The Real Story
Part I
The tires on the Jeep squealed as Morris pulled into his garage. Killing the engine, he hopped out and headed toward the back stairs of the house, which led directly to his bedroom. He'd always been glad that the house was set up so that he could come and go without his parents knowing, but never more than tonight. He didn't want to think about what they might see in his face if he had to talk to them now.
Letting himself in the back door, he threw himself onto his bed without even bothering to turn on the light. He lay on his back, his hands behind his head, staring up at where he knew the ceiling would be, even if he couldn't see it. His face contorted as the memory of what had just happened played over and over in his head.
Morris couldn't believe he'd gotten himself into this situation.
It had all started months ago, when Morris walked into his Microeconomics class and saw Simon Camden sitting in one of the front desks. Micro and its spring semester follow-up, Macro, were senior electives, and the seniors regarded them as a place to relax and enjoy themselves in their last few months before graduation. Not that they were easy A's, but the teacher was cool about excusing kids for senior obligations and keeping the material light towards the end of the year. Having a whole class full of seniors meant that there was no danger of some studious type breaking from the pack.
But now, who had turned up in Micro but Simon Camden. A sophomore. And a preacher's kid on top of it.
Morris had already run into Simon in his accounting class last year and he knew that Simon was studious and somewhat of a goody-goody. How on earth had Simon managed to get into Micro?
"I just signed up for it," Simon told him when he asked as they were leaving after the first day of class. "I had all the prerequisites and nobody said that I couldn't sign up, so I did." He grinned.
Only Simon, Morris reflected, would look so damn pleased about a math class.
"Just don't be a pain in the ass about things," Morris warned him, having decided to give him a little friendly advice. "All the other kids in the class are seniors, and they've got more important things to do than worry about you demanding extra credit and blowing the curve."
Simon actually looked concerned. "Oh, I wouldn't do that!" he reassured Morris. "I'm not a nerd or anything!"
Morris couldn't help himself. He snorted with laughter, watching as Simon turned bright pink with embarrassment. The look on the younger boy's face was so humiliated, though, that Morris felt a strange pang of affectionate pity for him. He choked back the rest of his laughter and said, "Yeah, just watch your step, Camden." But he didn't really try to make it sound mean. Then he headed off to his senior English seminar.
Morris could never figure out why he ever allowed Simon to hang around him in the first place. Simon was a complete dork, no question about it. You could see it in the way he always said the stupidest, lamest things, without a hint of self-awareness or caution. Even when other kids laughed, Simon would get embarrassed, but it was like he couldn't stop himself. There he'd be, jumping in with another ridiculous comment the very next chance he got. Morris had no idea why he found this quality tolerable in Simon Camden. He'd tormented kids in middle school for much less, and he certainly hadn't felt any affection for any of them. For some reason, Simon was different.
Morris had always been concerned with how he appeared to others. He was a popular kid, good-looking and athletic and friendly to most of the kids at school, but not the kind of person who had friends like Simon. He told his other friends that Simon helped him out with his Micro homework and got him to pass all the tests, and that was certainly true. He was maintaining a solid B-plus average in the class, and most of that was thanks to Simon letting him copy his homework and helping him study. He hadn't let himself realize that there might be more to it until that night.
The whole evening had been weird. As he drove his Jeep to the Camden house, Morris had wondered for the thousandth time why he was even going to this lame-ass party. Simon had been desperate to go, and Morris had warned him not to; he knew it wasn't Simon's scene at all and the other kids would freak out when they saw him there. Simon had insisted, spouting a lot of his usual geeky bullshit about how he wanted to change his image or something. Whatever, Morris thought. Then Simon had called and informed him that his mother had insisted he could only go to the party if Morris showed up at the house and picked him up. Normally, Morris would never have put up with that kind of crap. Then why had he actually gone through with it? Just turn around, he kept telling himself as he drove to Simon's house. Call him on your cell phone and tell him to fuck off. But for some reason, he kept going.
Then there was the scene at the house, complete with interrogation by the parents. If this was how the Camdens were every time their kids went anywhere, Morris thought, no wonder the whole family was socially retarded. He turned on the charm he always used to win over parents and finally got them out the door, but first he'd had to give them his word that he would keep an eye on their precious son. Simon looked so absurdly happy over the prospect of one stupid party that Morris wanted to laugh at him. After that glimpse of life at the Camdens', Morris had to admit to himself that Simon could probably use a little fun – but more like a field trip with the Future Businesspersons of America or something. Definitely not a senior party.
The party itself was just as Morris had predicted. Mike and his friends descended on Simon like predatory owls on a field mouse. By the time Morris had said hello to a few people and gotten a couple of sodas, Simon was in the backyard and well on his way to being plastered on Everclear punch. A bunch of kids were gathered around, laughing at him as he stumbled around and made endless, nonsensical attempts to answer Mike and Tom's stupid questions. Morris had to drag him out; and worse, he was aware all the time that the other kids were wondering why he was so anxious to get Simon out of there when they were having so much fun laughing at him. He'd have to settle that issue with his friends the next time he saw them.
As he drove back to the Camdens', listening to Simon babbling from the passenger seat, his thoughts kept coming back to that question. Why had he put himself through this bummer of an evening when it would have been so easy to just ditch Simon and forget him? He glanced over at the kid, who was feeling no pain, as they waited at red lights. What the hell made him do these things for this stupid kid?
Morris pulled up down the block from the Camden house. There was no way he was letting himself in for whatever punishment Simon's parents were about to dish out. Simon struggled with his seat belt for a few minutes, until Morris leaned across to help him. His arm brushed Simon's, and he realized suddenly that their faces were only inches apart. He could feel Simon's warm breath on his cheek and smell the odor of the sickly sweet punch on it.
He was close enough to kiss Simon.
Morris sprang back to the driver's seat. The seat belt had snapped open, but Simon wasn't making any move to get out, and he wasn't talking either. He was looking at Morris with an odd, puzzled expression on his face.
"You – uh, you sure you're okay?" Morris stammered.
"Fine!" Simon gurgled. Then he got out of the car and fell flat on the curb.
Normally, Morris knew he would have been laughing his ass off at that. Right now, though, nothing seemed very funny. He just wanted to get out of there.
Simon popped back up and began stumbling toward his house. Morris peeled out and took off.
He was still in shock, going over it in his head as he stared at his ceiling. The feeling that had come over him in the car when he leaned into Simon was overwhelming. He couldn't deny it – he'd wanted to kiss Simon. The sensation of their arms touching had been positively electric.
Of course, that wasn't possible. Morris was a football linebacker and a star first baseman. He had a roomful of trophies from all the sports he'd played over the years. He'd had plenty of girlfriends any time he wanted them. He was almost 18 and had never had these thoughts about any other male he'd ever met in his entire life.
How else could you explain it, though? All the time he'd spent with Simon. He'd defended the kid to his friends over and over again, even though he knew Simon was just as hopelessly dorky as his friends said. The way he found Simon's lame remarks amusing rather than irritating. His giving in to Simon's begging to go to the party. The only thing that made sense of it all was that he liked Simon. He wanted to be with Simon.
The thought scared him. It almost didn't seem as though it could be true, it was so opposite everything that he had ever thought about himself. But whenever he told himself that it was ridiculous, he was imagining things, he remembered the feeling that had overcome him in the Jeep. He was not imagining that. He was still slightly woozy from the power of it.
The whole situation was impossible, he realized. It wasn't just Morris himself. He was having these feelings for a kid, a fifteen-year-old kid, and the son of a minister. It was just wrong. Whatever it was, he had to put a stop to it. Avoid Simon as much as possible, and concentrate his attention on other things – that was the way to handle it.
After a few minutes, he got up and left his room. He was headed back to the Camdens' to confess that despite his promises, he'd let Simon get drunk and then just dropped him off at the corner and run away. He was certain that they'd blow their tops and probably call the police. But at any rate, they were sure to ground Simon and forbid him from hanging out with Morris ever again, and that seemed like the perfect solution to his problem. No matter how he felt about it.
