Everyone Else - Part 2

Genre: high school romance; boys love.

- - -

Charlie does not want to speak to Finlay. Charlie knows he is pitiful; he does not need Finlay's words to paint a picture for him. He knows the boy will likely tattle on him to all their classmates, but Charlie cannot find it in him to care much. Being worlds apart helps distancing himself from such preoccupations. It has been two days and Finlay has still not let up on following him everywhere, even when students started looking at the both of them funny.

The place where he has locked up his bicycle is empty except for the broken chain. He looks up and sees Finlay approach him, bike in hand; he is smiling.

"So you ride a bike to school," he says. "Pretty lame."

Charlie blinks at him, wondering only if the boy intends to keep the bicycle, and if so, how much it will cost to replace it.

"You oughta get the chain looked at." The boy frowns and clicks his tongue. "What's wrong with you? Why don't you ever talk to people? Or is that mouth of yours only good for sucking dick?"

The boy is obviously not going to give his bike back to him at this point. He wonders if he should report it to the Vice Principal. That bike would make quite a dent in expenses were he to replace it.

"I can buy a much better bicycle than this," he continues. "Fuck bicycles. I could get a motorbike if I wanted. I could have... I could..." he falters and bites his lower lip as his face darkens. "Fuck you, dirty faggot," he spits and throws the bike to the ground.

Charlie watches him storm off and disappear behind a building. He does not totally understand the sudden outburst, but the words have made him somewhat uncomfortable. Charlie does not think he is dirty; Charlie is a good boy.

- - -

Finlay is face down in his pillow. That wasn't at all what he wanted to say to the boy. That wasn't it at all. He groans and hurls the pillow. It hits the door with a satisfying thump.

"Well, who would drive such a shitty bike anyway?" he says out loud, reasoning with himself. "Hell, I could get him a better one."

A demanding rumble rattles his stomach. He goes out into the hallway to find his brother, but he is not home. His father is in Phoenix negotiating the purchase of a supermarket, and his mother is a foreign correspondent in Rome for a news agency. Finlay goes back into his room and rummages through a box under his bed. He later emerges with a cup of instant noodles and makes his way downstairs to the kitchen.

-

No one seems to want to live in the new house. No one really wants to live here. The house is too much like a big cave. Finlay prowls the red sands of the town in the dry evening with a gaudy troupe from school. He doesn't know where they're headed and he doesn't care. As long as he's away from the cave and there's booze at hand, he'll be fine. These people he's with, he's not even sure about their names. They're in a children's park, and Finlay is finely balanced on the enclosure with a rolled up cigarette wedged between his lips and a bottle of his father's whiskey in one hand.

He's the cowboy kid again and he feels positively giddy from the rush of alcohol. The boy believes they are lightweights that don't know what real alcohol is next to their piss water beer. There was never any legal age for drinking back in Marseilles, he recalls.

"Hey, you." He motions to the guy closest to him.

The boy stops flirting with one of the girls and turns around.

"You want some of this? Good stuff, man."

He raises the bottle of whiskey that glints sharply in the street lights. The boy grins, curiosity and excitement at the tip of his fingers as reaches for the bottle, only for Finlay to suddenly jerk it away and pour the bottle's contents onto the boy's head. And Finlay can't stop laughing because it is the funniest thing he's seen ever since he got here.

"The fuck's wrong with you?" the boy says, his brow deeply furrowed and his hands raised halfway between disbelief and anger. Golden drops glisten on orange-tinted strawberry blond hair that sticks to the boy's face. He looks like he's covered in strong curry sauce.

One of the girls giggles. "It's just alcohol, Neil."

Finlay jumps down from the enclosure and lets out a whoop that resonates far along the cottonwood trees. The bottle is smashed into large golden pieces, each one reflecting a different laughing Finlay.

- - -

Charlie is in the school library, doing his homework like he does at every break. Today, Tuesday, is maths. What he has not anticipated is the creeping presence of Finlay stalking his private moments at the library table. The boy should know that just because he says nothing, it is not an invitation. Though he admits it is not entirely bothersome. He is sure the boy will eventually tire and move on.

Finlay scratches his chin distractedly. "So, uh..." he says softly so as not to disturb the sacred silence of book-reading. "You... you like books?"

Charlie creases his brow in an effort to focus on the sentence he has been reading for the past ten minutes.

Finlay looks at his feet and says, "Listen, uh... Since I'm kind of new to town and all, do you know any sights to see around here? Maybe show me around a bit?"

Charlie huffs out a sigh and sticks in a piece of torn paper into the pages of the book as a bookmark. He is clearly not going to make any progress at this rate. He gets up and leaves the library.

As they approach his bicycle next to the school's parking lot, Charlie stops and sighs.

"There's the Tuzigoot National Monument (an old Indian dwelling), the Verde Canyon Railroad, the Historic Old Town area, the Dead Horse Ranch State Park, Oak Creek Canyon, or even the Sycamore Canyon Wilderness Area," he says. "I could show you around myself, but you'd have to make it worth my time. You must understand, I do have other obligations."

Finlay smiles. "So you can speak. That's a relief. And a sharp tongue at that." He pauses to think. "Well, if it's money you–"

"Just keep talking to me."

Finlay blinks at him. "What?"

"I'll hear your answer tomorrow, then."

Charlie undoes the chain from his bike and rides away, leaving a very confused boy behind.

-

Colbie is brushing Charlie's hair while he sits, reading his book. Ear-length hair is enough for her; she has even managed to tie some elastic bands in there.

"Charlie, you have snow in your hair."

"Mmh."

Colbie picks the white flecks out with her forefinger and thumb. Charlie remembers that he used the last of the eczema shampoo on the twins two days ago. He will have to use his mother's shampoo again.

"You look happy today," notes Colbie through clenched teeth as she forces the teeth of the comb through a particularly persistent knot, bending Charlie's head backwards.

"I do?" he says.

"Yeah."

The teeth finally break through the knot, making Charlie grimace at the loss of a few hairs.

After a moment, Colbie asks, "When is Pa coming back?"

Charlie turns a page. "Hm? Oh. I don't know. Soon, maybe."

Charlie really has no idea. He has already gotten used to living without the man.

- - -

tbc