“I’m not apologizing to that little faggot because you didn’t really win,” the brooding boy said. Drew was a head taller than Eric and twenty pounds heavier, but the sophomore didn’t draw back.
“That’s your decision,” he said.
“It’s true,” Drew yowled. “The sun shined in my eyes.”
Eric noticed Christie on the other side of the court looking at him with a worried expression on her face. It was in that moment that his sleepless nights crystallized into knowledge. He could see that she was worried about him, not Drew. His heart began to race, and Eric took a deep breath to slow it down.
“The dog ate my homework,” Eric said, mimicking Drew’s whining. “My hand slipped. I didn’t do anything.”
The quiver of the senior’s lower lip warned Eric. He was already ducking down when Drew threw the first punch. Missing completely, the senior stumbled. Eric’s blow connected with Drew’s chest. Then Drew hit Eric on top of the head.
Eric heard the finger snap and the cry of pain from the upper-classman. Then they fell into each other’s arms, wrestling and punching.
A sudden fear entered Eric’s mind. He didn’t want to be fighting. It wasn’t that he was afraid of being hurt but of the harm that might come from their fight. A moment later, Mr.
Lo, the gym teacher, was pulling them apart. Drew clutched his broken finger. Christie was looking directly at Eric.
S h e cal le d h i s house at four.
“Do you want to get together?” she asked.
“What about your boyfriend?”
“I’m still going to marry him.”
They made love in Branwyn’s old room, which had been left 1 0 9
Wa l t e r M o s l e y
untouched since her death. Ahn was always away on Friday evenings, and Minas got home later every year. So they were alone from five that afternoon until late. Eric kissed Christie everywhere. She complimented his physique and his loving nature.
“No man has ever made me feel like this,” she said.
She confessed that she’d flirted with Mr. Mantel, the fired English teacher. Eric told her that Mantel was a grown man and should have known better than to proposition a student.
“How do you know so much?” she asked him.
“I don’t know a thing compared to you,” the fourteen-year-old said.
Christie put her hands over her breasts and said, “I’m still marrying Drew.”
“Can I still see you?”
“I don’t know,” she said, and he kissed her covering hands.
She uncovered one nipple.
“You can’t tell anybody about us,” she said.
“That’s easy. I don’t know anybody.”
“You’re crazy. The whole class carried you off on their shoulders.”
Eric took the free hand and placed it on his erection. They both shuddered.
“Every time you call me I’m here,” he said. “I don’t talk to anybody but Limon, and nobody talks to him either.”
“But why don’t you have friends?” she asked. “You’re really handsome and friendly and smart.”
“I don’t know why,” he lied. “But I’m happy now because I never knew I could feel like this.”
At nine they went to dinner down in Santa Monica.
Over roasted chicken and lasagna, Christie told Eric that Drew had broken his finger and that the school suspended him for picking a fight with a sophomore.
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“They said that he’d be expelled unless he apologized to you.”
“Really? What did he say?”
“That he wouldn’t.”
“That’s stupid. He’ll lose his place in all those schools if he doesn’t.”
“His father won’t let him leave the house until he does.”
“That’s why you can be here with me?”
For some reason this embarrassed Christie. She ducked her head.
“You should call Drew and tell him that you talked to me and I said that he could tell the school that he apologized. If they ask me I’ll tell them he did.”
“You’d do that?”
