'm an oddity. Being weird is good in this
case. Point taken."
Gina laughed again. She had a great laugh. It was the kind of laugh
that makes the whole room laugh. Infectious would be the ideal word for it if
the word weren't so unpleasant. Transmittable was a better word for it.
We reached the door of the classroom. I could see inside that it was
a freaky, old English-style concert hall. The building that surrounded it
smelled like wet books and I could only imagine what the room would be like.
Probably some lovely bouquet of leather and wet dog's ass.
I stopped at the door, "Want me to get this one?"
Gina laughed again. I was beginning to realize how good it felt to
make people laugh. Maybe it was actually possible to make others laugh,
rather than using cutting remarks to bring them down. All it took was a
slight adjustment and toning down of the vitriol.
CHAPTER FIVE
By the time my first day had finished, I was about ready to turn
tail and run back home. Even if I had to deal with my stepfather again, it
seemed almost worth it. Nothing that he could do after rolling out of bed
like Humpty Dumpty could compare to the horrors of Ivy League social
interaction.
Combined, my four classes had assigned over 250 pages of reading,
nearly thirty short essay problems, at least four hours of extra curricular
research, and two newspapers to read cover to cover. All topped off with the
edict that nothing would be collected, but it would all come up on the test.
Just thinking about it made me tired as I trudged back to my room. I
had no intention of doing any of it. But thinking about it and hearing the
words in my head made me plenty exhausted.
By the time I'd gotten back to my room, it was nearly two in the
afternoon. Being blessed with a nearly thirty minute walk from my dorm to the
academic buildings was something I hadn't counted on. Didn't they know that I
was here to be their savior on the golf course? How could they expect me to
actually - exert myself? It wasn't fair.
Entering the building, I felt the heavy sweat on my back. Like
varnish on a table. Wet varnish. My hair clung to the back of my neck in a
sticky clump. It felt like papier-mache. Eighty nine degree heat will do that
to hair, apparently. Humid head, no less.
"Hey Cody?" Eli said from behind.
I turned to face him, "Yeah?"

"Somebody left a message for you." Eli handed me a folded piece of

notebook paper.
"Who was it?" I frowned.
"One of the basketball guys. I think he's a Phi Psi."
"A Phi Psi?"
"Phi Kappa Psi. Its one of the bigger frats on Greek Row."
My stomach dropped and filled with butterflies all at once. He
hadn't actually been here, had he? The idea was too shattering to even
contemplate. But of course, I contemplated it. I wondered why he would go to
so much trouble. Why would he do something like that after only five minutes?
I didn't know if my heart could stand contemplating it.
"Did he say anything?" I asked, my voice shaky.
Eli shook his head, "No. Just to see that you get it."
"Did - did he tell you his name or anything?"
"I think his name is Troy or Travis or something."
"Trey." I almost whispered.
"Yeah! Trey. Did he talk to you about the golf team?"
"No," I said, my hands feeling shaky and sweaty, "I mean, yeah. He
mentioned it. We have Ethical Theory together."
Eli shrugged as he went back in his room, "He's gay so be careful."
When the words hit my ear, my knees buckled and I collapsed against
the wall. To anyone watching, it would have seemed like the agonizing impact
of a bullet to the spine. But to me, it was like some jarring quake inside my
heart. The joy of knowing that Trey might be "into me" but then the reality
of our situation: he was a two-sport college senior in a frat, I was a
freshman from a dirt poor home on a free ride.
Slowly, my fingers unfolded the paper. The crisp noise sounded like
thunder in my ears, the blood rushing to my ear drums heavily. Part of me was
scared to see what he had written, another part of me was excited beyond
belief.
Cody,
Sorry if I came on too strong. I hope you do visit sometime. We could use
more fresh meat at the house. Just kidding - sort of.
See you in class,
Trey
Regaining my composure, I shifted my weight up off the wall and took
the stairs slowly. My feet thudded against each step, the paper feeling far
away in my hand. A dreamlike state washed over me as I absent mindedly wiped
the sweat from my brow. No dream would ever play out this perversely, I
thought to myself.
Entering my room, I set the paper down gingerly on the top of my
dresser. Something about his note just pained me more. I tried to get past
him being in a frat and being a jock, but I just couldn't. I tried to tell
myself that he was a nice guy and could be a nicer - fill in the blank. But I
couldn't. I couldn't get past it. I couldn't let go of the in-crowd high
school mentality. Jocks were like leopards, they never changed their spots.
The age old truism was the one damn thing my stepfather taught me that I
could actually use in everyday life.
I laid down on my bed, suddenly feeling the heat as well as the
exictement of my first day. Dizzyness blurred my vision. Outside the dorm, I
could hear people on the lawn and on the stoop. They sounded happy and
content. On the floor above mine, I could hear music playing. It was the
sounds of good company.
Silently, and for a very brief second, I wished that I'd gotten a
roommate. Even a bad one would have at least been someone else. Someone else
to see when I got back to my room. Some other entity to have dealings with.

But then again, having my own room was pretty damn sweet, too.
Right as I was about to regain my footing enough to forage for food,
my phone rang. The sudden, shrill noise scared the hell out of me as it
bounced off the walls. After calming my heart down out of my throat, I picked
up the phone and answered it. It was either the golf coach or the athletic
director, I could presume that much.
"Hey, its Gina!"
Or it was Gina. I'd given her my number, too.
"Hey." I said, my throat sore from dryness.
"Christ, you sound bad. Are you getting sick?"
"No," I mumbled, rectifying the situation with a sip from a water
bottle, "I'm okay. What's up?"
"You know the girl in our class?"
Oh, I knew her. A just-out-of-high-school debutante with a Prada
wardrobe and Dow Chemical breast implants. She wasn't exceptional save for
her first-day declaration that the middle eastern nations who believed in the
death penalty for homosexuals had "the right idea." It had stemmed from an
introductory discussion of the differing political beliefs of the world. It
took me about half a second to write her off.
"What about her?" I smiled, never one to pass up a shit-talking
session.
I could hear Gina smiling on the other end as she said, "Apparently,
she's quite the coke fiend. Before school started, she took a Greyhound to
Boston for some blow."
"How the hell do you know this?" I tried to sound shocked, but deep
down inside, I was impressed as all hell.
"It pays to have friends who have big ears and eyes."
"Okay, but why are you letting me in on this potentially valuable
information? I mean, not that I don't enjoy it."
"I knew you'd enjoy it," Gina paused, "And I don't want you to think
that her opinions are bred of decency. She hardly has any right to want you
dead."
I just about hit the floor. How did she know? She wasn't that
perceptive. She couldn't have been able to tell so easily. Unless, to my
horror, I'd been giving off a fey vibe. Almost immediately, I went into
damage control.
"Uh, I don't think her comments would apply." Swish! That's the
sweet sound of success, kids.
"Cody, are you going to play Kevin Spacey with me?"
I sighed, "Am I that obvious?"
She laughed, "Only in that you weren't looking at my rack
constantly."
Gina paused for a moment. Her next statement didn't need to be
voiced. Rubbing my forehead, I exhaled noisily.
"Yes," I groaned, "Yes, I am."
"You don't sound too proud of it."
I glanced at the paper on my bureau, "You're the second person
today."
Suddenly, her voice sounded serious, "Why? What do you mean?"
"Someone else could tell. At least, I think they could. But it was
in a different way than you."
"Did somebody hit on you?" She nearly shouted, sounding like we'd
known each other for years. It was beginning to feel that way.
"Somebody expressed interest. It seemed that way, mostly."
"What did he do?"
"He was being all chatty and outgoing. I guess it was the way he was
acting."
"Do you know anything about him?"
"He's gay. Or so I hear."
"What's his name?"

"Trey." I said, still getting a jolt in my stomach even when I said

his name.
There was silence on the other end. Not suspecting anything out of
the ordinary, I assumed that Gina had her attention pulled from the phone.
That wasn't the case.
"Trey?" She asked, finally.
"Yeah. He's on the basketball team as well as the golf team, I
hear."
"Trey Morgan?"
"Is that his last name?"
She paused again, "Yeah. He's pretty sought after."
"Fantastic," I lamented, "He's frat boy jock with a line of
prospective tail a mile long."
Did I just use the word "tail"?
Gina sounded impressed as she seemed to ignore my complaint, "You
got through to Trey Morgan."
I began to gaze out the window, "I'm guessing that's an
achievement?"
"You might say that. He's got a reputation as being kind of unachievable."
"How so?"
"He comes from a pretty textbook 'silver spoon and dogshit' family."
"What the hell is that?"
"It's a rich family built on misery and alienation," Gina explained,
"Screwed up parents, screwed up siblings, heavy expectations on the youngest
of the brood."
I groaned and fell back on the bed, "And he's the youngest."
"So, needless to say, he's something of an enigma."
"Just what I need. A fucked up rich boy to fix."
"Not necessarily," Gina said, "I haven't spent a whole lot of time
around him or anything, but the word is that he's doing okay."
"'Okay' in that he's not date raping and smoking crack?"
"More like 'okay' in that he's still capable of human emotion."
I felt somewhat lost, "So what the hell do I do?"
Gina's shrug was almost audible, "Don't write him off. Think of it
as being blessed."
"Okay, now that's a little creepy." I laughed.
She laughed too, "Look, just don't call dismiss him. For a frat boy
jock, his reputation would suggest that you could do worse."
"Point taken."
I heard rustling on the other end, "Are you going to be okay? I have
to find a Xerox machine before it gets too crowded."
"Yeah, I'll be fine," I almost stuttered, "Hey Gina?"
"Hmm?"
"Thank you." I said, finding it odd to say those words genuinely.
"Any time," Again, I could see her smiling on the other end, "Talk
to you later, heartbreaker."
When the line clicked, I pressed the talk button on the phone and
set it on the night stand. It landed with a wooden clunk that bounced off the
walls of the room. For a few seconds, I just stared at the phone. I stared in
a half-state of consciousness.
In just under six hours, my whole life felt like it had been
changed. Just like they always said: spend all your time looking out for the
right hook, it's the left one that knocks you out. All this time I'd been
looking for a fellow disadvantaged soul but the one person turned out to be a
rich social climber.
Save for the vague noise of the dorm outside my four walls, I sank
back into a fatigued silence. Just unreal, I thought. There was no amount of
rational thought that could explain what had happened. I didn't believe in
luck, so it wasn't that. It wasn't karma, either, because karma wouldn't have

turned me into such a cynic in the first place.

Then again, another part of my brain began to flare up in a very
unwelcome fashion. I began to consider the possibility that Trey was just pursuing me. That he was looking to make me another "notch on his bed post"
so to speak.
But he seemed so sincere! He seemed to honestly be interested. I'd
seen people doing the whole "sensitive as a means to get laid" shtick and I
probably could have been able to tell. Either Trey had done a hell of an
acting job or he really was trying to be - friendly. Still, I couldn't
completely ignore that worry.
CHAPTER SIX
It was quieter when I woke up. I could discern that much from my
surroundings. Despite the ruckus in the dorm surrounding me, I'd managed to
fall asleep. Whether it was the heat or the taxing nature of the day, I
wasn't exactly sure. Whatever it was that had sent me into such a slumber, it
had made me dead to the world.
My mind felt foggy from sleeping in the middle of the day, a sensation t
hat
I didn't really like. My stomach grumbled and I was hit with the pangs of
hunger. When I looked at the clock, I felt relieved. It was only 4:30. I
hadn't slept THAT long. Not long enough to throw my sleep schedule off. Just
long enough to work up something of an appetite.
Shaking the last of the sleep from my brain, I stood up and stretched.
Outside, the sun was setting. It cast a yellow glow across my room. I smiled,
appreciative of the fact that no matter where you went, a good sunset was
always a nice thing to look at.
I rubbed my eyes as I left the room, being sure to pull the door closed
and
letting it lock behind me. The hallway was quiet, save for one of the doors
down the hall being open. Inside the room, I could see someone listening to
Dave Matthews Band. The staple of the college generation.
Absent mindedly, I headed towards the back door to the dorm, intent on
finding the cafeteria. My stomach growled again. I prayed to myself that ivy
league meant better food than most educational institutions.
"So you're there, after all."
The voice made me jump. It was Trey.
I turned around to face him. He was sitting against the wall on the othe
r
side of the door. Immediately upon seeing him, my knees shook. How the hell
was he making my knees week? This wasn't supposed to happen! Trying to look
at least somewhat suave, I leaned against the wall.
"Where else would I be?" Aw yeah, that was the stuff.
Trey smiled. It was THE smile.
"Your RA said he thought you'd gone out. I've been here for an hour, giv
e or
take."
Why would he wait five minutes? Moreover an hour?
I frowned, "You could have knocked on the door."
He rubbed his forehead, "Guess I should have taken logic instead of 'Bee
rs
of the World' last semester."
I laughed. A genuine laugh.
"I guess so." I was feeling awkward, but oddly at ease.
Trey stood up. For the first time since I'd seen him, I noticed how tall
he
was. At least six foot four, maybe even a little taller. Tall and lean, he
was. Just the sight of him almost made my teeth hurt. I tried to keep my eyes
of the bulge in his jeans. His oh so tight jeans.

My mind snapped out of its haze. He had to want something. Whatever the
hell
it was, I had no idea. Maybe he wanted sex. Or maybe he wanted some sort of
social interaction. I began to panic as I tried to get a read on why Trey was
here.
"Did you eat?" He asked.
I stuttered, "No - why?"
He smirked, "Well, are you hungry?"
I nodded slowly, probably looking like a lobotomy victim.
"Well - the food here isn't spectacular but it's pretty decent."
"Maybe I'll check it out sometime."
Trey looked disappointed and initially, I wondered why. It took me sever
al
seconds to make the connection between the two sides. The size of the
realization took me off guard. Realizing that just maybe he wanted to spend
time with me. Time in which we could possibly - bond.
"Or," I said, swallowing hard, "We could check it out now."
He smiled, "I'd be up for that."
"Okay."
'Okay'
God, what an awful thing to say. Here I was, practically being asked out
by
the man of my dreams and that was the only thing I could say. Shame burned in
my cheeks as the silence between Trey and I seemed to last for an eternity.
Furiously, my mind tried to come up with something, anything, that would keep
this from exploding on the launching pad.
"So - do you have a car?" I finally asked, startled at the sound of my o
wn
voice.
"Yeah," He said slowly, "Do you want to get ready?"
My stomach knotted as my defenses kicked in. Was he suggesting that I di
dn't
look right? That I didn't look appropriate for being seen with him? I
swallowed hard. This wasn't the time to jump to any conclusions.
"I should probably get my wallet," I sighed, "And change my clothes."
"You don't have to change. You look fine."
Just like that, the knot in my stomach went away. It was amazing how qui
ckly
things could change sometimes.
As I walked back to the door of my room, my feet felt like they were
floating on a cloud. A fluttery feeling rose inside me as I fumbled with the
key card, finally sliding it through the slot in a satisfactory manner. The
door swung open and I stepped inside, trying to calm myself long enough to
find my wallet.
I turned around, "You want to come in?"
He smiled again, "Sure."
For a brief moment, I was nervous as he stepped into the room. I wondere
d if
my lowly dorm room was worthy of his upperclass frat boy tastes. Nervously, I
turned around and searched under the layer of books and papers on my dresser.
How the hell had I accumulated so much crap on only the first day?
"What do you think?" I asked, sighing with relief as I found the wallet.
"It's cool," He said, inspecting my golf clubs, "I forgot what it's like
to
live in the dorm system."
My hands desperately tried to shake as I gathered my wallet and my cell
phone. I didn't know why, but something drove me to hide my nervousness. My
fists clenched so hard the knuckles turned white, my fingernails digging into

the palms of my hands.

"You stayed in a dorm?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Yeah. I was a freshman once, too."
"Really," I said as I stacked some of the papers in a feeble attempt to
look
tidy, "I thought you rich boys had your own house or something."
In one swift movement, Trey lifted his leg up and playfully kicked me in
the
seat of my pants. Even thought it was a wholly casual show of affection, but
it to me, it tried to become so much more. Affection wasn't something that I
was used to and the sudden onset was disorienting. My throat felt parched as
I took a deep breath. How could such a small move be so affecting?
"I guess not." I said, shoving the wallet and cell phone into my pocket.
"We ready?" Trey said, motioning me towards the door.
"We are."
Carefully, I walked out the door and into the hall, but a momentary
sensation gave me great pause. I felt a slight pressure on the small of my
back. Trey had put his hand there and gently guided me through the door. It
was one of those... couple things.
"Sorry," He said after noticing my pause, "Force of habit."
I tried to nod as casually as possible, but it was difficult. Any contac
t
was enough to send me reeling. I wanted so badly to believe that my instincts
were telling me - yet my guard stayed up. No photons would pierce my hull at least not yet. A few more touches on the small of my back would bring them
down like the Berlin Wall.
Managing to calm myself, I followed Trey down the stairs and out of the
dorm
into the balmy evening air. Again - the sea smell in the air. Unlike Los
Angeles, the sea smell didn't have the added essence of motor oil and urine.
So fresh and so clean, this place seemed to be.
Trey directed me to the left and we walked down the sidewalk. I wasn't
surprised when his car turned out to be some 2004 SUV with all the latest
trimmings. The inside smelled like new with no hint of wet dog. It seemed
like the whole thing was made of pressed leather in a soft tan color. It
cushioned me as I sat down, forcing me to admit that it did feel pretty damn
sweet. No duct tape on the seats or plastic crosses hanging from the rear
view mirror, even.
I buckled the seat belt, "Nice car."
"It's not mine," Trey said as he started the engine, "It's the fr-- hous
e
car."
Good save, rich boy.
He pulled the car away from the curb and drove down the street. The air
conditioner switched on the car and I shivered a bit, goosebumps standing up
on my bare arms. Badly, I wanted to look at Trey. I wanted to just gaze at
his features and let myself drift away like I was on a raft in the ocean. But
I resisted the urge.
We were halfway towards the food court when Trey began rummaging in his
pocket.
"Shit!" He said, checking the other pocket.
"What's wrong?"
"I don't have my wallet."
I tried not to break out laughing but I didn't stifle myself very well.
Trey sighed, "I just need to run into the house and get it. It won't tak
e
very long."
I knew what he meant. I knew exactly what he meant. We would be going to
the house. The house on Greek row. There would be underpants in the trees,

bowling balls embedded in the sidewalks, piss on the toilet seats, and
pirated vending machines filled with GHB and Extacy.
"Is that okay?" He asked.
I nodded as casually as I could. As much as I didn't really want to go
there, a certain curiosity began to brew deep inside. Something morbid drove
me to agree to go there with him. Like a bad episode of Wild Kingdom, except
with frat boys and drunk cheerleaders. Maybe this would be interesting.
Trey turned the car - a 2004 Oldsmobile Bravada, according to the onboar
d
computer - onto Greek Row. Immediately, I was reasonably shocked at how
little actual debauchery was going on. The trees were underwear free and well
trimmed and the sidewalks were nicely swept. From the open passenger window,
I couldn't hear any loud music blaring from inside the houses. My God, it was
nicer than the neighborhood my dorm was in.
The Bravada pulled to a stop outside the Phi Kappa Psi house. From the
outside, at least, it didn't seem to have any broken windows or togas hanging
off the drainpipes. I tried to hide my surprise as best I could.
"You wanna come in?" Trey asked.
Now I was in a tough position. It would have been polite to go inside an
d
see the place - especially if I wanted to deepen my relationship with Trey.
On the other hand - it was a frat house and normally, the notion of entering
such a place would make me violently ill. Then the curiosity resurfaced and I
wondered what kind of zoo the house almost had to be.
"Come on - I'll protect you."
I almost melted but somehow managed to nod and unbuckle my seat belt.
Cautiously, I walked up to the porch and waited as Trey opened the door. Out
of the corner of my eye, I knew he went to guide me in but pulled back at the
last second. Suddenly, I wished that he had done it. The absence of his hand
made me feel cold - like someone had pulled a blanket off me in the middle of
the night.
As soon as I stepped in the door, I turned to make sure no one was comin
g up
behind me to pull down my pants. That was the last thing I could remember
before something very heavy and unyielding bounced off my skull, sending my
mind into darkness.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Dully, I knew that I was being lifted and I made my feet walk as best th
ey
could. Nothing else, however, was willing to work as my vision was dark and
blurred. My skull ached but it was a faraway kind of ache. The kind of ache
that's actually worse because you can't really pinpoint it or do anything to
make it go away.
I felt something soft meet my body as I shut my eyes tightly and opened
them. Thankfully, some of the blurring was going out my eyes but the thick
fog over my mind was still present. With a slow determination, I told my hand
to go to my head and find out if anything had been cracked open. It was
almost like I'd regressed to my most basic mechanical abilities.
When my hand didn't detect anything that felt like exposed brain tissue
or
cracked skull, I relaxed a bit. Something moved my hand away from the
soreness and replaced it with a blessedly cool feeling. Restlessly, I
squirmed and tried to talk. As my mind began to regain itself, I began to
wonder what the hell had happened.
Inhaling my breath, I tried to sit up but a gentle pressure urged me bac
k
down. Trying to sit up made my head hurt and my stomach turn over. I let
myself rest back on the soft surface as the cold thing - an ice pack, it had

to be - remained pressed against the side of my head. I shut my eyes tightly

again and swallowed hard.
Then it all came back to me.
I had gone into the frat house with Trey and just as I'd - gone in, I gu
ess,
all I could remember was walking up the porch steps - something must have
caught me upside the head. What if this was some sick frat ritual where they
tortured a young freshman?! What if they thought I was pledging?! What if what if they tied me to a fence?!
In a panic, I tried to sit up again. I was determined to fight my way ou
t if
I had to and if I was going to die, I'd take at least six guys named Biff
right along with me. They had hemophilia, right? That would make it easy.
"Whoa, it's okay." Trey said, the softness in his voice calming me
immediately.
I laid back down, still wary as my eyes focused. I was laying on a couch
in
a kitchen. It was pretty clearly a frat house kitchen, what with the George
Foreman grill, limited cooking supplies, and the sink filled with dirty
dishes. Other than that, it looked pretty homey and comfortable. Even if it
did have a couch.
"What happened?" I said as Trey let me hold the ice pack against my head
.
Trey didn't answer at first. He looked over, his face angry and his blue
eyes cold than ice. I followed his glare and saw a pathetically sorry young
guy leaning against the counter. Apparently, this was the assailant. I tried
to get myself angry enough to rip into him, but the melancholy look on his
face defused any anger that tried to ferment.
"You got hit with a keg." Trey said ashamedly.
I squinted, "The hell?"
Trey looked at the guy again, "Somebody was carrying a keg full of Molso
ns
through the house and not looking where they were going."
"Does that happen a lot?" I asked, rubbing the back of my neck with my f
ree
hand.
"Only when it's the worst possible time," Trey sighed, "Cody, meet Shane
.
Our resident retard."
Shane laughed sarcastically, "You're hilarious."
He turned to me awkwardly.
"Hey, dude, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to - you know."
"It's okay. I'll only have migraines for the rest of my life - but it's
okay."
Shane looked so hilariously yet genuinely sorry that I couldn't help but
smile a bit. I felt like I might live after all. With a great heaping
spoonful caution, I took the ice pack of my head and sat up. This time, Trey
didn't try and stop me. Rather, he helped me sit up and it was such a tender
gesture that I nearly felt a lump in my throat.
Trey sat down next to me on the couch. The worn upholstery sagged a bit
and
I knew that if he'd sat down an inch closer, our hips would be touching.
Normally, I would be all fluttery and excited but my head still hurt. I
rubbed the aching patch on my skull - wincing at how tight and drawn it felt.
"You should be okay. You don't have a concussion or anything." Shane sai
d,
his tone ripe with self importance.
I looked at him wanly.
"Med student." Trey said as he leaned back on the couch.
Shane smiled proudly. God help me, I was starting to like him. The miser

able
truth began to emerge that maybe frat guys weren't all assholes. Maybe there
were some pretty good guys in America's Greek College society.
"Shane?" Trey said.
Shane looked at him, "Hmm?"
Trey didn't say anything else.
Shane nodded and walked out of the room quickly. The realization that Tr
ey
and I were alone suddenly dawned on me. Warily, not wanting to come on too
strong, I leaned backwards into the couch next to Trey. I blinked my eyes and
shook my head, finally feeling at least somewhat lucid again.
"I'm so sorry." Trey said with a laugh as he picked the icepack up and h
eld
it against my head.
"It's okay. I had to experience my first kegger at some point."
He laughed again. I still couldn't get over how good it made me feel. It
made my stomach flutter. As much as I tried to tell myself, this wasn't a bad
omen. This shouldn't represent the sum total of fraternities. It was just an
accident.
"You still hungry?" Trey asked, his voice tinged with regret.
I thought for a moment, "Yeah, I am."
Trey didn't say anything for a moment, "Really?"
His voice sounded - relieved. Relieved and happy.
"Well, yeah - I need to eat if I'm going to stave off the brain hemorrha
ge."
Trey laughed again and took the ice pack off my head, "You think you can
walk?"
I steadied myself to try and stand, "If I can't, are you gonna carry me?
"
He smiled, "Sure."
Oh yeah. I was starting to flirt back. That was a good sign. I was begin
ning
to get my "sea legs" so to speak. Tentatively, I pushed my weight onto my
legs and stood up off the couch. I felt dizzy for a second, but it cleared up
and I was able to stand without needing to hold on to anything.
Suddenly I became aware that in my moment of fog, I'd held onto Trey's h
and.
My mind flashed back to how good it had felt when we'd shaken hands. My God,
that had been earlier in the day. It felt like years ago. Decades ago even. I
snapped back to reality and reclaimed my hand, trying to smile
apologetically.
"Sorry."
"You okay?"
"Yeah, I think so."
Ignoring the dull ache in my head, I made myself walk and followed Trey
out
of the kitchen and down the hallway. To my shock, there weren't any
underpants or togas littered across the floor. There was even a recycling bin
under the staircase. It didn't shock me when I saw the pile of dirty clothes
at the foot of the stairs. I could forgive that, I supposed, because I'd
grown up in a similar situation.
"Wait here. I'll get my wallet." Trey said and jogged up the stairs.
Still blinking my eyes and rubbing the back of my neck, I sighed and loo
ked
around the foyer of the frat house. Aside from the slightly fermented odor of
the clothes pile, the place smelled quite clean and neat. Angling my neck, I
looked over into the living room and saw the large brick fireplace. That
there was a true staple of a New England estate.
Shane came around the corner and paused when he saw me. I stopped rubbin
g my

neck and tried to look casual as we stood awkwardly for a few seconds. Again,
I tried to work up my best pissy glare but Shane still looked so sorry.
"That keg cost a couple hundred dollars so it's not like you got whacked
by
cheap beer."
Oh lord, I tried not to smile. Every muscle in my face fought against th
e
urge but it was a losing battle. I rubbed the back of my head a few times and
sighed. I knew that I was definitely in trouble if it was tough for me to
stay pissed off at a rich kid.
"I'll live."
Another moment of silence.
"You golf, huh?"
How did he know that?
"How did you know that?"
Shane began to sort through the pile of clothes, "Trey mentioned it."
My stomach fluttered but I stayed cool.
"Sweet."
Now that's what you call - fitting in.
"He said you're supposed to save the team or something like that," Shane
laughed slightly, "It's more than I could handle."
"Well, they grow us mighty hardy out on the west coast."
Before Shane could respond, Trey came back down the stairs. His footstep
s
were so heavy and thick. There was just something about him that seemed watchable. He had a charisma that seemed to grab my attention. I thought to
myself that he could probably do damage with such a skill if he found a way
to transmit to large audiences.
"Did you hit him with anything?" He asked Shane.
Shane didn't answer as he gathered the clothes and carried them back dow
n
the hall.
"Did he hit you with anything?" He asked me.
"No," I sighed, "No he didn't."
But you did.
Every part of me wanted to add that - but I just couldn't.
I didn't like talking about my father.
Other topics more enjoyable to me: partial-birth abortion, Nascar, femal
e
circumcision, getting broken class under your foreskin and/or eyelid, bloody
noses, pap smears, Urkel, blood born infections, Yanni, women's curling, the
subtle differences between sequels and parts of a trilogy, pubic hair styling
of the elderly, Star Jones, anything involving Coreys Feldman or Haim, and
the general state of the Star Trek universe.
My dad was worse than all of those.
He was a sociopath. A racist. A bigot. He didn't know how to wash dishes
, do
algebra, cook for himself, or raise children. But damn if he didn't still try
that last one. Oh lord, did he try.
But he still sucked at it.
But Trey - he seemed to think he had it worse.
Old Trey Morgan from Phi Kappa Psi, Brown University Chapter, born July
9

1984 in Siaconset on Nantucket Island believed differently. He thought he had

a case for having a worse father than mine.
So he said so.
"Your dad can't be worse than mine."
"You wanna bet?"
Trey looked at me, "Your dad could bomb an orphanage on Christmas Eve an
d he
still wouldn't be as bad as mine."
That caught me off guard. Never before had anyone I'd known actually
defended my father. Let alone someone who had never met the man. It shocked
me that Trey would so fervently trash his own dad by inferring that my own
wasn't the worst ever dropped onto the earth. There was something almost sacrilegious about it.
He pulled the car through the intersection and onto the main drive of th
e
campus. After my little consultation with the beer keg as his frat house, I'd
fully expected Trey to shove me out the door in front of my dorm. Strangely
enough, his asking if I was still hungry seemed to have some ring of truth to
it. Only when he asked me about my family, did my guard start to lower just a
little bit.
Trey shifted in his seat and I watched as his long fingers curled around
the
steering wheel. Something about him was just so inately watchable. I could
have sat and watched him watch TV or read or do anything and never get bored.
Of all the watchable things, his hands were definitely what attracted me the
most. They were like paws, almost. I thought back to how I felt when he'd
touched me - and then regretted not being conscious when he'd carried me onto
the couch.
His touch. It was all about his touch. The feeling of his hands on my bo
dy.
I remembered the sensation of his hand on the small of my back. When I
thought of it, I could still feel the heat and the pressure of his palm. Then
the coldness. Such stark, bleak coldness in such sudden, loveless fashion. I
felt like singing a funeral dirge.
"You know, you never answered my question." Trey said, leaning his elbow
against the car door.
His question. His probing, psychologically intrusive question.
Well, maybe not psychologically intrusive but it certainly attempted to
expose a part of me that I'd closed off. Not the sort of thing I'd grown to
appreciate in my eighteen years. Even more frightening was that I'd almost
answered him. I'd almost opened up and been honest with another human being.
Realizing I'd come so close to something so ghastly sent a chill up my spine
like nothing else could.
'So did your dad get you started in golfing?'
Not so psychologically intrusive, I admit, but it still pulled the lever
that I didn't like to have pulled: the dad lever. Talking about my father was
something I always tried not to do. Try as I might, whenever I talked about

my father, my facade would crumble and the frustrated, angry little boy
inside me would emerge. Trey didn't seem like the kind of guy that needed to
deal with Angry, 10 Year Old Cody.
Angry, 18 Year Old Cody was enough of a challenge already.
"So did he?"
I didn't answer right off. Instead, I sat in that lovely cushioned seat
of
the lovely sport utility vehicle driven by my love interest. I tried to think
of some way to deftly avoid addressing the "father" aspect and instead, bring
it back around to golf. Golf. The one thing that Trey and I had in common;
our one uniting aspect.
"I just picked it up when I was younger," I said, clearing my throat, "S
ort
of a way to get out of the house and - occupy myself, basically."
"What does Trey stand for?" I asked.
"It means you're the third son with the same name."
"So it isn't your given name?"
"Oh Christ." He muttered.
"What?"
"If tell you my name, and you laugh - I will murder you."
I immediately felt the urge to laugh. But I held it in.
"Go ahead." I said, unable to keep from laughing even as I said it, just
barely catching myself at the end.
Trey grimaced, "My full name is Albert Ames Morgan III."
I laughed out loud. Trey just nodded.
"So glad I told you that! I feel really good now!"
"I'm sorry - Albert."
Trey looked at me, "I'm gonna beat you up!"
I began laughing again.
"I swear to God, Cody! And in your weakened state, that wouldn't be a go
od
thing."
I stifled a laugh and rubbed my head. Making a pained face, I whimpered
pathetically. Trey looked at me, trying to seem pissed off and manipulated.
But he wasn't a good enough actor. He was too - sweet looking to pull it off.
"So yeah - Trey. I'm only Albert when I get pulled over."
"Does that happen a lot?" I asked.

"Only once - and that was because my brother's girlfriend was trying to
pee
out the window."
I shuddered.
"Yeah - my family isn't great." He said genially.
I nodded.
"What about yours?"
There he went again. Wanting to talk about me and my family. Why couldn'
t we
just make fun of his rich, drunk, fucked up family? My poor, emotionally
retarded band of hillbillies couldn't even compare on a comedy level.
"What about them? They suck and they're across the country. Not much els
e to
say about it."
He nodded. In the moment of silence, I looked down at his leg. As soon a
s
he'd started the car, he'd draped his right leg over the median between the
two front seats. Underneath the white sock next to the blue denim of his
jeans, I could see the bulk of an ace bandage. Sue me, I was desperate to
change the subject from something less expository.
"What happened?"
Trey seemed to understand my motives.
"I twisted it playing basketball," He sighed, "Hurts like a motherfucker
but
no permanent damage."
What a jock thing to say. What a totally jockish thing to say. But then
again, something in his tone sounded a little off. At first, I couldn't
discern as to what it was. Being so closed off and frigid left me little
ability to read the tone of others, but I knew something was weird. His tone
didn't sound mad - it sounded - God, it sounded almost hurt.
Had I hurt him?
I was ashamed to admit that I felt a little thrill at that. Imagine such
a
thing. The poor, white trash kid actually hurting the rich, preppy Ivy League
jock. That shit never happened except in Mandy Moore movies and White Stripes
songs. For something like that to go down in real life was just so
incredible. For a brief moment, I had to stifle a shiteating grin like no
other - I had quite a few saved up. The whole 'lack of opportunities' thing.
"So what are you in the mood for?"
I almost choked, "What?"
"Food. What are you in the mood for, food-wise?"
A simultaneous pang of disappointment and relief went off in my stomach
like

a depth charge. A comical combination to be sure. I swallowed and steadied

myself, trying to think of something both witty and reasonable in terms of
cuisine. Just my luck, nothing was coming to me! Big surprise.
"Uh - I don't know. You know the place better than I do." Yeah, that sho
uld
be sufficient.
Trey frowned for a second, "We could go to the food court. They have som
e
decent sit-down dining - or so I hear."
I nodded and Trey seemed to accept that as enough consent to turn toward
s
the main drive. We rode on in silence for a little while, me trying to keep
my brain from shorting out and Trey - trying to be as sexy as possible, I
guessed. How the hell was he able to be so damn desirable with so little
effort?! I hated him - and loved him at the same time.
Right as I felt compelled to find something to talk about, we pulled up
in
front of the student union. For a Monday evening, it looked appropriately
quiet. Trey shut off the car and opened the door, climbing out and leaving me
alone for a second. I said a silent prayer and tried to convince myself that
it wouldn't screw this up in some form or another.
When I stepped out into the fresh air, the warmth hit my skin and I felt
goose bumps raise on my bare arms. Other than the dull ache in my head from
where I'd been assaulted by a beer keg, I felt pretty good. Even the
nervousness of my situation wasn't having too much of an effect on me. I took
another deep breath and walked towards the glass doors.
Trey held them open, of course. Like any good gentleman. When I walked
through, I felt that odd emptiness when he didn't guide me through. How in
the hell had he done that only once but still managed to make me crave it
like smack?
The inside of the student union was fairly empty. The only people I coul
d
see were a group of students sitting inside the glass walls of the Taco Time.
They were studying. I couldn't help but snicker in their general direction.
Those poor bastards actually had to do work to make it here! Too bad for
them!
"Yeah, they aren't lucky enough to be born gifted at sports." Trey said,
noticing the direction of my stare.
I had to fight the urge to sass him back. Even in a voice I was pretty s
ure
would be too low timbered for him to hear. Then, something told me he was
probably kidding. Maybe he was even being self-deprecating. That was
surprising. I wouldn't have thought rich frat boys could be self-deprecating.
But then again, I didn't think they had a soul and while I wasn't ready to
give Trey the benefit of that doubt - I still wanted to.
That was dangerous.
Not looking at him, avoiding further danger there, I looked around as
quickly as I could. There had to be some suitably neutral place to eat here.
Someplace we could just eat and not talk. Not get to know each other.

Someplace I could curse Gina for telling me that he was gay. Someplace I
could burn off the pesky spot of hope that was growing inside me.
But - luck wasn't in my corner right then. Trey had stopped in front of
a
small, rather intimate looking bistro-style cafe. Only one or two people in
there and they were both buried in books. Perfect. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just
what the doctor ordered for my psyche.
"Look good?" Trey asked, sounding somewhat interested in my opinion.
I nodded. Whenever I tried to look casual, it always ended up when I tri
ed
not to look drunk. I'd think I was coming off perfectly sober, witty, and
charming right up until the bouncer took a hold on my arm. At that point, I
knew I was coming off more than a little sketchy so I imagined Trey must have
been looking for an escape route.
Of course, after I nodded, he had to hold open the door for me. Of cours
e he
didn't put his hand on my back. I was regretting calling attention to it
because somehow, someway, it was more awkward without. In that second, I
tried to remember how his hand felt.
I followed him to the counter, still trying to remember. The girl workin
g
the register was immediately knee-deep in flirt mode when she saw Trey. I
don't think she even realized someone else was there. Not like I was with
him. No need to start thinking crazy.
"Hi Trey!" She said, her eyes bright and unzipping his fly.
"Hey," He responded, sounding grossed out.
I didn't like that. I didn't like my pretend-boyfriend sounding grossed
out.
"What can I get you?" She asked, a dopey grin on her face.
I noticed she didn't say 'you guys.' Why would she? Her dorsal fin was u
p
and the wounded swimmer was flailing away, ready to be eaten. She hadn't
looked in my direction once the entire time. Not like I blamed her. If Trey
walked into where I worked, I'd probably-- no, I'd do my damn job.
Trey turned to me. He was deferring.
"What do you want, Cody?"
The girl behind the counter looked at me. The way you look at a little c
hild
trying to distract you from the television. Such annoyance and distaste she
was able to communicate. I don't even think it was personal. Just hanging the
wingman, I guess.
Then I realized I hadn't even looked at the menu.
It was scrawled on a big chalkboard hanging over the counter. All sorts
of
down-home-but-not-uncool sandwiches and soups were available. Without

thinking much, I selected some sort of chicken and bell pepper wrap. I doubt
I'd be too concerned with the taste of the food once I sat down. I did need
food to keep the internal shields up, however.
She wrote down my order with disinterest. It still didn't seem too perso
nal.
"How about you, Trey?" She asked and the day was sunny again.
I didn't really pay attention to what Trey ordered either. My id tried t
o
tell me that if he ordered something with garlic and onions, things weren't
getting romantic tonight. Yet more danger. My personality was interested in
emotional shark feeding and bungee jumping.
After the girl took his drink order, she gave him the total. I expected
him
to flip open his wallet and produce a crisp, new twenty dollar bill. One that
looked hot off the U.S. mint. It blew my mind that I was probably less than a
thousand miles away from where they actually made money.
But Trey didn't flip open his wallet. Instead, he looked at her. His eye
s
were sort of squinty and he looked angry. Angry Trey was scary. His jaw set
and the amazingly precise stubble on his jaw flexed with it. I wondered what
the hell had happened. So did she. She looked scared but not especially close
to knowing what exactly she did.
"You're not done." Trey said.
She looked at him. Dumb as a deer in the headlights.
Trey nodded towards me. Still it took her an extra second.
"Oh!" She said, and I could have sworn I'd heard a gong go off somewhere
,
"What would you like to drink?"
Even when she asked me, she still sounded sort of petulantly put on by
having to talk to me. Not like I cared. I was too busy realizing that Trey
had - stood up for me. He'd actually refused to accept the world being rude
to me. Didn't he know that I'd long ago accepted and learned to deal with
that fact? Who the hell was this guy?
"Uh," I stammered, "Pepsi?"
She nodded. Just barely concealed an eye roll.
Then, when she rang up the bill and set the order down on the counter, t
he
wallet appeared. Black leather, it was. Once opened, it produced a crisp, new
twenty dollar bill. Hot of the presses from what could very well have been
less than a thousand miles away.
Even as she rang Trey up and gave him his change, she still weakly tried
to
flirt with him. All she got was a vague nod in return. That was definitely
strange. My mind still reeling from Trey's gentlemanly behavior, I had to
force my feet to follow him to a table.

Just to whack myself back down to size, I forced myself to see that Trey
didn't pull out my chair for me. Maybe he wasn't _that_ nice of a guy. Or
maybe he was. Maybe the reason I couldn't convince myself otherwise was
because - I knew. I knew he was a nice guy and no amount of 'rich frat boy'
rhetoric could change it.
Trey immediately dug into his sandwich. He was hungry. It took lots of f
ood
to keep a body like his running smoothly. Then I began thinking about his
body. My stomach did handsprings and I willed my hands not to shake as I
unwrapped my own sandwich. Just eat, Cody. Just eat and don't talk and maybe
things will be okay.
But then again, God didn't like me.
As soon as I took a bite, my head ached. I winced and tensed in my seat.
Where I'd been hit, my head throbbed and the pain nearly brought tears to my
eyes. Crying was the one thing I couldn't afford to do. So, just like that
wacky God, crying was almost inevitable.
Trey noticed. Of course. He just _would_ notice something like that.
"You all right?" Trey asked. It was the same thing he'd said to me the v
ery
first time. In the same concerned tone of voice. It didn't help the lump in
my throat.
Speaking would push me over the edge. I just nodded.
See, I had my eyes closed at that point. I was rubbing the back of my he
ad
and clenching my eyelids shut as tightly as possible. Tears had a hard time
escaping when I did that. The skill had come in handy quite a bit during my
youth.
Having my eyes closed meant I hadn't seen Trey scoot around the table. N
or
did I see his hand approaching the back of my head. But I felt it. I felt
that huge, warm, soft paw on the back of my neck. Long, strong fingers.
Massaging the back of my neck.
Weirdly enough, that made the lump go away. Just a bit, though.
I nodded again and blinked my eyes. That managed to get rid of a few of
the
tears that had escaped. I knew some others were there and pathetically hoped
Trey hadn't seen them. If he had and I could tell, more tears would emerge.
Tears I wouldn't be able to stop.
Because Trey was a nice guy, he didn't see them. Or at least he didn't l
et
me know that he'd seen them. Maybe he knew. Maybe being a nice guy meant you
didn't call attention to that kind of thing. Maybe love did that.
Where the hell did that come from?
Pushing it to the back of my mind, I nodded one more time and took a dee
p
breath. It was then I realized Trey was much closer to me than I'd been able
to tell. I'll be damned if his face was less than a foot and a half from

mine. It was like I could feel the stubble on my face. Against my lips.
"Yeah. Just took me by surprise is all."
Trey didn't move. He just sat there, his hand massaging the back of my n
eck,
his blue eyes staring at me. Feeling helpless, I looked back at him and tried
to give him a reassuring look. Why I wanted him to stop touching me and move
when _really_ I wanted just the opposite - I would never understand.
Slowly, he relaxed his grip and let me go. Like with the hand on the bac
k, I
missed the contact as soon as it was gone. Not making eye contact, I saw Trey
slide back away from me. Not to the other side of the table, where he'd been
before, but far enough away to respect my personal space.
Finally, he spoke, "Is the chewing?"
I nodded, still rubbing the back of my head.
"Hold on a second."
Covertly, I watched as he got up and went to the counter. After a brief,
clipped conversation, she handed Trey a paper cup. When he sat back down, he
held it gently against the back of my head. It felt good. Soothing and
calming.
"Try taking another bite."
I felt like a moron. A moron in love. But a moron none-the-less.
Taking things one step at a time, I tried taking a bite of the sandwich.
The
back of my head ached, but this time, the pain was much duller and not at all
debilitating. I looked at Trey, unable to help doing so, and he smiled. That
smile. The half-mouth smile that melted me so quickly.
"Is it numb enough?"
I nodded, "Yeah. I'll be okay."
Even though the sandwich tasted like dried glue, I didn't care. Even if
Trey
didn't _like me_, he - liked me, at least. Or at least he cared enough to
make sure people knew I existed. That was sure nice.
We ate in silence for several seconds, weirdly comfortable with it.
Something about Trey seemed to appreciate the silence. Maybe he got sick of
having to talk in Jerry Maguire-esque clichs about winning. Maybe I just
imagined it that way.
I wondered how being gay affected that. Was it an open thing or sort of
an
'open secret?' Eli knew and so did Gina. Shane didn't seem especially
in-the-dark over Trey hanging out with another guy. Maybe they were all
involved in some conspiracy to make me look like a moron. Even if that was
the case, I was determined to enjoy the scam for as long as possible.
Or maybe he really did-- no, never mind.

"So - basketball, huh?" I asked, overcome with a desire to hear him talk
.
"Relax, Cody. I'm not going to ask about your dad again."
I paused. I didn't know whether to get pissy about it. He was paying for
food, after all.
"I didn't mean anything by it." I said in my most neutral voice.
"Cody," Trey sighed, "I know what it's like to have a dad that sucks."
"You mentioned that."
"So - if you're embarrassed or shell-shocked, I understand," Trey paused
,
looking me in the eye, "But it's not like I don't understand."
I could just nod.
"So, you wanna talk about basketball?" He said, leaning back in his chai
r.
This was a little scary. Kind of like poking a sleeping tiger.
"Not if you don't want to talk about it."
"No," He shrugged, "I think if I don't talk about it, you're gonna keep
trying to freeze me out."
"Uh - okay?"
Trey smiled. Not exactly a crazy smile but one that suggested - pathos.
"Basketball was my dad's idea. He wanted me to double my chances at a
scholarship," He leaned forward on his knees, "I didn't have much choice."
I tried to wrap my brain around it, "Couldn't he have paid for you to go
here anyway?"
Trey smirked. It was a tired, almost-bitter smirk.
"All four of my brothers went to college on his dime," Trey chuckled, "N
ot
_his_ dime. More like my great-granddad's dime. So me, being the baby boy of
the family, he got a hair up his ass talking about how I 'need to do it
myself.' Not by getting a job. Not by doing anything real people do. It still
had to be something that made his name seem better than others. All four of
my brothers can't do a damn thing other than get drunk, crash cars, and not
take no for an answer."
He paused again. I felt frozen.
"So he decides to expect something out of me. He decides to latch on to
the
last of his five boys and actually expect me to do what my brothers didn't.
He expects me to get good grades, play sports like a star, and marry some
girl who won't get liquored up at Christmas show off her pierced labia to my
ninety-year-old grandmother."

I couldn't help but grimace.

"So yeah, Cody," He said softly, his tone gentle again, "My dad sucks, t
oo.
The only way I've ever learned to get away from it is to not be him. To not
be anything like him. To be the exact opposite of him in every way. Which I
am."
I nodded.
"So yeah - I play basketball."
I chose not to respond.
Trey smiled. It was his goofy smile.
"Are you gonna say something?" He asked finally.
I knew what I said next was important. It could very well be the decidin
g
factor in whatever happened next between Trey and I. This would be the big
one. The moment that either sunk me or kept me a float.
"That sucks."
Touchdown.
Trey seemed embarrassed.
At that moment, if I could have dug a hole through the concrete and buri
ed
myself, I would have. He'd been hoping that I'd open up to him in a similar
way and I'd just maintained the barrier. Not like I could ever be expected to
change.
"Yeah," He sighed, clearing his throat, "It does."
We just sat there. Trey drummed his fingers
like
drumming my head with a bought bullet from a rented
had ever done had made me feel so bad. That was the
done had made me feel this bad, they just helped me
decision.

softly on the table. I felt

gun. Nothing my family
irony. Nothing they had
make such a painful

"My dad left when I was six."

I was shocked that I heard myself saying it. All my life, I'd convinced
myself that my dad had died heroically. In Iraq or Bosnia or some other
noble, manly way. That he'd hadn't left my with my mom and my step dad. In a
way, I was admitting it to myself and it scared me.
Trey looked at me, "Yeah?"
I nodded. I swallowed hard.
"Yeah - never really admitted it before."
Trey didn't say anything right away. I wished he would because the longe
r he
went just sitting there, the more it felt like I was being judged. When he

wasn't responding, it felt like a big, hearty laugh was on the way. That was
something I couldn't handle.
"Did you know him?" He asked gently.
"Yeah," I said it softly, any louder and my voice would have broken, "I
knew
him really well."
"Miss him?"
I only nodded. Unable to make eye contact, I looked out the clear walls
of
the caf. Trying to find something - anything - to distract me from the
conversation. Twelve years I'd protected it and forced it into the pit of my
stomach - and I wasn't sure I really wanted to bring it out. Least of all in
front of Trey.
"Know where he is?"
I shook my head. I began to silently pray that Trey would drop it.
We sat in silence again. This time, it wasn't entirely uncomfortable. Ma
ybe
it was because we were finally even. Trey had opened up to me and I to him.
His may have been more verbal but mine definitely had the extra punch to it.
Usually, I would have been proud but not when the feelings were so - real.
"I'm really tired," I sighed, "And my head is kind of hurting."
Trey ran his fingers through his hair. Even in my frazzled state, it gav
e me
a little tickle to see it. I swallowed hard again and rubbed my eyes.
Suddenly, I really did feel tired and my head really did hurt.
"You wanna go?" Trey asked softly.
"If that's okay."
My legs moved and stood me up. I followed Trey out of the caf, disregardi
ng
the farewell from the girl behind the counter, and through the student union.
As we walked, I noticed that Trey got quite a few looks from the assorted
students gathered. Longing, jealousy, admiration - all there and all very
blatant. I didn't like the way it made me feel. It made me feel possessive.
It made me feel like since we'd shared our "secrets", that meant he was mine.
Then I felt dumb.
No matter how nice Trey was to me, I couldn't let myself believe that he
'd
ever be mine. I'd realized that he wasn't an asshole. A meat headed frat-boy
jock who hated everyone different. He hated his dad and wanted to be
completely the opposite. But he wasn't going to be mine.
But maybe he could be.
There was dangerous, dangerous hope again.
*

Trey did the hand thing.

When he opened the door to the car, he put his hand on my back. When I f
irst
felt him do it, I almost froze. I'd become so fixated on missing the
sensation that when it returned, I didn't immediately recognize it. But when
I did, I felt like I'd won the Super Bowl.
It lasted for only a split second, but as soon as I was in the car, my h
eart
soared. I allowed myself a big, dumb smile as Trey rounded the car and got
into the driver's seat. Getting a lid on it before he could see, I settled in
and buckled my seat belt.
We drove in silence for the most of the trip. I didn't know if
supposed to say anything or wait for him to talk. I didn't know if the
thing was meant as a peace offering or some sort of flirting maneuver.
felt confused. The giddiness had worn off and I felt completely in the

I was
hand
I just
dark.

It wasn't a feeling I enjoyed.

Trey stopped the car at a light. He shifted in his seat.
"Hey, Cody?"
Here we go. Sink or swim.
"Is your head still hurting?"
"Yeah." I said mildly.
Was this leading to a discussion about a lawsuit?
"So - you might have a concussion maybe?"
I didn't like the sound of that. Concussions meant doctors. Doctors mean
t
hospitals. Hospitals meant bills. Bills meant money. If I was laid up with a
head injury, I couldn't golf. If I couldn't golf, I couldn't make money.
Therefore, I'd be screwed. I'd lose my scholarship and I'd have to move back
to-Trey's voice interrupted my slippery slope of anxiety.
"I'm not saying you do or anything - but that's something you shouldn't
be
alone with, right?"
"I don't know."
What the hell was this?
"Shane would know if you had a concussion and if you needed help, he cou
ld
probably - take care of you."
"Uh - okay."
I honestly didn't know what the hell else to say.

"So," Trey sighed, "If you're cool with staying at the house tonight, Sh
ane
could help you if you felt sick and then I could give you a ride back to your
dorm and then to class - if you want."
Trey was kidding. He had to be. He had to be screwing with me.
"So - where would I sleep?"
"You can have my bed and I'll take the couch," Trey shrugged, "If you're
comfortable that, of course."
"Sure - if you're comfortable with it."
Trey smiled, "Yeah. I mean, it's the least Shane can do. He kind of owes
you, after all."
I smiled. A real smile. I was beginning to enjoy that.
"Plus if you die, I can blame it on him."
I laughed. When the hell did these frat boys get so funny to me?
Then I began to stew. The plans had changed. Trey had extended our time
together. Not only was I not going back to my dorm, I was going to his frat
house. _The_ frat house. The one I was pretty sure housed bowling balls in
the walls and piss on the toilet seats.
My mind feverishly tried to formulate some sort of plan. Not an escape p
lan
necessarily, but some sort of plan of action. Some way to handle this new
level of - whatever it was. I couldn't have described exactly what it was if
my life had depended on it. All I knew was that I needed to be somewhat
sharper than usual.
Trey brought the car back down Greek Row. I forced myself to take deep
breaths and think calming thoughts. He wasn't leading me to some sort of
execution. He wasn't kidnapping me.
He was just - taking care of me.
Jesus Christ, was that what he was doing?!
I couldn't help but watch, impressed, as Trey perfectly parallel parked
the
car next to the curb. My last experience with parallel parking had been when
my step dad had told me that "only Jews" knew how to do it properly. Like
everything else, I didn't believe it.
Wiping the sweat from my palm, I pushed the driver's side door open and
stepped back out onto the sidewalk. There was that damn sea smell again. It
tickled my sinuses. Then I wondered what Trey's bed would smell like and I
felt a tickle somewhere else. He wouldn't _really_ be letting me sleep in his
bed - would he?
Trey beckoned me up the walk to the house. I looked around and saw that
the
neighborhood was hardly partying hard. I guessed that even frat houses didn't
do much hardcore business when classes had started. Either that or they were

all hung over and had another few hours before the date-rape began.
I paused on the porch and let Trey hold the door open. Before I could go
in,
he stuck his head in and looked around. Puzzled, I waited and when he stepped
aside, I walked in.
The clothes pile was still there. As was the huge fireplace.
Then he did the hand thing. Again.
Before I could float away, he leaned in.
"I was just checking to see if anything dangerous was `tarding around."
Stifling a laugh, I waited for Trey to make the next move. I assumed tha
t
non-brothers weren't exactly encouraged in the house. Especially those that
weren't drunken girls with gigantic breasts. Those of us with penises and
underclass rankings wouldn't be quite the kind of houseguests the frat would
allow.
"Come on," Trey said, poking me in the elbow, "I'll show the room."
As I followed him up the stairs, his steps heavy like before, I felt the
sudden urge to hunker down. As much goodwill as Trey had built up with me, I
still feel entirely exempt from hazing in enemy territory.
"Should I hide or something?" I asked.
Trey smiled, "Nah. Anyone has a problem, I'll just bring up how you were
almost murdered by a beer keg. That's sort of a double whammy against the
house."
I felt at ease again. Damn him for being able to do that.
Trey led me to a room at the end of the hall. Working a key into the loc
k
and shoving against the door, he finally managed to get it open. Expecting a
puff of acrid stank, I was pleasantly surprised when the room didn't smell
bad at all. No cheap cologne, no GHB stink, nothing other than the slight
scent of cologne.
It was, dare I say it, actually quite nice.
Trey held the door open. I went in. He did the hand thing.
Trey's room was even more surprising once I got inside. It wasn't especi
ally
neat or organized but it was very - pleasant. Assorted posters and pictures
on the walls, a stereo and TV in the corner, an IKEA desk with a laptop
computer. My God, it looked like an ordinary dorm room.
With all sorts of clothes. All over the place. Clothes that were differe
nt
from the ones that Trey was wearing right then. That fascinated me. That he
had different outfits. How weird.
"So yeah," Trey sighed, "Think you can crash here?"

"Sure," I said, not wanting to sound at all ungrateful.

Trey smiled and ran his fingers through his hair. It ruffled slightly an
d
then fell back all perfectly, like the 'boy band rebel' look that it so
perfectly captured. He put his hands in his pockets and took a deep breath.
He expected me to say something. Yet again, I stumbled over my own brain,
trying to come up with something brilliant.
"Nice room."
Grand slam! Red Sox in the pennant!
"You want to have a seat?" Trey said, pointing to the bed.
Taking my time not to break anything, I sat down on the bed. It's softne
ss
was quite appealing. Hoping Trey would sit next to me, I deliberately left
him enough room. Instead, he sat down in the computer chair. The way he
leaned forward on his knees made me tingle again.
Nervously, I shifted on the bed and heard a crinkle. Frowning, I reached
under one of the pillows and pulled out a wrinkled paper. It was an old
Krispy Kreme wrapper. I held it up and looked at Trey.
"Carbo-loading." He said matter-of-factly.
"This soon?"
"Oh, I think that's from last spring."
I dropped the wrapper and shuddered. Trey laughed.
"You need anything else?" He asked.
"No, I should be okay," I said, "Gonna hit the couch?"
"Yeah," Trey said, "Just give me a second."
I watched as he got up and leaned over his black suitcase. Almost thrust
ing
his ass directly in my face he was. The tight faded denim of his jeans gave
me an extremely intimate view of his hindquarters. Very tight, muscular, and
appealing. So much so that I could tell that his summers at the Vineyard were
spent swimming extensively.
Tearing my eyes away from his ass, I watched as he pulled several pieces
of
clothing from the bag. Then he stood up straight and turned back to me. For a
brief second, I thought about trying to hint that he would stay. If he wanted
to, of course.
"All right! Bathroom is fourth door on the left, Shane's room is the sec
ond
one to the right, I'll be downstairs if you need anything. I mean, if you
need me - you know where I am."
I nodded, "I'll be here."
Trey stood there for a second longer. I felt the urge to beg him to stay

. To
just tell him to stay with me and if necessary, we could lay on top of each
other in the bed. It would conserve body heat and cut down on the power bill.
Right?
"Well, I'll let you get some rest," He paused, "Okay?"
"Okay."
I felt like I was on the Titanic.
He stood there again. I wished he'd stop doing that.
"So - good night, Cody."
I smiled as amiably as I knew how, "Night, Trey."
He smiled and nodded. Silently, he opened the door and left. Then he was
gone. I was all alone in his room with his posters, books, pictures,
incredibly expensive golf clubs, and whatever the hell else was living in his
dirty clothes.
This was crazy. Trey was insane. Either that, or it was a sting by the l
ocal
police. But then, when a SWAT team didn't kick the door down and handcuff me,
I felt a little more secure. Well, as secure as I was going to feel tucked
away in a frat house two thousand miles from anyone any blood relation to me.
Maybe it wasn't so bad.
Cautiously, I laid down on the bed. First remembering to take my shoes o
ff,
I did my best to relax. Getting under the covers would have been a way too
familiar move at that point. Let alone - removing any more of my clothes.
Despite all my rational thinking, I felt a stirring between my legs.
Almost reflexively, I let myself take a gentle whiff of Trey's pillow. I
t
smelled like cologne and Old Spice shampoo. I'd never encountered anything so
pleasant in my life. Feeling daring, I took another sniff and felt
light-headed. I imagined it was what his hair smelled like.
Despite my anxiousness and excitement, I began to feel drowsy. Almost tu
rned
off the light but thought better of it; in an unfamiliar situation, darkness
can mean the difference between life and death. His covers were much warmer
and fabric-softened than any I'd ever encountered.
After drowsing for a while, I woke up when I heard the door knob being
turned. Immediately, I sat bolt upright in bed and rubbed my eyes
frantically. This was it. This was going to be the death of me. I was going
to be caught and apprehended in enemy territory. Game over.
But then Trey walked in. He was carrying a pillow and a blanket.
He'd also changed clothes. He was wearing a pair of green plaid pajama p
ants
and white v-neck t-shirt. He looked apologetic at first and then puzzled.
"I'm back." He said.

"Okay," I said slowly, my body still unclenching.

"Somebody brought somebody back to the house and they puked on the couch
. It
smells awful." He said, sounding tired and old again.
"Oh!" I sat up and reached for my shoes, "Let me just put my shoes on an
d
I'll get out--"
"Cody - you don't have to go." Trey said gently.
"I don't?"
"No. You stay in bed and I'll," He looked around the room, "Sleep on the
floor. I can just pile the dirty clothes."
My first instinct was to suggest that we share the bed. For a brief, ins
ane
second, the "let's sleep on top of each other" idea sounded perfectly
plausible. Then I forced it out of my mind. I'd just cheated death yet again
- it wasn't the time to test the limits of luck.
So something else came out of my mouth instead.
"That's what you sleep in?" I asked, interested in how normal his sleepw
ear
was.
Trey smirked at me as he pilled the clothes with his foot, "Yeah, normal
ly I
wear buttless chaps and a leather harness but - you know, I've got company
tonight."
Trey in buttless chaps wasn't an image I needed.
"Why?" He asked.
"I don't know. I expected something more revealing."
Trey stood up, "I can do something more revealing."
I smirked as I laid back down, "No, that's okay."
Trey looked down at me. Before I could protest, he pulled off his t-shir
t
and tossed it on the floor. Before I could process _that_, he pulled his
pajama pants down and stepped out of them. Just like that, he was standing in
front of me in just a pair of red boxer briefs.
What struck me (like a baseball bat) about his body wasn't that it was
perfectly lean and defined. It wasn't that every part of him was pretty much
ideally proportioned. Wasn't the hefty bulge at the front of his underwear
that was merely but twelve inches form my face Hell, it wasn't even that he
was hairy - to a surprising degree, with a rather thick amount of dark, brown
hair on his chest, stomach, and legs.
It was that he had a pierced nipple. Just one. Just his right nipple.
Pierced with a small silver bar. I'd never known any rich kids with a

piercing. That just seemed so utterly strange and alien to me.

Aware that I was beginning to gawk a little long, I maintained my
unimpressed face. I nodded. Then I made sure to look like I was waiting for
him to put his damn clothes on and stop being such a vain asshole. But I
highly doubt he was all that fooled by it.
"Okay, put your clothes on." I said, forcing myself to look away.
"Why?" Trey asked, "You said you wanted something more revealing."
"I said I `expected' something more revealing."
Trey didn't say anything. He began to slowly rub his bare stomach.
"Stop that!" I said, trying to maintain my sanity and still sound
`exasperated', "If I have to stare at your areolas, I'll puke. Puking is
definitely a sign of a concussion."
Trey stopped but didn't put his clothes on. Instead, he sat down next to
me
on the bed. So close that I could feel the warmth of his mostly-nude body
against the bare parts of mine. Instead of being a foot from my face, his
bulge was a foot away from my hand. His hairy thigh was close enough to
massage with my hand. His thick treasure trail could be reached by my tongue
in a nanosecond or less.
This would definitely be one for "Cody's Jack Files."
"How does that work?" Trey asked, just as casually he had when we were i
n
class that day.
"How does what work? Put your clothes on."
"How does staring at my areolas making you puke mean you have a concussi
on?"
"It does. Put your clothes on!"
"You think my areolas are _that_ ugly?"
"Stop saying that word!" I whined, "And put your clothes on!"
"What word? Ugly?"
This was getting bad. _Very_ bad.
"Trey - I'm tired."
He smiled. I tried to focus on that instead of his body. Hell, two fat n
aked
biker chicks could be having dildo sex in front of me and I would have
focused on that. Which only proved that Trey was driving me to sick, sick
extremes.
"Oh well," Trey said, "Maybe my areolas will grow on you."
Okay, _that_ one cracked me up.

Trey got up from the bed and pulled his shirt and pants back on. Immedia
tely
after he did so, I felt a sore longing disappointment. Both in my stomach and
in my scrotum. Then, for the first time, I realized about my scrotum. See, my
scrotum had subconsciously enjoyed Trey being in his underwear and openly
speaking his areolas. Now my scrotum was irritated and achy.
Luckily enough, my next chance to relieve the pressure was at least ten
hours away. Trey would be taking me to my dorm tomorrow and then to class. So
my scrotum would be with Trey all morning tomorrow. I'd have to wait until
being alone after class - if Trey even allowed that to happen.
That God. What a sense of humor.
Trey laid down next to the bed and pulled the couch blanket over him. Th
e
way he shifted uncomfortably made me wonder. Perhaps, was Trey's scrotum
feeling discomfort similar to mine? Unsurprisingly, thinking of such a thing
made mine ache even worse.
Feeling lightheaded, I reached up and switched the light off.
Even with the light off, I could still sense Trey in the room. After a
second, my senses adjusted and I could hear his soft breathing from the
floor. Like a withering, old man, I carefully lowered myself back onto the
blanket. Struggling mightily, I got my breathing under control and shut my
eyes tightly. Like vertigo, this was.
"Hey Cody?"
Trey's voice nearly made me jump.
"Yeah?" I responded, my voice painfully high-pitched and anxious.
"Are my areolas really ugly?" He asked, his voice almost laughing.
"Shut up." I whispered.
After a few seconds, I frowned in the darkness.
"Trey - did somebody really puke on the couch?"
No answer. Then he spoke.
"Yeah - but they'll clean it up before we get up tomorrow."
Oh, that's just _great_. The kid was the romantic type. The type to crea
te
whacky schemes to spend time together. Of all the people in the world God
could have hooked me up with - it was one of those types. The type that
actually put thought into relationships and want to learn from past mistakes.
How the hell would I make that work?
Then, despite my internal bitching, I felt very warm. In the pit of my
stomach. It was a warm, fuzzy, lovey-dovey feeling. For the moment, my
horniness was forgotten and whatever trepidation I felt about Trey and I and
whatever would happen between us was gone. Just like that. Not permanently, I
knew, but - for a little while, it was gone.

I smiled in the darkness.

Maybe things were actually about to get better.
I never slept well as a child.
Sleep was the one time you're supposed to feel completely safe.
But it never was for me.
I never felt safe when I slept. My brain was always on the lookout for s
ome
sort of shock-and-awe attack from the waking world. Pounding on my door. An
airhorn six inches from my ear or a bucket of water dumped on me because of
some rule transgression. Never in my life did I ever feel especially secure
when I laid my head on a pillow.
So it was a new feeling.
Even though I was sleeping in what I considered `enemy territory.'
I guess I knew it was Trey being there with me. Something in me knew tha
t if
he was there, I could feel safe. The way he'd handled the girl in the
sandwich shop had convinced me. The way he'd helped me when my head hurt too
much to eat. Even the way he helped me through open doors. All of it had
convinced me, if nothing else, that Trey could protect me from harm.
So when I woke up to a pounding on his door, my heart didn't leap to my
throat. I didn't sit bolt upright in bed. I didn't reflexively reach for
something to throw in the area of the pounding. All I did was roll over and
blink my eyes. No real thoughts of `fight or flight' taking over my brain.
Until I realized where I was.
Whomever was banging on the door probably didn't approve of such company
staying over. People like me were theft risks. Or so I heard.
"Ice!" A deep voice called, then more pounding.
I peeked over the bed at the floor. Trey was sacked out on his stomach,
his
hair mussed up, his mouth open. A big, unshaven angel he looked like. I
smiled, in spite of my anxiety over the situation.
"_Ice_!" Very deep voice this one had.
Not to mention impatient.
Daringly, I leaned over and shook Trey. Gently. I put my hand on his
shoulder, trying not to stop and marvel at it's firmness. I rustled him as
softly as I could. Such a warm shoulder.
Trey didn't respond much. He murmured and adjusted himself against the p
ile
of clothes. I wondered what it would feel like to be the clothes underneath
him as he did that.
"Trey!" I whispered, not wanting to hear the voice outside again.

No real response. Just an annoyed grunt.

"Trey!" I repeated, a little too loudly.
Then I shook him again. A little harder than I'd intended.
This time, it did the trick. Trey raised himself up and blinked his eyes
.
They were puffy and sort of squinty. Why my body insisted on feelings of sex
when I was at death`s door was a mystery to me.
Trey smacked his lips a few times and yawned. Cleared his throat. Rubbed
his
eyes. Ran his fingers through his hair. My God, he was like a big, sexy
television show.
Then he looked at me and smiled dozily. How I didn't make some sort of
pathetically longing whimper, I'll never know. Just looking at his hair
hanging down messily in front of his eyes was - breathtaking.
"Hey Cody." His voice was husky and phlegmy.
"_Ice_! Get out here, bitch!"
Trey didn't seem especially intimidated by the harsh language. Instead,
he
scowled at the door and yawned. Slowly, he sat up and cleared his throat. I
began to feel as if time was of the essence and he should attend to the
morning caller as soon as possible.
He disagreed. Slowly, Trey got to his feet and stretched. I watched, in
a
weird sort of awe at his casualness. When he scratched his ass, I tried not
to drool.
"_Ice_!"
With a groan, Trey carefully stepped over to the door.
"Should I go for the window?" I whispered.
Trey looked at me like it was the most alien notion in the world. He ruf
fled
his hair again and cleared his throat. I noticed that I could see his red
boxer-brieds through the fly of his pajama pants.
"Stay put, chief." Trey said calmly.
Then he opened the door. Not far enough for me to be seen, but enough to
stick himself out and talk to whomever had been banging on the door. I held
my breath and prayed that whomever it was couldn't smell my lack of money or
connections.
"Tex," Trey said with elaborate calm, "What the fuck?"
This deep voiced gentleman, apparently named Tex, responded, "Ice - dude
, I
need to know where your brother works."
"Why?"

"He said he can get me in for an interview this summer."

Trey paused for a second, "He's on extension five at Ferrari in Boston.
Call
the main office and they can set you up. Try and call before noon, he usually
gets pretty smashed at lunch."
"Hell yeah! Rob Morgan, right?"
Trey didn't say anything. I assumed he must have nodded.
"Thanks! I owe you, Ice!"
Footsteps took off back down the hall and Trey closed the door. Rubbing
his
eyes again, he shuffled over to the bed and brazenly sat down next to me. Not
like on the couch in the kitchen. He literally dropped himself on the bed
right next to me, the impact causing us to nestle together.
He sure had a pleasantly warm body.
After the momentary shock had passed, I realized Trey hadn't moved. He
simply sat next to me, our bodies snuggled together, and ruffled his hair,
pushing it back on his head. Exhaling loudly, he rested his head against the
wall.
"So," I said, hoping that interaction would stave off sensory overload,
"Who's `Ice'?"
Trey smiled, "It's my name in `the brotherhood.'"
I frowned.
"My frat nickname."
"Why is it `Ice?'"
He smirked, "Ice Trey. As in `ice tray.' The senior brothers when I pled
ged
remembered an episode of `Fresh Prince of Bel Air' that had a character named
`Ice Tray.' Therefore, my legend was born."
I smiled. As fratty as it was, it sure was cute.
"So `Tex' is from Texas?" I asked.
"Nah," Trey shook his head, laughing slightly, "When he pledged, he had
to
walk around with one of those fridge magnets shaped like Texas shoved up his
ass," Trey began to laugh, "So he became `Tex' and while he tells people his
dad is a rich oil tycoon - he really had to have his anus stitched up because
the magnet cut him when he tried to run away from a senior brother he spilled
beer on." Trey could barely finish because he was laughing so hard.
I, on the other hand, looked at him in horror.
Did these types of things actually happen?!
When Trey saw the look on my face, he stopped laughing and coughed. He

sighed and cleared his throat.

"I guess you had to be there." He said softly.
Once he'd stopped, I realized how gorgeous he was when he was cracking u
p.
Whenever Trey seemed genuinely happy and enjoying life, there hadn't been
anything I'd seen that was more beautiful. Before he could catch me swooning,
I shrugged.
"I guess so," I paused, "I was kinda nervous when he was banging on the
door."
"Don't be," Trey smirked, "He has a deep voice but he's really like five
foot six. And if he does ever give you any shit," Trey stifled another laugh,
"Just call him `Ass Magnet' and he'll turn red and shut up."
Trey began to break up again but he managed to keep it under control. He
did
his adorable little `I'm not laughing' cough and exhaled deeply. Then we sat
quietly. Weirdly enough, it wasn't an awkward silence. Just very comfortable.
Until I fucked it up. Of course.
"So," I sighed, "Ready to get rid of me?"
Trey smiled, "Are you wanting to leave?"
He said it without the g. `Wantin'
"I should probably get back, shower, and change." I said casually, not
wanting to leave or do anything other than be with Trey for as long as I
could.
As soon as class was over, Trey would probably get busy and rushed with
being the big popular guy. I'd get busy with sitting on my ass, crushing on
Trey, and convincing myself he didn't like me.
Trey nodded, "Okay, let me go change and I'll meet you downstairs?"
I nodded back, trying not to look pained. It wasn't easy.
Trey stood and picked up the clothes he'd worn yesterday. Then he rooted
around in the suitcase and pulled out a different outfit. Without much
thought, he tossed his old clothes on the pile he'd slept upon. Just adding
to the mattress, I guessed.
After he'd left, I rubbed my eyes and swallowed hard. It hurt me to real
ize
how intent I seemed to be on fucking up anything between Trey and I. Like
trying to stop a car rolling downhill and not being strong enough to keep it
from going any further.
It hurt.
Yawning, I stood up and stretched, dragging my shoes around and sliding
my
feet into them. I felt like a dead man walking as I looked around the room,
getting the feeling like I wouldn't see it again anytime soon. That weird,

child-like feeling where you knew you've fucked up a good thing and now you
just want to cry because you know you'll never have it again.
But I didn't cry. Thank God.
Crying in a frat house would have driven me to self-injury.
Gingerly, I opened the door to Trey's room and peeked out. Down the hall
, I
could vaguely hear talking and laughing. In one of the rooms, I could hear a
clock radio playing uninterrupted. Stupidly enough, I looked at the ceiling
to see if there were any booby traps. I still didn't want to be too careful.
Once I'd made it to the stairs and took them one by one, careful not to
make
them squeak, I began to feel better. No one had jumped out. No one had
accosted me at beer-bong point. Nothing too horribly out of the ordinary.
Everything looked okay.
Not sure of where to wait for Trey, I remembered the path into the kitch
en.
It, too, was empty. Empty and smelling of McDonalds. Someone had spilled a
large amount of gritty, white powder on the floor. For an absurd moment, I
thought it might be cocaine. Then I saw the overturned container of Coffee
Mate.
I still kind of believed it was cocaine.
From behind, I heard two sets of footsteps on the stairs. I knew it wasn
't
Trey. Neither set were heavy or as solid as his. One sounded firm but the
other sounded - less so. Much shakier and unsteady.
"Okay," A male voice said, one I hadn't heard, "Here's a step."
A softer, more feminine murmur. She sounded uncomfortable.
"Here's another step," Then under his voice, "Please don't puke."
Another murmur.
"Another step," Again softly, "Please don't puke."
The
th
his back to
blond hair,
was smeared

process continued until I saw a young guy emerge into the kitchen wi
me. Following him, looking pale and queasy, was a girl with fried
wearing a tube-top and a pair of tight black pants. Her makeup
and she looked on the wrong side of a keg.

Gently, he led her into the kitchen. I wasn't sure to hide under the tab
le
of if my presence was less of a concern than other guests. I couldn't help
but smile as the guy got her off the stairs and took a deep breath. It
sounded like both relief and triumph.
Then she saw me. Her hungover gaze focused on me.
"Mmm - I see a brother." She slurred.
In one drunken, unsteady charge, she sloshed over to me. I wasn't sure w

hat
she was doing until she threw her arms around my neck. Then she forced her
mouth on mine. She tasted like rank tequila and flat, cheap beer. A gummy,
slimy worm that was her tongue forced its way into my mouth and flopped
around like a dead fish.
At once, I gagged and howled in disgust. Luckily enough, she wasn't quit
e
lucid enough to maintain her deadlock and with the help of her date, I
managed to push her away. That didn't stop her from continuing to attempt to
cram her tongue in my mouth.
"Okay," The guy said, "We don't know him. We don`t orally rape the
innocent."
As soon as she was pulled away, her cheeks puffed. In horror, I watched
her
shoulders sag convulsively. Knowing exactly what was coming, I haplessly
looked for someplace to hide. Anywhere I could dodge the oncoming spew. All
at once, I knew it was hopeless.
Like a burst artery, a watery, pale flood of beer, tequila, and what I
assumed were chicken wings flew from her mouth. It was quite impressive. Not
fun to be a part of - but definitely impressive.
This flood of projectile vomit splattered my pants and hit the floor wit
h an
audible splat. Not really able to do anything but stand there, I suddenly
found the situation incredibly funny. It wasn't even my second full day and
I'd already been abused by the Greek system.
Then I laughed. A soft, genuinely amused laugh.
If I wasn't going to find more things funny, this whole deal was going t
o
end up a hell of a lot worse before it got better.
We stood there. The three of us. Myself generously splattered with puke,
the
girl was swaying, and this unidentified frat guy looking at the floor in
mirthless-yet-resigned disgust. Some might call it a bonding experience.
Just as he was about to say something - the girl passed out.
Keeled over. Hit the floor with sweaty, tired splat.
I laughed out loud at that.
Before I could say anything to the house resident, Trey walked into the
room. He was freshly showered, wearing a white t-shirt, khaki shorts, and
weird quasi-hiking shoes. They looked like mountain climbing shoes. Oh, he
just would be into mountain climbing.
I stopped laughing long enough to admire his legs. Just momentarily, I w
as
reminded how long it had been since I'd waved to my chin. The suddenness of
Trey's bare legs, coupled with the memory of last night (of when I'd been too
shocked to notice his legs) reminded me it had been a long time. A long,
celibate winter, so to speak.

"Oh God," Trey moaned, "Tank - what did you do?"

`Tank'
On second though, he did look like a `Tank.' He was somewhat short with
a
very thick, muscular body. Kind of like a gymnast.
Tank blustered, "I didn't - I didn't do - _nothing_! I didn't do a damn
thing, dude!"
Trey looked at me in horror. It was a `oh God, did they hurt you?' look.
My
stomach did a little flutter and I tried not to blush. Why did it feel so
nice to have him want to protect me?
"What happened?" Trey asked me, his tone elaborately calm.
Suddenly, I was filled with the desire to not throw Tank to the lions. I
didn't want to see someone who hadn't immediately pulled the `intruder' alarm
when he saw me. Maybe he was too shocked to do so. Maybe I just wanted to
give him the benefit of the doubt.
"Uh, I came down into the kitchen and they came down the stairs," I said
, as
carefully as possible, "Then she puked and passed out and you got here."
Tank and I made eye contact. I could tell he was grateful.
Why was he grateful?
Was I becoming Trey's - other half?
That was a scary thought. But not entirely unwelcome.
Trey nodded. He ran his fingers through his hair and exhaled. The tensio
n
left the room and I got a little thrill. It was almost like I was connecting
with people. I just hoped that Tank would remember how I'd saved his ass when
it came time to decide my fate.
"Aren't you going to introduce me?" Tank asked Trey.
"Oh! Yeah," Trey said, "Cody, this is Brian - a.k.a. Tank."
Tank, or Brian as I preferred, held out his hand. I shook it and was
instantly amazed at how strong his grip was. Strong but very gentle. Quite a
bit like Trey. Maybe these frat boys weren't so bad.
"The new golf star?" Brian asked.
I nodded. I liked that tag less and less every time I heard it.
Of course, the girl was lucid enough to hear this part. She propped hers
elf
up on one elbow. After coughing and hocking a gigantic wad of puke and spit
on the floor, she made a pissy face.
In a voice not unlike that of a screeching car alarm, she whined, "So I
fucking kissed somebody that _isn't_ a brother here?! Fuck that shit!"

Messily, she tried to get back up but stumbled. This charming maiden fel
l
backwards and knocked into a book case. Several Chinese food containers
spilled onto the floor as well as papers and other assorted pieces of
garbage. She whimpered pitifully - it sounded very practiced. It sounded like
her `help me you big strong man' whine.
Brian looked at Trey nervously. Trey closed his eyes and shook his head.
Did
Trey not like hearing that she'd kissed me? That would be very weird if it
were true.
"Tank - will you get your girlfriend out of here, okay please thanks?" T
rey
said softly, sounding no angrier than Mr. Rogers.
Brian looked nauseated, "Dude - she's not my girlfriend. She crawled in
the
rec room window last night and fell asleep in Jay's bed. He's not back from
Boston yet so--"
Trey stopped him with an elaborately calm nod. Wordlessly, he handed me
a
wet dishtowel. I did my absolute best to clean off some of the puke without
having to touch any of it. Not an easy task.
Brian turned, smiled as genially as he could, and did his best to help t
he
girl up. Despite being helpless and wanting assistance, she didn't do a very
good job of being pliable. She giggled drunkenly as he got her to her feet
and steered her towards the door.
When they were gone, Trey rubbed his face. He rubbed it with the
completeness and frustration of a harried parent. I smiled. I couldn't help
it. It was very cute. Everything about him was cute.
He looked at me, "Ready to go?"
Something in his tone made me laugh. It was an `abandon all hope' tone.
It
made me feel like we were on the same level somehow. Sort of like Trey and I
weren't so different. Maybe the money didn't separate us as much as I
thought.
But the truck was still going down hill.
Maybe I could stop the truck.
There was dangerous hope again. I began to despise hope.
Rather than saying anything like what I felt, I nodded. I was getting ve
ry
good at nodding. Nodding was becoming a very safe, solid way for me to avoid
having to answer any questions. Just as I despised hope, I began to love the
nod.
"After you." Trey said, gesturing towards the front room.
*

The drive back to my dorm

ful,
warm day. Trey wore sunglasses on
were probably more expensive than
quite lovely in his sunglasses as

had been blessedly uneventful. It was a beauti

the drive. Dark, wire rimmed shades that
anything I'd ever owned. Yes, he did look
well.

They also gave me sort of a chance to admire his legs undetected. I was
shocked to discover that doing so was like trying to eat an entire chocolate
cake for dinner: too much of it and you start to get a little sick with
overindulgence. Not to mention how he draped his big, muscular calf over the
middle of the car again.
Like the night before, his bare skin was inches from my hand.
Reached by my tongue in a nanosecond. Or less.
Feeling dizzy, I closed my eyes. It had been such a long time since I'd
been
alone with myself. Such a very long time.
Trey parked his car on the street and walked with me into the dorm. Like
the
romantic fool he was, he seemed insistent on walking me to my door at least.
Even as we walked, I could see the looks people gave him.
Jealous was how I felt.
When we reached the door of my dorm, I expected him to stop. To my surpr
ise,
he opened the door and motioned me in. When I went inside, I felt the lovely
pressure of his hand on my back. The nerves in my spine tingled.
At the door of my room, Trey stopped. He took his sunglasses off and hoo
ked
them in the neck of his t-shirt. As normal and approachable as he was, he
still managed to be the big man on campus. Not even very intentionally. Just
when he did little things like that.
"Want me to wait?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Give you a ride to class, maybe?"
I shook my head, "No, that's okay. I'll just walk."
Trey simply looked at me.
"It's not far."
"I know." Trey said.
"So - I'll see you there?"
"I guess so," Trey sighed, "Take your shower and I'll see in you class."
"I will."

He smiled. Not his half-smile. Not his genuine smile.

It was his tired smile.
My stomach stung. The truck was rolling down the hill.
Not wanting to get emotional, I put my hand on the door and gave him my
bravest smile. It was a `see, you can't hurt me' smile. I didn't like feeling
as though I had to give it to him - but I did.
"Cody?" He asked softly.
I looked at him.
"Your last class is English 103, right?"
I nodded.
"Weaver Building?"
I nodded again.
"I'm gonna wait for you. Give you a ride back here, okay?"
"Okay. Sounds good." I said, nodding as agreeably as possible.
It only took me a half-second I convince myself he was going to give me
the
`let's be friends' speech. Just to cut off any hope I was beginning to build
up.
Trey smiled again and left. He just left. Just turned and walked away.
Didn't look back, didn't say anything else. When he was out of the hallway, I
banged my head against my door in frustration. Not hard enough to injure just hard enough to punish.
Once I'd gotten inside, the animal urge to release my tension was too mu
ch
to ignore. Not wanting to be too classy, I pulled my puke-stained pants down
around my knees and began flailing away. I always stood up when I beat off
because of how it put pressure on my balls. Somehow felt better that way.
My mind still wanted to think about `the talk' we were going to have. Th
e
`talk' where I was let down gently. The `talk' that was about as pleasant as
a kick in the head. Mercifully, my groin didn't let me think too much.
As I beat my meat over the trashcan, another classy touch, I imagined Tr
ey.
His hairy, muscular body. Massaging it. Kissing it. Feeling it squirm and
writhe under me. I tying him to the bed and teasing him for a long time
before finally letting him cum all over both of us. I imagined the cum
hanging in his body hair - massging it in and making the hair even curlier.
I even imagined his areolas. Dark and rock hard.
It had been a while since my last self-pleasuring and when I finally let
myself go, it was an impressive gout. Thick streams hit the waste basket with
a metallic thunk and some splattered the wall. Some hit my pants but that
didn't bother me because they needed to be washed anyway.

Where the hell was the laundry room, anyway?

Once my load had been delivered, I felt that good old Jacker's Shame. No
t
only had I wasted a good ten minutes of my life, I'd sullied Trey's
reputation. All day long, people would look at him and think, `Boy, that Trey
sure looks sexier than usual! Did he do something different with his hair?
No, Cody Young must have busted a nut thinking about that furry six pack of
his.'
What a nice way to treat the man of my dreams.
I showered with little fear of any embarrassing erections. Not that ther
e
was any really choice manmeat in there with me. It wasn't much of a
temptation to say the least.
As I got dressed, I noticed that I had a message on my phone. Dialing in
to
the voicemail center, I heard Gina's cheery voice. She sounded like she knew
where I'd been and who I'd been with. But out of the goodness of her heart,
she pretended otherwise. I knew when I saw her, she'd be able to confirm it.
I also had a message from Gilly. Apparently, the fat walrus-like bastard
was
very eager to meet me over brunch. Not breakfast. Not lunch. That meal
inbetween where you get a little slice of cantaloupe. My stomach turned as I
wondered how much brunch Gilly could fit into his gigantic stomach.
Trey had a stomach. Not a gigantic stomach. A very nice, flat stomach. A
stomach I'd seen the night before.
In that instant, I nearly retched. The last thing I wanted to do was cre
ate
some nasty connection in my mind between Trey and Gilly. Although I wanted to
have affection for Gilly because without him, I never would have met Trey.
The same Trey who had just left mirthlessly.
The one who was getting ready to deliver the `dude - you're cute but I j
ust
like you as a friend' speech. Yeah, I remembered that Trey. The one I'd
royally fucked things up with. I knew that Trey all too well.
I swallowed the lump in my throat as I finished dressing myself.
*

The walk to class hadn't changed.

It was the same Brown University.
People didn't stone me. They couldn't smell my meager beginnings.
They couldn't smell my trashiness.
Like I had the day before, I checked my armpits. No stench.
The classroom was the same. The same stadium-style arena I'd never expec

ted
to see in ten lifetimes. Still had the same LCD screen that could have bought
and sold my family crest a few hundred times. I looked around and saw many of
the same students. None of them seemed any snobbier or unapproachable as they
had the day before. Still funny how that worked.
On reflex, and some level of hope, I sat in the same seat. Trey wasn't
anywhere to be seen in the room - something I'd done the second I'd walked
in. Like so many times in high school, I half-expected him to walk in, see
me, and sit somewhere else. Or not even see me at all.
Of course, that didn't happen.
Trey walked in the south end of the room.
Like any good campus big man, he nodded and smiled to several other
students. Exchanged the godawful handshake-into-the-hug with others. Laughed
at some of their one-liners. I smiled myself and nearly let out a wistful
sight at how dreamy he was.
Then he saw me. Here was where we would sit somewhere else.
But he didn't. Trey smiled when he saw me. Carrying his spiral notebook,
he
tapped it against his leg and jumped over the bank of chairs at the back of
the room. He was still wearing the khaki shorts. Still exposing his legs to
the world, I couldn't help but notice.
Rather than sitting where he had the day before, he sat closer.
Weirdly enough, that wasn't what surprised me.
There wasn't anyone else sitting near me. I was sitting alone.
Other groups, many whom Trey had greeted, looked confused as he sat down
next to me. Close to me. In the next seat. So close that if either of us lost
concentration, our legs would rub together.
He looked at me apologetically.
"Hey."
I nodded and smiled.
"I'm sorry if I seemed a little pissy when I left."
"It's cool." I nodded, playing things fast and loose.
"I just get tired when I have to apologize for my brothers, you know?"
"I understand." I nodded again.
Maybe he wasn't going to give me the kiss-off speech. Maybe I actually h
ad
something here. As dangerous as hope could be, I didn't want to hate it right
then. I wanted to embrace it. Suddenly, my heart didn't feel as heavy and
sunk. The truck seemed to stop rolling down the hill.
"Yeah?"

I nodded. Damn, it was an easy way to communicate.

"Cool," He said, sounding relieved, "Still gonna wait for me?"
That'll just be another nod there, buddy!
Suddenly, Trey didn't seem so happy.
"I'll see you then, I guess."
I nodded. It was like crystal meth.
We sat in silence. It seemed comfortable to me.
*

After class had ended, Trey and I exchanged a nice little goodbye. Not s
appy
or romantic. Just sort of an `I'll see you later' goodbye. It was nice and
reassuring. Or just sort of helped me tread water. As nice as our goodbye
was, Trey still seemed - off, somehow.
Gina caught up with me on my way to class. Like I'd expected, she didn't
seem especially in the dark as to where I'd been. Just the knowing look she
gave me as we walked down the sidewalk was enough to make me blush. God
willing I could blame that on the warm day.
"So - did you go eat last night?" She asked, ever so casually.
"Sure did. The food sucked but it sucked less than it did at home. So it
was
a nice change, you know?"
She smiled, "Did you eat with anyone?"
"Maybe."
"Good," Gina said, "You should always eat after a head injury."
Shocked, I looked at her. I didn't know what to say.
She just laughed.
"Cody, word gets out."
"What do you mean?! What word got out?!"
"Just that some poor freshman on the golf team was bashed by a beer keg
at
the Phi Psi house last night. There's a rumor you - I mean, he called a
lawyer."
I couldn't help but laugh, "Good idea."
"Yeah, I think he should just to screw with the frat guys. But then agai
n there's the whole `love' thing."
"What love thing?" I said, disliking it being said outloud.

"Oh - just that love might get in the way of a lawsuit," Gina shrugged,
"I
don't understand it - but then again, I'm single."
"Wait - what `love?'"
Gina just smiled. We were at the door.
Reflexively, I went to reach for it. When I pulled my hand back, Gina no
dded
approvingly. Taking hold of the handle, she held it open for me this time.
"You're learning. I see we're teaching you well." She said.
Maybe I was. Maybe they were.
*

The rest of my day passed with little fanfare.

Throughout the rest of the classes, I felt myself beginning to obsess ab
out
Trey again. Nothing based in any reality I'd seen. Just me attaching extra
meaning to his weirdly off attitude. It was the same way he acted when I
thought I'd hurt his feelings.
This time there was no triumph.
I felt myself not liking the idea that I'd hurt him.
It began to hurt me that I hurt him.
It was all I could think about.
Sitting through my other classes had been no more interesting
d
the day before. As I'd trudged through school, I always tried as hard
possible to not make any waves on the first day. For life in general,
not to be bad on the first day of any new situation. I learned to be,
nothing else, a good little soldier on the first day.

as they ha
as
I tried
if

The second day was sometimes different. All the behaving would boomerang
and
I'd suddenly feel the urge to point out how lame the situation was. Not even
a free ride at an Ivy League school seemed to cure me of this impulse.
After an hour of making snide comments with Gina in my Poli Sci class, t
he
day began to drag. Diplomatic Relations was taught by a nerdy, young guy who
seemed to take the class way too seriously. By the end of the week, we were
to decide which country we would represent in our classes' `mock United
Nations' project. Complete with an online bulletin board, fake declarations
of war, fake alliances, and what I was sure would be an entirely unfake
source of tension for the students.
I wanted to be East Timor.
The bright spot of my English class was that I'd be seeing Trey soon. No
matter what sort of vibe our meeting would have, it still got me excited.
Even if I was getting the boot-in-the-ass-out-the-door talk, I still wanted

to see him. Just to savor my one last - whatever - with him.

Then hope spoke up once more.
English class droned on. Some of the other students looked
hen
I said my favorite book was `Cat in the Hat.' Some others laughed:
thought it was funny because I must have seemed stupid, others who
was somewhat cute and ironic. I just told myself that the ones who
it were too drunk and spoiled to appreciate my genius.

at me weird w
some who
thought it
didn't get

Just as I was planning to hit the driving range and take my frustrations
out
on some rich old bastards, the instructors cell phone rang. After a short
conversation, she explained that she had to leave. Didn't give a whole lot of
explanation. Just said that `something had come up.' In my family, that meant
your parents were splitting up again.
Just like that, she was gone. Fifteen minutes left in class.
As the other students began to leave, I sighed. All this meant was an ex
tra
fifteen minutes of stressing out over Trey. As I rubbed my eyes, I felt a
terrifying tremble. Trembling in the hands wasn't a good thing. It meant that
no matter how much I nodded or bullshitted, Trey would be able to tell how I
`really' felt.
That would be bad.
Clenching my fists, I breathed deeply and stood up. My knees, a little w
eak,
managed to move as I went out into the sun. I hadn't noticed before but it
was quite warm out. Even though it was still early September, I was surprised
by how evenly heated this place was. Not like the blistering heat of
California.
Nervously, I scanned the area for Trey. Not having expensive sunglasses
like
his made it difficult. I squinted but couldn't see him. I couldn't see his
bare legs, either. Although I'd pleasured myself not but a few hours earlier,
the thought made me tingle.
This was the Weaver building, right? He hadn't said where we were going
to
meet. It wasn't a large building, nor was it's front promenade especially
intimidating, but there was a good deal of open space. Trey might miss me or
think I'd left or - I stopped myself. He's either going to give you the
kiss-off or the - I stopped myself again. I didn't want to think of what the
opposite of `kiss-off' was.
"Got out early?"
It was from behind. It was Trey.
I turned around and smiled slightly. Even with the sun glaring in my eye
s, I
still swooned a little when I saw him. It felt like it had been days since
I'd seen him last, rather than hours. I'd missed him badly.
He could see me better than I could see him. He was wearing the sunglass

es
again. I fought between liking how handsome he was in them and being
disappointed at not seeing his eyes as much as possible.
"Yeah," I sighed, "The teacher had to leave early."
"You okay?" Trey asked.
I didn't know what he meant, "Yeah - why?"
"You actually answered me. Very weird."
"What does that mean?"
Trey shook his head, "Nothing. You ready to go?"
I stil didn't know what he meant, but I nodded anyway."
*

The second drive back to my dorm was uneventful.

It wasn't relaxed. It was tense.
Trey didn't drape his leg over the seats again. He sat, straight backed,
and
drove the car in silence. There wasn't any of the comfortable silence that
had been there before. Just a weirdly dark silence. Especially so since the
day was so beautiful outside. On the sidewalks, people were dressed like they
were on spring break.
I felt the lump come back in my throat. This was going to be the kiss-of
f
talk. Whenever Trey decided to get around to it. Maybe he was pissed because
I'd figured it out and he could tell. Maybe he was just tired of me. Maybe I
hadn't responded the way he'd wanted. Maybe I just did that to people. It
wouldn't have surprised me in the least.
When we got back to my dorm, I prayed that Eli wouldn't be there. I pray
ed
Gina wouldn't be waiting for me. I prayed most of all that Gilly wouldn't be
there, sitting on the floor with his fat legs and his gross - body. I didn't
want to talk to anyone. I just wanted Trey to get it over with.
Trey stopped the car and I hoped that he'd give me the talk right there.
Just break my heart right in the car. At least give me the dignity of walking
back to my dorm on my own, rather than following me in and killing me on my
own territory. With all the money and friends he had, he could allow me that
much.
But of course, he didn't. He stopped the car, unbuckled his seatbelt, an
d
got out. He was going to kill me right in front of my own people - whatever
the hell those were. I sighed again and swallowed hard, accepting my fate.
I didn't let him do the hand thing. I beat him to the door and held it o
pen.
Not romantically but in that polite way you do when someone is just behind
you and you don't want to be an ass. Trey didn't smile, he didn't really
react when I did it. That's what the hitman always did before he put a bullet

in someone.
Eli wasn't around. No one was around. The dorm was mostly quiet. I walke
d
like a condemned man towards the door to my room. As I fished the keycard out
of my wallet, I felt Trey approach me. On my right side. I realized this was
the moment. This was the moment in the slasher movie when the killer had you
corned and was raising the machete.
Trey did the thing with his sunglasses.
"So - here we are." Trey said, leaning against the wall.
"Here we are."
Trey looked surprised, "No nod that time?"
Aw damn it. He figured it out.
"Huh?" I said, feigning ignorance.
"I was just expecting you to nod rather than actually say anything."
I blushed. My cheeks immediately felt hot. Not only was he going to brea
k my
heart, he was going to psychoanalyze me. Right before he could tell me he
wasn't interested, he was going to get me to admit that I wanted to be with
him. How perfectly sadistic.
"Sorry?" I asked, not knowing what I was supposed to say.
"I didn't want to hear you say 'sorry.'"
I almost nodded but caught myself.
"Then - what did you want to hear?"
Trey chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, "I want to hear you talk, Cody
.
It's hard for me to get to know you when you tell me what I want to hear or
just nod."
I shrugged. Trey laughed and ran his hand
s
honest, however. This wasn't the kiss-off speech.
sledgehammer being raised over my heart. This was
It was the `I like you too' speech. What the hell
that?!

through his hair. The shrug wa

This wasn't the
- it was the kiss speech.
was I supposed to do with

Then he stepped close to me. My first thought was that I probably smelle
d
bad. Trey, however, didn't seem to care. He smelled good enough for the both
of us. I could smell his Old Spice shampoo. I could smell his fancy after
shave. His face was only about four inches from mine.
He spoke gently, "I have to drive to Boston to help a brother move. I'll
be
back tomorrow and I'll come get you, okay?"
I nodded. This time, it was genuine. More so that it had been before. Ma

ybe
I was just so happy to be alive and shocked at this turn of events to say
anything. No maybe about it, actually.
"When I come back, I want to hear you talk, Cody. I want to hear you tal
k
about you, about class, about any dumb shit that comes into your head, okay?"
"Okay." My throat felt dry.
"If you don't talk to me, I'm not gonna talk. If you nod, I'll nod back.
We'll both look retards. We'll never get to know each other and that'll make
the golf team really awkward when we play."
"That would suck."
Trey smiled, "So yeah, chief - you're gonna talk to me?"
I didn't nod.
"I'll talk to you, Trey."
"Good," Trey smirked, "I really want you to talk to me."
For the first time since I could remember, I said exactly what I was
feeling.
"I want to talk to you, Trey."
Trey smiled. His genuine, real, happy smile. The smile that was more
beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. It was the smile that made me think
that the first eighteen years of life are nothing but practice. Once you were
out doing things for real, for yourself, that's when it all mattered.
"We do have to get to know each other," Trey said gently, "Know why?"
I swallowed, "Why?"
Trey smirked.
"Because I like you, kid."
Before I could get any words out of the desert that was my mouth, Trey
leaned in. Softly and gently, like he was performing microsurgery, he kissed
me. It was an innocent kiss on the corner of my mouth. His lips felt warm,
soft, and dry.
I'd been kissed before - but not like that.
I liked it. I liked being kissed by Trey.
With all the confidence and coolness in the world, Trey stood back and
smiled. With half of his mouth. The palm of his hand was just as soft, dry,
and warm as his lips. Funny how that worked. Then, like any good Casanova of
the golden age, he ruffled my hair and gently bumped his fist against my
chest. Such a guy, he was.
"I'll see you tomorrow?"
I didn't nod. I started too, but caught myself.

"Not if I see you first - Ice Box."