Page 16 of Summer of the Boy

June

Chapter Four

We’re hanging out front of Ridley’s game when the confrontation finally happens. I have the heavy sledgehammer gripped with my hands spread wide, one by the black, rubber head and one lower to control the swing. I bring it up and slam the hammer down on the large square pressure plate. Small red lightbulbs light up all the way to the top and the bell dings. A flasher goes off at the top to attract attention. It used to have a buzzer too, but Ridley couldn’t handle the loud, blasting buzzer so they disabled it.

“So you’re a gay boy now, eh?” He calls out loudly to the background laughter and ribbing of his buddies, my former teammates.

Gabe Cera.

Once they claimed to be my friends, now they’re laughing at me. And it clearly isn’t news to Gabe. Maybe they wouldn’t be laughing if they knew who I’d been a “gay boy” with.

Actually, it surprises me he’s taken this long.

My attention splits between Gabe and his loud mouth, and his girlfriend walking toward us, carrying a large soda cup in her hand. She has this exotic mix of chestnut hair and almond shaped eyes, a petit thing—showing off her body in a tight gray tank and the shortest blue jean shorts known to man—who happens to be best friends with my ex-girlfriend. I never told Amanda. If she hears, she deserves to hear it from me.

“Keep your voice down, Gabe.”

He thinks he hides it, that look. The one which flashes across his face, but he tamps it down almost as soon as it flashes. The one saying he wishes he could be me. Even more, the look says he remembers everything we’d done together out on the jetty, and how it felt for once in our lives not to have to lie. I know that look well. It’s the very same look I’d given when I saw some other dudes out living their lives. Living their lives with the people they wanted to live their lives with.

“What? You ashamed, gay boy?”

No. I’m not ashamed. Especially not now. Not since my talk with my mom and the way my family accepted Ridley into the fold.

How could anyone be ashamed to be with someone as special as Rid?

“No,” I answer right away. “It’s just no one else’s business.” No one else would be code for his girlfriend and Mr. Trucker, Rid’s boss who’s been a real creeper since I started hanging around. Probably with orders to report back to Rid’s mom of his activities because she refuses to let him grow up. And Trucker wants desperately into Ms. McAllister’s pants, so he’ll do it.

She still blames his attraction to men on his autism. And I’m not sure we’ll ever convince her otherwise, so we decided to play up the best friend angle until he moves away. It isn’t exactly a lie. Yes, he’s my boyfriendnow. But he’s been mybest friendsince I got home from school. What, I guess, a boyfriend should be.

We don’t want her keeping us apart.

She’d try to keep us apart.

“That desperate?” Gabe goes on, either ignoring or too stupid to pick up on our ignoring him. “Gotta play with the retards. Is that even legal?”

That word, I see red. Legit red, and jump from the spot I’ve been leaning on the handle of the sledgehammer and lunge for Gabe, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

Not expecting my reaction, he tenses. I draw my fist back ready to slam it in his jaw when I feel a hand wrap around my elbow.

“No,” Ridley says to me. “He’s not worth it.” Then turning to Gabe he says, “I’m autistic, not retarded. And the fact you’d use that word to begin with shows everyone how backward and ignorant you actually are. Go.” He orders. “Leave or I’ll have security remove you from the park.”

Oh. My. God.

Gabe shouts out a few more expletives as Caitlin, his girlfriend, finally reaches us dragging him away. But I don’t have it in me to pay attention to Gabe Cera. Not when Ridley McAllister just stood up to him.

“That was so hot, Rid.”

The sexy, ‘I’m proud of myself’smirk—a brand new addition to the smile repertoire—spreads across his lips. Beautiful lips.

“I want to kiss you so badly right now,” I whisper.

“Later,” he promises. A promise I intend to make him keep. One thing I’ve learned with my time with Rid, when he puts his mind to something, he excels. Whether to prove to himself or to others that he’s just as capable, he excels.

The day drags on. Sweltering heat threatening to cause heat stroke, even with the breeze blowing off the ocean. Rid lifts up the hem of his T-shirt to wipe down his brow. That’s my doing. Tees instead of Polos his mother forced on him.

Rid’s not a Polo guy. He’s not quite cut off skinny jeans and purple hair, but the more time we spend together the more he’s come into himself.

“What are you staring at?” he asks. Caught. I’ve been totally caught.

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