Part Four
The Camdens, strangely, were actually happy about the tutoring arrangement. Apparently his little confession on the night of the party was all they needed to convince themselves that Morris was a nice guy. If only they knew, Morris thought.
The tutoring itself was all business. Simon said nothing more about being friends or about Morris helping him to become more popular. He hardly said anything except about Econ. Morris actually missed the old Simon and all his stupid, geeky remarks. It did make it easier to concentrate on Econ, though. And despite the tense situation, the tutoring was working. Morris's grades had gone back to their usual mediocre level – nothing to brag about, but good enough to keep him on the baseball team.
Both sets of parents were thrilled. In fact, after Simon and Morris's third tutoring session, during which they'd caught Ruthie outside the door eavesdropping and Lucy had interrupted twice to ask Simon for "important advice" about her former boyfriend, the Camdens suggested Simon go over to Morris's house from now on, even though he was technically still on restriction. There were too many distractions at the Camden house, they explained, with all the people yelling and running in and out. Morris, unable to see any way out of it, agreed miserably. Simon said nothing.
So the next week, Morris and Simon were alone in Morris's room all afternoon. Unlike the Camdens', Morris's house was deadly silent, but that seemed to make it more difficult to concentrate instead of less. Morris could hardly think about Econ with all the other thoughts that were crowding around in his head. He was hyperconscious of Simon across the room, sitting at Morris's desk, explaining some long-winded concept. Every time Simon moved, Morris nearly jumped.
Does he remember what happened? Morris wondered. Simon had never given any indication that he did. But he had changed; he was uncomfortable and guarded whenever Morris was around. It was worse, in a way, than if Simon had been blabbing on about the Jeep incident in his usual way. At least then Morris would have known where he stood. As it was, all he could do was wonder. He kept sneaking glances over his book at Simon, trying yet again to figure out why he was so fascinated by the kid – just a regular skinny kid with blond hair, nothing special really. So why was he constantly thinking about him? And did Simon realize it?
Dropping his pencil with a sigh, Simon stood up and stretched, his back to Morris. "You're not listening, are you?"
"No," Morris admitted.
"You have to," Simon said. "We're both on the line now. If you don't pass, I'll get in as much trouble as you will." He stared out the window, where the setting sun was turning the sky bright orange. "Did you hear that I went out with Sasha?" he asked suddenly.
Well, that was news. Sasha was one of the biggest sluts in the senior class; what the hell would she want with Simon Camden? "No," Morris said, deliberately keeping his voice calm, as if he was just asking out of idle curiosity. "So how'd it go? Did you do her?"
"No."
"No? Why not? Everybody else at school has." Despite his efforts, Morris couldn't keep the nastiness out of his voice. Jesus, he thought, what is wrong with me? Why should I care?
"I didn't want to."
"Yeah, sure. You were dissed!" Stop it, Morris begged himself. Just shut up.
"No, I really didn't want to. I don't really like her anyway."
Morris pondered that for a while. Had the kids been trying to get something on Virgin Camden so they could use it against him? Mike and Tom were just mean enough to try something like that. Bastards. But then why would Sasha go along with it? Calm down, Morris instructed himself. It doesn't mean anything. Maybe she just wanted to go out with a guy who wouldn't spend the whole time trying to get in her pants, for once.
"I'm not going out with her anymore," Simon said, and Morris thought he sensed a tiny emphasis in Simon's words. As if he was hinting around at something that he couldn't come right out and say.
No. Morris bent back over his Econ book and redoubled his efforts to concentrate on the graphs. It had to be his imagination working overtime. It had to be.
Silence settled over the room. Morris read until he realized that he was being blinded by the ray of orange light from the window shining directly in his eyes. He looked up. Simon was still standing at the desk just in front of the window, daydreaming, not noticing the bright sun.
"Dude, close the blinds, that light is right in my face," Morris ordered crossly.
Simon acted as though he hadn't heard him. Morris squinted at his book for a few more seconds, then said, "Hey, didn't you hear me? I said close the blinds, man." He dragged himself up off the floor and went over to the window himself.
Simon was silhouetted in front of the west-facing window, staring into the orange glare. Morris reached out to close the Venetian blinds and, strangely, Simon didn't make any move to get out of his way. He just stood there, forcing Morris to reach around him to get the blind cord. At first, Morris was a little annoyed and flustered at the enforced proximity, until it occurred to him that maybe it was on purpose. Maybe Simon had come up with a way for the two of them to get closer without either one having to make a move.
The thought filled Morris with a rush of excitement and terror. Before he could think about it too much, he dropped the cord and slowly lowered his arm until it was resting around Simon's shoulder. He still couldn't see Simon's face, so he couldn't tell how Simon was reacting, but he wasn't trying to get away. Morris began stroking Simon's shoulder gently through his shirt. There was still no reaction, so he dared to slide his hand up to the back of Simon's neck. It felt warm and soft, marred by the stiff brushes of hair where the barber had razored his hairline.
Simon exhaled and Morris heard his breath catch raggedly in his throat. He wondered if the younger boy was scared, and that thought ratcheted his own terror to an even higher level. He had to stop this now. But now that he'd begun, he found that he couldn't stop. His hand ran through Simon's blond hair as he stepped closer to him, pressing his chest to Simon's back and sighing at the feel of it. His other arm twined around Simon's shoulder and began stroking the other boy's chest.
Simon still did not react, other than with his breathing. His hands stayed at his side and he continued to face the window. Though most of Morris's senses were awash in the feeling of having Simon in his arms, a part of him held back, still wanting to know what the other boy was thinking. He knew that Simon's reaction could ruin everything, but he had to know.
He grasped Simon's shoulders and turned him around. The two boys stared at each other for several seconds, neither one daring to speak. Then Simon smiled, and Morris felt joy surging through him as he watched the sweet smile spread across his friend's face. He closed his eyes and brought his mouth down to Simon's and they were kissing at last, and he was surprised to feel Simon's lips parting under his and Simon's tongue tentatively entering his mouth. He felt the tip of his own tongue touch Simon's and gasped as a shiver ran through his body.
They stood like that for a long time, mouths exploring, holding onto each other. Then he felt Simon pulling back. They moved apart. Simon looked at him from under his dark brows, his eyes worried. "I don't know what to do," he confessed softly, his cheeks pink with embarrassment.
"I'm not really sure either," Morris whispered, trying to sound reassuring even though he was finding it hard to breathe normally.
"So what do we do?"
"Just go with what comes naturally, I guess."
"Oh." Simon's blue eyes met his. "Well, then, I want to keep kissing some more. Can we do that?"
"For now," Morris said, smiling, and he pressed his lips to Simon's again. He lost himself in their kisses, the feeling of Simon's tongue inside his mouth, and when they stopped for air again he found that he was pressing himself along the length of his friend's body. God, it felt so good. Simon's body was all hard surfaces, angles and thin wiry muscles – completely different from any girl that Morris had ever been with. His bones seemed sharp under the skin, and his shoulders were broad but rangy, as if they had grown but had not quite managed to fill in yet. Morris couldn't believe how much he wanted to touch him. Every part of him.
He pressed his face into the niche under Simon's jawline and slid his tongue down the side of Simon's neck. Simon gasped. The sound of the kid responding to him drove Morris crazy. He began to frantically kiss his way down Simon's neck, listening as his breathing became shorter and louder, tasting the salty sweat on his friend's skin.
Then suddenly Simon was struggling, pushing him away violently, and Morris jumped back a few steps. Simon stood against the dresser, not looking at him or at anything else really, just glaring down at his lap. Morris knew what Simon was glaring at; he'd felt it against his thigh a minute before. Now he tried desperately to calm himself down and as his excitement left him, fear rushed in to replace it. Oh God, what had he done? What was Simon thinking? He might tell his parents; he might tell the whole school. He might claim that Morris tried to attack him. His fear escalated to near panic as he sat there trying not to look at Simon.
Finally Simon said, "I think I better go."
Morris felt unable to move. He watched as Simon got up and gathered his books, torn between wishing for Simon to go and longing for him to stay. Just as his hand reached out to open the door, Simon paused. Morris turned away, not wanting to face whatever was coming next – anger, resentment, accusations . . .
From behind him, Simon said in a soft, unhappy voice, "You won't tell anybody?"
Morris looked over his shoulder and saw the same quiet panic that he was feeling written all over Simon's face. He looked so scared and vulnerable that Morris instantly forgot his fear and wanted only to comfort him. He actually smiled, a shaky imitation of the old, confident Morris smile. "No worries," he said, "I won't say a word."
Simon smiled wanly back at him, opened his door and walked out.
Both his passion and his worries came back to Morris that night when he lay awake in his bed. He tried to think about how wrong the whole thing was, how he was as straight as a guy could be (and there were plenty of girls who could testify to that), and the terrible things that would happen if word got around at school of what they had done. After he had convinced himself that it was all a strange fluke that could never be permitted to happen again, he was almost asleep when suddenly the memory of that moment when he felt Simon's lips parting under his filled him with feelings so intense that he groaned aloud. This was crazy, he thought, rolling over and putting his pillow over his head. What the hell was happening to him?
The next day in econ class, neither Morris nor Simon spoke or even looked at each other. Morris was so uncomfortably aware of the younger boy's presence in the row across that he wanted to run screaming from the room. Finally, as the bell rang and the kids around them packed up their books and banged their chairs, Morris heard what he had been both longing and dreading to hear.
"You want me to come over this afternoon?" Simon whispered so softly that he could barely be heard above the din in the classroom.
And despite all of his fears, Morris heard himself answer, "Yes."
