Serendipity - 1. Chapter 1

Serendipity.

The dulcet tones of Mr. Roland hammered in my ears. Someone should really tell him that a bland monotone delivered at foghorn volume was a bad choice for a teacher, even a history teacher determined to keep his students awake. Part of me itched to tell him, but while I’m a cheeky bastard by general consensus, I’m also known for picking my moments. So far, it has served me well.

I had an entirely undeserved reputation among the teaching staff as generally a “good boy”, studious if a little disrespectful at times, while among my peers I was known for my withering sarcastic streak and for getting away with murder on a daily basis. I knew, as if by instinct, the exact centimetre to advance on the lake just prior to the ice cracking and dropping me in the shit. Well, I guess it’s a talent, right?

Today, though, I was having no problems shutting out whatever crimes Mr. Roland was committing against the English language and or the teaching of History of Revolutions. My mind had been fighting a losing battle against my heart and my hormones for ages, and it was finally coming to a head. I couldn’t avoid it any longer; I was in love with my best mate, and he was straight, at least as far as I could tell.

As angry as I was with myself for losing the battle, I was even more pissed off at the whole fucking cliché. Shit, I can’t even fall in love without replaying every crap, gay-fantasy story I’ve ever read late at night while surfing the web. Jerking off to thoughts of straight jock boys just itching to…ok, better not continue this thought, popping serious wood in History isn’t just embarrassing, it’s plain weird. We aren’t even in English history, where at least the thought of Viking hordes invading and raping and pillaging had a certain erotic content. I remember in year 9 imagining some 6’10” blond hunk with a sword and pecs that wouldn’t quit bending me over to satisfy his lust on a poor village boy. Miss Cheong never did realise why I always seemed so happy in her class for that unit. Thank Christ she never saw under the desk.

“Are you still with us, Mr. Davies?” blared the foghorn from the front. Shit shit shit.

“Yes Sir, of course, Sir” I responded, beaming my most charming smile and hopefully radiating pure innocence. Oh, how badly am I screwed?

“Then perhaps you could tell me what I was just discussing?” Ah...that badly screwed.

Catching sight of my friend Horse out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move his hand surreptitiously between the buttons of his blazer in a classic pose.

“Er, Napoleon, Sir.”

He seemed nonplussed but satisfied. I breathed a slight sigh of relief.

“Well, make sure you look at me and show me you are concentrating in the future, Mr. Davies.”

I nodded and turned back to the empty page in front of me. Close. Too close. “Thanks, Horse” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

“No wuzzers, Cal.” Why couldn’t people call me Callum? I hated Cal, but it is an unwritten law of school that you have no say in what your mates call you. Take Horse, for instance. In fine Australian ironic humour tradition he got his nickname because he was hung like a baby carrot, but he bore it well, even putting a picture of a horse on his locker.

In spite of my near miss, I felt no better. The problem remained as big and unavoidable as ever. Jacob Williams, my Jake, was coming over to stay tonight as he did at least two or three times a week at the moment. And I would be spending another night tossing and turning in the next bed imagining his naked body and what I wanted to do with it. I was going insane, totally flipping mad. I had wet dreams about him, and I hadn’t had those since I was 13, dammit. I so desperately, achingly needed to tell him, and the thought paralysed me with fear.

We had grown up together, almost neighbours – only four houses away – since we were 11. For some reason we had clicked almost instantly. It made no sense in hindsight; we had almost nothing in common. I am mid-height, slender, blond, cheeky and outgoing; he is tall, serious, shy, dark-haired and big. I like music, art, literature, drama, drawing; he is into science, maths, building things, a bit of a science nerd, but mostly harmless. He also loves watching football. I don’t even know who won the premiership last year. Geelong? Collingwood? The English language is incapable of expressing the extent to which I do not care. I think football is up there with underwater ferret wrestling as a waste of time.

We have very different characters as well. I’m a bad boy hiding behind a charming facade, a wolf in sheep’s uniform; he really is a good boy who stands up for things he believes in and gets slammed down for it. As for standing up for things, well, I believe the Lord helps those who help themselves.

Over the years, though, as I grew to know him more and more and learned more of what was under his reserved exterior, I came to value his friendship beyond all others. I knew I was gay – girls really did nothing for me – but I had never come out. If I did, I always thought that it would be to Jake first. He was the one I could count on, the one who would be beside me whatever happened. We had been inseparable for so long, there for the good times and bad, that I couldn’t imagine him any other way. He had provided a moral centre that I sorely lacked, I had drawn him out of himself to the point where he now had his own circle of friends and interests. I was not jealous though, there was enough Jake to go around, and only I knew him the way I did.

Now the unthinkable had happened and I had fallen for him. I couldn’t bear to not tell him, and I couldn’t bear to think of losing him if I did. Pretty nice joke, whoever thought of this one. The small niche in my brain that bore my conscience and doubled as my pizza-topping erogenous zone tried to tap respectfully on my conscious mind and begged me to consider this as either some sort of test, or cosmic Karma coming to bite my ass. I resolved to feed it pizza. That should hopefully shut it up.

***********************

The bell finally tolled to signal the end of fourth period and release from Mr. Roland’s personal Bastille. Sighing and stretching, I gave Horse a nudge and a wink and headed for my locker. Lunch time would at least give me time to think. Pulling apart the chaos of my locker I found a convenient space to cram my books into, while another stronger part of my brain started screaming too loud to ignore.

“You know what will make you feel better?” It insinuated. “You always think better when you’ve had a smoke.”

“Oh, no, not fucking today,” I fought back, I think gamely.

“Hmm…imagine that first satisfying lungful. How much better will you feel? You will be able to work out easily what to do if you aren’t so stressed. It’s really the best thing for you: positively noble.”

Why am I so weak? Suddenly determined to feed solely on pizza for a week in order to build the strength in my conscience/pizza zone, I gave in without a fight and started the trek that I had mastered down to a fine art.

The thing about smoking at school is to be prepared. No incriminating evidence should ever be found on you, you should have various escape routes scouted, and you should act natural if you don’t want to be obvious. I felt that I would be well suited should ASIS (Australia’s “spy” service that we denied was a spy service) need new agents. I knew from reading many trashy spy novels that these were the traits required of a good covert field agent, so really, I wasn’t smoking at school; I was engaged in training for a difficult but necessary career. It was amazing how much of a patriot I was. I dimly wondered if my parents would buy that excuse should I ever be caught.

This day my patriotic duty would take me to my favourite spot, far from the main buildings but not suspiciously so. Past the hockey field, up an embankment and around some storage sheds, there was a fence with a line of loose bricks. Shielded from view, with warning from the shrubbery of impending discovery, and with three good escape routes, I had hidden my stash behind a brick. The only mildly incriminating thing I had with me was a roll of breath mints. Well, I’m just a sucker for oral hygiene. Actually, I’m a sucker for oral, period, but that is another story.

Lighting up, the first drag became a long conversation between me and the fag. Ahhh, this was good. Letting my lungs fill up with delicious carcinogens, I could feel the cigarette doing me harm. Bring it on, I thought. Just thank Christ that Jake can’t see me now. He was one of the people who knew about my secret pastime, but unlike those that admired me for it as some sort of glorified rebel without a cause, he hated it.

His dad had died last year from lung cancer, and I had been there through it with him, a rock he seemed to need as everything fell down around him. He was obsessed with stopping me smoking and with the worry of losing me the same way. I think that was when I really started to notice my feelings for him – when I realised how much he cared, how much he needed me. I had never felt that from anyone else, and it scared me shitless. With my train of thought now settled on Jake, I began contemplating how to go about the conversation I dreaded and desired with equal force, nicotine applying its soothing balm to my nerves.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Ohhhh, shit! My usual catlike reflexes failed me as well as my radar ears, thanks to Jake filling my brain. As if by some cosmic force, he was here even as I pictured him in my bedroom waiting for me to drop the proverbial bombshell; his dark curls and big frame materialised in front of me. And he was pissed, mighty pissed.

Determined to be nonchalant and elegant, I immediately swallowed a mouthful of smoke the wrong way and started coughing like an anti-smoking commercial warning of inevitable emphysema.

“Shit, Callum, how many times have I told you? Don’t do this shit, and particularly not at school. The Deputy Head is on the warpath this week.”

As I coughed and spluttered, part of me registered again that he called me Callum. He always called me Callum because he knew it was what I wanted. Fucker, I hated him for being so lovable. Why couldn’t he be like all the rest?

Taking the lighter, the lit cigarette and the pack of Marlboros from my hands, he gave me his best stern look and was about to launch into the lecture I had heard before. I didn’t want to face it: not now, not from him, not with everything going on in my mind. That is not why I ran for it, though.

My ears, retuned to my surroundings now I had been caught, picked up the tell-tale sounds of an approaching teacher, and I immediately selected Exit Number 3 around behind the shed and engaged Warp Factor 5, never looking back. Moving like a wildebeest pursued by a particularly hungry lion, I darted along my familiar escape path, coming out near the science block, a picture of innocence with a mouth full of breath mints. It was then, as I went to look at Jake, that I realised he wasn’t with me.

************************

Slowly I headed back to my locker, the adrenaline still pumping, feverishly forcing the worry deep down. There were three escape routes. Jake must have taken a different one. Surely he couldn’t have failed to hear the danger and taken evasive action? Surely he isn’t that slow?

Even as I thought it, I remembered his “prowess” on the hockey field. Perennially stationed as a back, mainly because he moved at a geological pace, he was renowned as slow and with the turning circle of an aircraft carrier. Fear started to make its way to my brain. If captured, would he break under torture and turn me in?

A hand clasped my shoulder, and I froze. Behind me, a voice of death speaking from beyond the grave spread its icy tentacles into my brain.

“Well, Mr. Davies. We need to have a talk.”

It was Mr. Johnson, Demon Johnson, the Deputy Head, disciplinarian, tyrant, rabid Bible thumper, undead spawn of Satan, jazz fanatic. I could almost forgive the first few but jazz fanatic pushed him beyond the pale.

“Something wrong, Mr. Johnson?” I squeaked as innocently as I could, while everyone around me started to spread away as if they suspected I was the epicentre of an impending nuclear strike and wanted to put as much distance between themselves and ground zero as possible.

“I caught another student this lunchtime smoking, a friend of yours I believe: Mr. Williams. However, I know there was at least one other person with him who ran. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No, Sir. I don’t smoke, Sir.”

“Hmm, that is not what I have heard. Please open your mouth and breathe out, Mr. Davies; I need to check your breath.”

Thankful for my breath-mint splurge, I gave my best and prayed for deliverance.

“You are very minty today, Mr. Davies. Any particular reason?

“Hot date tonight, Sir. You know what it’s like. I don’t want to scare her away; besides, I think I may be in there if I play it right.” I replied with a grin and a wink. When lying, it always pays to play up to your questioner’s assumptions.

His brow wrinkled in disgust with a look on his face like a slapped ass, desperate to find me guilty of some infraction, anything, but finding it beyond his power. “Hmph. You disgust me, Mr. Davies. You are what was once called a plausible rogue; however, I don’t find you charming, unlike some others do. If you do know who it was, you had better suggest to them that they confess. It will go very badly for your friend if they don’t; the Head has had enough smoking at school, and I have convinced him an example must be made. If only Mr. Williams is involved, he will bear the full brunt.”

He turned and stalked out, while my stomach fell to the floor like a broken elevator.

“Cal…” Turning, I saw that one person hadn’t beaten a retreat. Horse was looking at me with concern in his eyes. It was touching!

“Cal…I know that Jake doesn’t smoke. Everyone knows it. And everyone knows you do, and Jake hates it. What happened, Cal? You were there, weren’t you, and Jake went to stop you. You have to confess, right? You heard Demon Johnson. Tell them what happened.”

A perverse anger came then. Bastard! He wasn’t worried about me, after all. “It wasn’t me, Horse, I swear. I wouldn’t do that to Jake.” I felt such a coward, anger making it possible to override my guilt, anger mixed with fear. I knew what the Demon was alluding to, as did Horse.

Horse just shook his head and looked on with a mix of pity and disgust. “He’s your best friend, Cal. I can’t believe you.” Then he, too, turned and walked away, leaving me to my thoughts.

************************

Fifth period passed in a blur, English Lit floating past me in little word bubbles without registering. I twirled my pen, concentrating on the prismatic reflections of the sun through the plastic as it fell on my empty exercise book. Or was it refraction? I should ask Jake, I thought, before catching myself and frowning. Was I avoiding him?

Final period would be a test, though, in so many ways. My parents had insisted, in spite of my furious objection and any semblance of common sense that I take Maths. So here I was in Maths class feeling like one of those dreams where you wake up naked in an exam you know nothing about, except I felt that in every class. Jake had got me to a B+, his constant, patient coaching making me able to somehow not embarrass myself. That was one of the reasons for his frequent overnight stays at the moment.

Unfortunately also in this class were several of Jake’s friends, including our school’s very own nerd version of Beavis and Butthead, Rohan and Rajiv. Like twins but not, they tended to dress the same, think the same and finish each other’s sentences , even though they were born 5000 km and 21 days apart. I almost hoped they were gay; otherwise, they were going to make two other people very unhappy when they got married.

As we waited for the teacher, gossip buzzed as per normal, and today it centred on Jake’s bad-boy effort and the identity of the mystery escapee. I hated the way the grapevine worked at school, although I had to admit I was one of its most fervent users. I was rumoured to be a human twitter account of salacious gossip, which was only partly true. I was only salacious half the time.

As luck would have it, I was sitting in front of R & R, and they were applying their finely tuned brains to the problem at hand.

“This is insane” opined Rajiv. “No one could believe Jake was smoking unless they were…”

“Retarded?” piped up Rohan.

“Seriously retarded. It is just not believable. I’m not buying it.”

“So what happened, then?” put in Jon Kelly, another of the nerd brigade.

“Well, we know someone else was there. What if they were smoking and Jake is covering for them?”

Damn it, I hate it when nerds are right. Which I found they are with uncomfortable regularity. Bastards.

“So, who could it have been? Someone who smokes, and someone Jake would take the fall for…”

An uncomfortable silence descended. I felt the back of my neck start to burn, an eerie tingling sensation. I thanked whatever malign deity ran this piss-poor universe that he or she hadn’t given the nerds Vulcan Mind Meld talents to go with their Spock-like personalities; then I realised they probably wouldn’t need them, as my face was rapidly going from red to purple.

“Cal, it’s you isn’t it?”

I waited out my inquisitor, praying that the uncomfortable feeling would subside. It didn’t. Turning to face my accusers, I saw that far from letting it drop, they were staring at me with rising anger, which on nerds was both amusing and disquieting. I resolved to bluster it out.

I leaned over and took Rajiv by the collar. “No way, what do you take me for? It wasn’t me, and if you go spreading lies like that, so help me, I am going to whip your ass, you weak fucker.” Attack is the best form of defence. And overwhelming disproportionate attack the best form of attack – bless the USA for its teachings.

Jon and Rohan descended on me then, and the action became general, or would have if not for the teacher making a belated arrival to find her classroom in uproar. Using threats of mass detention as her equivalent of targeted sanctions, she began to get things back under control, which was just as well because I am a lover not a fighter and three guys, even nerds, were way beyond my limited talents. It didn’t matter though, I knew I had lost it, and the guys knew it, too. Like a bad poker player, I had given them my tell and then gone all in on a busted flush.

************************

I stalked the hallway, uncertainty warring with other emotions. The trouble was, I knew what was going to happen even though I pretended I didn’t, and I was terrified. Our school was one of the very few to retain the cane, although it was used sparingly. In spite of my frequent misdeeds, I had managed to avoid it and intended to keep it that way. Under my confident façade, I knew I couldn’t take it, I would scream like a banshee. It wasn’t that I couldn’t take pain. All right, it was that, too. It was the fear of it that was worse, I would be crying even before the first stroke. Yes, I was weak, so shoot me.

Jake had had it twice already: once when he got into an argument with a teacher, once for getting in a fight. I never got the full story, but I heard both times he was fighting someone else’s battle, as he often did. Well, he is used to it, I rationalised, so it should be no big deal. Besides, I am sure he would protect me if he could, so really I’m doing what he would want by staying quiet. Unfortunately, even without fortification with pizza, my conscience molecule started getting really noisy then. I knew what I was doing was wrong, terribly horribly wrong, and it started to eat me. With a sigh, I stopped my pacing and headed for the admin wing, not purposefully but at least directly.

Coming into the Eastern corridor, the Head’s personal domain, I stopped, drew breath, and moved forward. It was then I heard it. A loud crack like a pistol shot, reverberating in the empty hallway. I stopped dead. A little while passed, I don’t know how long, and then again. I didn’t hear any sound except the loud cracks, but I knew what it meant. I was too late. I knew I should open the door, storm in, run past Miss Weston, the head’s secretary, and into the room and demand it stop. Instead my feet had other ideas, and I ran panting to the nearest toilet and was spectacularly sick all over the place.

I got home, I don’t know how. I had checked my phone: no calls, no texts. Jake was supposed to be with me tonight, my plans were supposed to move forward, and the future, uncertain and frightening, was supposed to begin. Instead, I had ruined it all without even telling him my secrets, my cowardice finally coming home to roost. Frantically I called him, but his phone was off. I checked my Facebook, looking for his wall, only to find the ultimate sign – we were no longer Facebook friends. Somehow, stupidly, that was the worst part. Without warning, I started to cry, and it wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t put into words what I was feeling, but I knew what I feared, that we were no longer friends, that we would no longer be in each other’s lives. I could not truly imagine the depths of that despair before; now I faced it head on, and I started to howl, tears running down to pool on my pillow.

*********************

I woke up dazed and with a headache fit to kill a bull. So much for crying yourself to sleep; I don’t recommend it to anyone. I felt the dread again, filling me like concrete. We had a hockey match this morning, and Jake and I were on the same team. I was a forward, he was a back, but we would find it hard to avoid each other. Oh, shit. When God decides to crap on you, he really goes the whole way. Dimly I knew however that I deserved it. I had done this: only me. Remorse had come late, but it had come with a vengeance. Well, I could start by apologising, it had always worked in the past on the limited occasions I had used it, and it had the benefit of surprise in its favour.

Turning up to at the field, I stripped to my match gear, my eyes darting over to Jake doing his warm-ups, trying not to notice how gingerly he moved. A lump formed in my throat from the remembered sound of the cane the previous night. I wished that a large crack would open in the earth and swallow me whole, but I was to be denied such mercy. Instead, Jake looked up, and his eyes fell on me. I shuddered at that look. Not hate, not anger, just sadness and disgust.

“Hey” I started. Wow, inspired. I really should do this for a living.

“Hello” he returned, stiffness in his words as well as his body.

“Um…about yesterday…”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I know you had many chances, I heard. Demon Johnson asked you; Horse and Rajiv did, too, and you denied it. You’re like some fucking Saint Peter; three times you betrayed me, except you’re no fucking saint. I should have listened to all the people who told me you were an asshole; I always defended you. Not anymore.”

I was stunned, speechless and horrified, as a brief round of applause started from some of our teammates. The dread came again, multiplied by a thousand. I truly had fucked it up. Just how far I was beginning to appreciate.

Our coach thankfully intervened then, sending us out onto the pitch to start, and I settled in to concentrating on the game. I immediately noticed Jake was playing angry today, and like always he played better angry. He was however cruising for a fall, having already taken out two opposition forwards crudely but effectively and legally. When he brought the angry, it tended to mean he lost what limited sense of self-preservation he had, and someone that uncoordinated really shouldn’t be doing that.

I scored a goal from a fast break, and we were up one-nil at the half. Everyone was pumped; I just ate my orange pieces in silence, willing this match to be over. Fate however was to take another hand today. Conceding a penalty corner, our team set up to defend as usual, Jake and the other back on the two posts, the centres and centre forwards ready to rush the attack, the wings stationed high for the break. I had a great view from near the half line as the push came out; the stopper set the ball; the hitter came in to strike.

He was a huge lump, the opposition centre back, who had been spraying his defensive shots from the 16-yard line all day like a novice. A novice with a rifle shot. I had decided discretion was the better part of valour and given up defending his clearances early, much to the coach’s disgust.

Swinging hard, he collected the ball slightly under, sending it airborne towards our keeper who had come out to guard the goal. Deflecting off the keeper’s stick, the ball went on its new course directly at Jake’s face and impacted with a sickening splatting noise somewhere around his nose and eye. Dropping like a 6’5” sack of potatoes, he fell in the ‘D’ and didn’t move.

I ran like mad, reaching him almost as soon as the others even though I was coming from furthest away; I tried to turn him over. He lay face down, sort of twitching, and all I could do was repeat, “No, no, no,” over and over. Finally turning him, I turned white seeing the blood over his face and the unfocussed way his eyes looked and the way his nose was bent in the middle. He was breathing but unconscious, and I didn’t know how much damage had been done.

I held him and started rocking, desperately on the edge of crying as the rest of the team and the opposition looked on with various expressions of horror. The coach went straight to his phone, calling an ambulance, and one of the other forwards ran for the nurse’s station to get the first-aid gear. I saw it all and didn’t, holding him, willing him to wake up, see me, even yell and scream at me. I just wanted him to be ok.

Time passed in a daze. One of the PE teachers came running up, and we got him on a stretcher. His breathing was becoming difficult, there was so much blood running into his mouth, we moved him to clear the airway. Eventually the ambulance came, and he was placed in the back.

“Do you want to come with me, Callum?” our coach Mr Ryan said softly. “I know you two are friends; I think he would like having you there if you are up to it.” Dimly I nodded, too shocked to consider whether we really were friends and whether he really would want me there.

“Do you know his home number?” I wasn’t ready for the question, let alone its implications.

“Yes, Mr. Ryan. Would you mind if I make the call? His mother knows me, and it is better if I speak to her.” A satisfied nod.

What I hadn’t mentioned was the other things I knew and the other reason Jake was spending so much time at my place. Since his dad’s death, Jake’s mum had gone into a total decline and started drinking. He didn’t like to talk about it, and I was rarely allowed to his place now, but I knew it was bad. Some nights he would come over unplanned, and we would just play Xbox silently, his thoughts contained behind his normally controlled neutral expression.

He had cultivated that expression well, so much so that when he won his first maths prize, the girl he had a crush on at the time told him she couldn’t believe it, because she assumed he was dumb. Few made that mistake twice, once they had spoken to him at length, but few took the time, content to label him from a distance. I knew it for what it was: his shield to keep the world at bay. Just like my charming rogue defence, I thought in spite of myself. The thought made me even sadder; Jake was the only one who had ever figured it out. He also said he liked the real me under the surface more– and always would. Now where we were, I hadn’t a clue.

Trying his home number, it rang out over and over again. Mr. Ryan frowned, a question on his lips. I had no idea and told him so, though part of me thought that based on what little I knew, his mum was probably either at a bar or passed out about now. I didn’t have her mobile number, and even if I did, she might not answer.

******************************

I woke with a start, confused and groggy. It took me a moment to get my bearings, and then it all came back. I was in a seat in a hospital ward, and Jake was beside me on a bed. After failing to find his mum, Mr. Ryan had been acting in loco parentis. I had stayed, too, determined not to leave him unless he told me to go, but he seemed in no condition to realise I was here let alone tell me anything.

His nose had been reset, and his forehead stitched up so the bleeding had stopped. He was resting, concussion making him groggy. He lay there, his dark curls on the pillow, sheet gently rising and falling with his breathing, like I had watched him many times at night in my bedroom. The tears came again, and I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to. I thanked my lucky stars that Mr. Ryan had gone for a break; I didn’t know if I could have avoided telling him what was going on.

I closed my eyes and held his hand, feeling the warmth, and started to talk, a rehearsal for the conversation I had wanted to have but stopped by my own cowardice. “Hey, Jake. It’s me, Callum. I’m with you mate, don’t worry. And you have an awesome wound, you will have a dead-set sexy scar when you recover; maybe Sally Jennings will fall for you with your new bad-boy look.

“Jake, I have wanted to tell you this for so long, and I was a coward. You know I’m a coward, right, but you didn’t know how much till now. I’ve been an even worse coward, though, mate than you realised, I’m sorry to say. I let you down; I let myself down even before I betrayed my best friend yesterday.

“I’m gay, Jake. I’ve known it for as long as I can remember. I didn’t want to be, but I couldn’t fight it any more. I just had to live with it, because it is a part of me. I never told you, and I’m sorry, because I didn’t know how you would take it and I couldn’t bear you hating me for it. I guess that doesn’t matter now because you hate me anyway. It is me, though, Jake, and hopefully you can hate me for what I’ve done but not for who I am. I should have trusted you, I know. I am such a coward. I couldn’t even believe in my best friend.

“There is something more though, Jake, and I have to tell you the truth. I love you, mate. Not like guys say, ‘Hey, love ya, bro’ and all, but really love. I started falling for you last year when your dad was sick, and I didn’t want to tell you because you were facing enough already. Then I kept falling harder for you, but I still didn’t tell you. I know you seem to like girls, and its ok. I assume you are straight, but I had to tell you now, Jake, because it’s been agony recently seeing you. I am not afraid anymore, because the worst has already happened.

“Please don’t hate me, Jake. I can only say I’m sorry so many times, but it’s true. I know you probably can’t be my boyfriend, but please stay my friend. I’m lost without you, and I didn’t realise how much until today. “

I held his hand as the tears fell freely. Saying the words was so liberating, but the dread remained.

“Oh, God, Jacob!” A strangled cry came from the doorway. There was Mrs. Williams, Cathy as I knew her, and Mr. Ryan, both a study in fatigue. She had been located at last, or at least had sobered up sufficiently to come. I hurriedly broke the hold and wiped my tears, determined to appear as if everything was normal. Cathy ran to his side and held him, her sobs genuine and heartfelt. Mr. Ryan took me aside and said he was going, and I could have a lift if I wanted. I was about to say yes, when I heard an unsteady voice from the bed.

“Mum, go easy. I hurt all over the place.” My heart sang with relief as he returned her embrace. Then he looked over at me, his expression unknowable and disquieting. He stared at me a long time, and my face burned again, as if he was looking into my soul. A slow, sad smile filled his face, and he gave me a small nod then, before I could be certain the contact was broken, and he turned again to his mum as her gentle admonishments began. Fighting tears, I followed Mr. Ryan to his car and began the long, quiet drive home.

***********************

Monday came early, and I knew what I had to do. Bright and early, I sat outside the Head’s office, waiting my turn. Finally Miss Weston came out to spare me further torture. Her expression was the opposite of approving.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Davies?”

I had flirted with her, as had all the other guys, and we had quite a banter usually. She was tall, leggy and about 30, divorced but defiant. Half the guys in the school had the hots for her; I played along to maintain my cover. She was fun to talk to, though, and although I never failed to call her Miss Weston, half respectfully, half mockingly, she had always called me Callum with an edge of fun severity. The whole ‘Mr. Davies’ didn’t bode well.

“I need to see the Headmaster, Miss Weston”

“Oh, and what about? Perhaps you would like to do some more damage? Don’t look surprised; I know exactly what happened. I got the details out of Jacob, though he made me promise not to tell. Instead he took your punishment, in fact twice over, because he got punished for smoking and for not telling who else was there.”

I turned whiter than before, if possible, but held my ground.

“I know I am a coward. And I know what I did was inexcusable. I have come to confess and take the same that Jake got. I know it’s too late to make it up to him, but it’s not too late to do this.” I waited for the fear to overcome me and was surprised it didn’t. Fear there was, but more was determination. I could do this even if Jake still hated me; he would have to know I had been prepared to do this to show him what I felt.

Miss Weston’s eyes grew thoughtful and softened a touch. “Brave words, Mr. Davies, if a little late. What has brought about your change of heart?”

Swallowing tears, I dropped my head to hide the emotion. “I learned that there is something that hurts more than a caning. I lost Jake, and I’m totally stuffed now. I took him for granted, and I’m paying the price. I don’t care what happens; I deserve it.”

She was silent for a while, then came over to me. “Ok, Callum. I’ll go tell the Head you’re here and why.”

Like the condemned man, I went in when she beckoned me moments later, head up, proud and defiant. A coward I may be, but at least one with a conscience. I made a mental note to reward it with pizza as soon as I could sit down long enough to eat one.

**************************

A couple of days later, I lay on my bed in the evening, contemplating another chapter on post-revolutionary Russia, when I heard a familiar knock on the window. My heart skipped a beat. Could it be? I looked out and saw a familiar note plastered on my window. “Come to my room. Jake.” I had to physically restrain myself from dancing a jig right there and then. I didn’t know what this meant, though, and I didn’t know how much he knew. Be steady, my heart, this could still be bad.

Following the well-worn trail to his back yard, I noticed how the garden was starting to get overgrown, the plants dead or out of control. His mum had always been a keen gardener, and this disaster zone spoke as loudly of her state of mind as anything else. Coming to the window, I gave our ritual knock, the Morse signal for “SOS”; we had joked how each of was the other’s rescue crew. Some rescue crew I had been.

The familiar face bobbed up, and I had to force myself not to gasp. His eyes were black, his nose swollen and the livid line of stiches across his eyebrow looked painful. He looked as if he had been drawn by Picasso on a bad day, but the thing I was then drawn to most was the grin. My mate was back, or so it seemed. I couldn’t help being worried about what this meant.

“Hop in, mate.” Mate. No other word in the Australian vernacular could have more meaning, nor be as welcome now to me. I levered myself over the windowsill as I had done countless times before, dropping onto the floor and surveying his room. The familiar posters covered the wall: Einstein warring for prominence with Starbuck from Battlestar Galactica. Damn Katee Sackhoff, the sexy wench. The thought of Jake jacking off at night to her picture made me more jealous than I could deal with.

He sat on the bed, eyeing me curiously. I sat on his desk chair, wondering what to say. I guess front foot is better, I reasoned, though remembering my last attempt with Rohan and Rajiv, I made a mental note to keep the collar pulling to a minimum.

“Where is your mum?”

“Passed out, as always.” I noted the resignation in that statement. Not anger, not even pain. It just was. God, I hated life sometimes.

“I am so sorry, Jake. I know you can’t forgive me, but I am sorry. I betrayed you, my best friend. I am a coward; I know I’m not worthy of being your friend; I just hope we can still stay in contact because I would die without you in my life.” I looked at him then, expecting to see scorn, but seeing something else. Amusement? I had no idea what to think about that.

“Relax, Callum. I forgive you. I’ve had time to think, and it’s been good. You know, if you had asked me, I’d have gladly taken a caning for you. I was pissed off that you took the choice from me and hurt that you didn’t say anything to me, but I’ve calmed down a bit now. I know how much you mean to me, too, and I know I can’t live without you, either. Besides, I know you are a total wuss. They’d have had to warn the police if you copped a caning; the yelling would have been heard a hundred miles away.”

I burst into laughter, admitting freely he was right. I felt so light-headed; I couldn’t believe it could all be ok.

“So, do you want to take a look at my stripes?”

Did I ever! The possibility had never occurred to me, but now the image was in my mind, I found myself gasping out a ‘yes’ while all the blood flowed simultaneously to my cock. This was unfortunate, as my real brain needed all the oxygen it could get at the moment. It was going to have to wait a bit.

He lay face down on the bed and slowly edged his tracksuit pants and boxers down. I was staring at his beautiful ass, as I had done, I hope surreptitiously, in my room or in the locker room at school many times before. This time however the beauty was marred by a series of horizontal and diagonal welts: long, vivid with raised edges and here and there, what appeared to be evidence of slight cuts.

Unthinkingly I reached forward and ran a hand along the welts, feeling them and the ridges on either side. I started to tear up, thinking of this being done to my beautiful boy, the pain and knowledge that it was all my fault.

“Oh, God, Jake. I’m so sorry.” I started to cry in earnest then, a part of me wondering if I had turned into some sort of drama queen in the last days. I hated crying; now I was crying at the drop of a hat.

“It’s ok, mate. Um, could you keep up the touching? It kind of feels good.”

Startled, I complied, the warmth of his buttocks under my fingers increasingly turning me on. My cock started to strain the fabric of my jeans, and if I wasn’t careful, I was going to embarrass myself further by erupting there and then.

He moved slightly, bringing his ass up a bit and emitting a slight moan. I realised with a shock that gripped me like a vice: he is enjoying this! And as if to confirm my suspicions, I saw his long cock now, hard against his belly, the head an angry red to match his ass.

“Jake, what the fuck?” was all I could get out.

Grinning like the Cheshire cat, he rolled over then to present his full package for my view. I think I made noises, but at best they must have been the sort a gaffed fish makes, because I could only open and close my mouth and sort of gurgle.

“You know, Callum, in hospital, I was sort of dazed, but I could hear everything. And when I got home I remembered it. Every word. I have a secret, too, that I was too scared to tell you. I like girls, but I like boys, too. One boy, in particular.”

With that he rose off the bed, and planted a kiss on my frozen lips. I responded at last, overwhelmed by emotion, drinking in the passion and the joy until I was drunk on it.

“Hang on a minute. You liked me? Since when?” I still couldn’t get my head around it.

“Since before Dad died. I couldn’t deal with it, and I told myself it was just a phase and it would pass. But these last months, every time I see you, I just felt more and more sure. I think I love you, mate; I have thought it for a while. I can’t live without you, either, you fuck. You’re stuck with me.”

I wish I could say I had found words equal to the moment. Or really any words. For a while I just sat stunned, and then a sudden surge of frustrated anger came over me. All that worry, all that fear, all for nothing?

“You...you…motherfucker!. You total motherfucker! I agonised about you, dreamed about you, worried myself sick that you would find out and reject me. And you had the hots for me all that time? Even before I had it for you? And you never fucking told me? You bastard, you feculent scummy bastard!. Shit bloke Williams, shit bloke!”

My outburst ran out of steam as I realised he was laughing like a madman curled up on the bed. I didn’t know whether to kiss him or kill him. Possibly both, as long as I got the order right. As he would have said, in his best tutor voice, those operations are not commutative. You can kiss first and kill later but the other way round is kind of icky. Calming down, I realised a part of me was relieved too. I hadn’t realised how much I had held him on a pedestal, perfect but unreal in my mind. He had given me the best gift of all in some ways. We had shared vulnerabilities, admitted our weaknesses. I could love him as another guy, imperfect like me, and let the guilt subside for now.

We fell into a delicious embrace then, all care forgotten, our hands and tongues exploring, making up for lost time. Eventually we separated, and he looked at me, a new hint of uncertainty in his face.

“Um, Callum, I’ve never done anything like this before. With a guy, I mean.”

I smiled and nodded. “It’s ok; I have with a few guys. Not lots,” I added hastily, seeing his alarm, “but enough to know what I’m doing.”

His smile lit up my heart like a beacon. “Do you think you could teach me, Callum?” His earnestness, his need, hit me like an arrow. Whatever I was before, I knew I was done for now. And I was glad for it.

“Yes, Jake, I can. It’s about time I got to teach you something.”

And with that we started the lesson.

**************************

Lying in each other’s arms afterwards, I felt so alive and grateful. I wondered, though, how much he knew, and when he would start to ask me more questions. I need not have wondered.

“So, I hear you confessed to the Head.”

“Yes, Jake, better late than never, but I did.”

“And he wouldn’t cane you.”

I stopped short with that. He obviously knew more than he let on, so absolute honesty was my only available strategy. It kind of felt good. Besides, given we were both now naked it was kind of obvious.

“Yes, I went and confessed. He was so angry, and I thought I was in for it. I asked for exactly what you got, told him I had found something more painful that a caning anyway so it wouldn’t matter.”

“I know. I was proud of you, mate, though a bit pissed off. I’d already taken the beating, so you didn’t have to.”

“I know, Jake, but I was determined. Anyway, he said he had decided that he wouldn’t be caning any students again while he was Headmaster, that he had already caned you three times when he shouldn’t have, and that was enough. I got the book thrown at me instead. School colours revoked, suspension, parents involved, the whole catastrophe. And the worst part is, I have to do extra duty after school. Helping the football squad with practice! Can you believe it?”

Jake collapsed in a fit of laughter then, and I joined him after a while, the sheer incongruity too delicious. I didn’t know who was going to hate it more, me or the football coaching staff.

“I’m just sorry he wouldn’t cane me. I know it sounds stupid, but I don’t think I will have truly made it up to you unless I am caned, and now it won’t happen.”

A gleam came into his eyes, one I had never seen before. Pure mischief on steroids. I was entranced.

“Well, you never know. Kaye, I mean Miss Weston, told me about what happened, and we discussed it. She felt you were unfairly denied a chance to regain your honour, and I agreed, so we made a little arrangement, as under the new regime at school some things will now not be needed. Go to my cupboard and check behind my hockey stick will you?”

Shaking a little, I opened the door and checked at the back. Trembling, I took out what my hand had closed on, a cane, and from what little I knew, one of the ones from school.

I looked stunned at Jake as a feral grin covered his face, made more galling by the obvious erection. One which I was horrified to find was matched by my own.

“Are you ready for this, my love? I can guarantee this will hurt me more than it will you.”

“How…How?" I stuttered. Brain in a spin between the sight of the cane and the words “my love” coming from Jake’s lips, I stared dumbly for a moment. Finally dots started to line up in my brain, and an answer presented itself, though one I found hard to believe. The sudden intimacy, their many walks in the school gardens, Miss Weston’s hostility to me – it all made sense. “Kaye? Miss Weston? Why do you call her Kaye? No one even knows her first name; it’s guarded like nuclear launch codes. What have you been up to?” I remembered his recent secrecy, hints of a newfound confidence, and complete unwillingness to respond to questioning about girls. Oh shit…you can’t mean?

“You…and Miss Weston?”

He had the decency to be abashed, even sheepish.

“Yeah…but for fuck’s sake don’t tell anyone, ok? It’s kind of illegal I think and she could get totally shitcanned.”

“Who would I tell? And what would I tell them? I don’t even believe it myself. You sly fucking dog! You never told me!”

Another question came to mind, but I didn’t know how to voice it. Luckily Jake got there first.

“It’s ok, love, I know what you are thinking. We stopped a couple of weeks ago; we both agreed it was silly. And I only truly love one person at a time. You don’t need to be afraid of me going off with girls and cheating on you.” The sigh I let go then spoke volumes, all my fears cut short before they could materialise. Love. He had used the word again, and I knew my Jake enough to know he meant it.

I looked at him with new eyes. “You are not the good boy I thought. Secret crushes, fucking older women, S & M?. Where did this Jake come from? What have you done with my mate?”

“He’s always been here, love. And you are not the total selfish prick I thought, looks like some of my conscience rubbed off on you a bit belatedly alongside the maths. What have you done with my Callum?” The laughter in his eyes brought me close to tears again. Maybe this could work, and maybe we could be good for each other, ying to the other’s yang.

“Want to discover our new selves together?” he asked.

My answering kiss said it all.

Coming up for oxygen again, I started to get philosophical. “You know I’m kind of stupidly glad in a way this happened. It may have been accidental, but it was a fortunate accident. I don’t know if I would have ever had the courage to go through with telling you otherwise. It’s like we had to do this, get through this, and now we can be complete.”

“Well, not complete yet, Callum, there is still one more thing to do if you remember, if you are still serious” he said with a feral grin.

Shocked back from my reverie, I remembered what I had said, and what I still needed to do. Abandoning thoughts of chickening out, I resolved that the new me would remain in control. “No, I meant it. I guess we had better get it over with. But please, not too hard?”

“Don’t worry. I couldn’t hurt you too bad. Besides, I don’t want to worry the neighbours.”

With a groan I bent over the desk.

“Um, you know what? It really wasn’t me, honest.” And with that last act of defiance from my former self I waited for the blow to fall.