The Fighting Badgers
Tommy gasped slightly as his back hit the wet tile wall of the shower, his best friend of so many years giving him that look.
He thought of it as "that look" by now because it was, strangely enough, not really a new phenomenon. It was a kind of soul-searching, lick-your-lips, I Know Something You Don't Know Tommy sort of look, and it unnerved Tommy until he made his own face, the one he made when he was really weirded out about something.
And Mitchell might chuckle and loom over him in that way he was so very capable of doing, and then he'd usually just walk away, leaving Tommy to swallow hard and shake it off.
He might brush a fingertip over Tommy's jaw or, now that he was wet and shirtless, his sternum. Quick, gentle, light. Too quick and gentle for Tommy to comprehend it before he'd moved on.
It felt like the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Mitchell was working late, so it was just Tommy, Brandon, and Brock. Brandon's mom had brought in some cookies and Brock slipped off to the bathroom—the one on the ground floor, because the one next to Brandon's room wasn't working right.
"What is it, Dawkins?" Brandon asked. Tommy had been a little jumpy all evening.
"Does...does Mitchell ever get too...close?"
"What does that even mean?"
"You know, does he get so close it's uncomfortable?"
"What is he doing?"
Tommy swallowed and took a look at the door, which was still cracked open a bit from when Brock had left. He pulled Brandon to his feet. "Okay, um, go stand against the wall," he said. He shut the door, locking it with a soft click.
Brandon stood against the wall. Tommy slowly stepped closer, carefully, looming in that powerful way Mitchell had turned into an art form. He brushed a fingertip along Brandon's jaw, over the part of his cloth-covered chest. He shrugged, his hands going back down to his sides.
"Mitchell did that?" Brandon asked, a little surprised.
"Yeah. Even...last practice, in the showers. What do I do? Am I...am I gay now?"
"Tommy, I know you're not the brightest, but, please, don't be an idiot." Brandon slid out from between Tommy and the wall, unlocking the door again. He sat back down on the bed, patting the spot next to him. "There's not actually anything wrong with liking guys, you know, and there's nothing wrong with being liked by one. You can't control that."
"But Coach says—"
"Tommy, they hired Coach to talk football, not to tell us what's right and wrong."
Tommy seemed to relax a little. He went over to the desk for another warm cookie, licking the crumbs from his hand when he was finished. "So...do you think he's hitting on me?"
"I think the important question is, how would you feel about it if he was?"
"Look, even if Mitchell was a girl, I wouldn't date him. He's kind of mean."
"Yeah, he is. Well, so you have your answer then. If Mitchell wants to talk about what's going on, you know what to tell him."
"I can't like Mitchell."
"Why not?"
"Because he's a guy, Brandon."
"He can be a jerk, yeah, but I think he's pretty cool."
"Wait...you don't like guys, do you?"
The door opened and Brock slowly stepped inside. "Is this a bad time?"
"No, man, it's cool," Brandon said after a moment. "Yeah, Tommy, I like guys."
"No way. I had no idea!"
"I could have guessed," Brock said with a grin.
Tommy swallowed. "So, have you ever—"
"Not even a kiss," Brandon said.
"Would you kiss Mitchell?" Brock made a kissy face.
"You were listening in!" Brandon accused, tossing his spiral notebook at him. Brock bent to pick it up, flipping through the pages.
"Notes...more notes...dang." He tossed the notebook back, sitting on the chair next to the bed. "I was hoping I'd find his name written, over and over and over."
"I guess I like him a little, yeah. But he wants Tommy, so. Everyone wants Tommy," he said with a small smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"That's not true."
"It's kind of true, man," Brock said, giving Brandon a pat on the shoulder.
"Well, don't blame me. It's my pouty lips," Tommy said totally seriously, looking a little flustered.
Brandon and Brock burst into laughter, causing Tommy to laugh too after a little bit.
Tommy felt pressure against his shoulder again, pushing him toward the wall face-first. He put his hands out to prevent any impact. "Mitchell," he said, shivering when lips pressed against the back of his neck. "Mitchell, don't." He turned, looking at Mitchell, who was giving him that look again.
"Shh," Mitchell said, going in for a kiss.
Tommy's hand covered Mitchell's mouth gently, pushing him away. "I'm not gay."
"How do you know?"
"Well, how do you know you are?" Tommy backed up a little, frowning when Mitchell followed him to the slippery white wall.
"Good point," Mitchell conceded.
"I want to talk to you about Brandon."
"Brandon?" Mitchell turned the water off, looking around to make sure no one was listening in. Coach Parker wouldn't come in anytime soon. He thought it was 'a little gay' to check up on them like that.
"Yeah. Brandon's gay. Brandon kind of likes you."
"Brandon's gay? Whoa."
"Just...you know, just think about it. Maybe it could work out or something. You know?"
"Yeah. Yeah, right. Thanks, Tommy."
"I could go get him," Tommy suggested. "He's probably still around."
"Yeah, he showers off quick, but he's probably out in the hall. I'll talk to him."
Coach Parker gave Brandon a weird look when Mitchell got a concussion and he spent a little time after the game sitting by his side, comforting him gently. Tommy successfully, if awkwardly, diverted the coach's attention from the two.
Brandon got to help Mitchell get cleaned up. Tommy peeked in at them. He knew Brandon saw him, but they weren't doing anything wrong, so it didn't matter.
After a particularly close victory, the ever-impulsive Mitchell kissed Brandon on the cheek. The coach asked to see them in his office. Brock swallowed hard, finding Tommy, the two of them following and eavesdropping.
"What do I see two boys of mine doing out there today? Kissing. High-fiving is fine, hugging is great, and you can even pat each other on the butt, like men. But kissing. Can you explain this to me, you two? Because I'm not getting it."
"What do you want us to explain?"
"Yeah, I mean...we're in love, Coach."
There was a long silence, in which Tommy looked at Brock, and Brock looked at Tommy, and they held their breaths for the response.
"I guess I'll need to call your parents."
"No. No, don't. I'm...I'm not 'in love' with a guy—that's stupid! Ew, Brandon!"
"Yeah...um...I meant he's like a brother to me," Brandon said. Tommy could hear how crushed he was at Mitchell's words, and he felt his heart twist. Brandon's parents knew. His mother even called Mitchell baby, and sometimes she'd give him a little kiss on his cheek, just like Mitchell had done for Brandon.
Brock had his hand on the doorknob, but Tommy stopped him, shaking his head. They could only make it worse. Coach could be a stubborn guy sometimes. Tommy didn't even know for sure that Coach was doing the wrong thing.
Tommy and Brock fled as Coach Parker told Brandon to leave.
Tommy drove Brock and Brandon home in the jeep, but he took them to the Factory first. He bought Brandon a milkshake, watching in silence as he sipped it. "Do you think maybe he meant what he said?"
"No," Brock said firmly. "The way he let you take care of him after the game against Lumberton? He didn't even let Sandra do that."
"That's true," the dejected-looking boy admitted. He swirled his straw around in the shake a little bit before taking another sip. "What do you think, Tommy?"
"I really don't know. I don't know what to think about any of it."
Brandon patted Tommy on the arm in an understanding way. Brandon was always so understanding.
Mitchell's eyes were red and haunted as he took his seat next to Brandon next to the bike rack out front, kneeling in front of him. He looked around slowly to make sure they were alone.
"So what's the verdict, Mitch?"
"I can't hang out with you anymore." His voice started to catch, so he sighed, biting at his lip like he was five again. Brandon's fingertips danced nervously over his shoulder before he wrapped him in a hug. Mitchell responded by slumping forward into the embrace. They didn't move from those positions, not looking up when people passed, when bicycles were placed in the rack. When the bell rang, Mitchell gripped Brandon a little more tightly.
"I never meant that, you know. I love you too and everything."
"I thought so. It feels good to hear you say it, though."
"I'm going to miss your mom. And your dad."
Brandon gently pushed him into a seated position. "You can talk to your parents. They could change their mind."
He shook his head. "They'll only be happy if I changemy mind. They want to send me to this camp place. You know, to 'pray the gay away'."
"Man. I guess they just don't get that God made you this way."
"I don't believe in God, man. You know that."
"Well, I'm sure this praying away the gay thing's not going to help with that."
"Nope, probably not."
Some more silence. "You know, we should probably get to class."
"Let's skip first hour."
Brandon nodded. He wasn't really ready to go inside either. "Well, it's too bad it's all over between us now. Can I ask you a question?"
"Shoot." He wiped at the corner of his eye, which had blurred a little with moisture.
"Do you think I'm attractive?"
"I've made out with you like...ten times."
"Yeah, but you don't like me like you like Tommy. You don't want me like that. Is it...is it because I'm black?"
Mitchell's eyes widened. "No," he said fiercely. "No way in hell am I racist. We've been friends for forever!"
"Interracial relationships can be tricky, especially in a small town," Brandon said softly. "I wouldn't be mad at you or anything. Well, not too mad."
"No. No, I don't feel about Dawkins like I feel about you, but that's because I don't care if I'm good enough for him. I don't care if he would have liked it. I don't care what his middle name is or how good his mom's pumpkin pie is—which, your mom's is really great."
"I'll tell her you think so." He played with Mitchell's dark hair.
"Well...so, I'll get de-gayified, and you can just, you know, find someone else."
"First of all, God can do anything, yeah, but it has to be something he wants to do. He wants you to be loved, and he doesn't care how. So, that's already taken care of. So, no, you're not getting 'de-gayified'. Second, I'm not finding anyone else, Mitchell. I liked you since before I found out you were hitting on Tommy."
"Maybe we'll, you know, run away together," Mitchell suggested quietly. "When this is all over with."
Brandon coaxed Mitchell's head to rest on his shoulder, playing with his hair some more. "Sure. Whatever it takes."
Mitchell felt his eyes close as he relaxed.
"I hear the suicide rate can be high if you have to go through something like that, so...don't kill yourself."
"I'm too dumb to kill myself," Mitchell teased.
Brandon kissed the top of his head.