Rebel at Spruce High

The walk toward the gym reminds me of the walk I took with Coach Strong to his office, leaving me thinking about what he may have said to Hoyt. Did he pull him aside? Did he scold him in front of the team? Did he bench him for a game?

Who am I kidding?? That’s not at all what I’m thinking about right now. Hoyt Nowak just kissed me. On the mouth. My mouth. And there was no perceivable punchline in it at all. It wasn’t a dare he was fulfilling, or a loser’s bet he was subjected to. Hoyt wanted that kiss, and he wanted it badly. It was a hungry kiss. A desperate one. A fearful one. Is that what he’s thinking about right now as he waits for me in that bathroom stall, perched on the seat of that toilet like a bird trapped in a cage? Is he still wondering if I wear lip balm? Or why Vann likes me so much?

The locker room is mercifully empty, but I doubt that will be true much longer, since the bell is inches from ringing. Standing in front of locker 205, I have to do the combo seven times before getting it right. It’s cluttered with several items, including a Nike gym bag, several sweatbands, and another pair of sneakers. I find his pair of gym shorts—size medium, the size I wanted—folded up on the top shelf with his matching medium-sized gym shirt. I grab the shorts, since I see nothing else, then shut his locker just as I start to hear voices from the other end of the room where second period’s class is coming in to change out. I slip out the back door.

When I return to the restroom, I give his stall a knock. “I got your shorts,” I tell him through the door.

It swings open. Hoyt’s face scrunches up. “My gym shorts? Why didn’t you bring me my pants? I had a change of clothes in my gym bag.”

“You didn’t tell me to go fishing around in your gym bag.”

“I’m not wearing these to my third period. You crazy? You’ve gotta go back and get my pants from—”

“You can wear the gym shorts or nothing at all,” I cut him off. “I’m not your gofer.”

Hoyt squints at me, frustrated. Then the corner of his lips pull up. “Are you mad I kissed you or something? I told you I was just seeing what it’s like. It didn’t mean anything.”

“Okay. And how ‘bout you allow yourself a moment to think how this might look if you just went up to any random girl, forced a kiss on her lips, and told her you just wanted to know what it’s like. I’m not a sampling spoon at T&S’s Sweet Shoppe.”

Hoyt crosses his arms and leans against the stall door. “You wouldn’t be the samplin’ spoon. You’d be the ice cream flavor.” He snatches the gym shorts from my hand, then shuts the stall door in my face as he proceeds to change.

I stare at that door, which shows a warped, oblong reflection of my face, and wonder for half a second what flavor I am. “Hoyt,” I start to say, think the better of it, then resume anyway. “I know it might seem kind of … confusing. What you’re feeling right now. Wondering about guys kissing guys or whatever. Just know that you’ve got a lot of people you can talk to, and—”

The door swings back open, startling me. Hoyt, now wearing the pair of gym shorts, which don’t match at all with his polo shirt he’s got on today, smirks at me. “I said I wasn’t gay, didn’t I?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“But nothin’.” He brushes past me with his balled-up pants, heading for the door. “I’m going to the locker room myself to get my other pair of pants. Go to class, Toby.”

“It’s almost over.”

“Well, find out what I missed. This is all your fault, anyway.” He eyes me over his shoulder before opening the door. “Don’t tell anyone about this.”

“I think everyone already knows by now,” I point out. “People had their phones out.”

“I meant the kiss.” He absently licks his lips, then frowns at me. “Seriously, Toby. That’s between you and me and nobody else. You tell anybody, and—”

“And what?” I throw back at him, daring him to threaten me.

Hoyt averts his gaze, annoyed. Then he mumbles, “Just don’t,” as he shoves his way through the door. A moment later, the bell rings, and the hallway outside fills with the noise of moving bodies and chatter. I guess the story of Hoyt Nowak and his potential sexual awakening that I now inadvertently played a role in is a lost cause for now.

When I arrive to third period, I find Vann already in the class with his notebook out. Upon approaching, I discover he’s actually studying his notes from last week, gnawing on his lip. He looks up. “Did you realize we had a test today?” he asks, then snorts and shakes his head. “A test on a Monday. Only Mr. Schubert would do something as sadistic as that, huh? Hey, do you have your notes from chapter 12? I’m missing mine.”