Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Proof ❯ Chapter Six ( Chapter 6 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Warning: Tons of name-calling, bad words, and teenagers ending their sentences in a question.

Chapter Six

The guy was taller than him. He was popular—everyone liked him, and there was nothing bad to say about him. The guy even played a musical instrument, and wasn't considered band geek material. He had freckles, muscle and his sandy hair was a style right off the holovision set. He was comfortable with his world, had friends that were just as popular as he, and always had a chick or two at his side, begging for his attention.

Winston Tweedy had more than one positive factor for him, and for the first time, Jake felt threatened. He'd known the guy for awhile, but never got to know him personally. It wasn't as if they had any classes together, and if they had in the past, Jake didn't have very many memories of him. Tweedy was just that one jock in a group that had slipped past his line of notice.

And because of it, Jake felt vulnerable. He wasn't even sure how to assess that feeling, or to even guess why he felt so.

“You think Tweedy's after Gone?” Jake whispered to Bart during their first morning class.

“Dude, you know how people talk. Everyone's on a witch hunt for homosexuals, and here, they're right in front of them.”

Jake gave a strangled laugh. “Yeah, but…Tweedy's never paid so much attention to Gone, before.”

“The fucker bit you! Look at that shit!” Bart hissed, gesturing at Jake's exposed forearm. Jake examined the injury, wincing. “Who cares if Tweedy's after him if that's what he's going to do to you. And the shit he causes!”

“…Yeah,” Jake mumbled. He sat back in his chair, thinking about his arm. He felt uncomfortable with Gone's possessiveness. It made him wonder as to how he could become so important to someone's world that they would act so out of character of themselves.

Glancing at the clock, he wondered if Gone had made it to class on time. But he looked at his arm again, touching the bite mark lightly. Gone was always jealous and possessive, he realized, thinking of the days before the Chuyuri incident. He'd always pick a fight or sulk about things whenever Jake made it clear Gone wasn't his world and didn't always have to answer to him.

He couldn't quite understand Gone's way of thinking. What good would it do to get mad over something as trivial as talking to someone else?

He leaned back in his chair, thinking hard of the situation. Was Bart right about his observation? Had he himself been jealous over the very fact that Tweedy wanted to hang out with Gone?

Nah, that wasn't it, he decided with a vigorous shake of his head. He wasn't jealous—he just knew how the jocks worked. It was a known fact that they spread their evil jock hands onto the smarter students, just to make sure that they got the appropriate grades to qualify for their sports.

“But Gone isn't that smart,” he said aloud, frowning hard. Bart glanced at him. The class was involved with a lively group discussion over some subject he wasn't paying attention to.

“What?” Bart asked.

“G's not that smart. He's not some nerd. He has to work to get the grades he has. So, really, what value is he for Tweedy?”

Bart popped his knuckles. Then he realized he was giving actual thought to such a manner. “Oh my God. Are you still going on about that? Drop it already. Normal dudes don't think too much about that stuff.”

Jake ignored him, tipping backward in his chair.

“What's `inadequate' mean?” he asked, still staring up at the ceiling in thought.

“Um…well…unsatisfactory, disappointing, useless…hell, if this is describing that little wimp, then—”

“He's not any of that,” Jake said softly, interrupting Bart's annoyed explanation. “Go's been telling him that for years. I hate it when people say that kind of stuff about him.”

Picking at a scab that he'd gained from a week-old road rash gained from a `boarding incident, Jake immersed himself in his thoughts. He started to see why Gone had said what he had. It seemed that the younger teen didn't feel confident enough in being with him.

He sighed heavily, leaning over his desk, gripping it tight.

Bart flicked at his hair with a pen. “You baby him too much. You and Chase are the biggest suckers.”

“Shut up, B. You ever grow up with someone like G?”

“They got picked off easily by the system. We watched our own backs.”

“Then you wouldn't understand,” Jake snapped at him. “You haven't been close enough to someone to get attached to them. Him and Chase, they're as close to brothers as I'll ever get. God, get some empathy.”

Bart scowled at him. “Empathy gets you killed.”

“You're not in New Park anymore, you dick!”

“Whatever!”

Huffing, Bart turned away from him. Jake scowled at him and turned to the side. Leaning once more against his desk, he wondered about his bodyguard. Bart was seriously lacking in the compassion department, he decided. But he shouldn't make too big of a deal of it…from the stories that Mr. James had told him, sympathy did get someone killed.

“Barton, I love you. Take me back, baby,” he mumbled against his desk.

“Don't talk to me that way.”

“No, I really mean it. I…I appreciate what you do. Since you entered my life, no one has successfully tried to kill me. And I know you probably had it rough growing up without love and empathy and friends, and you are the way you are because of it.”

Bart grimaced. “Um…thanks. I think.”

Popping up, Jake grinned at him. “All right. We're cool, right?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

“Now…what should I do in this situation? I can't talk about it with anybody else!” Jake then added, once he saw that Bart was going to protest. “If you were in my place…what would you do? What would Barton McKinley do? WWBM..uh…C..wait, how did that saying go? What would…hah. What would Jake do? That's IT!”

A tic caused Bart's left eye to twitch. He gave his hair a reassuring pat to make sure it was still in place. Then, because Jake seemed sincere about things, he tried hard to think about it.

“Well…if someone viciously attacked someone by biting them—”

“I wasn't attacked!” Jake exclaimed.

“Biting's evil, man! Haven't you seen `Silence of the Lambs'? Dude, I'd seriously freak out. And did you know that human bites are dirtier than dog bites?” Bart shuddered, rubbing his arms, as if the very notion aroused nausea.

Sighing, Jake leaned over his desk, resting his head.

“Give it a day. Make him think about what he did,” Bart muttered. “Hell, make him apologize to you. If I were you, I'd make sure to buy a muzzle. Yuck.”

Jake thought about it, pursing his lips. “Yeah. I'll give it a day. `Sides, I think we need to hang around Chase a little. He might start shit with that guy. I don't want him getting kicked off the team for fighting. Daddy's so proud of his little boy…”

Fiddling with the leather cuffs on his wrists, Bart nodded. The boys did give him headaches from time to time, and he honestly felt older beyond his years whenever they did something troublesome and immature. But he had to admit that his days were filled with things to do. Even if it weren't as dangerous as surviving on the streets of New Park.

0o0o0o0

“What is up with your friends?” Tweedy asked Gone later that day. “They act like it's a crime for me to talk to you.”

Gone glanced at him, but his mind wasn't on the class or the conversation. Jake kept avoiding him by deliberately turning the other way when they saw each other in the halls, and in gym, Jake ignored him. He was used to Jake giving him the cold shoulder whenever they had an argument. He was secure with the fact that they'd talk and make up at the end of the day. But he was the type to obsess over such things in the meanwhile.

“I mean, they practically attacked me out in the hall this morning,” Tweedy continued, giving a nervous twitch of the mouth. He shrugged a shoulder. “But I guess I should expect that sorta thing. I know what the guys do whenever a new sports season comes around. I did that too, but…not to be offensive, I wouldn't do that to you. You actually make me work through the problem to figure it out.”

Gone tried to focus on what he was saying. Maybe he was wearing an expression of confusion or something, because Tweedy kept leaning in close to talk.

“You don't mind me being a pest…do you?”

Did he? Since Tweedy started talking to him, Gone found himself relaxing, just slightly, now that the threat of being bullied had passed. In his experience, the kids started right away whenever they felt the need to harass him.

“No,” he replied.

Tweedy grinned at him. “Chase, man, well…he's easily wound up, isn't he? He's going around, spreading all these rumors about me. It's not true,” Tweedy added hurriedly. “I mean, really, what gave him that idea, anyway?”

Gone was puzzled as to what he was talking about. Chase had said nothing to him about Tweedy.

“I don't…I don't know. He hasn't said anything to me,” he said, finally contributing to the conversation.

“It's not,” Tweedy insisted, looking down to pick at his cuticles. “Look, it's just…whatever he says to you, take it with a grain. Y'know? People always have something to talk shit about.”

Gone nodded when he felt it was appropriate, glancing at the clock.

“You have a cellphone?” Tweedy then asked. “Hey, can I give you my number and we could text?”

“It's so bothersome. All the people I need to talk to are always right there,” Gone replied.

Tweedy gave him an odd look, and Gone wondered if he said the right thing. Then the senior chuckled. “You are, like, so simple. I mean, not in a bad way? Just like…you're so set in your ways, you're almost too afraid to explore things. That's not healthy, man.”

As Gone wondered why he was being insulted for being the way he was, Tweedy said hurriedly, flushing, “I just think that you have all these factors that keep you from exploring things. Your world is so, like, literally, limited…especially to what those two guys think or do. It's like you aren't even allowed to expand your, like, explorations, and you absolutely have to follow with what they do. They're getting all into some uproar with me just talking to you. That's pretty bad, man.”

Gone twitched. But instead of taking Tweedy's words badly, he thought about them. It was true—his sun rose and set on what Jake wanted to do. What Chase had caused. What Go had decided for `his best interests'. When had there been a time where Gone himself had decided in what he wanted to do?

“Look,” Tweedy continued, leaning forward so that Gone felt himself leaning back, “instead of running off with those guys after school, how about we go do something? Like, a movie or something? Hang out. Do you like the outdoors?”

Gone nodded, albeit slowly. “But I'm not very coordinated. I prefer standing on the sidelines than actively participating.”

“That's okay. There's other things that—”

“I can't. Not today. I…”

“Oh.” Tweedy actually looked disappointed, something that made Gone curious. “Well…another time, then, huh? You play sports?”

“No. I…lack what's necessary for close-contact sports,” Gone muttered. He preferred the waterboy position, with its easy distribution of liquids to sweaty, athletic boys. He flushed at the thought.

“You can't be that bad,” Tweedy said.

“…Remember when Jared Wilson was sidelined last season?”

“Yeah, he said he'd had his knee busted by some airhead with a bat—oh my god. That was you?”

Gone ducked his head and nodded. “Yes. During PE. I let go of the bat after I swung.”

Tweedy laughed. “That's okay. We made state without him. Hey, if it helps, you helped the team out. Don't feel bad about it.”

“I…I'll hang with you another time,” Gone heard himself say, a little shocked at doing so. His eyes widened with the horror of it, but Tweedy was already saying, “Cool! Well, I'll find something for us to do, okay? It'll be fun.”

He looked away when he heard his name called, seeing that Tucker, basketball jock, was calling for him. They were laughing amongst themselves as they did so, but Tweedy left his seat to go investigate, easily fitting into the group with a response that made them crack-up.

Gone watched him go, feeling apprehensive. What was making him do this, interact with someone he never would have before?

But then again, what made Tweedy want to single him out?

“Hi, princess. Staking out another prince?” a snide voice asked him the moment he left class. The halls were filling with students exchanging rooms for their last class of the day, and Gone stumbled as his heels were kicked from behind.

Trevor used the stumble to shove him against the wall, his thinning blond hair slicked with too much gel. His breath smelled of coffee and Tootsie Rolls—his presence automatically made Gone recoil, his entire body tensing up at the sensation of another at his right.

Trevor's accomplice, Shane, snorted as he made his presence known, crowding into Gone's space. Gone felt himself hunch his shoulders in, as if trying to make himself as small as possible to escape their proximity. It angered him how meek and powerless he felt; there had been more terrible things done to him by Chuyuri, but just being near the pair that had tormented him since elementary school made him feel so small.

“Your happily ever after not so happy after all?” Shane asked him, lowering his voice, as to not be heard by those passing around them. “Jake's dick not up to your standards?”

“He's probably seen bigger. That's why he's all after Tweedy, now,” Trevor said on a snicker. He reached out and pushed Gone's shoulder. “Huh? Huh? That's why, huh, faggot?”

“Hah, Jake's probably all in love with that McKinley guy. That's why our lil' fag boy here's all after Tweedy.”

Gone didn't want to say anything, knowing that if he did, they'd only up the ante on their taunts. But his face reddened with anger and powerlessness, his teeth gritting together as he tried to muster up the courage to at least do something to have them back off. How was it he couldn't lash at out these two the way that he did with his friends?

“It's funny how you know the size of his dick,” he muttered to Trevor, the other boy giving him a startled look.

“Ha, ha, you're so hilarious,” Shane snapped, reaching out to shove his head aside, the action only made painful with the way Gone held himself so tensely. “So fucking funny.”

“You're the only fag here, fag boy. You've got no right to call others homo,” Trevor growled, recovering as he kicked Gone's feet again, making him stumble as he tried to walk away.

“Leave me alone, all right? Go away!”

“You going to cry, now? You going to cry?” Shane asked, in a high-pitched voice as he allowed Gone to walk away from him, Trevor only moving in to use his shoulder bump him away from the main hall. Stumbling into an adjoining corridor that led toward another entrance of the gym, Gone tried to turn and push his way back to the hall, only to have both boys grab hold of his arms and yank him back, both of them snickering as he fell off balance.

“I didn't say you could go! My sister likes that guy. I just want to make sure that she has a chance,” Trevor said, shoving at him hard enough to make him fall. “No homo's allowed to take him.”

“She's just as ugly as you are! She's not going to have a chance!” Gone spit at him, angry that he was reduced to an awkward, red-faced mess on the floor.

Trevor delivered a kick to his backpack, hard enough to make him feel it, stumbling onto his hands and knees. “Shut up! Shut up, you're the ugly one! Stupid fag!”

Shane laughed as he kept Gone from getting up, pushing on his shoulders and head each time an effort was made. Trevor grabbed Gone's backpack, wrenching it to the side, throwing Gone off balance.

“Quit it! Let me up!”

“Get up, you little weakling. It's not that hard!” he snarled, waiting for Gone to right himself to push himself to his feet. The moment he did, though, Trevor pulled a foot back and kicked hard into his groin.

Gone gasped, choked, and curled over in automatic reaction, holding onto injured area. The two laughed nastily, standing over him as he fought the urge to throw up, cry, or pass out.

“That should keep you from Tweedy for awhile,” Shane said.

Before anything else could be done, Trevor found himself being shoved hard over the other teen, Shane looking up with a startled reaction. He was even more so when he realized that Jake's furious face was just inches from his.

Before he could bring his hands up to defend himself, Jake slammed a hard right into his face, knocking him completely off his feet. With a hurt cry, Shane fell over Gone, the other teen doing nothing to shove him away, too caught up in agony to do so.

“Fuck face! Both of you! I'll beat the shit out of both you fucking retards!” Jake snarled, jumping onto Trevor once the teen climbed to his feet, looking for escape.

Bart, after allowing him a good hit upside one cheek, knocking the boy's head back, calmly pulled his charge off the boy. “Let it go, let it go. Let's not get into trouble over this.”

“Get off me, James! You're the worst one here!” Trevor spit, shoving at Jake once he realized Bart had a good hold on him. Beyond the pair, kids continued on with their exchange, not even realizing that there was a fight going on in the corridor. “Your fucking mother was a Goddamned murderer!”

“Fuck you, asshole! Talk shit some more, and I'm going to get you after school, you—!”

Bart used one hand to hold Jake back, and the other to push Trevor completely away. “C'mon, you two. He ain't worth wasting your time over.”

“Yeah, walk away!” Trevor continued, throwing up some bravado after being thrashed in such a humiliating manner. He and Shane headed away from them, walking toward the gym. “Faggots! Both of you! Everyone knows you're both faggots, anyway! Probably just like your fucking mom!”

“I know where you live, you stupid piece of shit!” Jake shouted, climbing over Bart, but the teen kept hold of him, preventing him from going after him. “I'll fucking work you over!”

“They're just words, man,” Bart said patiently. He pulled him off of him, setting him firmly onto his feet and keeping a good hold on him. “Remember, they're just words.”

Jake ripped himself away from him, striding away to Gone in a heaving show of fury. As the bell rang, signaling their lateness, Bart looked at Gone with a raised eyebrow.

“What'd I tell you about getting your ass kicked by those guys?”

“Shut up!” Gone snapped, every inch of skin reddened with humiliation, pain, and helpless anger. He grimaced as he found movement difficult to deal with. Jake grabbed onto his arm, helping him to his feet with a frustrated show of concern.

Seeing that Gone was allowing Jake to help him, the other still hunched over in obvious pain, Bart shoved his hands into his pockets. He knew that if he stepped in to help, the wounded teen would only attack him in some way. Shuddering at the chance of being bitten, Bart kept quiet as he trailed after them.

0o0o0o0

“An `awesome'?” Mr. James asked, Drake Bellows peering at him quizzically. The full-spectrum holopicture of his best friend showed Mr. James that Drake was currently holed up in his office in downtown Highlands. Why the other man wanted to know about one of his son's disgusting habits was beyond him. “You called my office to find out what an `awesome' is?”

“ `Tch, your `office',” Drake muttered, tossing a file over one shoulder, capping his red pen. “You're sittin' at home, Law & Order up on the holoset, and about ten gallons of coffee running through you, even though you've got nothing to do and no where to go.”

Mr. James muted his favorite show with a scowl, and looked down at his favorite mug, sure that Drake was exaggerating.

“Tell me what an `awesome' is! Ever since I heard the kids screaming about it the other day, I just can't get it out of my head. When I asked the lil' bastard about it, he started squealing. SQUEALING. Teenage boys aren't supposed to SQUEAL, and my kid does it. Fuck, I knew it was all that weed I smoked when I was a kid. Who knew it had real side effects? They should have put warning labels on those joints!”

“You interrupted my work day to ask what an `awesome' is.”

“Since you aren't doing anything important for the moment, I just figured you'd give me an idea. I'm tellin' you, man, that McKinley kid was freaking the fuck out. So…so I just have to know…just tell me so I can get on with my day.”

Mr. James sipped at his coffee. “Speaking of my driveway, I thought you were hiring a contractor to fix the broken side gate?”

“I wasn't talking about no stupid—! Ah. I get it,” Drake said, sitting back in his chair, flipping a braid over one shoulder. His Native American features were more prominent at his age now than when they were teens in high school. But his neon blue eyes, a color Chase inherited, were intensely contrasting to his facial features. “You're mortified beyond belief by your son's behavior. Dude…get over it. Kids are kids.”

Mr. James hated when Drake took the kids' side. Such behavior was to be corrected, not encouraged. Because of his irritation to the notion, he huffed. “Not when they are using an inane excuse just to fart on you.”

“THAT'S what it is?! Jesus Christ! Ha! That kid cracks me up. Ha, ha, an `awesome'…wow, I wonder if that'd work here in the office. Some of these stiffs needs an awesome…”

Mr. James rolled his eyes impatiently. “Well, if that's all you wanted to know.”

“You probably watched that same episode, like, twenty times, now. Let's have a heart to heart.”

“How's Samantha, by the way?”

“Yup,” Drake said, gathering an armload of files and tapping them in place to keep them in order. “Got lots of work to do. Can't spend all day on the phone, yapping without cause. Just wanted to know what an `awesome' was, and be all up to date on things.”

Smirking, Mr. James depressed the `End Call' button. He surveyed his home office, a little thankful for the distraction. The 3-D image of his latest project was on display, and he was triple-checking the numbers of joists needed for a particularly difficult floor plan. His newest creation was to be built in one of the East Coast's major cities, and he had to factor in environmental impact on the high-rise. As well as air traffic, Superhuman and Alien forces. While it wasn't particularly difficult for him to complete, he was just a little distracted over other things.

He looked up at the knock on his door, Bart looking in with a petulant expression. Sipping at his coffee, Mr. James managed to frown. “You need a dose of awesome.”

“I don't want anybody else fuckin' farting on me!” the teen spit.

“So you've been treated already? And it hasn't worked? I suspect that you may need a higher dosage.”

With an exasperated sound, Bart said, “Enough with the stupid jokes. I'm sick of it. I am. I swear to God, if he farts on me again, I'll just—!”

“You're having a little trouble adjusting to the others' emotional outbursts. Their little dramas drive you up a wall, because, technically, it's a war that doesn't require weapons, powers, or an endless supply of street credibility,” Mr. James then said, setting down his empty mug.

Bart frowned at him, a little miffed that he hadn't a chance to complain. But he gave a reluctant nod. “Yeah. That's it.”

“It's a wonder, really, that you're so well-rounded,” Mr. James said. “You're a little angry, yes, easy to argue with and quite stubborn. Yet you allow these monsters to run all over you and allow them to pull you into their little games. I'm still surprised that you haven't managed to physically hurt any of them.”

“I have a surprising amount of restraint,” Bart replied, a little amazed at his own words.

“But you've fit in well. You swing through your classes with ease, and learn fast. What basics you did learn on the streets keeps you afloat in school. That, in particular, amazes me. Here when I first started out in rehab, I knew nothing about Earth academics.”

“I read a lot. Plus, if I had to get close to someone in school, I posed as a student. I happened to learn a few things here and there. But I ain't all frustrated about that.”

“You can't identify with their problems.”

“NO. I can't.” Bart scratched at his neck. “I don't friggn' care if Jake's having problems with Gone, or with the kids at school. And he keeps asking my advice. The first thing I say is to get rid of it. But that ain't going to slide here.”

“Of course not. You grow by learning. And killing isn't always the answer. Or maiming, or gouging or deforming, or anything of the speculative nature,” Mr. James added, frowning at his coffee mug, as if by sheer will it would refill itself. “Surely you have realized, by now, that emotional drama is the focal point of being a teenager.”

“Not mine.”

“Then how is it you cope with Jake's emotional outbursts?”

“Uh…I kinda just…roll with it. It don't sink in or anything. I just find it entirely stupid.”

“Ah.” Mr. James strained his ears, listening for any sign of his boy.

“He's in the can. That's another thing. If I am forced to be a judge over who shits the bigger shit, I'm just going to—”

Mr. James raised an eyebrow, a little disgusted by another one of his kid's habits. But he wasn't surprised by it—he'd had his share of hearing them brag over passing over the biggest `snake'.

He was only beyond relieved, though, when it counted. At least Jake and his friends weren't bragging about the total of kills they had, or horrifying experiences they'd endured just to be `hard'. At least they weren't shooting each other, or beating each other through the pavement, like he and Samsara had done to each other when they were teens.

He shared this bit of information with Bart, who only thinned his lips. But Mr. James could see that it hit with the jaded teen.

“Yeah,” he grumbled. “At least. But it's all a matter of environment, I guess. I think it'd all be different if this were all in…in New Park.”

“It would be a different story if that were so,” Mr. James pointed out, rising from his chair. “You would not have experienced all that you have, now.”

“Jake hasn't got no powers,” Bart said, following him out into the hallway, and down the stairs. “It'd still be different. Why don't he have them, anyway? He should've been guaranteed it all if—”

“But he doesn't. And that's the end of it.” Mr. James found his coffee, but the pot was empty. Grumbling, he set that aside and rinsed out his mug. “On all fronts that count, he is living a life I'd much rather have had back in my day. There is a certain joy I wake up with almost every day upon that realization.”

Bart chewed at the inside of his cheek. “But off the subject, I don't know what to do. I don't know how to connect with them. I can only be there to make fun of them. And make sure that he don't get into trouble. And then they get mad at me for it.”

“McKinley, on all points considered, I think you are doing a fine job,” Mr. James said firmly, turning to face him.

Though Bart was taller than him, he definitely felt intimidated by the older man. There was such a stifling presence to Mr. James that, despite his appearance, there was definitely a lurking presence to him that made anybody reconsider their motive.

“Your lack of empathy with their emotional regards will slowly change. It takes time. You've spent years on your own, enduring what it was that you had to get this far. To suddenly be thrust into a `safe' environment as this one is a shock. But the more time you spend with them, the more attached you get. You'll be surprised at learn just how attached you are the moment you leave them.”

Grumbling, Bart picked at his cuffs. He glanced at the time. “Well…it's, like, no matter what I do, I can't get all…like, emotional on them the way they do. I think it might be a weak point of mine.”

“It is,” Mr. James agreed. “But it'll change. Allow yourself to let in their emotional troubles. If it is Jake that's suffocating you, pull away for a moment to breathe. Put yourself in his place. If it helps, do what he'd do.”

Bart winced, and Mr. James had to wonder why the face. “Ew.”

“`Ew'?”

“I mean, yeah. Sure. I'll try.”

Mr. James nodded, watching him leave, a confused teen that was more vulnerable than he thought. He had to smirk, seeing a part of himself in Bart.

0o0o0o0

Gone glared at his dinner that night, still upset and frustrated over what had transpired. Every time he thought of it, the pain would return, and he'd feel that automatic response to touch himself to make sure that everything was still where it should be.

With Go's return, their household had turned into a loud mess of chaos—the champion fighter had returned without his girlfriend, Susie Jones, who had made a sudden trip to the East Coast on some business or another. His entourage of bodyguards, Jason DeGarmo, and his publicist had made themselves comfortable throughout the house. The lights were on in every room, the den and living room were loud with blaring holosets, and Go himself was regaling tales of his turn in the ring.

In the meantime, pizza had been delivered, Drake and Chase had shown up to help them devour it, and the Darun house was filled with so much noise and chaos that Gone couldn't concentrate on his homework. Hiding away in his room, a pizza slice sitting next to his school books, he glared at the plate, burning with his emotions.

After the incident, Jake had helped him to class, furious and quietly so. It was when Jake was at his quietest that Gone felt anxiety. So used to him being so carefree and braindead, Gone was uncomfortable with the silence that permeated the other teen. It was really the only time Gone kept his words and emotions in check, too hesitant to push the other. This unnatural shot of fear added to his current predicament, roiling in such a way that Gone didn't know what to do with it.

Before he could think anything more, his door opened, Chase walking in with a loud hail that was entirely unnecessary. Gone had to put away his emotions, securing them someplace deep inside of him in order to interact with the other teen.

Flopping onto his bed, Chase finished off his last pizza slice. In his overlarge sweater pocket, he pulled out a can of soda. It looked as if his close-cropped black hair had been trimmed, hair shavings visible on his hairline.

“So, dude—why'd you get all Hannibal on J this morning?” Chase asked, belching loudly. “I told my D that you did that, an' he was like, Whoa! Little dude, chill! Y'know how D gets, all emotional and shit, but he ain't hating. He's all wondering what the hell, too. J teasing you about something?”

“Tweedy was over here, last night,” Gone said. “We were studying. But he and Bart wouldn't leave him alone!”

“About that,” Chase sat up, crawling over to him, hanging one lanky arm around his shoulders. “He didn't, like…say anything, did he?”

“No,” Gone replied, brow furrowing. “No, all we did was study. Truthfully, he's helping me with it as well.”

“Why's he all talkin' to you?”

“Well…we've always talked. A little in class. But lately he's been talking to me more. I'm a little surprised that he has,” Gone admitted.

“Baseball season's comin' up,” Chase said, narrowing his eyes. “He ain't, like, just taking answers from you, is he?”

When he finally moved away, Gone felt it easier to breathe. Chase had tightened his grip during his questioning, an unconscious move to show how tense he felt about the situation. “No. I thought that it was about that, too, but usually when people hit me up for answers, they're direct. Tweedy works through the problems in almost the same way that I do. We figure things out together. I don't feel like he's using me.”

“He talk to you different?”

“Well, we…just…talk. He wants to hang out a little more. Non school-related things, though. We might do something sometime,” Gone admitted shyly.

“NO!” Chase nearly bellowed, making him jerk. “Y'know, I need to be up front with you, G. I don't trust that guy a bit. Not ONE bit!”

“Why?”

“The thing is, he's a homo. Tweedy's a fuckin' homo,” Chase stressed, working himself up into another fit. Gone gave him a skeptical look, setting his pizza aside to twist in his chair.

“He is not. Anybody without a girlfriend is a homo to you.”

“He IS, G! He IS and he's trying to LURE you IN to him!”

Gone gave a laugh. “He is not!”

“You don't even know! You don't even know, and, look, I got proof. You know his friend, Anthony, right? You talk to Anthony?”

“Well, no—”

“Anthony said he's homo. Seriously. Tweedy's all `mo! And you listen to me, G, you listen to me. Tweedy's snaking you out because people say YOU'RE `mo. And you ain't, but he's picking on you like all the other kids do because he knows you won't say shit. So if Tweedy starts making the moves on you, you let me know. YOU LET ME KNOW.”

Gone laughed again. “That's not proof! Why would Anthony dog his own friend?”

“Anthony's his total wingman. He told McAllister that one day that he thought Tweedy was homo because Tweedy was talking about how good some guy looked from Selene. Seriously.”

“That's not actual proof! That's hearsay! It's hearsay like…” Gone trailed off, unable to draw any clear examples. Mainly because anything anybody said about him was true. He frowned.

“You stay away from that predator. Make sure your D's here when he's here. Go can smell a homo coming in from a mile away!”

“I can smell what?” Go asked, popping in unexpectedly. It was almost as if he'd been listening into the conversation from the stairway, and Gone gave his adoptive father an exasperated look.

“Gone made a homo friend—”

“He's not!” Gone denied.

“—and I'm just trying to watch his ass. I mean, not, like directly, just, y'know, like a friend!”

Go gave Gone a concerned look, crossing his thinly muscled arms over his chest. “Gone, who is this friend?”

“None of your business!” Gone snapped at him. “Go away!”

“His name's Winston Tweedy. He's fuckin' `mo, big G. He's all on Gone because he thinks G's like him.”

“Gone's not homosexual,” Go said with a wave of his hand, annoyed by the thought. “Has this guy…touched…you in some way?”

“NO!”

“If that happens, you tell me, G,” Chase said, thumping on his chest. “No way's that happening to a friend of mine! Matter of fact is, if he comes here again, you call me! Don't be tryin' to hide it from me, either, G. I'll ask J. No, I'll ask B. B ain't gonna lie for anybody!”

“Tweedy? Is he in your class?” Go demanded, looking rather disturbed. “Gone, dammit, I told you you need to be careful in how you present yourself to these people. He probably thinks that because you're wearing those old clothes!”

“How does wearing old clothes present myself as a homo?!” Gone cried, exasperated by the reasoning.

Go was at his side in one long stride, picking up his plate with a frazzled expression. He waved it about. “And I told you to stop picking at your food! I sent that very same thing up here over an hour ago, and you haven't ate it yet?! How are you going to grow?”

“I'm growing FINE!” Gone snapped, Chase hurrying over to fetch the pizza slice before Go could put it down.

“You continue to laze about, doing nothing but paying attention to your looks, doing nothing but holing yourself up in this room when there are plenty of things to be doing outside, with the boys, and you're going to attract the wrong sort of attention!” Go exclaimed. “Look at your hair! Why can't you just act like Jake and Chase and be careless with your appearance?”

“I spend only twenty minutes, max, on myself every day,” Chase said solemnly. “And that's only cuz my natural beauty don't need much.”

“Shut up. Both of you. GET OUT!” Gone threw the plate at them, but Go caught it easily.

“Tell your D, G, what you did to J today,” Chase then said, excited as he leapt onto Gone's bed.

“What'd you do?” Go asked, bending down to ruffle at Gone's hair, Gone batting at him instantly. “Just let me have it cut—this is ridiculous, look how much hair you have—! I hope you're not thinking of letting it grow out, that's how they wear their hair nowadays, growing their hair out like girls to get some man—!”

“Will you stop?!”

“G bit him! Ask him why, Go!”

“Why'd you bite Jake?” Go asked, horrified. “Why are you biting? Only girls bite people!”

Growling, Gone turned his back to them, glaring at his school books. Go turned his chair around so that he was facing them again, one thin, pale hand grabbing a hold of his chin. “You do NOT bite people,” Go insisted, holding tight as Gone tried to pull away. “If you want to force physical violence onto someone, you hit. You kick. You headbutt. You do NOT bite people! Is Jake okay? He didn't need stitches, did he?”

“Nah. But, Go, seriously, J must've said something to G. G was all pissed. But then again, I think J had it all right! He was just watching out for him! Tweedy was here last night, and—!”

“He was here in MY house?!” Go nearly screeched, straightening to give Chase a stunned look. He then bellowed for Mitchell and Tom, both of whom were there within seconds. As well as Jason, a frown creasing his weathered face as he took in Gone's murderous expression. “Tell me about the kid that was here last night.”

“He was a good kid,” Mitchell said. “Just did his homework, cleaned up after himself, and left at a decent hour. Wouldn't say nothin' bad about him.”

“Yeah. Good set of morals, good parents, has a kid sister in middle school that's currently MVP in softball,” Tom added. “Is a good kid. Not as…excitable as others.”

“Hey, you watch it.” Chase tried to kick him, but Tom deflected the foot, twisting it around so that Chase flopped off the bed and hit the floor with a squawk.

“Did he seem gay?” Go asked, looking worried.

“No,” both men chimed.

“Nah. Dressed decently. Looked like a normal kid that paid attention to himself. Nothing out of the ordinary. Would miss him if I saw him again, though.”

“He wasn't making any moves on Gone, was he?”

“No—”

“At one point,” Mitchell cut in, “it looked as if he were sitting too close. He even found an excuse to touch him. Brushing off some lint from his shoulder. I thought I was going to have to intervene.”

“For fuck's sake!” Gone exclaimed, twisting his chair around and gathering his school things together.

Go twisted him around again, giving him a stern look. “You keep that kid away from you. Don't let him touch you. It's going to be some shit excuse about lint now, but then he's going to be touching you even more. And if I find out that he's been touching some other guy on the side, there's no way in Hell I'm letting him around you. Is this clear?”

“You can't tell me what to do, or who I can hang out with!”

“I am your father! I have the last say in everything!”

“You are some father! You're never here—!”

“Get on out of here,” Jason interrupted, shooing away the bodyguards and Chase, the latter protesting as he tried to stay put. Jason shoved him out, gesturing for the `guards to take him, and then turned to Go. “He is trying to study. Let him be.”

“Now, Jason, I've always stepped aside when you try to—”

“Get on out! You're nosing your nose into his business, where it isn't welcome. You are being unfair. You have not met this kid, yet, you can't trust the mouths of others! You meet him first, before you decide on this foolishness!” Jason snapped at him.

Go frowned at him, but acquiesced. “Fine. Fine, Gone, you invite him over tomorrow. But I'm warning you, now, if he even tries to breathe gay on you—”

“OUT!”

Go protested as his trainer shoved him out of Gone's room, the teen glaring daggers after him. Jason turned to him, shaking his head so sternly that his green hair flopped about. He went about Gone's room, pulling out his travel bag. “Get your things. Go is all excited, and will only cause trouble. I've called ahead—you may spend the night with the James. Mr. James will wait for you.”

“You don't have to do that! He'll leave me alone once—”

“He has nothing better to do, for the moment, than to work himself into some fit over something or another. He'll continue to pester you about this kid. I'd prefer you to spend the night elsewhere. It is Friday. It is okay.”

Gone sighed, but as Jason packed a few things into his travel case, he had to feel grateful for the older man. For as long as he could remember, Jason had always been the one to interfere whenever Go felt the need to preach. Gone wouldn't know what to do without him. He reluctantly packed his school things into his backpack, hearing Drake bellow downstairs, Go chiming in moments later. Soon all the men were cheering for something.

“Thanks, Jason,” Gone said quietly, reaching out to tug on the man's sleeve. “And Tweedy's just…maybe he's just something different. I think branching out to do something different will…help.”

“That it will,” Jason assured him, zipping up the bag. “Pack some toiletries. I'll take you over.”