Page 25 of String Boys

“Are you sure your other son wouldn’t benefit—”

“No.” Both parents yelled, in stereo, staring at the guy like he was ICE.

And then the guy turned to Kelly, and Kelly cocked his head, waiting for it. “Son, are you sure you wouldn’t—”

“St. Mary’s, downtown, three times a year,” Kelly responded promptly. “Got a picture from my first communion and everything. And no. I don’t think it’s good to shit on LGBTQ people either. Or bite the heads off snakes. Or whip people in secret ceremonies or whatever you people do. Did you know tattoos get you sent to hell too? I swear. It’s in Leviticus and everything.”

Isela’s dad was still staring, mouth open, so Kelly did what he did. “So, you know, my Dad’s got our names on his arm. If you want to get picky about it, you can send him to hell, but I don’t want him to go to hell ’cause he’s a good dad. And I’m with Mom. Stay away from my little sisters. We don’t want them sold into slavery. And I like my cotton polyester shirts too. Wasn’t that in there? I forget, but you know, there’s a club on campus, and they tell us all sorts of things that are way worse than being gay. And they’re nice and they bring cookies. Anyway. No. I’ll be Catholic until I find something that has better cookies after church. Do you guys do music? Because the music is pretty in the Catholic church—”

“I’ll just take my leave, then,” Isela’s father said, sounding dazed. “Isela—”

“Daddy, you said I could go to Matty’s game! You were going to pick me up afterward! When was that, Mrs. Cruz?”

Oh, that would be a treat, having that girl inside their family, pretending to be all friendly but really looking for a way to send the lot of them to hell. Maybe he was being unfair, but Kelly didn’t really give a shit. He had Seth—finallyhad Seth—down here, on this planet, actuallylooking at Kelly’s lipsand Kelly was upstairs dealing with this bullshit?

As though conjured by thought, the strains of Seth’s practice scales floated up through the heating vents like it did sometimes when the neighbors were home and had their heaters on too.

Everyone in the living room stopped, including Isela’s father.

“That’s… that’s lovely,” he said, surprised.

“That’s my friend’s homework,” Kelly said sharply. “And I’m missing it.” He kept his backpack on, although normally he’d take the art supplies out and leave the backpack there by the door. But his mother had told a lie for him and he’d be damned if he exposed her now.

“Your friend plays the violin?”

Well, duh!“He’s transferring to a special school next year,” Kelly said boldly, because he was going to work on Seth about that. He didn’t want Seth to go any more than Seth wanted to leave, but the things that teacher had said—those things were important. So important. That sound wafting up from out of Seth’s apartment was magic. This bozo in his living room could talk about what God wanted all he wanted, but the only thing Kelly knew for sure was that God wanted Seth’s music to be bigger than this little fourplex in Sacramento.

“That’s….” For a moment, it almost worked. For a moment, Isela Cortez’s father looked like he was about to fall under the same magic spell that everybody fell under when they heard Seth play.

But apparently his God didn’t like music. And right there was a reason for Kelly to ignore this idiot who wanted to make sure the Cruz family was good enough for his little girl.

Mr. Cortez shook himself, like he was waking up from a particularly good dream.

“Is he like you?” he asked. “Of ‘good character’?”

Kelly looked him in the eyes like an adult. “He’s the best,” he said passionately. Then, without looking away, he said, “Mom. I’m going now.”

“Fine, honey,” his mother said calmly. “We’ll wave as we leave.”

And Kelly heard that loud and clear.

“Okay, text me when you stop for dinner.” Because this was his mother’s night not to cook.

“We’ll bring you something,” she said, and still, Kelly kept his eyes locked with Isela’s father, as if he was hypnotizing a snake.

Kelly whirled around and headed back toward the door, but not before he caught his brother’s glare.

Well, let him glare all he frickin’ wanted. Kelly was done.

He clattered down the stairs and through Seth’s front door like he always did, pausing to pull the curtains back so anybody who felt like it could look into the front room.

Seth blinked at the winter afternoon light making its way feebly into his apartment, and frowned. “Why—”

Kelly shook his head and unzipped his backpack with grim purpose. “My family is going to come downstairs and get into the car and wave, and we gotta wave back. And we gotta make sure Matty’s girlfriend’s useless fucking father sees us, being all chill and making music and doing homework and shit, so he doesn’t tell his little girl that she can’t date Matty because we’re gay. And as soon as all that’s over and done with, you gotta hold me for a little bit with no kissing because I’m so mad—so fucking angry—I need to fucking scream.”

“Oh,” Seth murmured, and he was so quiet that Kelly turned to see what he was doing. Scowling, Seth put the violin under his chin and, quicker than thought, started playing “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.”

Kelly heard it then, Seth’s anger and frustration, all in the scream of the violin.