Page 69 of Hits Different

“I could order you another. Or, we could go somewhere else”, he suggests, but I’m already pulling my chair back, scraping it across the floor.

“If you like”, I take out twenty bucks and toss it on the table. “Let’s go”.

Chapter 27

Boundaries

Brandon

Coffee was a bust, and lunch isn’t going much better.

After Di Rossi dramatically overpays for our coffees, we walk deeper into the city. Well, I walk. He strides ahead and I try to keep up whilst apologising to the innocent pedestrians who have to dive out of his way.

We land at a sandwich shop with a couple of free stools in the window. I pull one out and settle in, my eyes immediately landing at a burger van across the street that makes my stomach growl.

But I’m already in the doghouse, so I don’t suggest we go there.

Parker’s studying the menu so intently he’s practically burning a hole through it. I sit uncomfortably amongst the silence. Too much space to fill with overthinking. The more time Parker has to think, the more chance that he’ll realise that this isn’t what he wants. That I’m not what he wants.

So, I try some diversion tactics. I babble about the decor, then some soccer stats from the weekend. ‘Mm’ is about the closest I get to an actual response.

A sandwich shop is as far away from the grand twelve-seater dining table in my parent’s house as you can get, but the feeling is the same. Like I’m just being tolerated. No matter what I say or do. No matter how many extra credit assignments I take, or how many times I’m voted student president. No matter how many winning goals I score.

I’m just treading water, waiting to be dismissed.

It’s not my fault he touched my hand. Nobody even noticed. It’s not like he mounted me right there at the table. Besides, it’s not the first time we’ve touched hands. Or held hands.

And for once, I’m not thinking about that night at the beach.

I slam the car door. My mom glares at me as she starts the engine. I’ll pay for that later. If she’s even still at home when I get there. My heart pounds as I hurry into school. Don’t turn round. Don’t let her see you’re upset. It’ll only make it worse.

I rush to my locker as the registration bell sounds. Some schools might treat their athletes like gods amongst men, but mine sure doesn’t. I can’t take the risk of getting in trouble and not being allowed to start on Friday. I need to start Friday. Scouts are coming and scouts mean scholarships. My mom couldn’t have been clearer this morning. Soccer, or them.

So I guess I’m gonna be on my own, because soccer’s the only thing I want to do.

My only consolation is that I’m not the last one to class. Parker’s stood in-front of our lockers, not moving. “Shift your ass, Di Rossi”, I slide to a halt next to him and start unloading my backpack. “I know why I’m late, what’s your excuse?”

He doesn’t respond. It’s only then I notice the blood on his knuckles, and the crack in his locker door. “What the fuck happened?”

“My dad died”.

“Parker. Oh my God, man”, I lower my backpack carefully to the floor, “I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here. Let me – I’ll call someone”.

“Who? There’s nobody anymore”, he says blankly. Then, before I can stop him, he curls his fist a ball and slams it into his locker. It dents immediately, as he draws back to do it again. And again. The sound echoes throughout the corridor. I hear the voice of my English teacher in the distance, coming from the main reception.

“Stop! Hey!” I grab his hand, but he pushes me off, so hard that I have to tackle him to get him to stop hurting himself. “Parker, man, stop, please”. He starts wretching violently, pushing me away. I grab my jersey and wrap it tightly around his knuckles, holding his hand to stop the bleeding, until eventually we’re discovered, tangled in a mess of blood and tears.

I think about that day all the time. I wonder if he thinks about it too. Or whether he’s buried it, like an unexploded bomb alongside all the other messiness connected to his father’s death.

I can’t tell what he’s thinking. I’ve never been able to. But if I had to confront my biggest fear, it’s that he just got a small taste of what a real relationship with me might be like, and it’s terrified him to the point that he’s planning an exit strategy.

Like clockwork, his words whisper to me.

It’s sick Carter, get some fucking help.

I should have had it out with him when we first reconnected. I should have been smart enough not to start anything at all.

“Brandon?” But if I’d have done that, I’d never get to hear him say my name. And I really love the way that he says my name. “I said, how much do I owe you for the food?”

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