American Gothic Passion Play
byline: Anubis C. Soundwave
1. A man isn't just what he shows of himself to the world.
Sam scowls at Dash, hurt, as she sits with him under the bleachers after football practice.
"It's getting late," says Dash, irritated. "You should probably call your parents or something."
"What?" balks Sam. "You're not going to try to walk me home?"
"You explained that visiting your home was a privilege you extend to your friends," says Dash, "and as I made it clear to you earlier today...no, years ago: I don't want to be your friend."
"Of course not," snorts Sam. "You have your precious appearances to keep up."
"Hardly," counters Dash. "It's because you and Fenton are fucking weird. Not in the 'goth' or 'loser' sense, either," he adds, pouting.
"There is method to your asshattery, then," says Sam.
Dash smirks at Sam. "I can't be your friend, Samantha," he sneers. "Maybe you can lust after your friends, but I can't do it."
Sam rolls her eyes. "I'm weird for being attracted to someone I like and share common interests with," she scoffs.
"I've tried!" spits Dash. "Do you know how often I've been shut down by Star and Paulina? And it makes perfect sense," he continues, "because it's fucking weird to want to date someone you've shared animal crackers with since kindergarten."
"We shared Fruit By the Foot together in kindergarten," says Sam.
"But we weren't friends," says Dash. "We were classmates."
Sam stares at Dash.
"I...I like you too much," fumes Dash. "I've known that since at least the fourth grade. And then...you know..." he continues, blushing. "We...we opened a door together that we can't just shut. I can't see you as a friend because I could be trying to hang with you and Fenton and Foley and Kwan-because he is my buddy-and I'll suddenly start bragging about how you crushed my cock in that wet, perfect vise between your thighs...and things get awkward."
"You could avoid that part," says Sam as she blushes.
"I'd be thinking it," says Dash. "Hell, even knowing I pissed you off today, I..." Dash trails off, staring into Sam's eyes.
"Dash," says Sam, confused, "I'm sure you were getting to a point, so if you'd just complete-*"
Dash pulls Sam into a kiss; still kissing, he gently lowers himself and Sam to the ground.
Sam breaks the kiss. "What are you doing?" she asks.
Dash strokes Sam's cheek. "The only thing that makes sense right now," he says. He resumes the kiss...
A few days later, Paulina approaches Danny, Sam, and Tucker's table at lunch: a worried expression on her face.
"She's coming here? Willingly?" asks Tucker in disbelief.
"Two years ago," says Danny sedately, "I would have cared."
Paulina narrows her eyes at Danny. "Fenton," she says icily, "something's wrong between Dash and Kwan, and from what little I could glean from my usual sources of gossip," continues Paulina, "it happened at your house, and you were there when it happened."
Danny blinks at Paulina. "So...?" he asks slowly.
"What happened!?" Paulina demands, folding her arms.
"If you really want to know," snorts Danny, "ask Dash or Kwan: they're your friends."
"They won't even yell at each other!" spits Paulina. "I have to get the truth from you."
"To be honest, Paulina: I...am trying to blot the truth out of my mind," says Danny. "I've almost succeeded. Why do you want to steal my slice of happiness?"
"If you're worried about Dash hurting you, don't," says Paulina, earnest. "If he even thinks about intimidating you, I'll rip off the big-headed gringo's cojones!" she seethes.
"Why go to such lengths?" asks Tucker, furtively guarding his crotch.
"The future of the A-List is at stake!" cries Paulina. "I'm the school queen, the center of attention; and those two meatheads are my twin pillars!"
Danny stares at Paulina, as does Sam, her mouth open in shock.
"They've been friends since daycare," Paulina continues. "Dash and Kwan drank milk and juice out of the same sippy cup. Popularity comes and goes, but a friendship like that isn't one to dismiss or throw away. Dash is the peanut butter to Kwan's jelly," she adds. "It's like eating fresh-cooked, perfectly-salted fries without dipping them in chocolate ice cream first."
Tucker sticks his tongue out in disgust.
"Don't knock it until you've tried it, Foley," Paulina says off-handedly. "Anyway," she continues to Danny, "I want the truth: now."
Danny shakes his head. "I won't tell you. There are still too many images that I want to un-see," he says, "and I will un-see them."
"Name your price, Fenton," says Paulina.
"Not even if you stripped naked and sucked me off in front of the school," says Danny, grinning.
Paulina shudders.
"Why shudder?" balks Sam.
Paulina leans into Sam's ear. "Because I was actually considering it for a split-second," she whispers. "What's wrong with me...?"
"You don't want your friends arguing over stupid shit," says Sam, shrugging. "That's actually a sign that you value their friendship. Now," she continues, calm, "the next step is to woman up and confront the two mooks about it-as their mutual friend."
"But...that's work," fumes Paulina. "Any suggestions to get them talking to or at least at each other?"
Danny and Tucker eye each other, then leave Sam alone at the table with Paulina.
Sam scowls. "When dealing with my two goofballs," she says, rolling her eyes, "I just keep in mind what provokes them...and then I provoke them into fighting each other. You're dealing with a couple of straightforward fellows who are both easier to tweak than Danny and Tuck." Sam stands, picking up her lunch tray. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to read the riot act to my friends." She leaves with the lunch tray.
"You're weird, Grieseman," says Paulina.
"What?" grins Grieseman. "You wanted them to kiss and make up, didn't you?"
"Not literally!" hisses Paulina. "They're going to kill either you or each other."
"Nope," says Grieseman, smug. "I also secured us a mascot for the rest of the season." He smirks at the Ravens' mascot.
Danny, trapped inside the Ravens' mascot costume, glares at Grieseman. I will make Rex pay for this, he seethes.
"You know, Grieseman," says Dash after a moment, grabbing Grieseman roughly by the shoulder and dragging the small relief quarterback between himself and Kwan, "this prank was almost respectable. If it had been any of the other assholes on our team you forced me to kiss, I would...have shoved you into a locker, true: but I could laugh it off."
"Just keep in mind that I also got us a mascot to play with," says Grieseman.
"Shut up," says Dash, scowling. "The last thing I wanted, though," he adds, "is to kiss Judas Iscari-Kwan over here." Dash glares at Kwan.
"Rex, please tell Dash that he is not even close to being Jesus," Kwan says to Grieseman, though returning Dash's glare.
"No!" spits Grieseman as he moves from between Dash and Kwan. "Slug it out between each other right here, and get this anger out of your system now," he continues. "Elmerton High awaits, and I can only hold out for two quarters, tops." Grieseman leaves.
The other Ravens' players nod, agreeing with Grieseman. They leave with Paulina. Danny leaves after the players, mock-limping out of the locker room.
Dash stares at the floor, sullen, with a hurt expression in his eyes. "You...could have told me," he says quietly. "Given me a heads-up: 'Hey, Dash; I think Jazz Fenton's hot, too, dude'."
"And you would have reacted about as well as you did when you found out the hard way," says Kwan with a wry grin on his face.
"At least if you had told me before you opted to betray me and scar me for life, it would have been-at worst-maybe a few punches. And a noogie," says Dash, pouting at Kwan.
"I would apologize," says Kwan, "but that would require me to care what you think. And it's hard for me to take your outrage seriously," he continues, "when I saw you fucking the girl of your dreams under the bleachers over a week ago."
Dash stares at Kwan a moment, then turns his head, blushing.
"I figured if you were with her like that," Kwan continues, "then I had the green light to make my move on Jazz. Not that I needed your permission," he adds, "but I do respect you...because you're my friend."
Dash snickers. "You have one hell of a way to show respect, friend," he hisses. "I've seen you naked before, dude," Dash adds, "and I've dreamt of seeing Jazz naked since the second grade, but seeing the two of you together!?"
"Go fuck Sam after the game," smirks Kwan. "Don't worry, though: I won't barge into your room and forcibly impose the rhythm method on you mid-orgasm. You two are too hot together, anyway."
"H-hang on," says Dash, a bit nervous. "What makes you think I was fucking Manson under the bleachers?"
"The fact that you two also did it in the pool during Open Swim. In both cases," says Kwan, "it clearly wasn't your first time together."
"Okay: you see me and a pale-skinned brunette getting into it, and you automatically assume it's Manson!?" balks Dash.
"She was the only girl you wanted to play doctor with in grade school," says Kwan, calm. "You've wanted to rut Sam since at least the fourth grade," he continues, "and you had kidnapped her and hid out at Amity Park Prep to share candy cigarettes. You willingly go to a college bookstore with her."
"Dude, the bookstore thing was your fault," spits Dash. "If you hadn't inflicted your shitty poems on the benighted goth losers at the Lurk and Skulk," he adds, folding his arms, "I wouldn't have been forced to help Manson search for a new hangout."
Kwan laughs, shaking his head. "You could have told her to pound sand," he says.
"I was bored, and had nothing better to do at the time," says Dash.
"What about the time you walked with her to your house while she was having an industrial-grade mood swing?" asks Kwan.
"Kwan," says Dash quizzically, "if I had let her bad day turn into a bad week, she would have started to lay on the activism-which for us unfortunate normal people means football field sandwiches for a month because her dad's on the school board."
"Dash?" asks Kwan, quiet. "What do you think will happen if you just admit how you really feel?"
"I don't know about you anymore," glowers Dash, "but with me, it always has been 'what you see is what you get'-and it always will be."
"That's true," says Kwan, "but only because that's all you're ever willing to give. A man isn't just what he shows of himself to the world."
"What are you getting at?" asks Dash.
"Aren't we getting too old for this?" asks Kwan.
"Kwan," says Dash. "I'm only seventeen, and so are you. Let's not rush off to the old folks' home for tapioca pudding."
"Your grandfather hates that shit, and would rather be smothered to death in his sleep than be thrown in a nursing home," quips Kwan.
Dash sighs. "Right now, we have to survive another mauling from the Dire Wolves," he says.
"It'd be nice if we could beat these assholes," says Kwan.
"I just want to score one more touchdown on Mendelsohn before the bastard graduates," smirks Dash.
"Isn't Elgin supposed to start out the first quarter?" asks Kwan.
"Dude: only I get to wail on my foppish little cousin," says Dash. "If Fenton were on the team, I wouldn't even feed him to Mendelsohn-although in Fenton's case, it's a matter of personal pride."
"Let's see how Grieseman holds up," says Kwan.
"Likely about as well as I can hold down my lunch at the thought of you and Jazz doing the beast with two backs," quips Dash as he leaves.
Kwan rolls his eyes, then leaves after Dash.
"I hope you're both happy," says Nigel as he drives Dash and Elgin to Dash's house. "Because your little man-spat caused your team to forfeit to Elmerton."
"Oh, Dashiell's pleased as punch that I didn't make him look more like an utter buffoon than he usually is," sneers Elgin. "The reality is: I have what it takes to beat a low-class ruffian like Mendelsohn."
"Unless you magically gain about forty pounds of muscle, Elgin," scoffs Dash, "I know you won't be playing Elmerton High the rest of the season."
"I may not be a churlish lout like you, and I may not have your freakish upper body strength," spits Elgin haughtily, "but I know I'm not afraid of Zack Mendelsohn."
"It's my duty as your older cousin and big brother figure," says Dash glibly, tensing his fists, "to make sure that you never have any cause to learn to fear him-by not letting you play against Elmerton until he's gone."
"Mendelsohn's just another oversized jerk for me to score a touchdown on as far as I'm concerned," snorts Elgin. "I've spat on more skilled linebackers in my days at Amity Prep."
"Elgin, do you really think I give a shit about the pee-wee league game you played back in the eighth grade!?" Dash fumes, losing his cool.
Elgin stares at Dash.
"You played football, against other human beings who were your age and body mass," Dash continues. "And I haven't done anything to stop you from playing any other team during your time here in Casper High, have I?" he adds.
"True," says Elgin curtly. "I will stipulate to that."
"Know the reason why?" asks Dash, grinning.
Elgin pouts at Dash. "Why...?" he asks.
"The other schools have JV teams for you to play against. Elmerton's all-varsity," explains Dash, "which means that for the first two quarters, your puny ass is up against guys my size and larger doing their level best to break your bones."
"I can handle the pressure," says Elgin, running his hands through his hair.
"You don't get it, do you!?" seethes Dash. "Elmerton doesn't march onto the field to play football. The Dire Wolves under Mendelsohn walk onto the field to savor some bloodsport," he continues, "and their opponents are the prey."
"If I don't earn my chops, Dashiell," says Elgin, peeved, "Coach Tetslaff will never consider me varsity material."
Dash struggles to keep his temper in check as he glares at Elgin. I want you to survive to your sophomore year for varsity tryouts, you fucking idiot, he says to himself.
Nigel arrives in front of Dash's house. "All right," he sighs, "I want my nephew, the older blond quarterback who tackled my son, out of my car."
"Nigel, dude: Elgin tackled me first and fucked up my play during the third quarter," says Dash as he complies.
"It was fourth and long," counters Elgin.
Dash trembles, fixes his face in an obstinate scowl, then heads to his house.
"I want my son, the younger blond quarterback who tackled his cousin in a fit of pique during a live football game, to shut up and climb up to the front seat," continues Nigel, scowling at Elgin through the rear-view mirror.
Elgin obeys. "Dash cheated me out of my game time!" he whines.
"If you continue, Elgin," says Nigel, "I'll just pull you out of the team altogether."
"I...sorry, father..." says Elgin as he buckles his seat belt.
Nigel drives off from Dash's house.
"Mom," says Dash to Lindsay, taking a carton of orange juice out of the refrigerator, "Elgin sees football as another extracurricular item to note on his college résumé."
"That's true," says Lindsay, stern, "but it's not the only reason." She butters her toast.
Dash sighs. "I'm also well-aware that he's trying to impress me," he says, rolling his eyes. "I'm flattered by his unnecessary efforts-hell, he's a better JV quarterback than I was at his age. My job," Dash continues, "is to keep Elgin and his perfectly-coiffed hair away from Mendelsohn until that brutal bastard graduates."
"Because only you can bully and torment your cousin," says Lindsay wryly as she adds strawberry jam to her toast.
"Just like only you had the privilege of giving your kid brother noogies back in the day," smirks Dash, pouring orange juice into his glass.
"Don't try to change the subject, young man," says Lindsay. "And I always reserve my right as the eldest child to torment Nigel: it's my duty. Cousins have no such obligation."
"Oh, that's fair," snorts Dash sardonically. "At least Elgin can fight back against me-as he clearly proved last night when he lost us the game. Uncle Nigel couldn't even retaliate against you," Dash continues, "because of the same double standards that you normally rail against."
"Do you have any idea how many fights I had against boys because of Nigel?" fumes Lindsay. "He owed me the stress relief." Lindsay bites into a slice of toast.
"The point we've both been trying to make," says Drew, annoyed as he adds salt and pepper to his eggs, "is that you can't continue picking on Elgin-even if it's for a good cause."
"You've seen Mendelsohn on the field, Dad!" Dash balks.
"And you've got to quit letting that kid intimidate you," says Drew.
"I wouldn't be intimidated," says Dash, "if he'd quit howling for my blood every quarter. Mendelsohn is after me." Dash downs his orange juice in a few gulps.
"Is he on Elmerton's debate team?" asks Lindsay.
"No," says Dash, "but even if he were, it wouldn't matter. Even he can't transform rhetoric into a contact sport. Now if you both will excuse me," he continues, "I have to go to school." Picking up his book bag, Dash leaves the dining nook and exits his house.
"We kicked ass tonight, didn't we, Manson?" grins Dash, taking off a pair of glasses.
"Yeah, champ," says Sam, "we did. Don't slap my ass," she adds.
Dash, about to slap Sam's rear good-naturedly, withdraws his hand. "I do this to all of my teammates," he says, "except for Gray-but that's because there's too much real estate involved."
"It's all right, Baxter," smirks Valerie. "I fully understand that you can't handle all of this."
"Besides, this isn't football, Dash," adds Sam. "I need you to resist the urge to ass-slap."
"In your case," Dash whispers in Sam's ear, "it's because you have the cute, perky ass of a ch-*"
Sam clamps her hand over Dash's mouth. "Do not utter such profanity!" she fumes.
"I was just going to say-*" begins Dash after Sam releases his mouth.
"I know. The 'ch-' word is obscene to me, okay? I'd eat a bacon cheeseburger," Sam continues, "before I allow myself to be assimilated into the world of pom-poms and cartwheels."
Dash gently grips Sam's wrists, grinning crudely. "Cheerleader..." he drawls.
"Filthy! Your mouth is so filthy," hisses Sam. "I'll make your mom wash it out with carbolic soap."
Dash chuckles, bemused.
"Just make it official already," groans another member of the Casper High debate team.
"Yeah, Baxter," adds a fellow teammate. "It's not like you have to worry about being kicked off the football team."
"Go play Magic the Gathering or something," snorts Dash, absently touching Sam's hair.
A tall, muscular brunet with red-violet eyes looms over Dash's shoulder. "Baxter," he hisses, "you didn't look like shit tonight."
Dash looks over his shoulder; he steps back from the brunet. "Mendelsohn," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"Zack," adds Sam, "my teammate here's asking a solid question. This isn't exactly your thing."
The brunet, Zack, takes Sam's hand and pulls her close to him. "I came with Gramps to watch you kvetch against Hartman and the other dweebs from my school," he says.
"Personal space, Zack," says Sam curtly, pulling her hand free as she scowls. "I didn't invite you, and I ask that you respect it."
"Relax, Sam," says Zack. "You're way too wound up. Then again," he continues, "all of the girls at Casper are frigid and stuck-up. Don't you think so, Baxter?"
"If by that, you mean that they aren't like Elmerton High cheerleaders," sneers Dash, "then I guess you're right, Mendelsohn. I feel sorry for those girls, though," he continues. "They'll never know the experience of real men until college."
"It's a good thing for you to be on the debate team, Baxter," counters Zack, "because your skill at talking shit is better than your performance on the field. Which reminds me," he continues, pushing Dash away.
Dash glares at Zack as the latter takes Sam's hands in his.
"Want to watch me punish this asshole and his team next Friday, Sam?" asks Zack.
"Zack," says Sam, "I don't do sports. I'm not a sports fan. I'm well-aware that I'd have the opportunity to observe two asshats fight over a ball, but it's not my thing."
"Come on," says Zack. "I watched you do your thing," he continues. "I'd love to see you watch me do mine."
Sam lowers her lids. "Fine," she says, glowering. "Great-uncle Ephraim will just harangue Grandma until I cave."
"That's a good girl," says Zack, touching Sam's chin. "See you next week." He strokes Sam's cheek, then leaves.
"Is Mendelsohn aware that you're his cousin?" asks Dash.
"Yeah," says Sam, "and I'd be less creeped out about the incest if Zack weren't such a shallow, misogynist cretin."
"Shallow?" wonders Dash.
"Paulina has more depth than he does," says Sam.
"But all the girls at his school who throw their panties at him say he's deep and introspective," says Dash.
"He's going deep into their cunts," hisses Sam inaudibly.
"I read your lips, Manson," whispers Dash.
"My mouth's still cleaner than yours," quips Sam, punching Dash's arm, "so shut yours."
"Doesn't change the fact that you have a cheerleader's perfect ass," says Dash.
"See?" pouts Sam. "Your mouth will always be dirtier."
"And you two will keep each other's dirty mouths away from each other tonight," says Lindsay, flanked by Drew, Nigel, and Elgin.
"As far as you guys know," says Dash, walking over to his family, "we kissed once."
"I suppose this is where you offer to sell us a bridge, Cousin Dashiell," says Elgin, rolling his eyes.
"If you don't shut your trap, Elgin," says Dash, "I'll throw you off a bridge."
"Oh, yes," says Sam wryly as she walks over to meet her family, "I'm just dying to swap spit with your sociopath of a cousin, Elgin."
"If there's any handsome blond quarterback you should kiss, Samantha," says Elgin, "it should be me."
"You have no shot, Elgin," says a large, gray-haired man with auburn streaks in his hair, standing with Jeremy, Pamela, and a red and silver haired older woman. Along with this group is Eva, in her motorized wheelchair.
"Elgin's too stubborn to listen to reason, David," says Nigel.
"Ephraim would insist on all of the men in your family getting their bris done," smirks Eva.
"Grandma!" balks Sam.
Eva cackles.
"Family can say the damnedest things, huh, Manson?" says Dash.
"Yep," says Sam. She briefly locks eyes with Dash, then leaves with her family.
"You know," says Drew, grinning at Dash, "if you and Sam were to get hitched, it would tie the Sands and Sokol families together in a big bow."
"How much closer can they get?" wonders Dash. "Mr. Sokol's the other owner of the Sands Law Firm along with Granddad."
"Very close," says Lindsay, "if you and Sammy make Mr. Sokol, Miles, and Judge Sands great-grandfathers to something more alive than a flour sack with a wig and goth makeup."
"You're presuming a lot, mother dear," says Dash gaily as he heads to his parent's station wagon.
"To be fair," says Nigel, "there's a bit too much conjecture on your part, Sis."
"Says the fellow who's always covering his ass during his schemes," says Lindsay. "And shut up, Elgin," she adds with a look at Elgin.
"I wouldn't dream of speaking out of turn, Aunt Lindsay," says Elgin, bashful as he combs his hair.
"You were thinking of speaking," says Lindsay. "I know all your tricks."
"You know all of your son's tricks," scoffs Elgin, heading to his father's car.
"And that means they can't get away with nothin'," grins Drew.
Lindsay nods, brandishing the keys. She and Drew head to the station wagon while Nigel heads to his car.
NEXT: A foolish angel.