his house, over prom chops and mashed potatoes, John dines with his mother. Just with his mother.
"So," she asks over her third cup of tea. "How are things with Tyler?"
"Mom," he says, groaning. Way to use the stereotypewriter, Johnny-Gee. "You know, they're...they're fine."
"Just fine?"
"Just fine." His voice is dead flat.
"Alright," she says and sips more tea. After a silence--
"What?"
"Something. You gushed about him before. What's changed?"
"What?" he asks. This time, its hostility in his voice. The kind of hostility that comes woith someone encroaching on what John sees at rightfully his. And...Tyler is most definitely that.
"I'm just asking, Johnny, I don't mean to pry."
"It's fine," he says and waves a hand. "We're just--we're going through some stuff." "Anything you want to talk about?" She cuts into the pork chop.
"He...Tyler brokew up with Sarah today. He's taking it pretty hard. I spoke to him for about a minute after school. It didn't end well."
"I'm sorry," she says gravely.
"Not your fault," John says. "But..."
"What?"
"This is strange," he says and doesn't catch himself. "What Tyler and I have. It's...it is more. I am more than...more than some guy who likes guys. Y'know?"
"There's nothing wrong with that." His mother feels the need to say.
"No, no you're right." John says thoughtfully. Of course it would be mom who said something like that. She was the first one he came out to. Hell, she was the one found him doing...things...while crouched over a picture of Aaron Carter.
It wouldn't be prudent to lie to his mother. Wouldn't be moral.
But Sarah. That harpy. It was entirely within John's morality to lie to her. To play her. After all, she had most definitely played him--and Tyler.
"Whore," John mutters.
"What?"
"Oh," he says and realizes where he is. "Nothing."
His mother frowns and leans over the table, laying one hand on his. "Whatever's on your mind, Johnny, I'd like to know. All these things you've been going through, al the things we've shared. I'd like to help. If you'll let me."
After a silent moment, John looks up at her. "I hate her, mom."
"Who?"
"Sarah. Tyler's girlfriend--well, ex."
"Ex," she says calmly. Nonchalantly. "Why?"
"She broke up with him earlier. Broke his heart." He pokes at his steak, and it looks unappetizing all of the sudden.
Mom notices the silence. "What is it?"
"I want to break her heart, Mom, so she knows what it feels like. I want to ruin her, mom, because she ruined Tyler. She ruined my Tyler." He raises his head to look at her. And his mind flashes back to that Star Wars movie, the clones one or whatever they called it. The part where Anakin says he slaughtered the Sand People. His anger was righteous. They killed his mom.
Sarah, well, she ruined his Tyler.
It's at this point that John figures out his cloudy vision is because of tears welling up and on the brim of spilling over. And his lip quivering, that's out of sadness. Or anger.
A righteous anger. At that stupid, worthless little bitch.
Deep down. With every part of his body. John straight fucking hated her. And how he wanted her to know it.
He lets his head rest against the table and the cool oak veneer.
"I feel lost."
"Lost?" she asks.
"I want to do something, mom. I want to...I want to make things better for Tyler and I." "Johnny?"
He raises his head. One of the eyebrows is angled sharply. Demonically, almost, his mother notes in her head.
He knows how to make things better. How to make Tyler better.
The next day, Tyler can be found at his locker. It's 8 am and he's filing a mountain of books away in his locker. His grey and tall and, except for the mirror suspended on fishing wire from the door's grating, boring locker.
"Maybe," he says and touched a finger to his lips. Yes, a cut-out of a firefighter or something. That'd certainly spruce it up.
He catches himself and turns back to his locker, pulling an Econ book from the shelf. He files it under his arm and catches his profile in the mirror. For the first time in a long time, he stops and checks himself out.
Short black hair spiked at the front and angling out like a rigid canopy. Sharp and deep set eyes and an aquiline nose. The sleeveless t-shirt gives away the peaks of his nipples, made hard by the friction of walking. And the arms. Oh yes...sculpted in the vision of David or the Thinker. Hairless above the elbow and perfectly flexed when he raises his books to his pecs.
Tyler feels an erection behind the black mesh of his shorts, behind the plaid boxers.
"Hey, Ty."
"He snaps away from the mirror and sees Sarah, standing three feet from him in jeans, heels, and a horrid little midriff number.
"Sarah," he fakes a smile. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to see how you were doing. And if we're okay." She doesn't even sound remotely sympathetic. That little smirk and the angled eyebrow. Hardcore, lady.
"I'm fine, I don't know how you're doin. He turns back to the locker and shuffles a Trig book under the arm with the Econ. "Can't say I really care, either."
"What?!"
"I didn't stutter," he answers, just as calm as before, as turns back to her. "What? Something to say, then say it. The sacred-straight bit's old, Sarah."
"You just can't accept it can you?" she asks as he closes the locker and starts down the hall. "That I dumped you, not the other way round, huh?"
Tyler stops and sighs and cranes his head toward the ceiling. He turns around and grabs his crotch with his free hand.
"I'm quite happy with where I am right now. Are you?"
He turns around swiftly and strides down the hall, his Nikes squeaking as he goes, his arms flexing, his erection sinking. His mind totally on John.