The next day dawned hot and bright. Tommy yawned as the light from the sun streamed in through his blinds waking him from a peaceful slumber before his alarm even went off. He didn't want to get out of bed. He never did. As far as he was concerned he had absolutely no reason. There was nothing to look forward to. He was in a desert. It was hot, he was without Richard, and he was in the closet. The closet. It wasn't a place he liked being, and he'd never bothered with it before Richard, but there was no way he was ever going to tell his father. The man was such a...man, and school wasn't exactly a friendly environment. That day held a bit of promise however, Graeme was picking him up. He took care of his morning business and sauntered down the stairs for breakfast.
He couldn't help but notice that his father was staring at him. He'd stared at him every morning for weeks as if he had something he wanted to say but he didn't dare say it.
"What?" Tommy snapped.
"Nothing," Steven replied. "Are you wearing make up?"
And it was out.
"I am," Tommy said as he slurped down his cereal. He didn't want to discuss anything with his father let alone the way he was dressed or anything that might indirectly lead to his sexual orientation. He wasn't ready to share that with the father, and he wasn't quite sure he would be able to keep his mouth shut about it if directly asked. He never had been good at it before.
"Look, it's almost 1996, Steve-O," Tommy informed him. He concentrated on being sarcastic in hopes that it would mask any honesty that might happen to fumble out of his lips. "Get over it." He turned his nose up at Steven, jumped from the table, and dumped his plate in the sink.
"Come on, son. You don't want anyone think you're..."
"A big homo?" Tommy offered what he knew his father was thinking then shrugged. "So what if they do? They are not my problem, and they certainly aren't yours."
"Okay." Steven relented. "I just wish you would talk to me."
"You want to talk? You can call somebody who cares." Tommy brushed past the man and out the front door to wait for his new friend. He was angry, because he couldn't flat out deny it. He didn't want to, but it would have made things easier. He'd wanted to at least steer the conversation away from it, but he'd jumped right in it instead. He tugged at his hair in frustration. His life was becoming so much more complicated than he had ever anticipated. He wished he could talk to his father. Anything he had to say couldn't possibly have throw his life into further ruin. It was already crumbling down everywhere around him. one more bulldozer couldn't have done much more damage.
Graeme pulled into the driveway then, interrupting Tommy's thoughts. Graeme had purchased his car from his father's used car lot. Apparently he'd received the worst car available. Graeme scrambled out of his station wagon to unlock the passenger side for Tommy.
"Doesn't work from the inside," he explained as Tommy climbed in. Graeme cursed as the driver side door that he'd left opened slammed shut due to a gust of wind. Tommy had been surprised when he'd first arrived at just how windy it was in the desert. Graeme only stood there holding the passenger door open and looking contemplatively towards the driver side then down at Tommy. He sighed with weary resignation finally and ducked into the passenger opening where he proceeded to climb over Tommy's lap and into the driver's seat from there.
"This one doesn't unlock from the outside," he apologized. "I know it's a piece, sorry about the lap dance. I should have warned you."
"Is that a CD player?" Tommy changed the subject as he spied the gigantic piece of electronics protruding from the dashboard. The truth was, he was feeling a bit flustered after being crawled over. Graeme wasn't a bad looking guy, not really Tommy's type, but that really didn't matter when you were a horny sixteen year old. He knew he was going to have to tell if they were going to remain any sort of friends. He wouldn't be able to continue if he kept blushing to the roots of his hair every time Graeme laid a friendly hand on him.
"Yea, it's probably ten years old!" Graeme nodded enthusiastically, thankfully unaware of Tommy's discomfort. "My brother's car has an 8-track in it. It's totally sweet, dude." He pushed a few buttons on the console and the strains of Eutectic filled the wagon.
"I hope this musical choice isn't for my benefit." Tommy smiled. He never thought he'd find another person within a hundred miles of Mesquite, Nevada who liked Eutectic.
"Of course it is," Graeme scoffed a reply and tossed his hair from his face. "I'm trying to impress you. Is it working?"
"Yeah!" Tommy's grin was undeniable then, as was the blush. He wasn't so sure Graeme would be trying to impress him if he knew he was queer. He hated the uncertainty of not knowing how people were going to react. His friends had been the best back home, but he'd only just met Graeme the day before. He didn't really know him at all. It could all go wrong the instant he found out.
They pulled into the school parking lot singing along and grinning like idiots at the people who stopped and stared at them. It had been a nice and carefree moment and for once Tommy's mind was taken away from Richard, and London, and worrying about what the Nevadans were going to think of him.
"Graeme," Tommy said, causing his companion to pause. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to spill everything right there in the parking lot before things got out of hand and before he got too attached to his new friend. It was potential social suicide there at school, he knew. Graeme could tell everybody that the rumors were true.
"What's up, Sport?" He asked when there was no immediate response.
"First off, don't you ever call me that again." Tommy eyed him. "That is the last nick I need to have attached to me. I'm not anybody's sport."
"You're right," Graeme admitted solemnly. "Kiddo."
"I'm serious!" Tommy replied.
"Did you want to tell me something?" Graeme asked as the car lapsed into silence once again.
"Nah." Tommy shrugged. The words he had wanted to say stayed jumbled up in his brain, and short of blurting it out like a People magazine headline, those words were not arranging themselves in any reasonable order. He settled for telling Graeme that he would see him at lunch time. He figured that would give him enough time to work up his nerve and prepare a few coherent sentences to explain himself.
He got out of the car then and stood there looking up at the big sky. He wasn't ready to lose his friend. He heaved a heavy sigh and painted on a smile as Graeme joined him and they walked together towards the school entrance.
--
The words had not arrived that day, nor did they bother to show up in the subsequent weeks. When he did say them, Graeme wasn't the first person to hear them. They had only come to him after a discussion in health class had turned ugly and unruly. He'd mounted a rather vehement defense against the homophobic and misinformed opinions of the masses which left him open to attack himself. He didn't bother to deny the accusations, he only confirmed to an entire classroom that no, he was not straight, only to be assailed by further verbal abuse. Even thought the teacher had subsequently sent half the class off to the principal's office, Tommy stayed standing as the remainder of his peers stared curiously at him like some kind of freakish curiosity. It hit him hard, as he was vulnerable, and he didn't want to cry in front of them. The teacher noted his desperate look of distress and sent him to sort it out in the nurse's office.
Tommy, however, didn't bother with the nurse's office. There was only one person he wanted to see, because he had to talk to him before the students started talking.
Tommy arrived at Graeme's English class that afternoon. He walked stiffly towards the teacher, flashed the hall pass that his health teacher had given him and lied that it was a summons to the office for Graeme Alexander. The teacher, it seemed, had no problems believing his ruse. She was busy grading papers while the class quietly sat at their desks and read from their F. Scott Fitzgerald novels.
"Graeme Alexander!" The dowdy teacher announced. "You're needed in the office."
Graeme looked up from his novel in a flustered manner before scrambling from his seat and joining Tommy as he shuffled from classroom.
"What's going on?" Graeme asked as he stared down at the note. It was on official paper, but Tommy's name was written across it.
"Nothing." Tommy shrugged. "My day has just turned shit, however."
"Oh, nice," Graeme replied distastefully. "But what's with the note? What's it for?"
"It's for you to get out of class so you can make me feel better about all the closed minded bigots that pass for students in this school," Tommy informed him.
"This note is for you to go to the nurses office," Graeme replied. "You just...got me out of class with it. Damn. I didn't know it was that easy. You're good at this sort of thing, aren't you?"
Tommy looked back at his friend impatiently. "Have I violated your moral code yet again?"
"No, it's just..." Graeme smiled. "Jesus, Tom, you just don't look like the type of person who skips classes and cons teachers. I dunno."
"Well, that's not the least of it. I'm afraid there's a whole lot about me that would surprise a lot of people," Tommy admitted. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and seemed unsure of how to best to approach what he was going to say next.
"God, I could use a fag," he finally announced.
Graeme's eyes popped opened. "A what?"
"A fag?" Tommy sighed again. "A cigarette," he explained. He motioned Graeme to follow him into the nearest restroom as a secretary turned down the hallway.
"Do you want one?" Tommy exhumed a pack of Marlboros from inside his shirt where he'd hidden them.
"Oh, No, I don't smoke," Graeme declined.
"You don't do much. Do you?" Tommy expertly lit the cigarette and took a long drag.
"Oh, please!" Graeme snorted disbelief, even though he knew that he was generally pretty square. He never went anywhere and he never did anything, and he led a boring and predictable life. That was the way he liked it he kept telling himself.
"Do you drink?" Tommy asked, and Graeme shook his head in a negative fashion.
"You're probably still a virgin," Tommy continued to egg his companion on. He knew he was trying to chase Graeme away. It would have been a better option than watching him walk away on his own.
Graeme shook his head. "I'm not!"
"Ah, well, there you have it." Tommy nodded in satisfaction. "There had to be something to keep you from teetering over the edge straight into loserdom."
"I'm not a fucking loser," Graeme grumbled. "What the hell is your problem, anyway?"
Tommy apologized, "I didn't mean it."
"Should I be grateful then?" Graeme rolled his eyes. "I don't get it. You've could have tons of friends if you wanted. Everybody likes you. What? Do you think you're doing me a favor, making me cool by association? Well, I don't need to play these stupid high school games."
"Some people aren't going to like me too much after today." Tommy leaned against the wall and tapped his cigarette, leaving a small pile of ash on the floor.
"Well, if you've been as insulting as you're being right now, it's no wonder," Graeme muttered.
"Stop it. I said I was sorry." Tommy glared at him. "Look, I've just...I've got something important to tell you."
"Fine." Graeme crossed his arms and waited.
"You know what they say about me?"
"No," Graeme replied.
"I know you do. You have ears," Tommy replied. "You don't have to spare my feelings. People call me names. They think I'm gay because of the way I look."
"So what?" Graeme said. "You look fine. Who cares what they think anyway? They're douchebags. Just because you wear eye..."
"Shut-up!" Tommy snapped. "I'm not gay, but I am bisexual."
"Oh," Graeme said.
"I mean, shit. I didn't want to just dump this right on you. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but I thought you should know before you find out from someone else." Tommy turned to stare at the floor. He wondered why he couldn't just go on and live his life instead of being forced into situations where he had no choice to tell people in some sort of strident declaration. He was feeling uncomfortable about it for the first time in a long time.
"Ok, then." Graeme shrugged. It wasn't a particularly shocking thing that he had never considered. Like Tommy had said, there had been talk almost as soon as he set foot on Virgin Valley High School soil. The only thing that Graeme really knew was that he'd been having a good time since Tommy had walked into his life. He was a friend worth having, and Graeme wasn't about to lose that for any reason.
"You don't care?" Tommy asked.
"Not unless you're planning on seducing me!" Graeme looked around the bathroom. "Because that's not happening, I'll tell you right now."
Tommy laughed. "You give yourself too much credit."
"So, what happened?" Graeme asked, curious as to what driven Tommy out of the closet.
"Health class," Tommy muttered. "I just can't keep my gob shut in the face of misinformation. People are fucking ignorant, and I don't care who knows about it. They just, really. They were being pretty awful. We were just talking about stuff, and one thing led to another. Are you really going to make me talk about it?"
"Nah. I'm sorry," Graeme replied.
"Don't have to apologize to me," Tommy said.
He cocked his head to one side before stepping into a stall and tossing the cigarette into the toilet. He flushed it away, and a few moments later one of the school administrators entered the room.
"What's going on in here? Have you been smoking?" He accused, staring directly at Tommy.
"Smoking?" Tommy batted his eyelashes innocently.
"I'm just in here because I had to pee," Graeme said.
Mr. Fitz ignored Graeme and stalked towards Tommy.
"Listen here, young man." He shook his finger in Tommy's general direction. "I know you do things different over there in Europe, but this is America and when you're in Virgin Valley High School you are to follow the rules."
"Yes, sir." Tommy pointed his gaze respectfully at the ground. It was a pose he was all too familiar with when dealing with administrators.
"And you!" He spun towards Graeme. "Watch yourself. You're one of the good kids."
"Yes, Mr. Fitz," Graeme replied politely even though he was perplexed by his superior's comment. He hadn't considered himself one of the good kids at all, and if he was, he wasn't sure he wanted to be one.
--
"You should come over for dinner," Graeme said as he drove back towards the suburbs after a long diversion to the salon. Tommy had insisted on redoing his hair, and was peering into the visor mirror, shaking his head and running his fingers through his new do. It had gone from long and dark to shorter and blonde.
"What you having?" Tommy asked.
Graeme glanced over at his passenger. "Tacos."
"Tacos?" Tommy looked over from the mirror. "You know I don't think I've ever had a taco."
"Are you shitting me?" Graeme exclaimed. "Well, that clinches it, you're coming over. My mom makes the best fucking tacos in Nevada."
Tommy smiled. "I guess that's an offer I can't refuse then, eh?"
"Nope." Graeme nodded.
"You like this?" Tommy turned his attention back to his hair. "I mean, it's not too blonde is it?"
Graeme glanced over. "Dude, I don't give a shit about your hair."
"You don't?" Tommy grinned slyly at him. "You aren't trying to overcompensate by feigning disinterest in my fashion sense are you?"
Graeme laughed. "No, you're right. Honestly?"
"I'm not going to think you're hitting on me if you say you like it, Graeme. It doesn't work that way."
"Okay." Graeme's ever present grin widened. "Well, I was skeptical at first, but you were right. You look good as a blonde."
"Thank you for the compliment," Tommy replied.
"Now, it's my turn to ask a question," Graeme said.
Tommy sighed heavily. He knew there were questions coming. There usually were.
"Go ahead, ask. I'm an open book. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
"Okay," Graeme replied. "How the hell have you never eaten a taco before now?"
Tommy laughed out loud in shock. It was the last thing he was expecting Graeme to ask.
"You don't want to know about..."
"The whole bisexual thing?" Graeme arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, I think I'm smart enough to figure out how guy on guy action would work pretty much, and I know how it works with a girl. You've already cleared up the fact that you won't be hitting on me, so what's there to ask? Seriously, the other thing is way more perplexing."
Tommy laughed again then answered.
"It's not really my mother's ethnic food of choice. There just never was the occasion."
"Okay," Graeme said resolutely. "You can consider this your first Fiesta then!"
He couldn't help but notice that his father was staring at him. He'd stared at him every morning for weeks as if he had something he wanted to say but he didn't dare say it.
"What?" Tommy snapped.
"Nothing," Steven replied. "Are you wearing make up?"
And it was out.
"I am," Tommy said as he slurped down his cereal. He didn't want to discuss anything with his father let alone the way he was dressed or anything that might indirectly lead to his sexual orientation. He wasn't ready to share that with the father, and he wasn't quite sure he would be able to keep his mouth shut about it if directly asked. He never had been good at it before.
"Look, it's almost 1996, Steve-O," Tommy informed him. He concentrated on being sarcastic in hopes that it would mask any honesty that might happen to fumble out of his lips. "Get over it." He turned his nose up at Steven, jumped from the table, and dumped his plate in the sink.
"Come on, son. You don't want anyone think you're..."
"A big homo?" Tommy offered what he knew his father was thinking then shrugged. "So what if they do? They are not my problem, and they certainly aren't yours."
"Okay." Steven relented. "I just wish you would talk to me."
"You want to talk? You can call somebody who cares." Tommy brushed past the man and out the front door to wait for his new friend. He was angry, because he couldn't flat out deny it. He didn't want to, but it would have made things easier. He'd wanted to at least steer the conversation away from it, but he'd jumped right in it instead. He tugged at his hair in frustration. His life was becoming so much more complicated than he had ever anticipated. He wished he could talk to his father. Anything he had to say couldn't possibly have throw his life into further ruin. It was already crumbling down everywhere around him. one more bulldozer couldn't have done much more damage.
Graeme pulled into the driveway then, interrupting Tommy's thoughts. Graeme had purchased his car from his father's used car lot. Apparently he'd received the worst car available. Graeme scrambled out of his station wagon to unlock the passenger side for Tommy.
"Doesn't work from the inside," he explained as Tommy climbed in. Graeme cursed as the driver side door that he'd left opened slammed shut due to a gust of wind. Tommy had been surprised when he'd first arrived at just how windy it was in the desert. Graeme only stood there holding the passenger door open and looking contemplatively towards the driver side then down at Tommy. He sighed with weary resignation finally and ducked into the passenger opening where he proceeded to climb over Tommy's lap and into the driver's seat from there.
"This one doesn't unlock from the outside," he apologized. "I know it's a piece, sorry about the lap dance. I should have warned you."
"Is that a CD player?" Tommy changed the subject as he spied the gigantic piece of electronics protruding from the dashboard. The truth was, he was feeling a bit flustered after being crawled over. Graeme wasn't a bad looking guy, not really Tommy's type, but that really didn't matter when you were a horny sixteen year old. He knew he was going to have to tell if they were going to remain any sort of friends. He wouldn't be able to continue if he kept blushing to the roots of his hair every time Graeme laid a friendly hand on him.
"Yea, it's probably ten years old!" Graeme nodded enthusiastically, thankfully unaware of Tommy's discomfort. "My brother's car has an 8-track in it. It's totally sweet, dude." He pushed a few buttons on the console and the strains of Eutectic filled the wagon.
"I hope this musical choice isn't for my benefit." Tommy smiled. He never thought he'd find another person within a hundred miles of Mesquite, Nevada who liked Eutectic.
"Of course it is," Graeme scoffed a reply and tossed his hair from his face. "I'm trying to impress you. Is it working?"
"Yeah!" Tommy's grin was undeniable then, as was the blush. He wasn't so sure Graeme would be trying to impress him if he knew he was queer. He hated the uncertainty of not knowing how people were going to react. His friends had been the best back home, but he'd only just met Graeme the day before. He didn't really know him at all. It could all go wrong the instant he found out.
They pulled into the school parking lot singing along and grinning like idiots at the people who stopped and stared at them. It had been a nice and carefree moment and for once Tommy's mind was taken away from Richard, and London, and worrying about what the Nevadans were going to think of him.
"Graeme," Tommy said, causing his companion to pause. He wanted to tell him. He wanted to spill everything right there in the parking lot before things got out of hand and before he got too attached to his new friend. It was potential social suicide there at school, he knew. Graeme could tell everybody that the rumors were true.
"What's up, Sport?" He asked when there was no immediate response.
"First off, don't you ever call me that again." Tommy eyed him. "That is the last nick I need to have attached to me. I'm not anybody's sport."
"You're right," Graeme admitted solemnly. "Kiddo."
"I'm serious!" Tommy replied.
"Did you want to tell me something?" Graeme asked as the car lapsed into silence once again.
"Nah." Tommy shrugged. The words he had wanted to say stayed jumbled up in his brain, and short of blurting it out like a People magazine headline, those words were not arranging themselves in any reasonable order. He settled for telling Graeme that he would see him at lunch time. He figured that would give him enough time to work up his nerve and prepare a few coherent sentences to explain himself.
He got out of the car then and stood there looking up at the big sky. He wasn't ready to lose his friend. He heaved a heavy sigh and painted on a smile as Graeme joined him and they walked together towards the school entrance.
--
The words had not arrived that day, nor did they bother to show up in the subsequent weeks. When he did say them, Graeme wasn't the first person to hear them. They had only come to him after a discussion in health class had turned ugly and unruly. He'd mounted a rather vehement defense against the homophobic and misinformed opinions of the masses which left him open to attack himself. He didn't bother to deny the accusations, he only confirmed to an entire classroom that no, he was not straight, only to be assailed by further verbal abuse. Even thought the teacher had subsequently sent half the class off to the principal's office, Tommy stayed standing as the remainder of his peers stared curiously at him like some kind of freakish curiosity. It hit him hard, as he was vulnerable, and he didn't want to cry in front of them. The teacher noted his desperate look of distress and sent him to sort it out in the nurse's office.
Tommy, however, didn't bother with the nurse's office. There was only one person he wanted to see, because he had to talk to him before the students started talking.
Tommy arrived at Graeme's English class that afternoon. He walked stiffly towards the teacher, flashed the hall pass that his health teacher had given him and lied that it was a summons to the office for Graeme Alexander. The teacher, it seemed, had no problems believing his ruse. She was busy grading papers while the class quietly sat at their desks and read from their F. Scott Fitzgerald novels.
"Graeme Alexander!" The dowdy teacher announced. "You're needed in the office."
Graeme looked up from his novel in a flustered manner before scrambling from his seat and joining Tommy as he shuffled from classroom.
"What's going on?" Graeme asked as he stared down at the note. It was on official paper, but Tommy's name was written across it.
"Nothing." Tommy shrugged. "My day has just turned shit, however."
"Oh, nice," Graeme replied distastefully. "But what's with the note? What's it for?"
"It's for you to get out of class so you can make me feel better about all the closed minded bigots that pass for students in this school," Tommy informed him.
"This note is for you to go to the nurses office," Graeme replied. "You just...got me out of class with it. Damn. I didn't know it was that easy. You're good at this sort of thing, aren't you?"
Tommy looked back at his friend impatiently. "Have I violated your moral code yet again?"
"No, it's just..." Graeme smiled. "Jesus, Tom, you just don't look like the type of person who skips classes and cons teachers. I dunno."
"Well, that's not the least of it. I'm afraid there's a whole lot about me that would surprise a lot of people," Tommy admitted. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, and seemed unsure of how to best to approach what he was going to say next.
"God, I could use a fag," he finally announced.
Graeme's eyes popped opened. "A what?"
"A fag?" Tommy sighed again. "A cigarette," he explained. He motioned Graeme to follow him into the nearest restroom as a secretary turned down the hallway.
"Do you want one?" Tommy exhumed a pack of Marlboros from inside his shirt where he'd hidden them.
"Oh, No, I don't smoke," Graeme declined.
"You don't do much. Do you?" Tommy expertly lit the cigarette and took a long drag.
"Oh, please!" Graeme snorted disbelief, even though he knew that he was generally pretty square. He never went anywhere and he never did anything, and he led a boring and predictable life. That was the way he liked it he kept telling himself.
"Do you drink?" Tommy asked, and Graeme shook his head in a negative fashion.
"You're probably still a virgin," Tommy continued to egg his companion on. He knew he was trying to chase Graeme away. It would have been a better option than watching him walk away on his own.
Graeme shook his head. "I'm not!"
"Ah, well, there you have it." Tommy nodded in satisfaction. "There had to be something to keep you from teetering over the edge straight into loserdom."
"I'm not a fucking loser," Graeme grumbled. "What the hell is your problem, anyway?"
Tommy apologized, "I didn't mean it."
"Should I be grateful then?" Graeme rolled his eyes. "I don't get it. You've could have tons of friends if you wanted. Everybody likes you. What? Do you think you're doing me a favor, making me cool by association? Well, I don't need to play these stupid high school games."
"Some people aren't going to like me too much after today." Tommy leaned against the wall and tapped his cigarette, leaving a small pile of ash on the floor.
"Well, if you've been as insulting as you're being right now, it's no wonder," Graeme muttered.
"Stop it. I said I was sorry." Tommy glared at him. "Look, I've just...I've got something important to tell you."
"Fine." Graeme crossed his arms and waited.
"You know what they say about me?"
"No," Graeme replied.
"I know you do. You have ears," Tommy replied. "You don't have to spare my feelings. People call me names. They think I'm gay because of the way I look."
"So what?" Graeme said. "You look fine. Who cares what they think anyway? They're douchebags. Just because you wear eye..."
"Shut-up!" Tommy snapped. "I'm not gay, but I am bisexual."
"Oh," Graeme said.
"I mean, shit. I didn't want to just dump this right on you. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, but I thought you should know before you find out from someone else." Tommy turned to stare at the floor. He wondered why he couldn't just go on and live his life instead of being forced into situations where he had no choice to tell people in some sort of strident declaration. He was feeling uncomfortable about it for the first time in a long time.
"Ok, then." Graeme shrugged. It wasn't a particularly shocking thing that he had never considered. Like Tommy had said, there had been talk almost as soon as he set foot on Virgin Valley High School soil. The only thing that Graeme really knew was that he'd been having a good time since Tommy had walked into his life. He was a friend worth having, and Graeme wasn't about to lose that for any reason.
"You don't care?" Tommy asked.
"Not unless you're planning on seducing me!" Graeme looked around the bathroom. "Because that's not happening, I'll tell you right now."
Tommy laughed. "You give yourself too much credit."
"So, what happened?" Graeme asked, curious as to what driven Tommy out of the closet.
"Health class," Tommy muttered. "I just can't keep my gob shut in the face of misinformation. People are fucking ignorant, and I don't care who knows about it. They just, really. They were being pretty awful. We were just talking about stuff, and one thing led to another. Are you really going to make me talk about it?"
"Nah. I'm sorry," Graeme replied.
"Don't have to apologize to me," Tommy said.
He cocked his head to one side before stepping into a stall and tossing the cigarette into the toilet. He flushed it away, and a few moments later one of the school administrators entered the room.
"What's going on in here? Have you been smoking?" He accused, staring directly at Tommy.
"Smoking?" Tommy batted his eyelashes innocently.
"I'm just in here because I had to pee," Graeme said.
Mr. Fitz ignored Graeme and stalked towards Tommy.
"Listen here, young man." He shook his finger in Tommy's general direction. "I know you do things different over there in Europe, but this is America and when you're in Virgin Valley High School you are to follow the rules."
"Yes, sir." Tommy pointed his gaze respectfully at the ground. It was a pose he was all too familiar with when dealing with administrators.
"And you!" He spun towards Graeme. "Watch yourself. You're one of the good kids."
"Yes, Mr. Fitz," Graeme replied politely even though he was perplexed by his superior's comment. He hadn't considered himself one of the good kids at all, and if he was, he wasn't sure he wanted to be one.
--
"You should come over for dinner," Graeme said as he drove back towards the suburbs after a long diversion to the salon. Tommy had insisted on redoing his hair, and was peering into the visor mirror, shaking his head and running his fingers through his new do. It had gone from long and dark to shorter and blonde.
"What you having?" Tommy asked.
Graeme glanced over at his passenger. "Tacos."
"Tacos?" Tommy looked over from the mirror. "You know I don't think I've ever had a taco."
"Are you shitting me?" Graeme exclaimed. "Well, that clinches it, you're coming over. My mom makes the best fucking tacos in Nevada."
Tommy smiled. "I guess that's an offer I can't refuse then, eh?"
"Nope." Graeme nodded.
"You like this?" Tommy turned his attention back to his hair. "I mean, it's not too blonde is it?"
Graeme glanced over. "Dude, I don't give a shit about your hair."
"You don't?" Tommy grinned slyly at him. "You aren't trying to overcompensate by feigning disinterest in my fashion sense are you?"
Graeme laughed. "No, you're right. Honestly?"
"I'm not going to think you're hitting on me if you say you like it, Graeme. It doesn't work that way."
"Okay." Graeme's ever present grin widened. "Well, I was skeptical at first, but you were right. You look good as a blonde."
"Thank you for the compliment," Tommy replied.
"Now, it's my turn to ask a question," Graeme said.
Tommy sighed heavily. He knew there were questions coming. There usually were.
"Go ahead, ask. I'm an open book. I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
"Okay," Graeme replied. "How the hell have you never eaten a taco before now?"
Tommy laughed out loud in shock. It was the last thing he was expecting Graeme to ask.
"You don't want to know about..."
"The whole bisexual thing?" Graeme arched an eyebrow at him. "Well, I think I'm smart enough to figure out how guy on guy action would work pretty much, and I know how it works with a girl. You've already cleared up the fact that you won't be hitting on me, so what's there to ask? Seriously, the other thing is way more perplexing."
Tommy laughed again then answered.
"It's not really my mother's ethnic food of choice. There just never was the occasion."
"Okay," Graeme said resolutely. "You can consider this your first Fiesta then!"
