Page 79 of String Boys
Two years, and Seth had marched at Kelly’s speed—slower than a glacier. Slower than history. Slower than a constipated dinosaur—and hadn’t complained once.
“Seth?” Kelly asked now, rolling over and splaying his hand over Seth’s stomach under his shirt.
“Yeah?”
“Are we ever gonna—” He couldn’t sayhave sex.It didn’t sound right. Not after the last two years. “—make love again?”
To his surprise, Seth looked away, biting his lip in a way that made Kelly think of the dorky little laughs he let out sometimes, when he wasn’t expecting to be amused.
“I… I had this plan, see?” Seth said. “And it’s dumb. Because… because you haven’t said anything, but… but I think… see, I think you want to stay and do junior college for two more years.”
Kelly gasped, sitting up in bed. “How did…?” He swallowed, suddenly tearful. “You wanted to move out—”
“I do,” Seth told him, and his eyes were red and shiny. “I do. But… but, Kelly, you’re not ready. I… I get it. I mean, it hurts.” He grimaced. “I can’t pretend. Anyway. So I’ve got this dream, you know? Like, you turn eighteen, and I know it’s dumb, but for some reason eighteen is a big age. It’s like you’re free to consent, you know? I’m sorry. I’m saying this wrong. But… but I want to take you somewhere. Somewhere nice. Like… like remember when me and Vince and Amara went to Monterey last summer?”
Kelly nodded. Seth hadn’t wanted to go, but Amara’s parents had rented a house for a week, and she’d invited her best friends—which were apparently both boys—and Seth had sent Kelly pictures every day.
Kelly, who had only made it to the beach at San Francisco, had looked at the bright clear expanses of Monterey Bay and fallen in love.
“I wanted to do that. With you. I wanted to rent a house. Like, I’ve started saving money for it. And, like, my dad could come for the last couple of days, but before that, it would be, like, just you and me. Just… just us. And we could… we could have space. And privacy. It wouldn’t have to be rushed. And you’d never have to feel trapped. If it didn’t work out, we could go running on the beach and maybe swimming because sometimes it’s warm enough and nobody would know or care, and we could try again.”
Kelly gaped at him, unaware that he was crying until he wiped his mouth and his hand came away briny. “This? This is what goes running through your head when I think it’s only music?”
Seth looked away. “Yeah.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“We could do that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s a real pretty picture,” he said, before he started to sob in earnest. “I want that. Can we do that?”
Seth’s arms, warm and kind, were all he’d ever wanted. That word, that terrible word that went with Castor Durant and that terrible time, that word could go to hell.
“Yeah.”
“Let’s do that. You’re right. I… I can’t leave my family, not right now. But let’s do that.”
“Okay. Let’s do that.”
And Kelly couldn’t talk after that. He was too busy crying, and he couldn’t even say why.
HE’D PULLEDhimself together by the time Amara and Vince got back, and the weekend, well, it didn’t get much better than that. Sunday morning, his dad texted and said he’d be there around six o’clock to pick him up, so they braved the hour on the bus to the beach and got back, breathless and happy, at six thirty.
Kelly was surprised his dad wasn’t there yet. He and Seth sat on the steps leading up to the boys’ dorms, looking out at the grounds—pretty, green, parklike—and talked after their return.
Darkness fell, and Kelly looked at his phone uncomfortably.
“Do you think he got held up in traffic?” he asked. He didn’t even want to try calling. His dad had never mastered the art of Bluetooth phones in the minivan.
“Here,” Seth said, pulling out his own phone. “Let me call my….”
At that moment, Craig Arnold pulled up in the Cadillac, the often refurbished, constantly cosseted red Cadillac that he swore he’d never part with.
He came to a slow stop and got out of the car, looking at both boys unhappily.
