Page 26 of Something Like Winter

“I don’t have a car,” Ben reminded him.

“I think you’ve driven mine more than I have. Get over here.”

And Ben came, lightning fast. Tim met him in the driveway, and before long, he had relaxed again. He wasn’t sure if Ben would be able to recreate the magic, to make Tim feel good outside the bubble they had existed in for two weeks, but once again, Ben knew just what to do. Commandeering his vehicle and taking him hostage, Ben brought him to the city of Galveston, where the beaches overlooked the Gulf of Mexico. Tim had never seen the ocean before, and even though he technically still hadn’t, the waves and sand sure looked like the real thing.

Together they sat on the beach, talking until the sun went down. Ben was easy to be around, like he always was. There was nothing weird. Tim didn’t have to hold his hand or constantly fend off his advances. When a group of college girls spotted them and offered to share their beer, Ben grew a little quiet, but that could have been because the girls were so loud. Of course they flirted with Tim, which he couldn’t help but enjoy. One of them even followed him down the beach when he went to relieve himself. She kissed him, the fumes on her breath much stronger than his, and he kissed her back, curious if his body would react. A kiss was a kiss, it would seem, because Tim began to get turned on and started to feel her body. But it seemed empty. Like masturbation, it felt good, but it didn’t mean a damn thing. Then the girl tried groping him, which only reminded Tim how much he had to pee. He untangled himself from her so he could go.

He swayed a little as he relieved himself, trying to force Krista and Ben out of his mind. Sometimes he felt like he didn’t have room for himself anymore. He glanced over his shoulder to see another ghost. The girl waiting for him, the evening shadows obscuring her features, could have been Carla, back from the past to ruin the one good thing that had just begun. And Tim realized that good thing wasn’t Krista.

“I have to get my friend home,” Tim said.

“Why? Does he need to be tucked into bed by a certain time?”

“Something like that,” Tim replied.

The girls wanted them to come back to their hotel, but Tim managed to bluff their way out. The relief at breaking free of them, of being alone with Ben in the car, weighed heavily on him. If Bryce or Darryl had been in the same situation, they would be in that hotel right now, living a story worthy ofPenthouse Letters. Instead, Tim was happier cruising along with his new gay buddy. What did that imply?

Tim put on a CD to avoid conversation so he could sort through these thoughts. Ben sang along to a few of the songs, making up lyrics once he caught the rhythm of the chorus. Every time Tim looked over at him, he seemed happy. Unpopular, scrawny, and about as uncool as you could get, but happy. Tim wanted to be like that too, to not give a shit about what anyone else thought, to not need so much from every stranger he met. To the untrained eye, Ben had nothing, at least by the bizarre rules that governed high school. But really, Ben was one of the few who wasn’t pretending, one of the few who was free.

* * * * *

The school counselor was an older woman with short gray hair. Tim supposed she looked wise, like a frumpy old owl. He just hoped she wasn’t so shrewd that she saw through him. He smiled, which helped like it always did. People put an amazing amount of stock in beauty. A handsome face could open doors, inspire confidence, and most of all, deceive. Tim’s mother had once said—the palm of her hand on his cheek —that he was beautiful because he had been touched by God. Sometimes Tim wondered if the other guy down below hadn’t touched him instead.

“Mr. Wyman,” the counselor said, “I was hoping to meet with your parents soon.”

Tim glanced at the nameplate on her desk. “That’s why I’m here, Mrs. Hewitt.” Tim leaned on his crutches like a beggar from a Charles Dickens novel. God this was humiliating, even if he was playing a role.

“Sit down,” Mrs. Hewitt said.

Tim thanked her and sat. “I wanted to tell you the truth. My parents were out of town when I got hurt, and even though I could have called their hotel, I didn’t.”

Mrs. Hewitt nodded. “That’s exactly what your parents told me, but I also feel that leaving someone your age alone for two weeks isn’t appropriate.”

“Oh. Well, I talked them into that. Argued, is more like it. I kept saying it was time they treat me more like an adult, but I guess I let them down.”

Mrs. Hewitt considered this. He was halfway there.

“We just moved here from Kansas. Usually I stay with my aunt when my parents aren’t home. Everything is kind of new for us, and I guess I took advantage of that.”

Now Mrs. Hewitt looked at him more sternly, no doubt seeing a rich spoiled brat who tricked his parents. Maybe that’s all he was.

“Well, Mr. Wyman, what do you feel a suitable outcome to this would be?”

Ugh. She wanted to know who was going to get the blame so she could cross his name off her list. “I didn’t show up for two weeks, so two weeks of detention, I guess?”

“Your parents have at least raised you to admit your mistakes.” Mrs. Hewitt made some notes. Tim watched her and wondered if she really did have a list of names. “I trust you’ll convey the details of this conversation to your parents?”

“Yeah,” Tim said.

Mrs. Hewitt raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. You’ll report to room 2W26 today after sixth period for your detention.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Tim slunk out of the room. He may have pulled the wool over an adult’s eyes, but he felt anything but victorious.