Sun, December 13, 2074 3:41 pm: Caliente Manor- Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Naomi was wearing her white socks with the lace-frilled bibs. When she kicked her heels against the circular support rod on her stool, the white rustle of her ankles had a vaguely hypnotic effect on Ian. Back and forth. Back and forth. He wanted to make her stop, but he could not come up with a way of asking without seeming like a nutcase.
“Guess what Ashley Hill did at recess last week!” Kick, kick, kick. Laurie straightened up the pantry under the bar.
“I’ve already heard this story,” he said.
“Gosh, I wasn’t talking to you! Anyway, Ian, guess what she did!” Naomi threw her arms high above her head in an awkward show of frustration, landing them sharply at her sides.
Ian had sisters, four of them to be precise, each different to the next. There was chipper Daphne, somber Mona, domineering Madeline and here-take-everything-I-have Adrienne. When on occasion he found himself looking to his own family for clues about how his daughter might someday turn out, he was consistently left stumped. His artsy mother was nothing like her prim daughters who were all of them nothing like his rugged grandmother (now deceased). Ian did not know what life had in store for his daughter—What her best subject at school would be, what she would do for fun, what illnesses, what injuries, whether the boys would like her, whether she would like the boys. However, there was this one thing: He was afraid that Fran would grow-up to be a Caliente woman.
Being a Caliente was a trait that passed matrilineally down the family line and that involved a great deal of fearsome, almost predatory behavior in the inheritor. Key indicators of Calientehood included (though were not limited to) haughtiness, a lust for conflict, stubbornness, a strong intellect (often in spite of the next trait), substance abuse, promiscuity, recklessness, and simple malice. The women of that family were not to be trifled with, right down to the smallest of their number. Ian smiled bashfully.
"I don't know, Naomi. What did she do?" Little Dina-In-Training that she was, Naomi huffed at the question.
“She threw-up all over my backpack!” A brief silence followed this pronouncement. Ian realized that she was seeking advice from him on the matter, already a week old. What would a Caliente do?
“I tell you what,” Ian inclined his head closer to her level. “The next time you’re feeling sick, go find something of hers and just let loose on it.” Here, Ian crossed his eyes and made his most guttural retching noise. Naomi milled this over for an instant then burst into laughter.
Ian caught Laurie’s stare. It was blank, disinterested. His mind had clearly wandered away from the conversation. Then Laurie blinked to life, grabbed an oven mitt from the drawer, and opened the oven door just wide enough to observe its contents.
“Laurie, are they done yet,” Naomi asked, standing on the rungs of her stool and leaning over the bar to get a better look at the oven. Elmira’s cookies were browning pleasantly.
“Not until the buzzer goes off. Why don’t you tell Elmira that she has ten minutes?” Naomi lifted herself off of the stool and raced toward the door. Sticking her head and shoulders into the dining room but leaving her feet planted in the kitchen, she called out for Elmira in that long, drawn out way that only children could muster. “She’s in the laundry room,” Laurie said. Naomi sprinted out of the kitchen, singing Elmira’s name as she went. Laurie shook his head at the kitchen door while it swung on its hinges, disapproving of something that he himself was notorious for—namely the slamming of doors. He turned his attention to Ian. “You want anything? Beer? Soda? Water? Soda water?”
“Water would be great. Thanks, man.” Laurie disappeared into the fridge, emerging with two bottles of melted glacier water. The Tellerman-Calientes were forever stocked-up on the stuff. Ian always found himself puzzling over the label, which proudly touted the water’s PH level in big, bold lettering. He rounded the bar as Laurie unscrewed a bottle cap for him.
“You didn’t have to get up,” Laurie said.
“Nah, it’s cool.” Ian reached out to take the water from him.
When he posed the question to himself, Ian was not altogether certain why he had gotten up. He often felt that whenever anyone did anything for him, no matter how small the gesture, it was an imposition. Ian did not want to be an imposition. He didn’t feel that he was worth it. On the other hand, Laurie was so close to the bar that to hand Ian a drink while he sat was no imposition at all. Something else must have driven him. Ian spied Laurie out of the corner of his eye as he milled the previous interaction over.
Laurie was staring at him. His gaze held the same intensity that always seemed so terrifying on Troy’s face. His lips were pursed thin, tortuously so, but he appeared to be trying with all of his might to look natural. To Ian, this was the affect of someone who was harboring a whole world of toxic thoughts. Ian wondered for an instant what he had done wrong, then dismissed the thought. Something else was to blame and it had little or nothing to do with Ian. Maybe Ian had sensed that something was amiss with Laurie and that triggered his impulse to stand. Laurie gripped his water bottle hard enough for the plastic to snap.
“You’ve been to Goth Manor, I guess,” Laurie grumbled. Ian couldn’t be sure why, but this simple sentence sounded like an accusation. He deduced that either Enoch or Angela or both had shut Laurie out over the whole Cully incident. Laurie, he thought, was bitter that Ian was being extended the visitation rights that Laurie was denied. He took a swig of his water.
“Yeah, Enoch’s upset but physically no worse for wear. You should try to call him or let me relay a message if you’re worried,” Ian said. Laurie sneered at the suggestion.
“God, no. I’m not talking to him, not after what he said to Cully. In fact, this situation is exactly the kind of thing that makes me question our entire friendship. He’s a psychopath. They’re both psychopaths. I’m not interested in talking to either one of them until they work this out between them.” Laurie took an angry swig of his water. “You know what I saw when I walked into the room that day? It wasn’t just that Cully was beating Enoch’s face in; it was that he was enjoying it. It was like—I don’t even know how to describe it. I just know that it was fucked-up.” Ian nodded in silence. He rather doubted that Laurie’s resolution would hold, but it was useless to say. The instant Laurie realized that Ian was the only friend that he had left, he would doubtless find himself banging down the doors at Arbormoor Manor. Ian was too old and too preoccupied to mediate these sorts of disputes between friends. Not to mention the fact that he was too afraid of running into Lydia to spend much time at Laurie’s house. Laurie, Ian realized, knew the first of these excuses. Ian did have to wonder though how deeply Laurie suspected the second. Ian cleared his throat.
“If you bothered to call him, you’d know that Enoch feels guilty about what happened. He went too far, and it’s really messing with his head that he made Cully snap like that. It’d probably be better for the both of you if you forgave him sooner rather than later.” It would be better for Ian too. Laurie snorted.
“Sorry, I don’t know what garbage he’s been feeding you to relay back to me, but since when does Enoch give two shits about Cully? Any emotion he’s feeling is just him being put-off because he got his ass kicked in front of your sister,” he said.
“Whatever, man.” There was a brief and pointed pause. Ian had said his piece but Laurie, still smoldering, was clearly not done.
“And since we’re on the subject of my friends behaving badly, would it kill you to be more discreet about whatever is going on between you and Lydia?” Ian nearly spit out his water, a reaction that he had been sure up until this instant in his life only happened on TV. The mishap stung his nasal passages, making his eyes leak. He coughed the backwash into the crook of his elbow while Laurie waited with a near-obnoxious level of patience.
“Lydia,” Ian choked. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Why would you bring that up? Nothing is going on between me and Lydia. She can hold her liquor, but that’s about it. I can’t even believe that you would ask me something like that.” Fear crimsoned his cheeks, he knew. It was a fear that either Laurie had ferreted out one of his most disgraceful secrets or worse—that Lydia had confided in Laurie about the night that he had seen her almost nude. The memory of her garters biting into the sleek line of her thighs brought Ian over the edge more than once with Adelaide and god help him, by his lonesome. A month passed. That memory had changed shape in his mind and Lydia along with it. Lydia’s body was not gawky or boyish, it was lithe. It was graceful. It was sultrier to him than Adelaide’s curves. Ian could feel his cheeks growing hotter by the second and see Laurie’s skepticism worsening along with his blush.
“So… You’re not sleeping with my sister?” His tone was disbelieving. Ian, for his part, had never known an embarrassment like this.
“I swear, I’ve never even touched your sister.” Silence. Laurie was sizing him up. Ian dared not look away for fear that Laurie would continue to jump to conclusions far worse than the truth. Laurie exhaled.
“Look, sorry. I’m just talking out of my ass. There’s too much happening. I’ve got Cully and Enoch being jerks. My dad is sleeping in the guest house. And up until a second ago, I thought you might have been skipping out with Lydia. Thank you for clearing that up, by the way.” Ian wrinkled his nose, not quite hearing that last.
“Why is your dad sleeping in the guest house,” he asked. Ian was not a genius, and despite the way that Laurie had blundered over this detail, the answer to Ian’s question came falling down around him in all of its obviousness. This was a subject that Ian thought a lot about himself, despite it being none of his business—namely, Troy’s infidelities. Most often, it was Dina who brought the topic to mind. Ian was uncomfortable with the way that his mother-in-law joked about Troy’s affairs so frequently in mixed company, one part ribald humor and one part spite. The jokes seemed to Ian to be at Siren’s expense, almost as though Dina thought that she could shame her niece into dissolving her marriage for her own good. Ian recalled how Don used to stare at a spot on the wall whenever Dina did this.
It occurred to Ian too that this taboo subject, while never discussed between them, was always close to the surface in Laurie’s dealings with Troy. Ian had noticed the stark difference between the way that Laurie addressed his father and the way that the rest of the Caliente children did. The taut yes, sirs and no, sirs that had been hammered into the other children never entered Laurie’s vernacular. Ian used to think that it was because Laurie, as the eldest, was allowed more freedom than the rest but lately, Ian was not so sure. He was beginning to suspect that it was more due to a lack of respect for Troy’s rules. He suspected too that a sense of remorse kept Troy from correcting this behavior.
Ian thought of himself as a man with no substantial regrets (his feelings for Lydia potentially being the worst of his crimes). He led a good, clean life peppered with a few acts of virtue. Still, he could not account for what fate would bring and looking at Laurie, he felt terrified for his future self as a father of teenagers. Worry twisted his gut at the thought of being on the receiving end of the contempt that a disillusioned child could have for his or her parents.
“Was Adelaide home when we went to that hookah bar?” Ian blinked and then blinked again, thrown off-kilter by Laurie’s question.
“Where else would she have been? Her father died. Are you alright, Laurie?” He could almost see the insinuation peeking behind Laurie’s eyes. Ian could not imagine what had put it here, and he did not want to know. Laurie shook his head.
“Forget I said anything,” Laurie muttered, pushing his hair back from his face. “Just forget it.”
Fri, December 11, 2074 7:21 pm-- Caliente Manor; Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Macaulay sank his fingertips into the beveled edge of a wall pannel while Ian positioned his shot. He thought of seeking out a wood grain whose lines would match up with the creases in his knuckles. Maybe he could camouflage his hand into the wall, and the rest of his body would follow. There were things about Pleasantview that Macaulay was not going to miss-- the conflicted blend of progressive and obsolete social attitudes that kept him teetering like a tightrope walker, the way that all of downtown stank like an old penny just before dusk, the black cloud of mosquitoes over that swelled Arbormoor in summer, and this most of all-- billiards night at Caliente Manor.
Macaulay did not dislike his friends. He did not even dislike Enoch who spent the first two weeks of their acquaintance refusing to acknowledge his presence. Even Enoch had his moments of virtue, which were made all the more poignant for his widespread priggishness. When Macaulay thought about it, this was probably why Laurie liked Enoch. It was why Macaulay liked him, in any case. Macaulay had a certain appreciation for all of them, he was just too used to being on his own to know how to be a pack animal like other teenagers.
This failing was not so desperate as it sounded. Most of his life had been spent alone or close to it. He found ways to engage himself. There were always new worlds to be explored within the walls of his own home, books to be read, puzzles to be solved, model cars to be built, music and languages to be mastered. He would never have characterized his childhood as lonely, merely separate. If not for Laurie, Macaulay would not be here at all.
As their circle expanded to accommodate Madeline and Warren Burb, Macaulay felt himself disconnecting further, so much so that he had begun to forge a physical distance from the main action of the room without his realizing. This did not go unnoticed. Earlier in the evening, Madeline threw her arm around his shoulders and subtly coaxed him forward. He had drifted back into the corner since then. Madeline began throwing questions at him to keep him involved. Ian was giving him that whipped puppy look of his at intervals. Ian's empathy was starting to grate on Macaulay's nerves just as much as Enoch's sexist jokes about the maid ever had. Warren sat by the fireplace with his nose buried in the Pleasantview Examiner, too preoccupied to wonder whether or not he should be respecting Macaulay's distance. Enoch, meanwhile, was finding ways to hit Macaulay with his pool cue while making it look debatably accidental. He felt like roadkill. He felt like absolute roadkill with a crowd of children hovering above him poking and prodding, consulting one another about whether or not he was dead.
Laurie left the room some time ago to study for a Physics exam. The game went on without him, and would probably continue until Mr. Caliente kicked them all out, which could take hours. According to him, Spartan citizens began military training as early as age seven, and the only modern corollary for the upper casts was billiards or golf depending on which of the two Mr. Calliente was advocating on a particular day. Far be it for him to interrupt young people engaging in such a core enterprise as billiards. Mr. Caliente had a certain sense of humor that often went way over everyone else's heads. Macaulay did not think that it was funny, not when he found himself staring down the barrel of the long night ahead of him. When Laurie left the room, a piece of Macaulay left with him. It sounded trite and overly dramatic in his mind, but it was true. Laurie was Macaulay's confidence, his connection. Laurie made Macaulay's presence felt, even when Macaulay said nothing at all.
"You going to join the land of the living or what?" Macaulay turned around, slowly peeling his hand from the wall. Everyone but Warren was looking at him. Enoch nodded his head towards the table. "You're up, hotshot." Macaulay looked at the table, losing himself in a sea of green felt. He would scratch on purpose, just to get the others out of his hair. He picked up his cue from against the wall. Leaning over the table, he could almost feel Enoch breathing down his neck. He picked an angle.
"Anyone ever tell you that you look just like a girl from behind?" Macaulay gritted his teeth at the remark while Enoch chuckled low in his throat.
"Give him some room, man," Ian chastized. Macaulay could hear Enoch stepping back. He searched for a clear path for the cue ball to land directly into a pocket.
"Three, side pocket," Macaulay mumbled. Enoch crept up next to Macaulay, wide-eyed and innocent as a lamb. He leaned his backside against the table and kept talking as though he had never been interrupted.
"I don't suppose that's something Lawrence would ever say. Then again, he's probably never been in a position to say it, has he? I think he'd tell me if he had, seeing as how I'm his best friend and all. Speaking of, you might want to act on that soon, Cull. Wouldn't want our man Laurie looking elsewhere for what he can't get at home, am I right? See, older guys expect certain things, and--"
"If I take the shot, will you shut-up?" Macaulay could feel his face growing hot. It was obvious that Enoch was trying to distract him, but the more he ignored it, the tighter his stomach wound in upon itself. Enoch was not saying anything that Macaulay had not thought of. Worse, Enoch must have now known that he had struck a nerve.
"Hey, why the long face? Just a little friendly advice," Enoch cooed.
"God Enoch, you're so pathetic sometimes. Can't you just lay off him?" Finally, the only person in the world with any influence over Enoch whatsoever had spoken. Enoch opened his mouth to protest when Warren cut-in.
"Whoah, that is so fucked-up!" A general puzzlement fell over the room. Macaulay could tell from his friends' expressions that they were all of one mind-- That yes, Enoch was rude beyond measure and yes, Madeline was not shy about cracking the whip when necessary, but these were typical behaviors. Warren's reaction, on the other hand, was completely out there. "Did you guys hear about this?" Warren snapped the paper straight. "'Dead Townsman Uncovers Scandal At Tellerman Manor'?" He was met with blank stares. He folded the paper in half before reading aloud.
"The body of Earl Gozanga, age forty-six, was found by a jogger yesterday in northeast Arbormoor. Gozanga, a caretaker at Gothier Green Lawns Cemetery was reported missing on November 20th after failing to return home from work. According to the Arbormoor Coroner's Office, the victim's cause of death was blunt trauma to the neck, possibly by the edge of a shovel or spade. The family of the victim reports that Gozanga had been hired by Mr. and Mrs. Jean-Luc Tellerman of Gothier to disinter over a dozen bodies found in a mass grave on the Tellerman property, to be reburied in Arbormoor Forest."
"Let me see that." Ian snatched the paper out of his brother's hands. Madeline screwed up her face incredulously.
"I don't believe it," she said.
"Man, this is serious. The Tellermans could be doing jail time if it's true," Warren added. Macaulay wanted to throw in, as well they should but held his tongue. Madeline pressed further.
"What else does it say?" Ian shook his head, his eyes working furiously across the page.
"Not much," Warren said. "There was a second grave digger on the site that the police now have in custody. Apparently, he was the last person to see Gozanga alive and is the chief suspect. The police found the burial plot in Arbormoor. Evidence suggests that Gozanga's body was moved after he experienced significant blood loss. The bodies that they were burying are thought to be anywhere from eighty to one hundred years deceased. The Tellermans were unavailable for comment. Locals think it was something called the Trike-yoo curse."
"What's the Trike-yoo curse," Madeline asked. Ian made a fluttering, dismissive motion with his hand.
"Tricou," he corrected. "It's to do with the family that built the house. Almost all of them died horribly or disappeared or went crazy back in the mid 1990's. People say that the family participated in blood rituals and orgies and the like. Urban legend." Enoch bowed his head, pretending to fall asleep.
"I'm sorry," Enoch yawned, stretching his arms wide. "Must have just dozed off there. Remind me again why we should give a gnat's ass about a bunch of eighty-year-old Townie bones?"
"Probably something to do with a man dying as a result of your aunt and uncle dumping human remains in the woods to make way for a swimming pool," Warren scoffed. "Anyway, the article didn't say the bodies were Townsmen. It doesn't identify them at all, actually." Everyone turned to Enoch, each wondering whether he knew something that they did not. He crossed his arms over his chest, reading their faces.
"Oh come off it, of course they were Townie! The only way that no one would notice a person burying twelve plus people in their backyard is if everyone looked the other way while it was happening. Besides, it's always the same story, isn't it? First Townies are born, then they go missing, then their mangled corpses are found in the woods. Isn't that right, Cully?"
Macaulay could not have said what came over him then. Whatever it was, it moved at an instant and was as involuntary as his heartbeat.
By the time he realized what he was doing, Enoch was lying on the floor shielding his face with his arms while Macaulay squatted above him, dealing blow after blow. Enoch's ink-black hair lay sopping upon his forehead. His nose was caked with blood and snot.
Macaulay could feel his pulse racing just beneath the skin. His fist throbbed with pain, but he could not reign in his need for more. He needed to make Enoch hurt more. There was nothing but the communion of his knuckles with every part of Enoch's head that he could reach, and when that was insufficient, he grabbed Enoch by the hair, striking the back of his skull against the floor.
Some distant part of his brain heard Warren swearing, and felt Ian's hands pulling him away. Macaulay continued to kick and swing ineffectually while Enoch rolled onto his side. Unable to inflict more damage, Macaulay howled in frustration.
"I'll kill you! I'll kill you! Don't you ever talk about my mother, you bottom-feeding piece of shit!" The door flew open then, and Laurie strode in.
"Maddie, did you-- Oh my god." Laurie drew back when he noticed Enoch in a puddle on the floor. Madeline rushed over to inspect the damage. Laurie looked up at Macaulay, who was still fuming. "Oh my god."
"I think he might have a concussion. He's definitely going to need stitches. Enoch?" Madeline was patting Enoch's cheek. His lip had burst and his nose might have been swollen, but who could tell? Macaulay was not sure if it was enough, but it was a start. If anyone deserved worse, it was Enoch. Arrogant, tedious, horse-faced little weasel. Macaulay was done putting up with Enoch fucking Goth.
"Cully, what the hell?" Laurie seemed to be pleading more than anything. Macaulay felt a little ashamed, but no more. When he did not respond, Laurie bent down to help Enoch to his feet. Ian pulled Macaulay back against him by the collar and murmured heatedly in his ear.
"I'm taking you home." Ian pushed Macaulay roughly forward. "Maddie, get him to a doctor. Warren, you're coming with me."
Macaulay glanced over his shoulder as Ian lead him out of the room. Laurie was dabbing Enoch's nose with his shirt sleeve and saying something that Macaulay could not hear. Enoch nodded in response. A fresh surge of bitterness chilled Macaulay to the core. Laurie never asked if Macaulay was alright. He had hardly taken his eyes off of Enoch from the moment he walked through the door. Macaulay had never been angry at Laurie before, but he was now and the feeling was undoubtedly mutual. Maybe it would take a while for things to be the same between them again. Still, Macaulay was not sorry that it happened. It was the first time that he had ever felt truly satisfied to be his father's son.
Weds December 9, 2074, 6:39 pm: Caliente Manor-- Middlebourne, PleasantviewLaurie entered the sitting room in much the same way that he entered any room-- Obtrusively. The brass doorknob punched the wall with a deafening crack upon the initial swing inward, then slammed shut behind him with equal gusto. Macaulay braced himself to be toppled over as Laurie launched his body at the chair like a walrus being pitched from a diving board. The impact took Macaulay's breath away.
"Slowest arrival ever! Your Aunt Donna must drive like she's 90." Laurie locked his knees around Macaulay's waist, rocking him from side to side as he teetered. Macaulay winced. There was an ache in his chest that was too weak to be pain but too uncomfortable not to be pain. He wedged a hand between himself and the grinning typhoon of a boy on top of him.
"I think you broke a rib," Macaulay said.
"Only one? I was aiming for the whole set." Laurie lifted Macaulay's shirt out of his pants and peered underneath to inspect his work. Macaulay laughed, tugging his shirt down. There was something very alien about the feeling of his skin being exposed in someone else’s house.
"Would you get out of there?" Laurie placed a hand over Macaulay's heart, pressing him against the chair.
"No way, I have to make sure your rib is truly broken before we call the paramedics. Which one was it? Was it this one?" Laurie ran his fingers over the crest of an individual rib, knowing just how ticklish Macaulay was. Macaulay laughed and tried to twist away with limited success. "Or was it this one?" Laurie repeated the experiment on a lower rung.
Macaulay lifted his back in an attempt to distract Laurie with a kiss but fell several inches short of his mark and flopped back onto the cushion. Laurie snickered. His eyes seemed to say that he knew what Macaulay was up to. He removed his hand from inside of Macaulay's shirt, and brushed Macaulay’s cheek with the backs of his fingers.
Macaulay closed his eyes. He thought sadly that he had waited too long to tell Laurie how he felt. Each day brought them closer to separation. He should have held him when they were both coughing up pond water and shivering more out of nervousness than cold.
"You're lucky you're so good looking or I'd have tickled you to death just for kicks. It would be such a waste to murder the cutest guy in Pleasantview for no good reason." There was a certain amount of sincerity in his voice but all that Macaulay could do was laugh. He thought that only Lavinia had ever shared Laurie's opinion about his looks. Even his sister called him a "blue-eyed chimp with a head like a grapefruit".
"There's a ton of better looking guys than me," he asserted.
"Name one." Macaulay fidgeted with the kite-shaped knot in Laurie’s tie. It seemed cheesy to say that he rarely noticed anyone apart from Laurie himself, however true.
"Well, Ian, for a start." That was honest enough. Laurie scrunched up his features in mild distaste.
"You think Ian is handsome?" Macaulay did not respond but his bashful smile must have spoken volumes. Laurie appeared to be lost in his own appraisal just before he recalled in horror, "Ian gave you mouth-to-mouth!" Macaulay's smile widened. He had not forgotten. Laurie resumed his tickling assault through Macaulay's clothing. "You are in so much trouble!"
The door opened. It happened just slowly enough that Laurie managed to climb down off of his perch and Macaulay righted himself in the chair before the entire form of Laurie’s father came into view. Maybe Mr. Caliente had not witnessed the tell-tale physicality of the scene but he had probably noticed them shifting their posture during the instant that the door was cracked wide enough to see only sections of their bodies in motion. For a moment, Mr. Caliente looked perplexed.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Good evening, Mr. Caliente.” Their greetings overlapped, both sheepish mumbling. Laurie offered his father a valiant smile and Macaulay followed suit.
Mr. Caliente unnerved Macaulay under most circumstances. He had a presence that was so big it could blot out the sun and if you were unfortunate enough not to guess his movements before he made them, you might find yourself trampled underfoot. Macaulay was very familiar with the looming overhang of Mr. Caliente's sole and the deep shadow that it cast.
"I got a phone call earlier today from the Board of Trustees at Pleasantview Youth Boarding. They want to rededicate the school in honor of your Grampa Terry."
"That's great news, Dad." Laurie remained chipper and finally, the colossus allowed himself to smile.
It was earnest, even happy. He looked like Laurie. Macaulay tried to commit this image of Troy to memory, in case he ever needed to depend on it for support if they came into conflict.
"Don't stay down here too long. You boys are meant to be doing your homework."
"We won't." Mr. Caliente excused himself without another word. Laurie leaned into Macaulay until their shoulders butted.
"So," Laurie paused as if to gather his thoughts. "Did you bring it?" It took Macaulay a second to remember just what Laurie was referring to. When the realization struck him, he began rooting around in his pockets, astonished that he could have forgotten. His ascot was crumpled and clinging to the lining of his pocket. Once he had a hold of it, he yanked it out with one motion. He handed it to Laurie, who rested it gently on his upturned palm. Laurie gave Macaulay his ascot in exchange. The two of them spent a time examining the ties. Laurie's was off-white and speckled with little orange stains.
"Do we have to wear them or can we just carry them on our person somewhere?" Macaulay had to ask. Laurie sucked his teeth.
"You should wear it sometimes but the more important thing is that you live with it. That's the whole point. I want to have something that you took everywhere with you and that you did everything with. I want it to smell like you by the time I get it back." That prompted Macaulay to bury his nose in the ascot and indeed, it did smell like Laurie's soap.
"What do I tell my grandmother when she asks why I'm wearing a dirty tie?" Laurie shrugged at the question.
"Tell her that you're borrowing it from your boyfriend because it reminds you of him, and that he eats curries. A lot of curries." Macaulay laughed.
"I think I will tell her that." Macaulay folded the ascot into quarters and held it in his fist. It seemed too sacred a thing to be stuffed in his pocket like his own tie. "I'm going to miss you so much." Laurie leaned in closer and kissed him on the cheek.
"So what's the story behind this one?" Laurie smoothed Macaulay's ascot out on his thigh.
"What makes you think there's a story?"
"The stitching has green stuff on it." Macaulay laid his hand over Laurie's, tracing the seams.
"This is the tie I was wearing when you found me. I always know it because of the algae." The stains were faded now. Laurie must have really been looking.
"I should have thought to give you the one that I had been wearing too."
"No, it's easier to tell them apart this way." Laurie stuck the ascot in the interior pocket of his jacket. He rested his head on Macaulay's ear.
"Will you really tell your grandmother about me?" Macaulay warmed at the thought. He climbed onto Laurie's lap and draped his arms over his shoulders.
"Are you kidding? I'm going to tell everyone that I meet about you-- My family, my classmates, random strangers on the train. I'm going stand on street corners in the middle of the night and yell things about you to anyone who can hear. How could I not?" Laurie's face refused to settle on an emotion. He looked pleased and alarmed, maybe even a little ashamed. Macaulay knew what he was thinking. He hadn't said a word to his parents yet. Of course, he had his reasons, the biggest one being sheer dread. He was hurt that Laurie couldn't find it within himself to stand his ground against a parental explosion, if necessary. They couldn't hide forever. Then again, his father might already know. Macaulay was disheveled enough for Mr. Caliente to have noticed.
"I love you, Cull." Laurie's voice was barely above a whisper but it had been brave of him to say it first. Macaulay laid his head on Laurie's shoulder. He resolved never to move from the spot again for as long as he lived and longer.
Fri, December 4, 2074 6:42 pm: 124 Valleymoor Rd.-- Arbormoor, Pleasantview
There was just enough noise at the dinner table to underscore the lack of conversation-- A clinking bowl here, a scraped fork there. Macaulay rested his chopsticks and stared blankly at the avocado slices on his plate. He was certain that his meal was delicious, as Lavinia's cooking always was, but very little food made its way into his mouth. Macaulay had spent the better part of an hour rearranging his salad into abstract formations while covertly studying his company.
The atmosphere around the table was growing more at ease with its own demise by the second. Macaulay could only imagine how awkward this must have been for Laurie who, though silent, maintained an air of lightness about him.
Laurie didn't mind being here. Perhaps he even understood Macaulay's motives. They had not discussed this exact arrangement beforehand and for that, Macaulay felt particularly low. Lavinia had wanted to meet the infamous Laurie for weeks now but with as silly as it seemed, Macaulay was not ready to share. His time with Laurie was his own, and he liked it that way.
The more he thought about it, the less he wanted to involve Laurie in his messy home life. Then from the furthest, most heinous reaches of his adolescent brain an idea was born. It was a stupid, puerile, misbegotten idea but one that would nag at him until he saw it take fruition. He would arrange the dinner at Lavinia's house. He would do this and then he would get his father to drive them there. On the way, he would convince his father that this was a good time to peek in on the baby. Lavinia would see Macaulay's father with the baby, and no matter how hardened against him she had become, she would lower her defenses just enough to invite him to stay for dinner. The only real variable in this scenario was whether Macaulay's father would accept the invitation.
Macaulay's master plan to get the two of them together in the same room with a guest present (thereby forcing their civility) ended before the four of them sat down. Macaulay never believed that he would get this far.
But he had to break the silence. Something drastic had to be done. Macaulay shot Laurie a quick glance, wordlessly begging his forgiveness before announcing,
"Laurie and I are going steady." He'd said it louder than what was necessary.
At first there was nothing. Lavinia and Macaulay's father paused in mid-chew, letting the words sink in. Lavinia knitted her brow and smiled in a way that promised a gentle, though negative reaction while Macaulay's father screwed his eyes shut and swallowed hard.
"Absolutely not." His father's voice was thick with finality. When Lavinia chimed in, it began a simultaneous, rolling tirade the likes of which Macaulay had not heard from the pair of them in a very long time.
"You're barely out of lower school."
"Far too young to even consider--"
"I can't believe we're even having this discussion."
"And another boy, Cull?" After having said this, Macaulay's father turned around sharply face to Laurie as though something had just occurred to him. "Does anyone else know that this is going on? Does your father know about this?" Poor Laurie had gone a deep shade of scarlet. His eyes were wider than Macaulay could ever remember seeing them and his mouth was full enough to indicate that he had forgotten how to chew. He shook his head. Macaulay's father turned to Lavinia.
"Do you know who his father is? His father is the District Judge for Rawling Hills-- Terrance Torrence's son." Lavinia laughed, understanding the unlikelihood of the situation.
"Oh you're kidding! Isn't he half Townsman? And a Torrence too! Well in that case, I take it all back. You two are made for each other. I'll walk you down the aisle myself." Macaulay's father wiped his mouth with his napkin. A sudden fiendish glint in his eye told Macaulay that he found this as absurd as Lavinia did.
"They're cousins," Macaulay's father scoffed. Laurie choked, having taken far too ambitious of a swallow before hastening,
"Removed!" As though his entire well-being hinged on that one word. Lavinia and Macaulay's father locked eyes. Then instantly, they fell into hysterics. Lavinia doubled over, grabbing his father's wrist for stability. Macaulay had mixed feelings about this reaction. On the one hand, to see them laughing together was more than he could have dared to hoped for. To see his father laughing at all was a rarity. But the circumstances...
"May I speak?" Laurie ventured.
"No!" The adults commanded him in unison before resuming their fit of giggling. Lavinia patted Laurie gently on the elbow.
"Don't worry. This isn't about you. I'm sure that you're a good kid--"
"He is. A great kid," Macaulay's father interrupted.
"But Cully has a tendency to get pretty attached to the people that he cares about, and with your ages, it's just really not a good idea. He's only going to get hurt." Macaulay's father nodded in agreement.
"He isn't cut-out for casual dating. And believe me, even if it doesn't seem casual to you right at this moment, it is. I mean, you're how old? Fourteen? Fifteen? Kids your age change partners like they change socks."
"And what are you going to do when he goes to Veronaville? What are either of you going to do?"
"Wait," Laurie replied. "I'll wait if he wants me to, for however long he wants me to."
"Laurie!" Macaulay's cheeks warmed. They had been avoiding the subject for days, each too scared to ask the other just what would happen the following month. Laurie grinned at him, his funny little bangs falling into his eyes. He placed his hand on top of Macaulay's tentatively. Macaulay's father cleared his throat.
"I'd give them six weeks," he said sarcastically.
"Well aren't you just Mr. Ambition? I'd give them three," Lavinia countered. Macaulay dismissed them both, knowing that the argument had reached a stalemate. He stroked Laurie's fingers with his thumb. Let them joke if that was what made them feel comfortable. He wasn't asking permission. He was in love.
Weds, December 2, 2074 8:04 pm: Caliente Manor- Middlebourne, Pleasantview
Laurie slid the shower door closed behind him, humming and nodding in time with a strain of music that only he could hear. It had been a good day but when he tried to pin down the source of his cheerfulness, he came up with little. Enoch and Cully dropped by earlier without incident, which was a continuing source of relief. Not that Laurie thought Enoch would ever intentionally jeopardize his friendship with Cully by blurting out, "Dude, Cull, Laur is totally scoping your nutsack!" but Enoch did have the unfortunate habit of being... Enoch. Laurie twisted the corner of his towel into a point and used it to dry his ears, singing aloud with his internal concert.
"I'm an alligator! I'm a momma-poppa come'n for you! I'm a space invader! I'll be a rock 'n roll'n bitch for yooouuu!" The floor was slippery with condensation. Laurie propelled himself towards the sink, pushing off with his right foot and steering with his left. "Keep your electric eye on me, baby! Put your ray gun to my head! Press your space-face close to miiine, love. Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah! Thank you, Strangetown! You've been an amazing audience. Goodnight and God bless!"
Laurie cupped his hands against his mouth, mimicking the roar of an appreciative crowd. The bathroom walls collapsed around him, revealing a brightly lit stage in the middle of the desert. The world was a vast, uninterrupted stretch of midnight. Laurie scrubbed the towel against his dripping head. Yeah, he was definitely moving to Strangetown when he grew up. Maybe he would study reptiles if the whole bug thing didn’t work out. Reptiles were cool. Laurie pulled on the boxer shorts that sat neatly folded by the toilet. He twirled a random lock of hair, observing his reflection in the mirror. Maybe he should get dreadlocks. His father would hit the roof if he got dreadlocks.
Hurricane Lawrence left the bathroom a slight wreck—All steam-fogged glass, clogged drains and standing water. As he headed down the corridor, he pondered his own propensity towards moisture and concluded that without Elmira, he might have died of trench foot ages ago. Note to Self: Thank Elmira for drastically reduced occurrences of tench foot in the Tellerman-Caliente household. Elmira would think that was funny. He did like making Elmira laugh, particularly when she was working and right before she whacked him with a dishcloth. Elmira was a doll. Too bad Laurie didn't swing that way.
Around the corner, Laurie took hold of a cold, brushed metal doorknob and flung open his bedroom door. What waited for him on the other side gave him a horror-movie-esque jolt of "the phone call is coming from inside the house" proportions.
Cully slouched in the corner of Laurie's room, eying him apologetically. Laurie closed the door behind him, horrified by his half-naked body.
"Shit Cull, I thought Dad drove you home!" Laurie yanked open his dresser drawer and began to rummage, unearthing a green thing. What was this? Pants? Were these even his? He didn't know he owned these. Laurie dug deeper to find an old pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
"We made it all the way to the garage when Enoch, in his infinite wisdom, challenged your dad to a game of pool. Winner gets 55 million simoleons, payable in bottle caps." Laurie snorted, pulling the shirt over his head.
"Sounds like high stakes," he said.
"Yeah and no matter who wins, you'll be the one to drink enough soda to produce the needed coinage." Laurie snickered, smacking his forehead in mock-realization.
"You're right! Gee, I had better start drinking. You want something from downstairs?" Laurie made for the door, partly to prolong the joke, partly to distance himself from the embarrassment of a few moments prior.
"Wait! Laur, I wanted to talk to you for a sec. If that's okay." Macaulay's voice trailed off as he spoke and Laurie thought that he detected a hint of nervousness laced into his run-of-the-mill soft-spokenness. Laurie's hand fell away from the door, his escape plan shattered.
"Sure thing, pal." Pal? Did he really just say that? Laurie slunk over to the edge of his bed, mentally berating himself the entire way. It was a wonder that he didn't trip over his own feet.
Once he was settled, Laurie drummed his palms upon his lap, hoping to look casual.
"Sooo, what's up Doc?" Laurie smiled weakly at his friend, remembering too late that Macaulay didn't own a television, had probably never seen a cartoon in his life and might not have gotten the reference.
Cully opened his mouth and closed it, knitting his brow. After a few such false starts, he made his way over to the bed and sat down next to his friend. They were so close that Laurie could feel the warmth of Cully's body emanating through his clothing. Laurie prayed that he wasn't blushing. Ba reginam, don't let him be blushing.
"Do you remember the first time I came here-- That conversation we had about how long I had been in the pond?" That topic was light years away from what Laurie had been expecting. His eyebrows rose involuntarily as his shoulders relaxed. Sure he remembered. How could he forget anything pertaining to that episode of his life? He still had nightmares. Laurie nodded, urging Cully on. "Well, the more I think about it, the more I think that maybe what kept me from drowning before you got there and how you heard the splash and how you managed to find me and everything... I think it was magic. I think I might have used magic."
Laurie wanted to wrap his arm around Cully's waist, run his fingers through Cully's hair and give him a reassuring grin but the best that Laurie could manage was a confused grimace coupled with a shoulder-to-shoulder nudge.
"Cully, no one uses magic by mistake, especially not a pair of watered-down partlings like us. We misjudged the time is all. And those woods echo. There are plenty of non-supernatural explanations for what happened out there." Macaulay bit his lower lip, clearly struggling with what he was trying to say. When his eyes met Laurie's once more, they were a little sad.
"Have you ever felt sort of contained? Like everything you are is just stuck behind your ribcage and no matter what you do, no matter how loud you scream, the pressure just doesn't go away?"
"Er-- Not sure I follow you there," Laurie said softly. Macaulay picked at a loose thread on Laurie's comforter, gazing downwards as he did. Laurie was struck with the urge to kiss Cully's half-closed eyelids, his thick dark lashes. Laurie never saw himself in a romantic light but maybe he could. For this boy, he could. It wasn't just because Macaulay was handsome or kind or witty. It was for his depth of feeling that Laurie wanted to be near him, listening to him talk even and especially when Cully's sentiments confused him. He and Cully fit. Laurie needed the wellspring of Cully's emotions, just as Cully needed the levity of Laurie's shallowness. Damn, was that really all that Laurie had to offer? Cully peered upwards at Laurie, still twining the thread between his fingers.
"I feel like that all the time. Sometimes its so bad, I can't breathe."
"Maybe you have asthma." Cully laughed and placed his hand over Laurie's mouth. It took every ounce of willpower that Laurie possessed not to purse his lips against Cully's palm.
"Okay asshole, this is serious. I am trying to tell you a serious thing. Laurie, I am going to Ethelden to study."
"Macaulay!" Laurie rarely used Cully's full name, at least not out loud but he felt as though the ground had opened up beneath him. Macaulay's name was the sound of Laurie's breath leaving his body. Cully took his hand away from Laurie's mouth.
"I didn't use magic by accident, Laur. I willed you there. I wanted to belong to someone and then there you were."
Laurie turned Cully's words over and over looking for any interpretation other than the one that made him nervous enough to shake and yet happy enough to know that he had heard incorrectly. Laurie picked up his head, not knowing what to say but determined to say something, just as Cully solved the dilemma for him.
This was not the way that Laurie had fantasized about this happening, with his heart still sinking painfully low in his stomach from the news that Cully was leaving. The thought of it made Laurie cling tighter. His hands dug into Cully's jacket, clasping so hard that it hurt. He rolled over, anchoring their bodies to the bed as though to prevent him from floating away.
Laurie had never kissed another person before and as far as he knew, neither had Cully. It probably wasn't normal for him to press his lips so tightly against Cully's that he could feel the teeth behind those lips. He thought about opening his mouth but that posed an entire minefield of unknowns. Cully wrapped his legs around Laurie's and Laurie let out a slight gasp as his groin brushed against Cully's. Maybe this wasn't Cully's first kiss. For a moment, Laurie burned with jealousy over a person that he didn't even know existed.
Cully slipped his hand beneath Laurie's undershirt, resting on Laurie's bare side. Laurie shifted his position as the toes of his sneakers slid across the rug and his erection became more difficult to ignore. It was then that he felt a jolt of electricity between Cully's hand and his side. The sensation spread throughout his torso, set his blood on fire. Laurie pulled away.
"Sorry." Cully winced. Laurie concentrated on the feeling. The same thing had happened the first time they shook hands and now, in this current context, he found that it made him slightly euphoric. Laurie shook his head.
"Do it again," he said. Cully smiled and as Laurie went in for another kiss, Enoch's voice drifted up from the stairwell, killing the moment dead.
"Yo, Mickey Lickey! Time to go!" Laurie groaned miserably. Macaulay kissed the tip of his nose and shouted towards the door.
"Tshin-tshin, villmen!" Laurie rolled pitifully onto his back and folded his hands on his chest. This was what being a beached whale must feel like. Cully pushed Laurie's hair away from his face and kissed him quickly, casually, as though this was how they always said goodbye. "You'll come see me? In Veronaville?"
"Of course," Laurie muttered, his brain still buzzing with joy and sadness and teenage boners that refused to go away. Laurie sat up on the bed as Cully left the room, neither one of them brave enough to admit to what went without saying.
Mon, November 23, 2074 11:45 am: Pleasantview Private School- Dorset, Pleasantview
Enoch drew invisible stitches down the corridor, his steady approach binding a taut seam between where he was and where he most wanted to be. The sound of Madeline's laughter bounced off of the walls, lighting his path along the floor. He didn't know what he would say when he reached her but he would damn himself for a coward if he turned tail and ran.
"It was a good effort but it just wasn't there. You know? I wouldn't call it the worst thing I've ever read. The concept was there. But I don't think that it was quite ready for the workshop." Enoch halted. It was a male voice. Madeline was talking to a dude and if Enoch was not mistaken, the dude in question was Shane. God, he hoped they weren't discussing his screenplay.
"I don't know. I thought the part about the bus driver was pretty good," Madeline said. It was all that Enoch could do not to groan. They were talking about his screenplay. He shoved his left hand into his pocket and balled the lining up into his fist.
"So you coming to movie night at the Academy this Friday?"
"I don't know. Is Dewilliker going to go all ape-shit on me again for chewing gum in the sitting room?" Enoch picked up his leaden feet and moved forward, closing the seam. He would pretend that he had overheard nothing. He would tell Madeline that her hair looked nice today. He would think of a positively soul withering insult to throw at the little bedwetting dipshit that was encroaching upon his fiancée. 
"Well, I can't really vouch for what the ancient mariner will or will not do," Shane said with a shrug. Enoch pulled the strap of his messenger bag over his shoulder and cautiously stepped out of the shadows. Neither party glanced in his direction.
"What's the movie," Madeline asked.
"Metropolis, I think."
"Lame. I'm not watching that capitalist bullshit." Enoch cleared his throat. 
Madeline's eyes flickered in Enoch's direction but she did not turn. Shane muttered something about needing to get changed for fencing class and slunk away from the scene, his feet squeaking against the newly polished floor. Punk. Madeline sighed heavily and watched him go, feeling very plainly abandoned.
"So how's it going?" Enoch's voice broke somewhere between how's and going but he refused to let it interfere with his composure.
"It's going fine, Enoch," Madeline sighed. Her lips puckered so sweetly when she was annoyed.
"So what are you doing right now?" Enoch sidled up to her, getting only as close as he dared.
"I'm just putting away some textbooks," she said flatly.
"In where? In your locker? Can I walk with you? To your locker? That where you going?"
"My locker is three feet over there, Enoch." Madeline inclined her head to the left, indicating the location of said locker. 
"Just the same. Can I take your backpack?"
"No, I think I can handle it."
Enoch was acting like a pussy but he had it upon good authority that Madeline actually liked pussies. He'd seen the way she looked at Phoenix when they were dancing together at the Lothario cocktail party. And no guy was as pussified as Phoenix was. Well, no guy with the exception Enoch's dad, maybe.
The clay beads at the ends of Madeline's plaits clacked as she took the first steps towards her locker. Enoch resisted the urge to play with them. Madeline wordlessly punched her combination into the keypad on her locker's door.
"So umm... I like your hair. It's really sexy braided like that."
"What do you want, Enoch?" She began rummaging through her locker, tossing notebooks and pens from one aluminum corner to the next.
"I thought- I dunno. Maybe we could go rollerblading sometime?" Madeline pointedly slammed her locker door shut and Enoch briefly panicked.
"Or not. I mean, we could do something else. We could go to dinner. Or to the arcade. Or we could just get plastered," Enoch fumbled. Madeline swerved very slowly towards him.
"Let me get this straight- You are asking me out on a date?"
"Yeah, that's about the gist of it." Madeline smirked.
"Have your people call my people and I'll get back to you at my earliest convenience," she said, hoisting her backpack over her shoulders.
"Like when?"
"I dunno." And with that, Madeline tossed her chestnut hair, taking her first lengthy strides away from a thoroughly confused Enoch. "Are you coming or what?" She shouted behind her without even slowing down. Enoch had to jog in order to catch up, all the while unsuccessfully reassuring himself that he was not at the mercy of her whims. 
Maybe it was only fair that he should trail after her a little. Nobody had ever asked Madeline if she wanted to marry Enoch. He wasn't entirely certain of what girl wouldn't want to marry him but she deserved the luxury of choosing. Madeline Burb. His girl. There wasn't a smarter, prettier or funnier one Pleasantview, Enoch was certain.
Flattening his lapels, Enoch was by sheer force of will recovering his courage. His determination gained in momentum as he watched the tartan pleats of Madeline's skirt swish back and forth over the fullness of her ass. If he had to, he would pester her until her defenses crumbled. He would be the needle that bore a tunnel through the face of a mountain. 
But all of Enoch's muddled thoughts were dashed by what awaited them around the corner. It was the worst possible pair that Enoch could have imagined encountering. Inwardly, he cursed his luck.
Laurie smiled at them in greeting. Madeline's brother Warren scowled in the subtle way that only he could scowl. And for the second time in ten minutes, Enoch contemplated making a hasty getaway.
For a brief second, the only sounds to be heard were the steady hum of the vending machine and the swish of Macaulay's turned pages. Warren opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and shut his mouth again. He tapped Laurie on the arm with the back of his hand. Laurie cringed away just slightly. Evidently, he didn't know Laurie well enough to keep the physical contact at a minimum.
"I'll catch up with you guys later. I'm gonna... I've got some stuff to take care of," Warren said.
"Yeah, see you later man," Laurie said, unfazed by Warren's sudden departure. Good riddance. 
"So you finally broke down and decided that you wanted to be seen in public with this asshole," Laurie asked jokingly. Enoch held his breath while Madeline snickered. 
"Not really. I just can't seem to get rid of him."
"Calling him names usually does it."
"Really? I'll have to keep that in mind." With that, Enoch involuntarily buried his head in his hands. Fucking Laurie, leading her into this conversation.
"So what have the two of you been talking about?"
"Oh nothing. Your horse-faced douchebag of a friend here wants to take me for a night on the town. Do you think I should go?" Laurie sucked his teeth contemplatively.
"You totally should, Maddie and I'll tell you why- You see, in all of the years that I've known him, I have never ever seen him make that face." 
Enoch didn't realize that he was making a face. He never thought of himself as a pouter. Indeed, he was uncertain of what was keeping him from yelling at Laurie or even both of them. It occurred to him that Madeline might like Laurie better, given the conspiratorial glances that she was languishing upon him. But even that thought did nothing to work Enoch's putty-like woe into a defensive outrage. He felt very strangely exposed. It was as though he were standing before them naked but he couldn't see his own nudity.
"So where are we going and when are you taking me there," Madeline asked. Enoch stared idiotically at Macaulay, who remained absorbed in his book despite the presence of people that he might have termed "friends". Turning the question over in his mind, Enoch realized that he must have misheard Madeline.
"Hunh?" Laurie and Madeline both snickered at Enoch's absent-mindedness. 
"Well it's kinda like this, Enoch. You have invited me on a date. I am accepting said invitation. So the next step would be to choose a time for this date. A location might also be helpful at this juncture. You mentioned rollerblading earlier. That sounds like a perfectly grand afternoon to me. So when and where should this rollerblading take place?" Madeline made a gesture with her hand that mimicked the two of them on skates.
"Wait, I don't get it. Are you just agreeing because Laurie said you should?"
"I trust his judgment."
"Ok. How about Saturday? My driver can pick you up around two or something. We'll go to the rink downtown."
"I am in accordance with this arrangement."
"Heartwarming," Laurie interjected. Madeline looked down at her watch.
"I've got to get out of here. My study hall is almost over. Mr. Caliente, always a pleasure," she said, extending a hand for Laurie to shake. As Laurie took Madeline's hand, Madeline grabbed Enoch's.
It was a quick gesture. She threaded her fingers between his and squeezed. A hiccup lodged in Enoch's throat. She'd touched him. And more than that, she'd done it discreetly so that Laurie wouldn't take the piss out of him later.
By the sound of his tone, Laurie was spewing forth some manner of nonsense but Enoch was too far away comprehend it.
"Only thing, Enoch," Madeline began. Hearing his name, Enoch was brought back into reality. "No funny business on Saturday. The second you reach for my tits, the date is over. I mean it." Now it was Enoch's turn to smirk.
"But what if you want-"
"Believe me, I won't." Madeline gave Laurie one final headshake as though the two of them were in on something that Enoch was not privy to and left down the hall. She greeted Macaulay pleasantly as she passed by, her voice taking on the musical lift that girls always used with Macaulay. Enoch couldn't help but wonder what it was about him that merited that sort of treatment. When Madeline was out of earshot, Laurie turned on Enoch.
"Did I just get you a date with a girl who hates you," he snickered.
"Shut-up! She doesn't hate me." Enoch scowled. Something was brewing in his throat and chest. It was his wounded pride lashing out several minutes too late.
"Could have fooled me," Laurie said with a shrug.
"Right. And how far have you gotten with Mr. Perfect over there? The two of you on a first name basis yet?" The quip rushed forward before Enoch had time to mull it over. Laurie winced as though he had been punched in the stomach. He didn't deny his attraction to Macaulay like Enoch thought that he might. He simply recoiled, drawing in his head into his collar like a tortoise and pursing his lips into a thin white line.
Not once had Enoch ever given Laurie any indication of the fact that he knew about his preferences. And now the information was sprawled out against the floor, leaving no room for either of them to tip toe past. 
