Fic: Primavera 1/?
I need to borrow the "halfbreedchild made me do it" tag from therumjournals
Title: Primavera, part 1
Pairing: Pre-slash BB Pinto
Rating: PG-13 for cursing? Pretty much PG
Word count: 3200
Summary: teenage Chris goes to live with the Quinto family when his mom is sick
A/N: Some sort of slash may occur (look at me being all coy) once they're both legal. They'll get a little older with each chapter. Yeah, another WIP, yay me.
“I don't want him touching my stuff.”
“Now, Zach, that's not very -”
“I mean it. This sucks.”
I know my voice is all whiny and shit but I think that's pretty fair. Mom sticks her hands on her hips, hikes an eyebrow and gives me the look that means I should let it go.
“It would've been nice to be asked before you guys decided, that's all I'm saying.”
“I already explained that there wasn't time. This family does not turn away from friends.”
“They're not friends of mine.”
I get a sigh, another look and a carton handed to me.
“Start on the bookshelves.”
“God. Whatever. And Joe's really okay with -”
“Your brother is being very mature about this and said it's fine. You might like to follow his example.”
“It's okay for him, he's got his own place.”
“Suck it up, hun, this is happening and I expect you to be nice to Chris when he gets here. He's having a tough time of it.”
“I guess. But he has to stay out of my room. And I don't want to, like, have to drive him everywhere and stuff. I'm not hanging out with him.”
“Yes you are, at least until he's settled in.”
“But Mom, I'll look like such a dork if I have some stupid fourteen year old hanging around me all the time.”
The whine's back. I don't care.
“Zachary John Quinto, you will be nice to this kid and you will help him feel at home. It's not his fault his mom's sick and it must be pretty scary for him. Try to put yourself in his position. He's being sent all the way across the country to live with a family he doesn't even know, away from his family and all his friends, and he's old enough to realize things are serious with his mom. How would you feel if that was all happening to you?”
“Pretty shitty, I guess.”
“You do not use that language with me.”
“God, sorry. I'd feel bad. Fine. Whatever. I'll be nice.”
“Of course you will, you're a good kid. Most of the time. Now, get the shelves cleared then you can take these down to the garage for me.”
“I don't suppose me helping with this means we can have . . .”
“If there's no more complaining from you?”
“Promise.”
“Okay then, sure. Pizza night it is.”
Mom was right: he looks pretty much terrified when we find him at the airport. We got held up and he's been waiting nearly forty minutes in a place where he doesn't know anybody yet, sitting perched next to a pile of bags on a cart. He's just this little skinny thing, a foot shorter than me, all big worried eyes and I guess I feel sorry for him. This whole thing must be pretty scary. Mom goes up and just hugs him to her like she does, it's usually pretty embarrassing having a mom who'll hug anything or anybody within a five meter radius but he closes his eyes and hugs back into her rather than freaking out or whatever, which is pretty cool of him, I guess. He catches my eye and I nod, hold out a hand which he shakes briefly, his hand a little damp with nervous sweat. I fight the urge to wipe it off on my pants.
“Hey, man. I'm Zach, you probably don't remember me, apparently we met, like, once.”
“Hey. Chris. I sorta do, I think.”
“I'll take the cart.”
“No, it's cool.”
“Seriously, let me take the cart, no big deal.”
“Sure, okay. Thanks.”
Mom keeps him tucked into her side the whole way back to the car and he just lets her like he's sleepwalking or something. I guess he must be tired, I would be even though it's not exactly late. They sit in the back together and he answers Mom's attempts at conversation in polite monosyllables, his voice subdued and it strikes me again how Mom was right. This has got to be tough on him and he's only a little dude. I catch his eye once or twice in the driver's mirror and smile at him but I can't see his face enough to notice if he smiles back at all.
In the end, I carry most of his bags up to Joe's room as Mom's giving him the tour of the house and keeps him talking in the kitchen after they're done. It feels wrong, someone else's stuff in Joe's room and I feel a little angry at Chris again because this all got dumped in my lap this afternoon and it feels like he's invading our home or something. Mom's even given him Joe's most decent quilt, the denim one that looks like it's made out of different jeans. I totally wanted that quilt. But, I know it's not his fault, I guess. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
Mom's asking him about pizza when I get back down to the kitchen. Chris is sitting at the table, toes curled in his socks in front of him. He'd taken his shoes off by the door, then blushed like crazy when he saw we didn't, like he wasn't sure if he should put his back on again or what. I just sort of semi-shoved him forward, telling him not to hang around as the bags I was carrying were heavy. I got such a snotty look off Mom for that one but, hey, it got him into the house.
“I don't mind, I like all pizza. Really.”
“No, sweetie, what would you like best? What would you have at home?”
His face crumbles, like, this minuscule amount at the word home but he swallows, frowns a little,
“Uh, pepperoni, I guess. Green peppers. Cheese crust?”
How sophisticated, God, I have to work at not rolling my eyes at him.
“Then that's what you'll have. You want to do the honors, Zach?”
“Sure, I'll call. You hungry, pipsqueak? Medium or large?”
The name-calling gets me another totally harsh look from Mom but I think Chris likes it as one side of his mouth lifts briefly like he's going to actually smile.
“Medium would be good. Thank you.”
He eats every little bit like he's some starving Victorian waif out of Dickens and he drinks Mountain Dew, it's so fucking gross. Mom lets him finish her chicken spinachi, which sucks as I usually get at least two slices of hers but he seems happier once he's full up, eyes all sleepy like a little kid. I suppose I keep thinking he's younger than he is as he's seriously short for his age. I think, I swear I was way taller than that at fourteen. He doesn't look like you'd figure a guy from SoCal would. He's not blond or even that tan. I don't know what I expected. Hobie, maybe, he's sort of Hobie-esque a little with that hair. He follows me up the stairs because Mom sends him to bed after he calls his parents and gets all red-eyed, blinky and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth over and over again. He's hanging back from me while I show him Joe's bathroom, where the light switches are, how much hanging space there is and whatever else. He nods mutely, I don't think he's even taking it all in.
“And you have to use my bathroom if you want to soak in the tub, but that's okay. Just ask me first, alright? Like, I don't want you in my room without asking. That's totally important to me, I'm a really private person.”
“Oh, God, sure, I wouldn't -”
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn't but it's really important.”
“Yeah. Sure. I totally won't go in your room.”
“Good. Hey, dude, are you okay? You're pretty quiet. We're not, like, scary or anything, you know.”
“I think I'm just really tired.”
“Okay, cool, get some sleep, whatever. Mom says you can sleep late so don't sweat about getting downstairs early or whatever. We're pretty easy going on weekends.”
Another nod and he wraps his arms around his chest, all skinny and small in this huge-ass tee shirt that drops halfway to his knees. I touch him on the arm and he just looks down at my fingers.
“It'll be okay. Mom's cool and school's okay and everything. I'll leave you to it.”
“Okay. Hey, Zach?”
I turn in the doorway, give him what I hope is a reassuring smile as he looks a little like he's going to cry.
“What?”
“Just, thanks, I guess.”
“No problem, man. Give me or Mom a shout if you need anything, don't sweat it if you do. Night.”
“Night. Thanks.”
It shouldn't piss me off but it does. Joe's such a jerk and a total pain in the ass but I'm getting all butt hurt because I think he prefers Chris to me. He comes home on Sundays for lunch and with all his laundry for Mom to do and usually it's him taking over the TV and drinking beer and basically trying his best to bug the crap out of me. But now that Chris has relaxed a little and turns out to be kinda funny, he and Joe have buddied up and talk about football and music and seriously stupid movies. Joe's even taking him to a game when I can't go to. I swear he's just doing it to be a dick but Mom doesn't want to hear it.
“He's being friendly to a kid who is missing his family. You could stand to do a little more towards that, too, bucko.”
“What? You have got to be kidding me, I do everything with Chris. He's like my shadow or something these days, I only get away from him at school.”
“Exactly - he's a new kid. He's got to be having a hard time fitting in, you need to spend more time with him between classes.”
“Mom, he is a freshman. There is no way on earth I'm hanging out with a freshman at school. God, you really don't remember how that works? It'd be, like, total social suicide.”
“You're a better person than this, Zach.”
“No, Mom, I'm really not.”
But then I see Chris cowering back against his locker with his backpack hugged against his chest while a bunch of sophmore kids make fun of his accent, like, whoa dude, that's totally bitchin, hang ten brah! High fiving each other and knocking into him casually until he drops his backpack. He's biting his lip and looking up at them all with big eyes, such a short little fucker. I sigh, tell the guys I'll just be a sec and make my way over.
“Problem?”
They all look up at me. I'm pretty much one of the tallest guys in school, except Brian who is a freak, and yeah, I might not be all built and stuff, and I'm not totally popular exactly but they know who I am and step back from Chris.
“No, no problem.”
“We're making friends with the new kid.”
“Yeah. Take a pill.”
I raise an eyebrow at that and the guy blanches, steps back further. God, I dig being a senior, it's so fucking awesome sometimes.
“You okay, Chris?”
“Sure, I'm good.”
“You ready for lunch?”
He smiles at me properly for the first time ever, like, beams at me.
“Totally.”
I hear it as we walk away, only just as it's a whisper that I don't think I'm supposed to hear, and I have no idea if he hears it or not but he doesn't seem to, preoccupied with tugging his backpack back on.
What-fucking-ever, drama fag.
“You know you don't have to put up with that sort of shit, right?”
“I'm just trying to fit in.”
“I know, I get that. But you need to stand up for yourself.”
Yeah, it makes me a total hypocrite, whatever. I nod to the guys as we get into the cafeteria, shrug in Chris's direction and they all grin back at me, roll their eyes. He follows me as we grab a tray each, getting in line.
“Like, just tell them to go fuck themselves.”
“I have to be careful.”
“Listen, I don't want to have to keep bailing you out. This is okay every so often but I can't babysit you at school, too, Chris.”
He flushes and looks pissed, but doesn't say anything, looking down at his tray.
“I don't mind at home or whatever, you're not a total pain to hang out with or anything but I've got my own stuff to worry about at school. Just knee someone in the balls or something and they'll all think you're mental and leave you alone.”
“I can't. I got -”
He pauses, looking worried.
“What? You can tell me.”
He leans towards me, hissing it,
“It's why I'm here. I got kicked out of school for fighting and my dad couldn't cope with that and my mom and I couldn't stay with Katie so they sent me to you guys so I could stay out of trouble.”
“Wait. Dude. You got kicked out of school for fighting? Way to fucking go. Just spread that info around and you'll be fine.”
“No, it doesn't work that way.”
“Then tell me how it works.”
I lean across him, grab some potato chips, another bag for him which I dump on his tray.
“I got sent to two other schools back home and once everyone found out why I there, every single guy wanted to fight me to show that they were, like, totally more hardcore than the psycho new kid. And it's so stupid because all I did was kick one guy in the nuts, it's not like I even know how to fight anyway. So they all figured a fresh start, or whatever, was what I needed.”
“And then they shipped you off to us.”
“Yeah. What with my mom being so sick and everything, I get why.”
“It's got to suck, though.”
“Yeah. It totally sucks.”
“Hey, the guys won't completely hate it if you come sit with us at lunch. But it's strictly temporary, okay?”
“Sure. That'd be really great. Like, so awesome.”
We hear him crying when he's on the phone to his dad later, then his footsteps going up the stairs fast, his door shutting behind him. I look at Mom, knowing what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth.
“You should -”
“He'll be totally embarrassed if I go up there.”
“He'll be more embarrassed if I go up there, right? Zach, he looks up to you.”
I snort,
“Yeah, he's short, he has to.”
“Cut that out. He really seems to think a lot of you, and he won't want some weird old lady talking to him about his feelings.”
“Mom, trust me on this, he doesn't want another guy talking to him about his feelings, either. We're dudes.”
“Oh, that's bullcrap and you know it. Your father . . .”
“Here we go.”
“Your father had no problem expressing himself emotionally. And he'd have wanted you to help Chris through all this.”
“I hate it when you play the Dad card.”
“And you know I only do it when it's important. Go talk to him.”
I knock on his door a couple of times with a knuckle, hear him move around and he blows his nose loudly before calling out that the door's open. Like we have locks on our doors or something.
“Hey. Mom wanted me to check to see if you wanted to, like, talk or anything.”
“No, I'm good.”
“Well, you want to watch TV? Or play Sonic or something?”
“Sonic would be cool.”
He follows me into my room for the first time I've let him in, rubbing at his nose and looking at my posters and stuff, not saying anything. I slump down on my bean bag, turn the TV and Megadrive on.
“Sorry, I know it's shitty, it's Joe's old one.”
He takes my desk chair, wheeling it across to the end of my bed next to me as I hand him the spare joypad.
“It's cool, I love Sonic, Katie has it at her place. She's got a Playstation, too.”
“You're shitting me. Your sister has a fucking Playstation? That's so fucking awesome.”
“Yeah. I've totally played with it when I stay at hers.”
“God, I'd give my left nut for a Playstation. Although I'd be pretty pissed if Joe got one and I didn't.”
We sit in silence while the first level loads, then I start comprehensively kicking Chris's ass in versus mode. I'm so far ahead I can even look across at him once or twice and he's super concentrating, tongue poking out one side of his mouth.
“So, you seemed kind of upset earlier. After you talked to your dad.”
“Oh. That. Yeah.”
“You can talk to me about stuff like that, if you want. It might help.”
He pauses, distracted, rolls off a gantry into some boiling oil and dies.
“Fuck!”
“You suck at this.”
“Hey, if I had Sonic in my room to play whenever, I'd kick your ass.”
“Big words, little man.”
I key up the level again, playing without even paying attention as he tries once more, doing a little better this time.
“Can I ask you, like, something totally personal? I mean, it might really piss you off.”
“Well, I guess so. I mean I can't guarantee it won't piss me off.”
“Were you scared? When your dad was sick.”
“Honestly? I don't really remember. I knew he was sick, that was pretty much it. Then I remember Mom being sad and weird. I think it's normal to be scared, though. If it was my mom, I'd be bugging the fuck out.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally.”
He fucks up again, I key up the level without comment.
“You know she was sick before, right?”
“Sure. That's how your rents know my mom.”
“I don't remember her being sick before. Not like this. They think she and Dad are going to have to go to Switzerland or something for this new treatment.”
“I know. Mom told me. You were supposed to be going home for a visit, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And now you can't.”
“No.”
“You must miss your friends.”
“I guess.”
It's the last thing we say for maybe thirty minutes. He's hit his stride now, his thumbs flying on the joypad and I notice he's catching up to me so we just play on in silence, making it almost to the end of Casino Night because he keeps hitting the teleport and sending me back to where he is. I call him all kinds of shitty names and it makes him laugh and laugh.
“You still suck at this. Tell you what, you can have it in your room and we'll see how long it takes you to actually kick my ass, i.e. never in a million.”
“You don't mind?”
“I hardly play it anymore, anyway. Go for it.”
He pretty much races back and forth from my room to his, plugging it all in, all excited over some shitty old Megadrive with Joe's Soundgarden and Pearl Jam stickers peeling off it. I can hear him playing it for, like, an hour or something after we say good night and I'm drifting off to sleep.
Next
Title: Primavera, part 1
Pairing: Pre-slash BB Pinto
Rating: PG-13 for cursing? Pretty much PG
Word count: 3200
Summary: teenage Chris goes to live with the Quinto family when his mom is sick
A/N: Some sort of slash may occur (look at me being all coy) once they're both legal. They'll get a little older with each chapter. Yeah, another WIP, yay me.
“I don't want him touching my stuff.”
“Now, Zach, that's not very -”
“I mean it. This sucks.”
I know my voice is all whiny and shit but I think that's pretty fair. Mom sticks her hands on her hips, hikes an eyebrow and gives me the look that means I should let it go.
“It would've been nice to be asked before you guys decided, that's all I'm saying.”
“I already explained that there wasn't time. This family does not turn away from friends.”
“They're not friends of mine.”
I get a sigh, another look and a carton handed to me.
“Start on the bookshelves.”
“God. Whatever. And Joe's really okay with -”
“Your brother is being very mature about this and said it's fine. You might like to follow his example.”
“It's okay for him, he's got his own place.”
“Suck it up, hun, this is happening and I expect you to be nice to Chris when he gets here. He's having a tough time of it.”
“I guess. But he has to stay out of my room. And I don't want to, like, have to drive him everywhere and stuff. I'm not hanging out with him.”
“Yes you are, at least until he's settled in.”
“But Mom, I'll look like such a dork if I have some stupid fourteen year old hanging around me all the time.”
The whine's back. I don't care.
“Zachary John Quinto, you will be nice to this kid and you will help him feel at home. It's not his fault his mom's sick and it must be pretty scary for him. Try to put yourself in his position. He's being sent all the way across the country to live with a family he doesn't even know, away from his family and all his friends, and he's old enough to realize things are serious with his mom. How would you feel if that was all happening to you?”
“Pretty shitty, I guess.”
“You do not use that language with me.”
“God, sorry. I'd feel bad. Fine. Whatever. I'll be nice.”
“Of course you will, you're a good kid. Most of the time. Now, get the shelves cleared then you can take these down to the garage for me.”
“I don't suppose me helping with this means we can have . . .”
“If there's no more complaining from you?”
“Promise.”
“Okay then, sure. Pizza night it is.”
Mom was right: he looks pretty much terrified when we find him at the airport. We got held up and he's been waiting nearly forty minutes in a place where he doesn't know anybody yet, sitting perched next to a pile of bags on a cart. He's just this little skinny thing, a foot shorter than me, all big worried eyes and I guess I feel sorry for him. This whole thing must be pretty scary. Mom goes up and just hugs him to her like she does, it's usually pretty embarrassing having a mom who'll hug anything or anybody within a five meter radius but he closes his eyes and hugs back into her rather than freaking out or whatever, which is pretty cool of him, I guess. He catches my eye and I nod, hold out a hand which he shakes briefly, his hand a little damp with nervous sweat. I fight the urge to wipe it off on my pants.
“Hey, man. I'm Zach, you probably don't remember me, apparently we met, like, once.”
“Hey. Chris. I sorta do, I think.”
“I'll take the cart.”
“No, it's cool.”
“Seriously, let me take the cart, no big deal.”
“Sure, okay. Thanks.”
Mom keeps him tucked into her side the whole way back to the car and he just lets her like he's sleepwalking or something. I guess he must be tired, I would be even though it's not exactly late. They sit in the back together and he answers Mom's attempts at conversation in polite monosyllables, his voice subdued and it strikes me again how Mom was right. This has got to be tough on him and he's only a little dude. I catch his eye once or twice in the driver's mirror and smile at him but I can't see his face enough to notice if he smiles back at all.
In the end, I carry most of his bags up to Joe's room as Mom's giving him the tour of the house and keeps him talking in the kitchen after they're done. It feels wrong, someone else's stuff in Joe's room and I feel a little angry at Chris again because this all got dumped in my lap this afternoon and it feels like he's invading our home or something. Mom's even given him Joe's most decent quilt, the denim one that looks like it's made out of different jeans. I totally wanted that quilt. But, I know it's not his fault, I guess. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
Mom's asking him about pizza when I get back down to the kitchen. Chris is sitting at the table, toes curled in his socks in front of him. He'd taken his shoes off by the door, then blushed like crazy when he saw we didn't, like he wasn't sure if he should put his back on again or what. I just sort of semi-shoved him forward, telling him not to hang around as the bags I was carrying were heavy. I got such a snotty look off Mom for that one but, hey, it got him into the house.
“I don't mind, I like all pizza. Really.”
“No, sweetie, what would you like best? What would you have at home?”
His face crumbles, like, this minuscule amount at the word home but he swallows, frowns a little,
“Uh, pepperoni, I guess. Green peppers. Cheese crust?”
How sophisticated, God, I have to work at not rolling my eyes at him.
“Then that's what you'll have. You want to do the honors, Zach?”
“Sure, I'll call. You hungry, pipsqueak? Medium or large?”
The name-calling gets me another totally harsh look from Mom but I think Chris likes it as one side of his mouth lifts briefly like he's going to actually smile.
“Medium would be good. Thank you.”
He eats every little bit like he's some starving Victorian waif out of Dickens and he drinks Mountain Dew, it's so fucking gross. Mom lets him finish her chicken spinachi, which sucks as I usually get at least two slices of hers but he seems happier once he's full up, eyes all sleepy like a little kid. I suppose I keep thinking he's younger than he is as he's seriously short for his age. I think, I swear I was way taller than that at fourteen. He doesn't look like you'd figure a guy from SoCal would. He's not blond or even that tan. I don't know what I expected. Hobie, maybe, he's sort of Hobie-esque a little with that hair. He follows me up the stairs because Mom sends him to bed after he calls his parents and gets all red-eyed, blinky and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth over and over again. He's hanging back from me while I show him Joe's bathroom, where the light switches are, how much hanging space there is and whatever else. He nods mutely, I don't think he's even taking it all in.
“And you have to use my bathroom if you want to soak in the tub, but that's okay. Just ask me first, alright? Like, I don't want you in my room without asking. That's totally important to me, I'm a really private person.”
“Oh, God, sure, I wouldn't -”
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn't but it's really important.”
“Yeah. Sure. I totally won't go in your room.”
“Good. Hey, dude, are you okay? You're pretty quiet. We're not, like, scary or anything, you know.”
“I think I'm just really tired.”
“Okay, cool, get some sleep, whatever. Mom says you can sleep late so don't sweat about getting downstairs early or whatever. We're pretty easy going on weekends.”
Another nod and he wraps his arms around his chest, all skinny and small in this huge-ass tee shirt that drops halfway to his knees. I touch him on the arm and he just looks down at my fingers.
“It'll be okay. Mom's cool and school's okay and everything. I'll leave you to it.”
“Okay. Hey, Zach?”
I turn in the doorway, give him what I hope is a reassuring smile as he looks a little like he's going to cry.
“What?”
“Just, thanks, I guess.”
“No problem, man. Give me or Mom a shout if you need anything, don't sweat it if you do. Night.”
“Night. Thanks.”
It shouldn't piss me off but it does. Joe's such a jerk and a total pain in the ass but I'm getting all butt hurt because I think he prefers Chris to me. He comes home on Sundays for lunch and with all his laundry for Mom to do and usually it's him taking over the TV and drinking beer and basically trying his best to bug the crap out of me. But now that Chris has relaxed a little and turns out to be kinda funny, he and Joe have buddied up and talk about football and music and seriously stupid movies. Joe's even taking him to a game when I can't go to. I swear he's just doing it to be a dick but Mom doesn't want to hear it.
“He's being friendly to a kid who is missing his family. You could stand to do a little more towards that, too, bucko.”
“What? You have got to be kidding me, I do everything with Chris. He's like my shadow or something these days, I only get away from him at school.”
“Exactly - he's a new kid. He's got to be having a hard time fitting in, you need to spend more time with him between classes.”
“Mom, he is a freshman. There is no way on earth I'm hanging out with a freshman at school. God, you really don't remember how that works? It'd be, like, total social suicide.”
“You're a better person than this, Zach.”
“No, Mom, I'm really not.”
But then I see Chris cowering back against his locker with his backpack hugged against his chest while a bunch of sophmore kids make fun of his accent, like, whoa dude, that's totally bitchin, hang ten brah! High fiving each other and knocking into him casually until he drops his backpack. He's biting his lip and looking up at them all with big eyes, such a short little fucker. I sigh, tell the guys I'll just be a sec and make my way over.
“Problem?”
They all look up at me. I'm pretty much one of the tallest guys in school, except Brian who is a freak, and yeah, I might not be all built and stuff, and I'm not totally popular exactly but they know who I am and step back from Chris.
“No, no problem.”
“We're making friends with the new kid.”
“Yeah. Take a pill.”
I raise an eyebrow at that and the guy blanches, steps back further. God, I dig being a senior, it's so fucking awesome sometimes.
“You okay, Chris?”
“Sure, I'm good.”
“You ready for lunch?”
He smiles at me properly for the first time ever, like, beams at me.
“Totally.”
I hear it as we walk away, only just as it's a whisper that I don't think I'm supposed to hear, and I have no idea if he hears it or not but he doesn't seem to, preoccupied with tugging his backpack back on.
What-fucking-ever, drama fag.
“You know you don't have to put up with that sort of shit, right?”
“I'm just trying to fit in.”
“I know, I get that. But you need to stand up for yourself.”
Yeah, it makes me a total hypocrite, whatever. I nod to the guys as we get into the cafeteria, shrug in Chris's direction and they all grin back at me, roll their eyes. He follows me as we grab a tray each, getting in line.
“Like, just tell them to go fuck themselves.”
“I have to be careful.”
“Listen, I don't want to have to keep bailing you out. This is okay every so often but I can't babysit you at school, too, Chris.”
He flushes and looks pissed, but doesn't say anything, looking down at his tray.
“I don't mind at home or whatever, you're not a total pain to hang out with or anything but I've got my own stuff to worry about at school. Just knee someone in the balls or something and they'll all think you're mental and leave you alone.”
“I can't. I got -”
He pauses, looking worried.
“What? You can tell me.”
He leans towards me, hissing it,
“It's why I'm here. I got kicked out of school for fighting and my dad couldn't cope with that and my mom and I couldn't stay with Katie so they sent me to you guys so I could stay out of trouble.”
“Wait. Dude. You got kicked out of school for fighting? Way to fucking go. Just spread that info around and you'll be fine.”
“No, it doesn't work that way.”
“Then tell me how it works.”
I lean across him, grab some potato chips, another bag for him which I dump on his tray.
“I got sent to two other schools back home and once everyone found out why I there, every single guy wanted to fight me to show that they were, like, totally more hardcore than the psycho new kid. And it's so stupid because all I did was kick one guy in the nuts, it's not like I even know how to fight anyway. So they all figured a fresh start, or whatever, was what I needed.”
“And then they shipped you off to us.”
“Yeah. What with my mom being so sick and everything, I get why.”
“It's got to suck, though.”
“Yeah. It totally sucks.”
“Hey, the guys won't completely hate it if you come sit with us at lunch. But it's strictly temporary, okay?”
“Sure. That'd be really great. Like, so awesome.”
We hear him crying when he's on the phone to his dad later, then his footsteps going up the stairs fast, his door shutting behind him. I look at Mom, knowing what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth.
“You should -”
“He'll be totally embarrassed if I go up there.”
“He'll be more embarrassed if I go up there, right? Zach, he looks up to you.”
I snort,
“Yeah, he's short, he has to.”
“Cut that out. He really seems to think a lot of you, and he won't want some weird old lady talking to him about his feelings.”
“Mom, trust me on this, he doesn't want another guy talking to him about his feelings, either. We're dudes.”
“Oh, that's bullcrap and you know it. Your father . . .”
“Here we go.”
“Your father had no problem expressing himself emotionally. And he'd have wanted you to help Chris through all this.”
“I hate it when you play the Dad card.”
“And you know I only do it when it's important. Go talk to him.”
I knock on his door a couple of times with a knuckle, hear him move around and he blows his nose loudly before calling out that the door's open. Like we have locks on our doors or something.
“Hey. Mom wanted me to check to see if you wanted to, like, talk or anything.”
“No, I'm good.”
“Well, you want to watch TV? Or play Sonic or something?”
“Sonic would be cool.”
He follows me into my room for the first time I've let him in, rubbing at his nose and looking at my posters and stuff, not saying anything. I slump down on my bean bag, turn the TV and Megadrive on.
“Sorry, I know it's shitty, it's Joe's old one.”
He takes my desk chair, wheeling it across to the end of my bed next to me as I hand him the spare joypad.
“It's cool, I love Sonic, Katie has it at her place. She's got a Playstation, too.”
“You're shitting me. Your sister has a fucking Playstation? That's so fucking awesome.”
“Yeah. I've totally played with it when I stay at hers.”
“God, I'd give my left nut for a Playstation. Although I'd be pretty pissed if Joe got one and I didn't.”
We sit in silence while the first level loads, then I start comprehensively kicking Chris's ass in versus mode. I'm so far ahead I can even look across at him once or twice and he's super concentrating, tongue poking out one side of his mouth.
“So, you seemed kind of upset earlier. After you talked to your dad.”
“Oh. That. Yeah.”
“You can talk to me about stuff like that, if you want. It might help.”
He pauses, distracted, rolls off a gantry into some boiling oil and dies.
“Fuck!”
“You suck at this.”
“Hey, if I had Sonic in my room to play whenever, I'd kick your ass.”
“Big words, little man.”
I key up the level again, playing without even paying attention as he tries once more, doing a little better this time.
“Can I ask you, like, something totally personal? I mean, it might really piss you off.”
“Well, I guess so. I mean I can't guarantee it won't piss me off.”
“Were you scared? When your dad was sick.”
“Honestly? I don't really remember. I knew he was sick, that was pretty much it. Then I remember Mom being sad and weird. I think it's normal to be scared, though. If it was my mom, I'd be bugging the fuck out.”
“Yeah?”
“Totally.”
He fucks up again, I key up the level without comment.
“You know she was sick before, right?”
“Sure. That's how your rents know my mom.”
“I don't remember her being sick before. Not like this. They think she and Dad are going to have to go to Switzerland or something for this new treatment.”
“I know. Mom told me. You were supposed to be going home for a visit, right?”
“Yeah.”
“And now you can't.”
“No.”
“You must miss your friends.”
“I guess.”
It's the last thing we say for maybe thirty minutes. He's hit his stride now, his thumbs flying on the joypad and I notice he's catching up to me so we just play on in silence, making it almost to the end of Casino Night because he keeps hitting the teleport and sending me back to where he is. I call him all kinds of shitty names and it makes him laugh and laugh.
“You still suck at this. Tell you what, you can have it in your room and we'll see how long it takes you to actually kick my ass, i.e. never in a million.”
“You don't mind?”
“I hardly play it anymore, anyway. Go for it.”
He pretty much races back and forth from my room to his, plugging it all in, all excited over some shitty old Megadrive with Joe's Soundgarden and Pearl Jam stickers peeling off it. I can hear him playing it for, like, an hour or something after we say good night and I'm drifting off to sleep.
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