Page 4 of Bobby Green

He found that he craved these things from Keith even more than he’d wanted them from Jess, but he knew the second he even tried for them, Keith would laugh and call him a faggot or sweet pea or something obnoxious.

They’d had each other’sdicksin their mouths, but touching a hip or a shoulder or even a goddamned kiss was somehow worse.

Why the hell was that?

It was starting to piss Vern off.

“It’s not right,” Vern said quietly, standing his ground. “I like Carla.” So that was a bit of a stretch, but still. “Doing this behind her back—it’s not respectful.”

“Well, it’s not like we’rein love,” Keith retorted scornfully.

Maybe not you, but I could be.

The thought made Vern catch his breath and fight tears. He buried it—buried it so far down, it took a few more months and a whole lot more dicks before he could unbury it and see what he might have killed.

“But you’re in love with Carla, and this ain’t right,” Vern said, his chest achy and his throat swollen.

“Are you saying I’m some sort of fairy?” Keith asked, like he was getting angry.

Oh, God forbid.“Look, Keith, Carla gives you head. You don’t need me. You and me, we just keep doing what we do. We just leave this part of it out, okay?”

“Carla gives lousy head,” Keith snarled, and while Vern missed the part where that washisfault, he tried to smooth things over.

“Well, you know, practice. All I’m saying is if somebody catches us, we both won’t be getting no head from our girlfriends, and living in this pile of horseshit will be even fucking harder.”

They lived—quite literally—in Dogpatch, California. Population 200. Of course, there were a bunch of tiny towns in the same fifty-mile radius up in the Sierra Mountains, but the one on their addresses and college applications and driver’s licenses was Dogpatch.

Vern was well aware that after he graduated from high school and hay-baling season was over, if he didn’t find someplace to work through the winter, he and his mom might not even be able to afford rent on the tiny shack in the back of Frank Gilmore’s property.

He couldn’t afford to piss off Keith Gilmore. But dammit—dammit—this just wasn’t right.

As if to prove he didn’t know what right was, Keith sneered. “You think living in Dogpatch is hardnow, asshole, just think of what it’s gonna be like if I tell everyone I saw you sucking Dirk Hogarth’s dick behind the fuckin’ Frostie last week!”

Vern stared at him, mouth opening and closing slowly. Dirk Hogarth was the high school English/history teacher, a slight little man who lived alone with his cats and his sweater vests and his bow tie. Everyone knew he was a fairy, but because he was so mild-mannered, such a sweet little person who never bothered anyone, nobody gave him shit.

All the mothers in the town adored him, and even the students were kind, but that didn’t stop the jocks from making fun of him behind his back, daring each other to go suck the guy’s dick when they got riled or didn’t like their grades.

For the first time, Vern thought about Mr. Hogarth and the rude, stupid shit people said about him behind his back, and felt bad. Mr. Hogarth had been nothing but nice to Vern, and here this redneck cheater was using the guy as a threat.

A credible threat.

“What are you saying?” Vern asked quietly, trying to get a bead on this sitch. “Say it very plainly, Keith. I want to hear you say the words.”

Keith had the grace to look ashamed. “Just… you know, Vern. Keep doing what we do. Don’t make a big moral deal out of it and everything’ll be fine.”

Vern’s mind raced—although he’d never really been accused of being a brain trust before.

“So if I don’t agree to keep blowing you, you’re going to spread rumors that I’m blowing someone else,” he said slowly. “Like, blackmail.”

Keith’s jaw thrust out and his lower lip trembled. He looked ready to cry, and for the first time, Vern got maybe an inkling of what was going through his mind.

“Yeah,” he said, pretending to be cavalier but achieving instead a sort of pathetic bravado. “That’s it. I’m a blackmailer. Making you do something you goddamned enjoy.”

Vern nodded. “Enjoyed.Past tense, Keith. I’ll do it if I have to. I need the job, and your dad don’t give jobs to fairies. But from this moment on, Ienjoyeddoing it. I don’t enjoy it anymore.”

With that he turned around and grabbed his boots, which stood at the open doorway. He paused for a moment to slide them on and then kept right on walking. He and Keith had another two hours of work to do in the goddamned baler, and by God, he didn’t want to be here one more minute longer.

THAT NIGHThe went home to the tiny bathroom he’d newly tiled and took a shower, scrubbing at his body—his genitals in particular—until the water ran cold. When he came out of the bathroom, he put on his sleep shorts and joined his mom in the cramped, yellowing kitchen. She was hunched over the beat-up wooden table, tapping on the laptop furtively, like when Vern’s father had still been there, afraid every keystroke would be the one that spun him into a rage.