I Know It's Over Part 6

"Oh, you have to show me yours," Sasha begged. "All of them."

"No way," I kidded, but I actually wanted to. Especially that one.

Sasha and I never had a moment alone at her house. Either her brother, Peter, was hopping into the TV room on one foot, telling us what had happened at school that day, or we were sitting at the kitchen table, sandwiched between her parents. It was a round table, too small for five, and I never felt right sitting there-I felt like an overgrown foster child-and that feeling made me quiet.

The five of us were sitting there, all scrunched together, one night near the beginning of October. We were having chicken and rice and Sasha's parents were talking about building an extension onto the house, while Peter methodically scooped up one grain of rice at a time and swallowed, a process that seemed like it would take a hundred years. My cell started vibrating in my pocket, but picking it up in the middle of dinner would probably count as a personality flaw so I ignored it. A couple minutes later the kitchen phone rang and Mrs. Jasinski continued chatting as she grabbed the receiver from the wall.

She offered a gracious h.e.l.lo and then held the phone out. "That's actually for you, Nick," she said. "Someone named Nathan."

I jumped up and took the phone, conscious of four pairs of eyes on me. "Hey, Nate," I said quietly into the receiver, "I'm sort of in the middle of something here."

"I know," Nathan said. "I'm sorry, but I really need to talk to you right now. Holland told me you were there. It really..." Nathan's voice cut out. "It can't wait. I told my dad and...I need to see you, okay?"

"Yeah, sure." My blood was rus.h.i.+ng under my skin, but I didn't want to give off any signs of anxiety. Everyone's eyes were back on their plates, but I could sense the whole family listening. "Where are you?"

"At the mall." Nathan barked out a high-pitched laugh. "I couldn't think of where else to go."

"Okay. Give me a few minutes to get there. I'll see you in the food court."

"Okay," Nathan said faintly.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay, Nate. Just wait for me, right?"

"I'm waiting," he confirmed, and then he was gone.

All eyes zeroed back in on me. "Is everything all right?" Mrs. Jasinski asked. She looked concerned and that made me like her more.

"It's my friend. I have to go."

"Do you need a ride?" Mr. Jasinski was already pus.h.i.+ng away from the table.

"It's okay," I told him. "You're in the middle of dinner." I could just imagine the scene in the car-Sasha's dad staring expectantly over at me, waiting for me to explain what the emergency was. I wouldn't even blame him; I'd probably want to know too.

Sasha walked me to the door and squeezed my arm. "Call me when you get home," she said.

I walked down to the end of her street, fis.h.i.+ng for change in my pocket. There was a bus stop around the corner and with any luck a city bus would swing by soon. An old woman in a long cardigan was waiting too. She looked through me, making me feel like a juvenile delinquent. "Do you know when the bus will be here?" I asked. She shook her head mutely, still avoiding eye contact. "Do they come by often?" I persisted. Ditto on that.

When the bus arrived ten minutes later, it had an NYC logo painted on its side that the Courtland bus company hadn't bothered to paint over and I glanced back over at her, determined to score a positive response. "You headed for New York City too?" I asked with a neighborly smile. The woman glared at me and stepped towards the curb. I started to wonder if she had a couple screws loose, but she began chatting, quite sanely, with the bus driver as soon as the doors had closed behind us.

Fifteen minutes later I was racing through Courtland Place. Nathan was sitting at a table in the food court, pale and alone. I slid into the seat across from him and plunked my hands down on the table. "Sorry I took so long. Are you eating anything?" He wasn't, but I didn't know what else to say. "Do you want me to get you something?"

"I'm not hungry," Nathan said into his palm.

"So can we talk here?" I lowered my voice. "What happened?"

"I got tired of being chickens.h.i.+t so I told him the truth and..." Nathan scanned the immediate area. He rested his head in his hands, his fingers hooked around his ears. "He said that it was just a phase, like an experimental thing that would pa.s.s. I told him it wasn't like that-that I'd always been this way, as long as I could remember."

"As long as you can remember," I repeated. "Like when you were six?"

"Always," he confirmed. "Before I even thought of what it was called. I always knew there was something different." I nodded encouragingly, thinking of the two of us at eleven, skateboarding at the park, and of him knowing, even then. "But he won't let it be that way. He said he won't accept that coming from me at sixteen and that he doesn't want to hear another word about it. He said when I get older and move out, I'll be able to do whatever I want but not now. His house. His rules."

"Maybe he just needs time," I offered. "It has to be a shock."

"It wasn't a shock to you." Nathan sighed. "You know how he is, Nick. He thinks it's weak somehow." Nathan squinted down at the table, his eyes lined with red, and I knew that we had to get moving before he lost it in the middle of the food court.

"Come on." I reached across the table and b.u.mped his arm, reminding him that I was still there. "Let's go back to my house."

"I don't know." He looked up at me with s.h.i.+ning eyes. "I don't want to talk to anyone else."

"They'll leave us alone," I promised. "We'll hang out in my room. Come on." I stood first. Nathan rubbed his eyes hard before hauling himself to his feet. I felt drained watching him. I wanted to tell his dad that Nathan was fine the way he was and that he was the one that needed to change. There was way too much macho bulls.h.i.+t going on at Nathan's house all the time. It made me glad to have my parents. If I told my dad I was gay, he'd probably just look scared and hand over more safe s.e.x money.

I wondered how Nathan's mom would've reacted. She died of cancer when Nathan was eight and his dad didn't like to talk about her. I was sure his dad had never sat Nathan down and said, "We need to take a little time to adjust to this as a family."

Nathan glanced wearily over at me as he matched my stride. "Thanks," he said, hunching over like he was bracing against the cold. "I didn't know what to do."

Nathan had more friends than anybody I knew. There were so many people he could've called, but maybe he wasn't sure they'd understand. I wasn't sure I understood one hundred percent either, but I knew I'd be there no matter what.

He'd do the same for me. He always has.

nine.

Nathan ended up staying with us for four days. Mom made him call his house and leave a message about where he was and it took Nate's dad three days to phone back. They had a huge fight over the phone and Nathan said he wouldn't pretend to be something he wasn't and hung up. His dad came with the car the next day. My mom put her arm around Nathan's shoulders and asked if he would at least try to talk to his father. Nathan's dad had dark shadows under his eyes and he spoke to Nate alone in the kitchen. They left together forty-five minutes later.

When I asked Nathan what'd happened, he said, "He told me he loved me. He never says that."

"What about his rules?"

"I don't know," he replied. "He just said the most important thing was that I come home."

Sasha came over once while Nathan was with us. He told her everything that he'd told me over the summer, including the stuff about Xavier, and she said, "You know all the really good-looking guys are trouble." They both looked pointedly over at me, grins creeping across their faces.

"Shut up," I protested, breaking into a smile too.

"You need a nice guy," she continued. "The good-looking ones expect you to fall all over them. You have to do all the chasing. And then there's the s.e.xual expectations." She poked me in the ribs.

"s.e.xual expectations are good," Nathan said keenly. "I have s.e.xual expectations." He forced his features into a serious expression and added, "With the right guy, of course."

We laughed at that, but it still felt serious. Watching Sasha with Nate made me aware of how restrained I was. She was completely natural about the whole thing. She hugged Nathan and said, "I'm sorry this is so difficult when it shouldn't be anything." She rubbed his back. "Anybody who matters will be okay with it in the end. Even your dad."

That was hard for me to imagine; for Nathan it must've been near impossible. But maybe she was right. After all, he did tell Nathan he loved him. Love does strange things to you sometimes. It can twist you into saying and doing things that you know you'll regret and still, you do them.

I didn't spend my dad's safe s.e.x money. I put it in my camera box, on the top shelf in my closet along with a pack of condoms I'd bought at the beginning of summer when I thought it might happen with Dani. I'd even practiced putting one on so I wouldn't fumble around like an idiot when the time came. Only the time didn't arrive, not then.

Of course I never forgot the condoms were there. I was conscious of them every time Sasha was in my room, but I never mentioned them. I didn't want her to think I had a timetable in my head; I wanted to be the patient boyfriend. Most of the time I was surprisingly good at that. The more I liked her, the easier it got.

She was so beautiful naked that it almost hurt to look at her. Sometimes I'd watch myself touch her, as though I was standing over my own shoulder, and hardly believe I was allowed to do those things with her. Sometimes I felt so lucky that the feeling almost made me sick. Then I'd wonder if it was because those moments alone never lasted long enough, if it was like having a drop of water when you were dying of thirst.

Maybe I wouldn't feel so crazy if I could have more, but there was no way to work that out. Normal life swallowed up most of my time and those days with Nathan took an even bigger chunk. Sasha and I talked on the phone, IMed, and saw each other whenever we could, usually in the presence of family or friends. One time Nathan's dad let him borrow the car and five of us (Sasha, Lindsay, Yasmin, Nathan, and I) went bowling. Yasmin talked too loudly and Lindsay kept ushering Sasha away to discuss some secret crush, but it was still a pretty good night. Everything was pretty okay at the time, except that I was still crazy.

When Sasha stood by my desk at the end of a Wednesday afternoon law cla.s.s and asked if she could come over for a while, I beamed at her like a toothpaste commercial. We rushed back to my house after school and headed straight for my bedroom. Holland came home five minutes later and blasted Metric through her speakers. The music was so loud that she'd probably never even discover we were next door, but I got up, banged on her door, and told her to leave us alone, just in case. She was used to me doing that by then and she just nodded, moving her head in time to the music.

Sasha and I started peeling off each other's clothes. She was wearing this preppy white V-neck with a blue collar and she had blue bikini briefs on under her pants. I was already poking out of my unzipped jeans and she slid her hand into my boxers and said, "When was this last time we did this? It feels like so long ago."

"Nine days," I said, adding it up in my head as I pulled down her underwear. "Way too long."

Sasha smiled and pulled me nearer. "I missed it too."

I felt so close to her that afternoon on my bed, closer than I'd ever felt before. Everything was right between us. I wanted her so much that I couldn't stop shaking and I knew we could end that feeling without the whole thing, like we'd done before, but I didn't want to. "I have condoms in the closet," I said softly, running my fingers over her nipples. "Do you want to try?"

Sasha's eyes opened wide. It was bright in my room and her pupils were tiny. "You know when I do that, it'll be with you."

"I know. I just want you so bad. I think about you all the time." I rested my right hand along her rib cage, my chest tight. "Not just s.e.xually. I think about you all the time, you know? I think I'm going crazy."

Sasha laughed gently. She reached up and threaded her fingers through my hair. "If that's going crazy, then I'm crazy too." She sat up and slipped her tongue into my mouth. I thought that was the end of it, but she put her hand on my chest and stopped kissing me. "Okay," she said. "Get them."

I got up and stepped towards the closet, trying not to look shocked. I guess I never thought she'd actually say yes, not for months and months, maybe longer. I tore the package open as I walked back to the bed and was about to turn away again when it occurred to me that if we were going to do it, I shouldn't be shy about putting the condom on.

Sasha watched me do it. She lay back and spread her legs and I positioned myself between them, wis.h.i.+ng that I'd done it with Dani so I wouldn't feel so nervous.

I pushed slowly into her. It wasn't easy. She was really tight down there. She gasped under her breath and I looked into her eyes. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." She had that concentration look on her face, almost like a frown.

I pushed in deeper, still feeling her frown up at me. Then I started moving, as gently as I could, but I couldn't enjoy it. "I'm hurting you," I said.

"Keep going," she told me, her voice like cut gla.s.s.

So I kept going, but it didn't get any better. I felt like I was torturing her and that stepped up the pressure to finish. But I couldn't. Not with her looking at me like that. Everyone knows the first time usually isn't any good for a girl, but I thought it would be okay for me. The truth is I didn't even get off. In the end I just stopped. My hard-on disappeared the moment it hit the air and I pulled off the condom and stared down at Sasha.

Music was still booming through the wall and I felt empty. I grabbed my clothes from the floor and began putting them back on. Sasha didn't move. "You know you should've told me if you didn't really want to do it," I said.

"What're you talking about?" Sasha's face went blank. It was like I didn't even know her. She could've been practically anyone.

"You were just lying there the entire time. You looked like you hated it."

"What did you expect?" she cried. "It was my first time."

"Yeah," I said, "and you were so obviously not into it. It ruined it."

Sasha sat up in bed and then I noticed it-a spot of blood on my striped sheets. My chest tightened again. I pointed down and said, "Do you want me to get you something?"

Sasha peered down at the spot. I thought she was going to tell me what an a.s.shole I was being, but she mumbled, "I guess you better."

I grabbed one of Holland's pads from the bathroom and handed it to Sasha. She had her clothes on by then and she brushed past me and into the bathroom. I closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of the bed, hating myself.

She gazed down at me as she swept back into the room, that blank expression hiding whatever she was feeling. I should've apologized right then, but I couldn't do it; I could barely look at her. "I better go," she said dully. "Your mom will be home soon."

"Do you want me to walk you?" I asked, although it was the last thing I wanted to do.

"It's okay," she said. "It's still light out."

"Okay." I walked her to the front door. It killed me to do it. Sometimes I think something must be really wrong with me. It shouldn't be that hard to apologize when you know you're wrong. But I didn't want to think about it anymore. I thought I'd feel better if Sasha wasn't standing there next to me.

I did one thing right. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead before she left. Then I went upstairs, pulled the bottom sheet off my bed, and washed the blood off in the bathroom sink. I threw the wet sheet into the back of my closet and grabbed a new one from the hall closet. I felt like a complete fugitive doing it; I was convinced Holland would bound into the hall and give me the third degree, but she never left her room.

I didn't know what to do with myself after that. I went downstairs and flipped through zillions of TV channels. My stomach growled, but I wasn't remotely hungry. I kept my hand on the remote. Judge Judy, Dr. Phil, and an ancient Sabrina, the Teenage Witch repeat flickered before my eyes. It was enough to make anyone sick.

Finally I grabbed the phone and called Keelor. "Hey," he said. "What's up?" His voice sounded the same as always and that was exactly what I needed.

"Bored," I told him. "I'm on my way over."

"Cool. We can watch the game." Right, the Leafs were playing the New York Rangers at seven. It'd slipped my mind somewhere between losing my virginity and walking my girlfriend to the door.

I wrote a note to Mom, stuck it on the kitchen table, and bladed over to Keelor's house. His dad answered the door and sent me straight up to Keelor's room. He hadn't been quite as friendly lately and I wondered if it had something to do with Keelor's weed. Actually, I really could've used some just then. I seriously needed to unwind.

"Does your dad think I'm your dealer or something?" I joked.

"It's not you," Keelor a.s.sured me. "He's still p.i.s.sed with me. He thinks I'm two steps away from being a crack addict." If you knew Keelor like I did, you'd realize how messed up that thinking was. Keelor liked to keep his head on fairly straight. We both stuck to weed and alcohol. "Do you mind if we watch the game up here? I'm trying to keep a low profile around the house."

"Sure." We grabbed pizza slices from Gino's across the street and settled into his beanbag chairs to watch the game.

His dad knocked at the door just before the start of the game. "Are you two coming down to watch on the plasma?" he asked. The 46 inch down in the bas.e.m.e.nt was reserved for hockey during the season. Keelor's entire family were big fans. His mom shouted louder than his dad during the games and his twelve-year-old brother played defense for the Pee Wee league.

I shrugged, letting Keelor know that it was up to him. "Yeah, all right," he said.

It should've been a tense first period. The Leafs' first-string goalie was out with a knee injury, but their backup kept them knotted at 00 despite being outshot ten to three. Keelor's mom thought she was in the stands. She screeched encouragement at the screen, giving me a ma.s.sive headache. Normally her enthusiasm wouldn't bother me, but I was having trouble concentrating. Sasha kept jumping into my head, looking at me like I was a stranger. I could barely keep up with the game.

During the intermission I broke down and told Keelor I needed a few minutes to make a call. "Did you two have a fight or something?" he asked, sizing the situation up in a heartbeat.

"Something like that," I replied, and bolted up to his room.

I tried Sasha's cell first, but it was no surprise when she didn't answer. I took a deep breath and dialed her parents' number. Mrs. Jasinski picked up and went to get Sasha. A few seconds later she was back on the line saying, "Nick, she's just started her homework. Can she call you back later?"

"Sure," I said anxiously. I hadn't expected Sasha to talk to me in the first place, but it still felt like a shock. I started to explain that I wasn't at home, but Sasha could get me on my cell.

"All right, then," her mother said. "Maybe you'll hear from her later."

Maybe later. Just like that. Maybe later or maybe not. Would you talk to someone who didn't even walk you home afterwards? What the f.u.c.k was I thinking?

I went down to the bas.e.m.e.nt and told Keelor I had to go.

He stood up, tapped my arm, and led me out of the room. "She'll wait, Nick. Relax. Stay and watch the game."