Oscar - 8. Part 8

Adam didn’t go in to school the next day.

Or the day after. But when he did, a chilly, autumn Wednesday, he brought a black eye, two broken ribs and one hell of a revelation with him.

‘Have you heard about Stanmore?’

‘I can’t believe it.’

‘What?’

‘He’s a batty boy.’

‘Fuck off!’

‘Seriously.’

‘Yeah, his dad beat the shit out of him for bumming some lad in their house.’

‘He’s telling people he’s bi.’

‘What’s the difference?’

‘I dare you to say that to him.’

‘Piss off, he’s built like a brick shithouse.’

And so on.

It turned out, after our heart-to-heart that weekend, Adam had gone soul searching. And what he’d found had been too heavy. When his parents had come home, he’d unburdened himself on them.

I don’t know what he’d told them. I’m sure he hadn’t gone into every minute detail, or maybe he had. But after what his father had done to him, Adam Stanmore had stopped caring about what other people thought.

That’s what he told me anyway.

He was waiting for me after the final bell in the staff car park. I always walked home through it. Less kids. More adults keeping an eye out for trouble.

‘Oi.’

Looking up from my phone it took me a couple seconds to find him, leaning against the side of the art block in the shadow of a nearby oak tree. For six-foot-six he was good at hiding.

Walking over I said nothing as nearby cars and buses filled the air between us with their daily rumbles.

‘I’m sorry about Sunday,’ he said.

I put my phone in my trouser pocket. With an opener like that he had my full attention.

‘You are? What for?’

‘Urm.’

Rolling my eyes, I turned to leave. He still doesn’t get it.

‘Wait,’ he said.

I sighed and stopped and locked eyes with him again. The large, dark purple bruise spoiling his flawless face looked sore and a twinge of guilt pricked me in the stomach.

I ignored it. Easily.

‘Go on,’ I said.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t help you when you needed it. That I stood by and let them do that to you.’

I hadn’t expected that. In all honesty, I hadn’t expected to hear from him again at all. An apology was an interesting turn of events to say the least.

A genuine one too.

I threw my bag down next to his. Books thudded and stationary rattled, joining the din from the road. Walking over to the tree, I leaned against it, facing him. The brittle, cold bark dug into my back through my dark navy-blue blazer and memories of the weekend tugged at my balls and cock as I took him in, face-on.

His bedroom. His parents’ bed. The mirror. But I was still angry.

‘So, what? You think telling everyone at school you suck cock makes up for it?’ I said.

His battered eyes widened as much as they could. He’d probably expected a different reply. Perhaps he thought I’d be more understanding.

‘Kind of,’ he said, stroking his arm, just like he’d done when he’d told me about Mr. Price.

‘How?’ I said.

‘Now you’re not the only one people know about. Now you’re not alone.’

‘So?’

‘So, it’ll be easier for you.’

‘And you believe that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then you really are an idiot.’

‘Why?’

‘Look, Adam, I appreciate the apology. Honestly, that was a nice surprise. But just because you didn’t make up some rugby injury about your fucked-up face, doesn’t stop you from being the rugby captain. They won’t treat you like they treat me. You’re too much of a paradox.’

His brow wrinkled, as much as it could. With a messed-up face, he still looked cute when he didn’t understand big words.

‘What do you mean?’ he said.

‘I mean you confuse them. They’ll talk shit behind your back, and you might lose a few mates. Hey, you might even lose your team, but no one’s going to do to you what they did to me. No one will dare. Besides,’ I said looking his weakened but still gigantic frame up and down. ‘They literally can’t.’

He looked at his feet, frowning. Then there was a noise to our side: a shuffle of shoes on concrete. We turned in unison to see a year-seven boy walking around the corner. He froze at the sight of us, fear filling his tiny, young face. He had a cello in a black fabric case on his back. It was bigger than him.

I turned my face away. Adam leaned into the shadows. The kid walked on.

‘My dad tried. To do what they did to you,’ Adam said.

Guilt again. Ignored again.

‘I heard.’

‘He’s in hospital.’

‘See.’

He said nothing.

‘What did you do to him?’ I said.

‘Shattered his jaw. Fractured his skull.’

‘Fuck. How?’

‘I don’t remember. It was over before I knew what happened.’

A family photo I’d seen in his kitchen flashed across my mind. Mum, Dad and Adam in their finest wedding attire. Mr. Stanmore senior was a big guy, as you’d expect, but not as big as Adam. It would have been clear to anyone junior had the upper hand.

Rage blinds.

‘What did he do to you?’ I said.

‘He punched me. Hard. I think he broke a finger because something cracked and the doctor said it wasn’t my eye socket. When I didn’t get up he kicked me in the chest. Then the crack was definitely mine.’

I winced. Said, ‘Something else we have in common.’

‘Your dad?’

‘No,’ I said, gesturing at the school with my head. ‘Broken ribs.’

We said nothing for a few seconds. Both reliving memories we’d rather forget. Adam broke the silence.

‘It was when he went for the kitchen knife and mum started screaming that I blacked out. The next thing I know I’m standing over him. My hands are shaking and my knuckles are bleeding. He’s unconscious. His face covered in blood.’

I said nothing.

‘Mum said she thought I was going to kill him,’ he said.

Then neither of us spoke again. He stared at the sports field behind me, only days ago a lush, green playground now pot-holed and muddy and filled with uncertainty in his mind.

I watched a group of teachers make their way to their cars. They looked our way, ready to move us on, but then their faces changed and they stayed quiet, muttering a word or two to each other instead.

‘You find Mr. Price then?’ he said.

I jumped at his words and fixed narrowed eyes on him as adrenaline gripped my body. My heartbeat quickened and my muscles tensed. But his posture was timid. As timid as it could get. And there was no aggression in his voice. No emotion full stop.

‘Not yet,’ I said.

‘Are you going to?’

I sighed.

Undoubtedly.

‘What I do is my business. Just like what you do is yours,’ I said.

‘Alright, calm down. I was going to say, if you have, or if you are then go for it. Hopefully he won’t fuck up your head too.’

Another interesting turn of events.

Very interesting.

‘You changed your tune,’ I said.

‘Yeah, it’s funny how quickly that can happen. I just don’t care anymore.’

‘About?’

‘Any of it.’

‘You and me both,’ I said.

He looked at me and smiled.

‘What?’ I said.

‘I was thinking.’

‘That’s new for you.’

He gently kicked the side of my shoe. Gravel scraped and, in the natural light, his undamaged eye twinkled bright and blue.

‘Piss off,’ he said.

‘I was trying to.’

He laughed but regretted it immediately. Placing a large hand on his chest he took a long, slow breath.

‘I was thinking you’re right. It is different for you than me,’ he said, his voice struggling through pain.

‘And?’

‘It doesn’t have to be.’

It was my turn to laugh.

‘What, you’re going to set up a pride march?’ I said.

‘No, but I can watch your back.’

I wanted to laugh again but it didn’t come. No one had said that to me before. My inner-cynic momentarily silenced, I pushed myself off the tree and stepped closer.

‘You’d do that? After everything I said to you?’ I said.

‘Maybe not right now,’ he said, with a hint of anger in his eyes. ‘But when I’m better.’

‘Why?’

‘I look out for you. You look out for me.’

My laugh managed to make its way out.

‘How exactly am I going to look out for you?’ I said.

He stepped closer. Didn’t even look to see if anyone was coming. Then, placing his huge hands on my waist, he pulled me in.

‘We don’t have to be mates. You made that clear enough. But we could have a lot of fun together,’ he said.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Boys like logic. Myself included.

The hairs on my neck stood on end as his words dripped into my ear. All kinds of ideas stirring and growing and taking shape behind my eyes.

Amazing, meaningless, string-free sex and protection from the braindead bigots around the school? That’s one hell of a proposal.

Letting go of my waist and leaning back into his hiding spot he said, ‘Well?’

‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ I said.

He grinned. Said, ‘What do you think I’m saying?’

Stepping into the shadow, I ran the back of my finger down the undamaged side of his chest and over the ridges of his thick, strong six-pack. The cotton of his shirt whispered against my skin until I felt the hard, leather of his belt.

‘I think you’re saying you enjoyed yourself on the weekend,’ I said.

‘Didn’t you?’

‘It wasn’t awful.’

‘Then what do you reckon?’

‘I think there’s a flaw in your plan.’

‘Is there?’

‘Yeah. Where?’ I said.

‘Where what?’

‘Where would we have our fun? My house is off limits, and I’m pretty sure yours is too.’

He folded his arms and smirked. A proper smirk. Through the pain.

‘That’s where you come in. In exchange for my protection you do what you do best,’ he said.

‘Which is?’

‘Find some lads that would be up for it,’ he said.

I smiled. Toothy and wide and verging on manic. That was exactly what I was hoping the big, beat-up idiot would say. Leaning back against my tree, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through recent messages.

Three potentials.

‘I don’t know. It won’t be easy,’ I lied.

‘That’s ok,’ he said leaning over slowly and picking up his bag.

Wincing at the pain he kept his stare fixed on something behind me. Turning I saw it: a silver BMW pulling into the parking lot, its shiny black tires crunching over gravel. A worried middle-aged woman was clutching the steering wheel like it was about to roll away.

‘I’ll be out of action for a couple of weeks at least. You’ve got plenty of time,’ Adam said.

I watched him hobble away slowly. Pained. Bruised. Beaten. Adam Stanmore but different.

‘I’ll think about it,’ I said loud enough for him to hear.

Opening the passenger door, he slid himself into the seat. The woman said something to him but he ignored her. He didn’t take his eyes off me until the car started its three-point turn out of the lot.

Picking up my bag, I began my journey home. The long way.

I had a lot to think about.