Dark Star - 3. Chapter 3

Why can’t I just keep my hands to myself? All it took was to wait a fucking hour or two until we go to my room and take things safe and slow. But no, I just couldn’t wait to get inside his pants, now it’s just awkward. I'm editing audio tracks from our microphones with my headphones on. Every now and then, I steal glances at Rufus but his eyes are fixed on his laptop screen, so I just go back to my work. And at least that is something to be proud of! The sounds of birds and crickets are serene and outlandish, especially paired with the video. I patiently edit out our voices, remove noise and amplify the volume. The change in the ambience is evident as the eclipse progresses. We nailed it!

Rufus is busy working on the footage and jumps when I poke him. I take off my headphones and put them on his head. He looks at me questioningly, but his eyes open wide when he hears the sounds, and his lips form a soft smile. I like looking at him. His face isn't very expressive, but these small changes give away his feelings if you look close enough.

"Wow," he whispers. “This is like ASMR!"

"Haha, you're right!"

"We should put it on YouTube and get a million views," he says, taking off the headphones.

"Do you think so?"

His smile broadens, and there's a flash of confidence in his eyes. "I know so. I'm into ASMR, and trust me, most of them are recorded with crappy microphones. This thing is gold!"

"You're into ASMR?" I asked.

"Yes… Weird, right?"

"I didn't say it's weird,” I shrug. “It's just unusual."

He stares at me as if trying to solve a math problem.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing."

"Okay, now you're being weird. What is it?"

"Nothing. I just expected it to be different."

"What?"

"Working with you."

I chuckle. "You really thought I was going to bully you, didn't you?"

"Well, you're less nice at school."

"You know how it is."

"Yeah," he says slowly and looks away, lost in thoughts and my smile fades.

That's right. He has no clue how it is. He isn't popular, but at least he doesn't have to pretend to be someone he isn't - at least not for anyone’s sake.

Suddenly, he claps his hands and turns back to his laptop. "Okay, focus mode!"

"What mode?"

"Focus mode. We work on the presentation for an hour, no distractions."

"Why?"

"To get things done. And be more productive."

"So I can't talk to you?"

"You can, but only about the project."

I give him a long look, but his face is still like stone. Then he rolls his eyes. "I get it; just say it."

"Say what?!" I laugh.

"That I'm weird."

"Here you go again. You're not weird. You're just…"

"Say it! What am I?" he presses.

I shake my head in disbelief. "You're cute. Happy? Now, focus mode!"

We get back to work. Whenever I glance at Rufus, he has this mysterious little smile.

Miraculously, an hour later, the core of the presentation is mostly finished. I’m impressed. We’ve got a lot of data - from volume dB measurements to light intensity readings, radiation and other boring stuff that we somehow managed to present in an interesting way. We spiced it up with nice collages, audio, and video clips. Rufus is really good with Photoshop. The results came out professional, and I know the other presentations will look like preschoolers' drawings in comparison.

As if on cue, Mom calls us for lunch.

"Let's eat, and then we can go to my room and practice presenting it," I suggest.

"Sorry, I told my parents I'll go home after lunch," Rufus says, avoiding my eyes.

"Uh, come on. We won't take long, thirty minutes, and you can go."

"I'm sorry. Let's practice another day. We have a week until the presentation. My brain needs to rest."

"Mine too! We don't have to work, you know? Maybe just hang out, watch something, chill…"

"Tyler," he silences me and puts his hand on my knee. "I know what you mean. It's just that… we did more today than I was ready to do. And I don't mean the project. It was fun, but… I don't want it like that."

"You don't?" I ask stupidly.

"No. Maybe if I'm in a relationship, sure. But I don't wanna rush. I want it to be special. Mean something."

"Oh," I look down with disappointment. "Sorry for not making it special enough. If you change your mind…"

"Thanks for having me as your partner, Tyler. It's really the best working with you. In a way, it is special."

"You're welcome," I force a smile.

The lunch is loud, with Dad asking us questions about our work and giving his long, uneducated, but eloquent thoughts on the subject. He seems impressed with how intelligent and articulate Rufus is. The boy can really express himself when discussing things he's passionate about.

"What do your parents do?" Mom asks at one point.

Rufus hesitates, suddenly looking down at his plate. "Mom's a teacher," he mumbles. "And Dad's in prison."

The silence that falls is almost unbearable. This was supposed to be a casual chit-chat. No one bargained to discuss dark family secrets. I flush, sensing Dad's gaze on me. I feel ashamed that I didn't know. Things like this are usually difficult to hide.

"Teaching is a very noble job," Mom comments diplomatically.

"What did he do?" Dad cuts to the chase.

Rufus seems even smaller than usual, as if trying to disappear. My mom clears her throat.

"Honey, this isn't…"

"Murder," Rufus mutters.

We all look at him in sheer terror, our forks frozen on the way to our mouths. Now this is a plot twist I didn’t bargain for. I look at Rufus for the signs that it’s all a joke but there are none. He’s suddenly focused on his plate, refusing to make eye contact.

Dad is the first to shake out of it and, to my shock, starts laughing. "Color me intrigued! I trust you didn't have anything to do with it?"

"Michael!" Mom scolds him, but Rufus looks up at Dad for the first time since the revelation and speaks for himself.

"I didn't," he says plainly. "I was very little."

Dad says, "I was just kidding. You're a fine young man. I believe a man is who he chooses to be and not who his parents are - or were. I told Tyler many times, right, son? Rufus, did you know that my dad served jail time, too? Twice! His crimes were puny compared to your old man, but he was a criminal!"

"I didn't know," Rufus says, maintaining eye contact. "I hate crime."

"So do I, kid. So do I. I like you. One question for you. Batman or Superman?"

"Batman, sir," Rufus answers, looking a bit confused.

"Good choice, Rufus. No one's born with superpowers. You must work hard and learn from your experiences, embrace them, good or bad, and use them to shape who you are."

I watch the scene like it's a cheap soap opera. Dad is known for his over-the-top speeches, but the topic is somewhat surreal this time. At least it steers away from Rufus's dad being a murderer, fuck, this doesn't fit my image of him at all.

After lunch, Rufus goes home, and Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "Stick to this boy, Tyler. He may seem like a wimp, but I’ve seen that spark in one's eye many times before. This kid is going places - unlike your stoner friends."

"They're not stoners, Dad."

"Are you telling me they're this slow and annoying sober? Especially Jim? Mark my words, Tyler. Rufus may need some help to come out of his shell and unleash his potential, but it's there. Be there for him, and this will turn out fine."

***

This is not how I planned it in my head. Not that I'm surprised that Rufus isn't into casual sex. It's a miracle he's into sex at all. But the way he positively reacted to being touched gave me a glimpse of hope for much more. Now the situation doesn't look so bright. I want to do more stuff with Rufus, and I want to do it a lot. But I never, ever could be his boyfriend. Not in this economy, as my dad says. Not that Rufus isn't boyfriend material. He is! Dad is right. He might grow up to be the new Elon Musk if the bullies don't kill his will to live. But me, having a boyfriend. It just doesn't add up. My friends would never talk to me again. And what if it scares off girls if they learn about my gay past? If that’s not enough, there's also a bigger problem looming in the shadows. It's called Michael Webb, aka my dad, not very fond of homosexuals and very vocal about it. Damn it.

In the evening, I text Rufus, "when do you want to practice the presentation?"

"Tomorrow? Can we meet at my place this time?"

"Dad will be disappointed xd," I text back.

"I don't know why he liked me, tbh."

"I think I know. He thinks you're the right company for me."

"Am I?"

"I only know I wouldn't mind your company right now," I text, smiling.

"Maybe you're not the right company for me..." he replies.

"Oh, you!" I send and laugh out loud.

"I'm kidding, Tyler. Hey, there's a live stream from a NASA satellite launch in five. Wanna watch with me?"

"Sure!"

Still trying to figure out how it happened, but we ended up watching stuff and chatting for hours without a break. The worst part, it felt great. Fucking fantastic! I lost track of time until Rufus wrote, "I really should be sleeping now, or I won't wake up for school."

I check the time, and oh shit, it's almost 2 am. "Me too. Ttyl Rufus."

"Yeah, goodnight!"

"Goodnight."

I put away the phone, hop in bed and flick off the night lamp. I put my hand on my belly, enjoying the weird fuzziness radiating from my center. Why does it feel so good? And we weren't even sexting. Is this what it feels like to take it slow? Or am I being friend-zoned? Is there a difference?

The initial comfort morphs into confusion and sadness. I shouldn't be delusional. This won't work, no matter what I do.

***

The next day at school Rufus greets me with a smile. I smile and nod at him back before going to join my group. I hope the boys didn’t notice me exchanging smiles with the boy. Ironically, they happen to be talking about the science project. My friend, Jim rambles about a sticker board he made with Clyde. Cool, a sticker board. In third grade, this would be something. Everyone else talks about what they did without enthusiasm. I stay silent until Jim asks me how it’s working with the brainy boy.

"It's good," I shrug, unhappy with the attention.

"Yeah, but what did you do?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, come on, tell us? Bet it's something super dull."

"It's a PowerPoint presentation," I say just so he drops it.

"I knew it would be dull!"

The day goes by normally, except for the fact that Rufus and I share occasional looks and smiles during classes before I remind myself to keep up appearances. I realize I can't wait to be alone with him later today.

But just before the last class, he approaches me in the corridor. He's nervous, as always, when around my not-so-nerd-friendly group.

"Hi, Tyler. I'm sorry I'm telling you so late, but we can't meet today. I need to be out of town with my Mom and…"

"Cool, whatever," I interrupt him, and the other boys giggle, making Rufus frown.

"Yeah, whatever," Rufus says and walks away. I mentally punch myself in the face.

"Wow, you made your boyfriend cry," Jim mocks me.

"Shut up, you fuck," I say, forcing myself not to punch him.

"He's a clingy type, I can tell," says Dwight and his roar echoes off the walls. Gotta give it to him, his laughter is contagious and I let out a chuckle. See, Dwight’s not evil. Especially when you get to know him better. He just sees life as his playground and doesn't care if people get a little banged up when he plays. Is this a definition of being evil? I don't know, but I'm not the one to judge.

"Does the Roof boy think he's your new best friend?" Clyde asks, amused.

"My dad thinks he's a good example," I tell them, and the whole group roars with laughter. I just force a smile and shake my head. I'm sad and frustrated, and the funny thing is that the main reason is that I won't see Rufus tonight.

I try to make eye contact with him during the last class, but he's not looking my way, focused on the teacher, or whispering with his nerd friend, Dale. It’s mildly infuriating.

"Sorry, I was busy," I text him to catch his attention. "We can meet another day, whatever suits you."

I see him read the text. He looks at the screen for a few seconds and hides the phone in his pocket without replying. Shit.

After the bell, Rufus practically darts out of the school building. I want to chase him, but I can't without raising suspicions. My boys chat and laugh, but my head is miles away.

At home, I constantly look at my phone, praying for it to buzz with a new message notification. I do my chores and play some games, but I can only focus on one thing for a short time.

I fix my eyes on the chat, hoping to make him reply by staring hard enough. Ten, twenty minutes in, it doesn’t work. I slowly lose focus and go down the spiral of different possibilities. I bet he wanted to reply. He just didn’t want to get in trouble for using the phone during the class. Then after school he just forgot. Happens to the best of us, right?

After half an hour of staring, I’m forced to write off the technique as ineffective. It would be lame to text him first now, but what else can I do? Eventually, I can't stand the tension.

"So? What day? I'm free, except Saturday," I write and start biting my nails. What's happening to me?

I can't even pretend that I’m doing something else anymore. I lie on the bed and wait for the phone to buzz. This is so frustrating! Why am I simping for this prude nerd? I'm too good-looking to be this desperate.

Seven painful minutes later, my message finally changes status from sent to seen. I start panting like a dog in the heat. Fuck it. I've lost the battle. I would betray my family and sell all my friends if it would make him reply to me at last.

But he doesn't. He leaves me on seen like I'm some incel loser. I barely stop myself from throwing the phone against the wall. Anger issues? Maybe, but justified! Come on, Rufus, just reply to my fucking message. I didn't say anything that bad!

The thought makes me think back to what I did say to him. Cool, whatever. My own words ring in my head, and I know they will for the rest of my life. It's not that bad, right? It's something you say casually, without thinking too much, right? No one else would be offended. Sure, it may have come a bit off, especially in light of the bond we made yesterday. And maybe he didn't take it that well hearing that in front of my friends. Someone could even interpret it as…

"Fuuuuuuck!" I scream into my pillow. He's doing it on purpose to make me say I'm sorry. Is that what you want, you blackmailing piece of… keep dreaming!

I throw the phone across the room and open up Netflix on my laptop. I play the first show I find with more than a dozen seasons. This should be enough to keep me occupied for a while. He’s gonna have to reply eventually! If not for me, then to avoid getting an F for the project. He’d rather die.

After just ten minutes, I glance at the phone lying on the carpet. I shake my head and force my head to face the show. Then I look again. And again. Then I stand up, take the damn phone and shove it into my sock drawer. I sit back on my bed and cross my arms tightly, fearing they may betray me.

"Focus mode," I say to myself and do my best to follow the plot.

I last five minutes before I break. I groan like a wounded boar as I get up, retrieve the phone and open the chat.

"Rufus," I start typing. "I'm really sorry for what I said to you today. It was rude and totally uncalled for."

I hit send. Sent. Seen. Silence. I start sweating and feeling like I will cry if it keeps going.

"I know I hurt you, and I'll make it up somehow."

I stare at my words that look like they were written by someone else. I don't talk like that. I don't think like that. But I know every word is true.

Sent. Seen. Silence.

I close the laptop, turn off the lights and turn to sleep. Fine. If he doesn't want to talk, I can't force him. I'll apologize tomorrow at school, even if I have to beg on my knees with Dwight, Jim, and Clyde watching. I don't care anymore.

And then, I almost have a heart attack when I hear the new message sound.

It's him. "Sorry I didn't reply. Family issues."

Oh, thank you, thank you, God. He replied. Then another message comes. "I won't bother you at school again. You have your friends, I have mine."

I look at the words, trying to get through layers of hidden meanings and unspoken truths. This has to mean something more than what it says, right? I want to say something back, but I can't force myself to. Then one more message comes.

"I'm free on Sunday."