Page 53 of Wrath

God, I can’t believe I let him do that. I’ve keptthis secret since I realized myself, in fifth grade. Jamie Price, this guy in my class, came back to school that fall with leg hair, and it was all over for me. I’m a leg guy, and I saw his calves in my damn dreams. I heard he was going to Halloween as Satan, so I dressed as an angel. So many photo ops, and I kept them all on my laptop, pretending the two of us were a couple.

I bite the inside of my cheek and stuff my fists into my pockets. I got jerked off last night…for the first time ever. A hand that’s not mine made me come, and it felt so good.

That’s what’s waiting on you, I tell myself. But in the future, it’ll be with someone I like, who likes me back.

I try to talk myself up as I walk along the road between the high school and the gas station. Gotta get my fucking head on straight before I see him again. I’m rounding a bend in the road when I hear someone whistling—loud as fuck and clear as a bell.

“Got the music in you baby, tell me why… Got the music in you baby tell me why… Got the music in you baby, and you just can’t say goodbye…”

I’m smiling at how good this whistler is. Someone from band? Also, nice song choice, bruh. Cigarettes After Sex—“Apocalypse” is one of their new songs.

I duck under a branch as the road curves, and there is Ezra. He’s got a peach ball cap on and a blue raspberry Icee in his right hand, which swings loosely as he walks with languid strides. In that fraction of a second that my eyes land on him, he looks different than I’ve ever seen him. His chin is tilted slightly up, showing his square jawline and thick, tanned throat. The bright ball cap is crooked on his head, and his face gleams in the sun as he whistles with his eyes half shut.

I realize: He looks happy.

Then he sees me.

His eyes widen for a split second. His features harden. Then his face is set to neutral, his lips pressed flat. His gaze sweeps down my body, slow and blatant. Then we’re passing by eachother, arms swinging so close that I can feel the air shift in between us.

He says something that I think could be “Yo”—but also might be “Bro.” And I’m standing in the wake of cologne. It’s the smell from his bed times a thousand, filling my nose then my head until it’s swimming.

I stare as he walks off. I stare at his ass in those shorts. At his forearms, bare because he’s rolled his sleeves up. I stare at the ball cap, noting that it has a Georgia peach on the back. Is that ball cap gay? It’s so…peachy.

How does Ezra know about the senior privilege? If someone told him, why are they not with him? My heart’s pounding as I push through the gas station’s glass door and head toward the chip aisle. By the time I’m back at the school parking lot, I feel almost sick. This shit with Ezra is too much. Maybe I should move in with Dad.

I snort at that thought as I scan my ID tag, making the steel doors click open. In the cafeteria, everyone is everywhere. The bell has rung. It’s physics time.

I try to hurry so I’m there first, but it doesn’t work. Somehow, Ezra beat me to it. He’s perched on his stool like a beautiful gargoyle with big, bulky shoulders and his fuckboy hair all in his eyes, looking down at something on the table. I realize he’s holding a fire alarm battery in one palm. His other hand is loosely wrapped around a little metal thing with two prongs and a base. He starts to twirl the metal thing as I come near him.

I smell the good cologne smell again as I sit on my stool. Then I catch a whiff of smoke, which makes it make sense.

“How’s it hangin’, DG?”

Ezra looks up at me, hair in his eyes, and he’s got the smirkiest smirk. There should be some prize for this, some competition. I, meanwhile, can hardly get my mouth to move. I swallow and manage a robotic, “Fine.”

I latch my eyes onto the battery and metal piece. “What’s that stuff?”

“Don’t know.”

I glance around the room, noticing every table has one. “So you just found it?” I ask.

“Yuup.” I can see his Adam’s apple bob along the column of his tanned throat. His eyes meet mine for just a second.

“Electric current,” he says. He’s looking down again, and I can’t help the way my gaze clings to his hands. They’re really nice hands. Almost elegant. He’s got big, brawler knuckles and these lean, long fingers. They look more like an artist’s rendering than something on a real person—and nothing like my own wide, mitten hands. I have the thought that my hand could probably cover his. Then Dr. Bumble comes into the room and I’m distracted by our project instructions.

Apparently, we’ll do some basic wiring and then assemble a tiny electric plug that will adjoin the battery to the metal bars in…some way. When we’re finished, a small, blue current will jump between the prongs.

“It will be a shock, but it won’t hurt you,” Bumble drones. “People like to stick their fingers to it, but that’s not required.” He gives a funny little smile, like teaching physics is the highlight of his life.

Then he walks around to every table, passing out wiring kits.

Ezra slides ours toward himself and opens the bag, setting the instruction leaflet out in front of him.

He looks for a moment at the paper and then gets to work, attaching the wires to the metal part. I watch his hands move, feeling like I’m in a daze. I guess I am, because when he’s finished, he knocks on the surface of the table.

I blink. My cheeks burn from knowing that he knows I zoned out watching.

“Want to hook it up?” he asks.

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