Silver Lips

by Jamey Baumgardt

Content Warning: Sexual Assault, Homophobia, Fatphobia

Two dozen jack o’ lanterns lined the long drive to Lorelei’s place, the eyes and mouths of each bulbous ochre gourd dancing with flickers of buttery candlelight. I found myself returning their shimmering smiles, overcome with absolute certainty that I was about to have the best night of my life. I drove past the old farmhouse surrounded by acres of pasture, the nearest neighbor half a mile distant, and parked around back near the barn as usual. Even before I climbed the steps to the rear stoop and let myself in, I could hear The Cure’s “Close to Me” blaring from inside the empty kitchen. A punch bowl filled with cherry liquid sat on the woodblock island, and a keg was nestled inside a garbage can filled with ice. Lorelei’s mom was visiting family for the weekend, but she had picked up the keg of Rainier beer for us before leaving town. My parents wouldn’t dream of doing something even remotely as awesome for me, not in a million years.

“Lor?” I called, rounding the corner into the living area.

“Jesus H. Christ on a popsicle stick!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up. The length of orange papier-mâché streamer she was taping up fell to the floor. “You scared the shit out of me, motherfucker!”

“Shit! Sorry!” I picked up the streamer and affixed an end to the wall.

“You are such a total spaz.” She clutched her chest a moment longer before wrapping me in a cozy hug. “So, what do you think?” She had a laurel wreath on her head, and white cotton draped from her shoulder and cinched at the waist with a leather strap.

“Hail, Caesar!” I said as she twirled. “You look great.”

“Thanks!” She beamed. “You’d better go get ready, too.”

In the bathroom, I pulled the mullet wig from my duffel bag and admired the blonde highlights. I hadn’t dressed up for Halloween in years, not since I’d outgrown trick-or-treating, but Lorelei’s party had been the talk of Franklin High for weeks. Everyone was planning to come dressed up, even the popular girls who complained that Lorelei was only throwing the party to get in with the in-crowd. I didn’t know why they were so mean. Lorelei was a little overweight and didn’t have the greatest complexion, but I thought she was hilarious. I sprayed the top of my head with my mom’s Aqua-Net, combing my fingers through the wig to achieve the proper volume. I needed it to look perfect. Billie Taylor was coming tonight.

Back in the living room, I popped the collar of my white polo shirt and flexed my quads, stretching the fabric of my tight shorts as I swung my racket.

“Nice, Andre.” Lorelei whistled.

I grinned and blew a wisp of hair out of the corner of my mouth. I had considered going the easy route and just buying a cheap rubber horror mask—maybe Freddy Krueger from Nightmare on Elm Street—but in the end, I’d decided to come as one of my idols, tennis ace Andre Agassi.

“Billie Taylor won’t be able to resist those sexy legs.”

“Oh my God, shut up.” My crush on Billie had surprised Lorelei as much as it had me, mostly because she had busted me this summer during a sleepover when she stumbled across a Playgirl magazine I had stashed in my room. I was super embarrassed, but after Lorelei promised not to tell anyone, so help her God, I admitted to her that I sometimes jerked off thinking about guys.

“Come on,” she said. “Help me with the dry ice.”

After we deposited the ice into the punch bowl, I helped Lorelei put the finishing touches on the living-room-turned-dance-floor, pushing the furniture to the edges of the room and hanging additional black rubber bats from the ceiling. Out on the front porch, we tucked a life-sized skeleton into a cobweb-riddled rocking chair and centered it beneath a pair of blood-red candelabras. The effect was more cheesy than scary, but in the dark of night it looked pretty cool.

Our classmates began arriving an hour later, starting with Lorelei’s drama friends, Matt Lawson, dressed as the bard himself, purple knee-breeches and all, along with Gerty Fielder as Cosette from Les Mis, broom in hand and forehead smudged with dirt. Matt poured us a round of shots before dumping the remainder of his vodka into the punch, declaring, “Let it be heard, on this 31st day of October, 1986, the auspicious occasion we celebrate as All Hallows Eve—I vow to you, one and all, we shall have ourselves a party for the ages!”

We laughed and drank, and my chest warmed with the vodka. Matt and Lorelei began reciting lines they were learning for their upcoming production of Arsenic and Old Lace. I stirred the punch and watched, impressed by their conviction. Others began to trickle in through the back door, Stan Wrigley as Hulk Hogan, Sherry Wise as Elvira, plus two Freddy Kruegers and three machete-wielding Jasons hidden behind hockey masks. The kitchen was buzzing with conversation and a line had formed for the keg by the time my best friend Riley appeared on the back stoop, clad in a black leather jacket, no shirt underneath, and sporting a pair of dark sunglasses. Everyone, including me, turned and stared, and a hush fell over the room.

“I’ll be back,” he said in a deadpan, robotic voice. Then he broke character and grinned, pulling his glasses off to much fanfare.

“Ooh, it’s the Terminator, you guys.” Lorelei rolled her eyes. “So super cool.”

“Bite me,” Riley said, stepping into the room. “What are you supposed to be? The Goodyear blimp?”

Lorelei narrowed her eyes and made as if to lunge at Riley.

“C’mon, cool it, you guys,” I said, holding her back.

“Holy shit.” Riley surveyed me. His eyes were already a little glassy. “You sure do make a pretty girl, Jakey.”

“Ha! Thanks.” I blushed and took a mock swing with my racket. Lorelei rolled her eyes. One minor detail I’d failed to mention to Lorelei that summer was that when I did jerk off thinking about guys, more often than not, Riley was the object of my fantasies.

“All in white, too. You must be a virgin.” Riley grinned. “I can take care of that for you.”

“You are so warped.” Lorelei shook her head and left us.

“Whatever, Beaver Caesar!” Riley called after her.

“Dude.” I shook my head in a half-assed attempt to admonish him.

“Eh, whatever.” Riley put his arm around my shoulders and slipped a bottle from a paper sleeve. “Here you go, as promised.”

“Sweet!” I gave him a high five.

It was always Riley who got the booze for us whenever we hung out and drank, like when we used to go to the quarry and shoot glass bottles with our BB guns, or when we stayed at his family’s cabin on Lake Mason. The summer before last, we’d gotten pretty wasted, and Riley had cajoled us into having a dick-measuring contest. King Cock, he’d christened himself after defeating me, his little brother Randy, and their cousin, Greenie, who was visiting from Chicago. Riley’s intense scrutiny as he observed my efforts, the eagerness with which he held the measuring tape alongside my dick, the way he kept making eye contact with me—this had been the genesis of my secret attraction to him.

Coincidentally, Riley’s cabin was also where I’d first hung out with Billie. In fact, we’d all gone skinny-dipping on that same campout. I hadn’t been able to take my eyes off her, standing topless on the dock in the moonlight. When I finally tore my eyes away, I’d caught Riley staring at me, his eyes narrowed. At first, I thought he was angry, but then he grinned and shouted, “Nice tits, Billie!” before launching himself off the dock in an impressive cannonball.

“What the hell is this?” I said now, peering at the bottle label. “I wanted Smirnoff, not Jack Daniel’s.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” Riley snatched the bottle from me and twisted the cap. He took a swig, a few drops spilling down his front.

A rogue notion wormed its way out of my subconscious, and I briefly considered leaning down to lick the amber rivulet from his chest, but then he handed the bottle back, eyebrows raised expectantly. I drank, and Riley nodded in approval.

“We’ll make a man out of you yet, Webster,” he said, slapping my ass. “And seriously,” he continued, lowering his voice to a whisper. “If you keep the wig on, I might let you blow me later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure, Riley.” I laughed it off as best I could, but as soon he walked away, I took another full swallow of the whiskey. I would be down to blow him any time, wig or no wig. But he wasn’t serious. Saying shit like that was just a flex. To prove you were into girls, you had to accuse other guys of being fairies and fags. Hell, I did it myself. So did my old man.

Riley joked around about gay stuff a lot, cupping my balls in the locker room and whispering suggestive comments to me on the football field. The truth was, I enjoyed it. I was also terrified of his attentions. Riley was a grade above me, and he unlocked a lot of doors for me in the complex maze of our high school’s social structure, but I was always aware he could easily ruin me too if I made the wrong move or said the wrong thing.

“God, they’re such Neanderthals.” Lorelei reappeared at my side just as Riley and his jock buddies, most of whom had come in their letterman jackets, started doing keg stands.

“Looks like the bimbo airheads have showed up.” I nodded toward the stereo at the opposite side of the room.

“Don’t be a dickhead,” Lorelei said, waving at Shannon Barber, their leader.

“Sorry,” I said. “But they never give me the time of day.”

Shannon, along with Becca Sampson and Jodi Picolo, were dressed as the Pink Ladies from Grease. All three were chewing wads of bubblegum and had pink ribbons in their hair. Shannon produced a cassette tape from her purse. When Thompson Twins’ King for a Day started playing, dozens of kids cheered and began dancing.

“Well maybe if you didn’t refer to them as bimbo airheads…” Lorelei gave me a scolding, motherly look. “So, are you going to go talk to her or what?”

“Who, Shannon?”

“No, you dork. Billie.”

“Wait. She’s here?”

Lorelei pointed. In the doorway stood a Wizard of Oz trio: a lion, a scarecrow, and between them, a tin man. I had begun to worry she might not be coming after all, but beneath the silver face paint, I could just make out Billie’s features.

“My God, your face,” Lorelei said. “You’re in deep.”

I blushed. Lorelei didn’t know the half of it. I hadn’t told her about the secret sketchbook full of pencil drawings I’d made of Billie, or how amazing and brilliant I thought she was. Last spring, we’d been paired up in Physics class. She was intimidatingly smart, but always willing to help me with my assignments. I wouldn’t have gotten better than a C if it hadn’t been for Billie.

“Lor, stash this somewhere safe, under your pillow or something.” I shoved the whiskey into her hands and then, thinking better of it, I gave her the keys to my mom’s car, too.

Earlier in the evening, my parents had imparted differing words of wisdom at the dinner table. “No drinking and driving,” my mom had said, noting that I’d had my license for all of two months, and that driving was a privilege and not a right. When I told her I would probably just crash at Lorelei’s, my dad had chimed in, asking if I had condoms, inspiring a lengthy bout of giggling from my little sisters.

“I’m serious,” my father had said. “The last thing we need is you knocking her up.”

“Jesus. Lorelei and I are just friends, Dad.”

“Just make sure you have protection, that’s all I’m saying.”

Leaving Lorelei with the bottle and keys, I laced my way through the dance floor, cutting in between the Pink Ladies, who were dancing, and three guys from Physics Club dressed as the Ghostbusters, who were standing with their backs against the wall, awkwardly watching. I dodged one of the Jason’s fake plastic machetes and straightened to my full height just in time to put on a smile.

“Billie, hi there,” I said. “Hey…Can I get you a beer or anything?”

“I’ve got one.” She held up a red Solo cup in her silver hand. “But thanks, Jake.”

“Oh, right.” I leaned against the doorjamb. “Great costume. I didn’t even recognize you. My kid sisters are doing Wizard of Oz, too. Dorothy and the wicked witch. Must be popular this year,” I laughed. “Anyway…”

Billie’s two friends glanced at each other and snickered. Before I could think of what to say next, Riley wandered in from the front porch. He squinted at Billie, then raised his eyebrows at me when he realized who she was.

“Billie,” he said, letting his sunglasses drop from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose, hiding his bloodshot eyes. “Wanna dance?”

“I do,” she said, “but too bad for you, Jake asked me first.”

I blinked, then shrugged and grinned at Riley as she took my arm and led me inside. We squeezed onto the makeshift dance floor as Bananarama’s cover of Venus started playing.

“I was going to ask you to dance,” I said. “I swear.”

“Well, next time don’t wait so long to save me.” Billie winked. “Nice wig, by the way. Highlights look good on you.”

I laughed and thanked her. I couldn’t get over how different she looked with the makeup and her hair pinned up under her tin hat. All traces of her figure had been erased by the cardboard cylinder she wore. It was a shame her curves were hidden tonight, but I also found it kind of exciting knowing that she was still under there, somewhere.

“Hey, Billie,” one of the jocks yelled from the sofa. “I always knew you didn’t have a heart.”

“That may be,” Billie shouted back, putting a finger to the side of her head, “but then why aren’t you dressed as the scarecrow?”

“Ouch!”

Billie blew him a kiss and spun in a circle.

“You’re crazy,” I said, meaning it as a compliment. I took her hand and twirled her around once more, matching my hips to her rhythm.

Billie grinned and waved her arms in the air. I took her cup and refilled our beers. When I got back, everyone was singing along to Eddie Money’s Take Me Home Tonight, including Benny Lawrence, dressed as Zorro in a black cape and mask, and a gaggle of girls that had arrived together in various Madonna-esque outfits—layers of leather and taffeta, elbow length gloves, arms lined with dozens of bracelets. Billie and I danced among them and drank our beers.

Several songs later, Drive came on, by the Cars. Couples began pairing up. Billie circled her arms around my neck. My empty cup fell to the floor, forgotten. I went to put my hands on her hips and found cardboard. She leaned her head against my chest, and we swayed back and forth, the tip of her funnel hat bopping me on the nose. All those physics experiments we’d huddled over together, the drawings of her in my sketchbook, the long, hot summer spent in anticipation of seeing her again—everything finally leading up to now, this moment that I had hoped for, for so long. I closed my eyes and wished for this feeling to last all night.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Billie said when the song ended. “I got silver all over you.”

I looked down and saw metallic smudges on my white polo. “It’s no big deal.”

“It’s on your face, too. Come on.” Billie led me down the hallway to the bathroom, but the door was locked.

She knocked, and a girl yelled, “There’s someone in here! God!”

I took Billie’s hand and led her up the back staircase to the upper floor bathroom. Billie ran the tap and dabbed at me with a washcloth.

“I owe you a new shirt,” she said, standing close, our faces inches apart.

“It’s okay,” I said softly, thankful that we could talk without having to shout over the music. “How’s school going?”

“Classes are okay, I guess. Volleyball’s good. I made varsity.”

“That’s awesome.” I coughed. “So hey, are you seeing anyone?”

She shook her head without looking up.

“Can I kiss you?” I swallowed the lump in my throat, my heart thundering beneath the feather touch of her fingertips.

She stopped rubbing the washcloth on my chest, and after a pause, she looked up and met my eyes.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, “but I’ve wanted to ever since that time at the lake, and—”

“Then shut up and do it.”

I leaned down and pressed my lips onto hers. She tasted sweet, like a peach or maybe strawberry. She reached up and caressed my jaw, her fingers soft, electric. Her hands went to my chest, mine to her shoulders where her arms emerged from her hard shell. She breathed into my neck; my cock pulsed in my shorts. I moved my hands inward and again met cardboard resistance.

“Hey,” she said, “are you trying to get to second base already?”

“No, sorry, I—”

“I’m just flipping you shit.” She leaned in, and I gladly accepted another kiss, parting my lips and imagining myself pouring into her, and her into me.

A sound from the hallway broke the spell, and when I opened my eyes, Riley stood in the doorway, a knowing smirk on his face. I coughed and looked down, my face burning red, but when I glanced back up, Riley’s face had gone sullen.

“Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms. “Isn’t this cute?”

“Hey, man,” I stammered, “Billie was just cleaning—”

“I’ve got eyes, Webster,” he slurred. “I see what you two are up to.”

“We aren’t up to anything,” Billie said, glaring at him. “Why don’t you go back downstairs and play another drinking game with your friends?”

“Why don’t you come here and sit on my face?” Riley sneered, reaching for the bottom edge of Billie’s cardboard barrel.

“Dude!” I grabbed his arm and pulled his hand away.

“Gross.” Billie stepped back, a look of disgust on her silver face. “Thanks, but I’ll pass, asshole.” She returned to dabbing my shirt with the washcloth.

“Whatever,” Riley grumbled. “Probably only got a silver dick under there anyway.”

“Way bigger than your tiny, pathetic wang,” Billie shot back without turning.

“Eat me,” Riley growled, and with that, he left us.

Billie wrung out the towel, avoiding my eyes. She might have been flushed, but it was hard to tell with the paint on her face.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “He gets weird sometimes when he’s drunk.”

“What’s the deal between you two, anyway?” Billie asked. “He’s your best friend, but you guys are so different. You’re smart, for one thing. And sweet. Unlike most of the jocks.”

“I play football, too.” I wasn’t on the varsity squad like Riley, but I was holding my own on the JV team.

“You just seem unlikely friends,” Billie said. “Plus, he’s not the nicest guy in the world, you know?”

“I guess we’re not really all that close,” I said, and suddenly realized it was true. Or at least not like we used to be.

“Good. He’s a creep,” Billie said.

I shrugged, and she let it drop. Riley and I had grown up on neighboring properties. I’d known him my entire life. He mostly treated me all right, so long as I kept to my place in the pecking order. Since making varsity, he’d started ignoring me at practice, pretending he didn’t know me. I’d considered asking him why, but guys like us didn’t talk like that. The football field was a place for combat, not conversation. It was every man for himself, I knew that. Off the field, when it was just him and me, he was still Riley, the kid and occasional bully I had been friends with since kindergarten. But Billie had a point. I sometimes resented him just as much as I sometimes secretly lusted after him.

“Come on.” Billie hung the towel over the sink and pulled me into the hallway toward the stairs. In the living room, the lights were dimmed, and someone had put in a hard rock mixtape—Def Leppard, Guns N’ Roses, AC/DC. We danced until my shirt was stuck to my chest. Billie stole my wig, releasing my tangle of sweaty, unruly curls. She swapped her tin hat for it, and the effect was bizarre, with her silver face framed by the Agassi-inspired highlights.

She kissed me, and I kissed her back, with more tongue this time. She pawed at my chest and my arms with more urgency. I peeled my sweaty shirt off, and Billie shrugged off her cardboard container. I got us more beer. Riley appeared and sat on the back of the sofa, sipping from his bottle while he watched us dance. I grinned at him, my chest swelling, and he nodded, and for a second, I thought maybe he looked happy for me. I let out a loud whoop and jumped up and down to Bon Jovi’s Livin’ on a Prayer. Lorelei, dancing with Matt Lawson across the room, raised her eyebrows. I smiled back at her, and then I kissed Billie again. I couldn’t get enough.

“Your lips,” I said, my words thick and slip-sliding, “are like magic.”

“Your lips,” Billie said, wiping her thumb across my mouth, “are all silver again.”

“In that case, let’s go back upstairs,” I whispered. I slipped my arms around her waist and pulled her close, letting out a tremulous breath at the feel of her breasts against my bare chest.

“I’m sure you’d like that.” The heat of her whisper was a dry summer wind blowing up my neck and into my ear. “But I’m not that kind of girl, Jake.”

She extracted herself from my embrace, and I stared dumbly at my feet, not sure what to say.

“But you can ask me out, if you want.”

“Yes!” I almost barked. “I want to. I mean, I wanted to ask, would you want to go out sometime? On a date? With me? Go to a movie or get dinner or something?”

“Yes.” She laughed. “I’ll go on a date with you, Jake Webster.”

“Great,” I said. I kissed her again and then stood back. I couldn’t stop grinning, but I didn’t care how stupid I looked. “This is really great.”

#

Billie was going to be late for her curfew but didn’t seem too worried. She lingered on the front porch a while longer and peppered me with a final flurry of kisses before leaving with her ride, the lion. My heart full, I draped my damp shirt around my neck and stared after them as their taillights disappeared down the drive.

The party continued to get louder and rowdier as the night wore on. There was more dancing in the living room and trips to the keg for refills. A beer pong table was eventually set up on the front porch. Lorelei and I played a match against Shannon and her Pink Lady friends. It was an even contest, until Becca Sampson accidentally drank from one of the football player’s spit cups, gulping down a mouthful of his wintergreen tobacco saliva before realizing her error.

“Eww!” she screamed, tar-colored drool running down her chin.

“Oh my God, barf me out!” Shannon’s face had turned green.

“Like, gag me with a spoon, Becca!” Jodi chimed in, actually dry heaving as the three of them retreated into the house.

With our match fizzled out, Lorelei went inside for more punch. I lingered on the porch, thinking of Billie and savoring the chilly night air. I’d given her my number, and she’d promised to call in the morning to see about going on our date. She’d mentioned a movie that she really wanted to see, but I’d already forgotten which one.

“Jake.”

I turned at the voice. Riley stood shirtless in the doorway, holding an empty bottle.

“Where’s your jacket?” I said.

“Where’s your whiskey?” he shot back, swaying a little.

We made our way down the hall and up the back stairs. Stan Wrigley was passed out on the landing, and most of his Hulk Hogan get-up—the blond wig and mustache, the yellow bandana and tank-top—had gone missing. There was dried vomit on the side of his face, and someone had used a permanent marker to scrawl FAG across his chest and draw an enormous penis across his belly, with ejaculate coming out of the tip. One of the Madonnas—his girlfriend, I assumed—sat next to him in a drunken heap, sobbing and pulling on his arm. Oblivious to us, she dipped a section of her taffeta skirt into her drink and began scrubbing his bare stomach, trying to erase the giant cock to no avail. Riley laughed as we stepped around them, a knowing laugh that made it clear he’d had a hand in this.

I knocked on the door to Lorelei’s room, and when no one answered, I cracked open the door. Riley barged in past me, scanning the room. Lorelei had two twin beds, placed on opposite walls, each beneath a dormer window. It had been this way as long as I’d known her. When she was younger, the bed on the left had been covered with stuffed animals. Now, only one brown teddy bear remained. I crossed to the other bed and searched beneath her pillows.

“Jesus.” Riley snatched the Jack Daniel’s from me. “You didn’t even drink any of it.”

He closed the bedroom door and sat on the bed with the teddy bear. Riley threw his head back for a generous swig, and I took the opportunity to ogle his broad chest, tracing the outline of his pecs until he glanced up and caught me staring.

“So, you and Billie Taylor, huh?”

I grinned and sat opposite him on Lorelei’s bed.

“Who woulda thought.” He held the bottle out to me.

“Oh, I’m already pretty drunk, man.”

“Drink.” He thrust the bottle at me, and I took it. The whiskey singed my throat on the way down.

“What about you?” I handed the bottle back. “Got your eyes on anyone?”

“Pfft, no. Nothing but dogs here tonight.”

“What about Shannon?”

“Shannon Barber?” Riley screwed up his face in disgust. “She’s a space cadet.”

“Becca Sampson?”

“Dude. She’s a total Clydesdale.” Riley picked up the teddy bear and looked it over. “But Billie, she’s cool. She’s got a good vibe.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Hey, what was up with that shit you pulled in the bathroom earlier?”

Riley shrugged. “Relax, man. I was just having a little fun.”   

“It was really fucked up, what you did.” I stared across the gap at him, but he refused to look me in the eye. “You should apologize.”

“Whatever.” Riley snorted. “She’s probably a fucking dyke anyway.”

“What, are you jealous?” I laughed.

Riley’s smile faded. “Fuck you, Webster.”

He tossed the teddy bear to the floor. It tumbled into the leg of Lorelei’s dresser and settled face down, discarded like trash. I thought of Stan out in the hallway, his girlfriend frantically trying to wash away the ugly epithet from his body. I stood up to leave.

“Wait, hold on.” Riley got up from the bed and passed the bottle. “One more drink?”

I relaxed my shoulders and took it from him, knowing that this was as good an apology as I was ever going to get from Riley. I raised the bottle to my lips and drank while he watched me.

“You still have silver shit all over your face,” he said, reaching out to wipe my cheek. He licked his thumb and returned it to my face, gentling swabbing at my cheekbone.

My head suddenly felt thick, my belly simmering with whiskey. Riley stopped rubbing my face, but let his hand linger on my cheek. My heart throbbed in time with the steady bass coming through the floor. Riley became flustered, agitated. I’d only ever seen him like this a few times before, but I never understood why. He looked frightened and wary and hungry—a starved animal. Everything went eerily silent, like how birds freeze up in the mysterious seconds preceding an earthquake. Riley stepped closer, and then he kissed me.

I closed my eyes and leaned into him, and our lips parted, and I felt his tongue on mine, the sweet taste of whiskey on his breath, on my breath—both of our breaths the same, become one—and he pushed his tongue deeper, and then I felt his hands on my shoulders, and there was a frantic eagerness in his touch, his grip so sure and firm, and I reached up to touch his chest like I’d dreamed of doing all those nights in bed alone, and I was spellbound, the feel of his taut skin beneath my fingers more captivating than I could have imagined.

When I had asked Riley before if he was jealous, I’d meant jealous of me getting with Billie. But could it be me that he wanted? I dismissed the idea as fantasy, pure foolishness. There was no world in which that scenario was even remotely possible.

It was Riley who pulled back. He pushed me away before letting go of my shoulders. I opened my eyes and matched the look of shock on his face, reeling from what had just transpired.

“What the actual fuck?” Riley whispered. He glanced at the door with this shameful look in his eyes, and I thought for sure he was going to make a run for it and bolt from the room like a caged rabbit.

“Riley.” I put my hand on his arm. “It’s okay, man.”

“Don’t fucking touch me.”

I took a step back. “We’re drunk. This never happened. We can—”

“Shut the fuck up, Webster.” Riley’s face went dark, twisting ugly. He shoved me back, and I sat down hard on the edge of the bed. I stared at his belly button as he took a step toward me and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

“Don’t forget your place.” Riley flared his nostrils.

I looked up into his face, confused. His eyes stared through me as though I wasn’t there, and a wicked grin slowly crept onto his lips.

“Yeah, that’s right,” he whispered. He pulled my head forward and rubbed his crotch on my face. “You want it.”

I stopped breathing, frozen with panic as he unzipped. He swallowed and licked his lips, as though waiting for a response, but I couldn’t move. He pulled his cock out and laid it across my face. It stretched from my chin to my forehead, slightly tacky, and I could smell the salty tang of his balls. My cock jumped inside my shorts. He was right, I did want it. But I didn’t trust him. If word ever got out, I would forever be known as the sissy faggot, not him.

“I know you and my cousin Greenie jerked each other off in your tent,” Riley hissed. He sounded more jealous than angry. He yanked my hair and pulled my head back, and I wondered if I was being punished. He waved his erection over me. It was every bit as impressive as I remembered from our contest at the cabin last year.

Before I could deny his accusation, he shoved his dick into my mouth, and I gagged. He held my head and pushed himself deeper. My throat was fire, and I couldn’t breathe. I had never felt so conflicted. He was so rough, but I had never done this before. Maybe this was how guys got with other guys. Maybe this was how it was done, fiercely, and forcibly, like on the football field. I gulped for air and choked on him, spit running out the sides of my mouth, but he was relentless, intent on filling my throat, and he held me in a vice grip until he came, cradling my head in his arms as he grunted one, two, three times before finally letting go.

Finished with me, he hurried to tuck himself back into his jeans. I coughed and sputtered, and when I looked up, Riley was glaring at me with something like contempt, but then he turned away as he buttoned his Levi’s. He slipped out the door without another word, leaving me sitting on the edge of Lorelei’s bed sucking in air. I felt dizzy. I looked down and saw that I was still painfully hard, my dick sticking out from where my shorts had ridden up. I listened, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to fade in the hallway before I allowed the first of the tears to slip from my eyes.

#

The next morning, I woke to the sound of pouring rain. I rolled onto my side and gazed across the gap at the other bed. Lorelei was hidden beneath a mound of blankets, her head wedged between two pillows. The house was still, quiet now, save for the rain and Lorelei’s soft breathing. I picked up the teddy bear and rubbed my thumbs across its glassy black eyes. My throat felt sore, and I had a headache. My stomach was a mess, too. I felt like puking.

“Oh my God,” Lorelei moaned softly. “I have such a killer headache.”

“You’re alive,” I said, dropping the teddy bear.

“Fuck, barely.” She squinted with one eye. “I don’t remember coming up to bed.”

“Do you remember the punch bowl?”

Lorelei’s eyes flew wide. “What about the punch bowl?”

“I hope you have an industrial mop handy.” A late-night keg-stand gone awry had resulted in an inverted Matt Lawson-as-Shakespeare crashing headlong into the punch bowl, knocking it to the floor and leaving a frothy pink pond in its wake.

“Oh…oh, no,” she groaned. “Mom’s going to kill me.”

“I’ll help clean before I go.”

“Jake, you’re a saint.”

“It’s the least I can do. You throw a killer party.”

“I don’t think I want to party again like that for a long time. Okay, I’m getting up.” Lorelei swung her feet to the floor. “Oh shit, maybe not … Oh, God … I’m gonna barf.”

“Should I get a bucket?”

“No, wait…” She held her hand up and took several breaths. “Okay, there, I think it passed.” She looked up and smiled, but then her smile faded. “Did something happen last night between you and Riley?”

I swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I saw him in the hallway when I came up to use the bathroom. He had this weird look on his face.”

I turned my attention back to the teddy bear and his shiny black eyes. I couldn’t tell Lorelei or anyone else about what had happened last night. I had to protect myself, and the only way to do that was to keep Riley from being found out. I would pretend it never happened. I wouldn’t even count it as sex, what had happened between Riley and me. I would erase it from all memory.

“We came upstairs to get the whiskey,” I said, “and we ended up talking for a while, mostly about Billie.”

“Ooh, yes!” Lorelei pushed her messy hair from her face. “Tell me, tell me! You guys were making out all night long. What’s the deal?”

I sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed, the thought of Billie a welcome distraction.

“We’re going on a date,” I said.

“What? When?”

“Maybe next week. She’s going to call. But I asked her out last night, and she said yes.”

“So does this mean…” Lorelei cocked her head to the side and studied me. “Maybe you’re not gay after all?”

“I guess so?” I shrugged. I didn’t really know what I was anymore. “Come on, let’s clean up before your mom gets back.”

My headache wasn’t any better by the time I arrived home. My mom shook her head and clucked her tongue as she pried my eyelids open and chastised me when she found out just how late I’d stayed up. She was equally displeased to discover the state of my polo shirt once I took off my jacket. I failed to include in my report the exact quantity of alcohol I’d consumed and overall downplayed the symptoms of my hangover, which seemed to be worsening as the day wore on. My dad asked if I’d “put any of those condoms to use,” and didn’t bother to hide his disappointment when I shook my head no.

I slunk away, out from under his disapproving eyes, and made my way down the hallway to the bathroom. I locked the door and turned on the shower before peeling my clothes off, my body still sticky from last night’s exertions. I stayed under the hot water for what felt like hours, turning up the temperature in regular increments until the handle would go no further, but I still felt queasy. And dirty. I scrubbed and I scrubbed, lathering myself with bar soap and shampooing my hair, but I felt no cleaner for my efforts, even as I witnessed the last of the silver dye swirl around in a circle and disappear down the drain. I wiped the mirror with my towel. My pale shoulders and chest were stained beyond pink, nearly crimson from the scalding hot shower. I wanted to peel away my skin and step out if it, shed it like a snake does, so that I could feel new and clean and right. Instead, I pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and a loose t-shirt.

“A girl named Billie called,” my mom said when I came out, handing me a slip of paper with a phone number on it. My spirits were raised, but just slightly, and only momentarily. I wanted to call her back right away, but I hesitated. What could I say now?

“Are you okay?” My mom furrowed her brow, palming my face with both hands.

I shrugged her off and told her I was fine, but I stayed in my room for the rest of the afternoon and didn’t bother coming out for dinner. I curled up on my bed and listened to the rain battering the roof, and I must have picked up the phone a dozen times, dialing the first few digits of Billie’s number before hanging up. I couldn’t talk to her, not today. Not yet. Instead, I dialed Riley’s house. My heart pounded in my ears and my neck as it rang two, three, four times before someone finally picked up.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi, Mrs. Johnson. It’s Jake. Is Riley home?”

“Jake,” she said, and I pictured her auburn hair pushed back with the red bandana she often wore. “He’s out in the barn helping his father with the cows. You’re welcome to come lend them a hand if you like, but I imagine you’re probably not feeling up to it, judging by the state my son was in this morning. Sounds like you boys had a good time last night.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I closed my eyes in relief, realizing I had no idea what I would have said if Riley had answered. “I’ll just see Riley tomorrow at school.”

But the next morning, I felt even worse. Just the thought of Riley made me feel panicky, and my armpits got all hot and sweaty. I decided to drive to school early so I could swing by my locker without running into him. I was slipping my chemistry textbook into my backpack when I looked up and saw Billie coming down the hall.

“You didn’t call me back,” she said, eyeing me expectantly. She looked different today, without all the silver makeup of course, but there was something else, too, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, or whether this seemingly imperceptible change was for better or worse.

“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling too great, you know?”

“I bet.” She laughed. “So, did anything fun happen at the party after I left?” She put her hand on my biceps and gave it a squeeze, and I relaxed, just a little.

“Not really,” I said, but then I told her about Becca Sampson drinking someone’s chew spit. Billie twisted her face in disgust, but then we both laughed about it.

“Well, if you’re still up for catching a movie together Friday,” she said, “I’d still love to go see Hoosiers.”

“Yeah, definitely,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

By the time classes let out, the rain had started up again, and I wasn’t feeling too enthusiastic about football practice, knowing that frozen toes and a wet ass were in my near future. More than that, I was still nervous as hell about seeing Riley. When I walked in, the locker room was bustling with dozens of boys changing into their jockstraps, knee pads, shoulder pads, helmets … but no Riley. For a moment, I thought he might have stayed home sick—maybe his hangover had been even worse than mine—but my hopes sank when I finally spotted him.

He had strayed from the varsity lockers and had a freshman cornered by the toilets. He was yanking on the waistband of the kid’s underwear, giving him a painful wedgie. I tried to scoot past before Riley saw me, but I was too late. His eyes locked on mine, and instinct kicked in. I knew I had to align myself with “Team Riley” here. If he stopped viewing me as his ally, he would ruin me. If word got back to Billie about what happened at the party, she and I would be over before it began. No one could find out, not ever. It had been a mistake, a drunken transgression. I had already resigned myself with absolute certainty that it would never—could never—happen again.

“Well, well, well,” I said, ignoring Riley as I sauntered over to the kid. I slapped him on his bare ass, hard.

Riley’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I mean, just look at that sweet, plump thing,” I said, and I gave it another hard smack, leaving a pink hand-shaped stain on his pale flesh. “Almost as hot as Shannon Barber’s ass. Maybe you should try out for the cheerleading squad instead.”

Riley laughed and let go of the kid to give me a high-five. Our eyes met, just for a split-second—what was it I saw there, in Riley’s eyes?—but then we both turned to watch the freshman scamper down the row of lockers, digging his underwear out of his crack.

“Wicked party this weekend,” I said.

“Dude, it was hella fun, but I don’t even remember half of it,” Riley said. “I was so wasted, it’s all a blur.”

“I know, right?”

“All right, ladies!” Coach hollered, giving his whistle three sharp blasts.

The locker room went silent, and we all turned toward the door of his office. Stan, halfway through pulling on his shoulder pads, froze and turned too, and I saw a faint outline of the penis that had been drawn across his stomach, the pale flesh of his midsection still pink and raw from what I imagined had been a furious weekend effort to erase his mistake.

“We’re going to double up on wind sprints today,” Coach yelled, and all of us moaned in unison. “Quit your whining! Now c’mon, let’s go! We’re going to make men out of you yet!”