Page 88 of Good Losers (Lochkelvin Academy)

His words send warmth to my core. I tug a lock of my hair, mulling it over. It’s as though we’re each holding a ribbon furled around a maypole, ribbons winding around Rory and us dancing to his tune. “You still like him.”

Finlay sighs and sags deeper against the tree. “Ye know how he is. Ye must do, because ye’re one o’ us noo. Rory… Rory isnae a chief. He’s a fuckin’ emperor. A Golden Age monarch more sovereign than even Luke believes in his wildest daydreams. And everyone in his circle o’ power, everyone he elevates, needs tae be firmly devoted tae him. Before me, there was Danny. And noo there’s you.” He pauses and adds with a tinge of sarcasm I’m not sure is entirely phony, “The only thing linkin’ us is that we fancy the shit oot o’ Rory Munro. The moment we stop bein’ useful tae him, we’ll be cast aside just like Danny.”

It stuns to hear it said aloud. Finlay sober and admitting he likes Rory in that way. And afterward, it’s like a dam has broken. Truth spills out in every direction.

“I’m his political adviser. You’re his moral compass. Danny was his greatest cheerleader, his lead gremlin, and noo look at him.”

“And Luke?”

Finlay shrugs, picking up a twig and snapping off its spindly branches. I note that his hand remains ink-free. “It’s different wi’ him. Luke’s just Luke. Rory likes him, respects him, looks up tae him. Initially for the royalty but then for his friendship. Luke’s no’ like us — he’s chill, he doesnae need tae be a chief, he already had the highest status in Lochkelvin. So they stick by each other because they’re actually pals. Though noo that Luke isnae who he says he is… Admittedly, I thought he’d be cast aside. But it seems like Rory’s chosen tae stick by him.”

I wonder if there’s not a touch of jealousy in Finlay’s words, that perhaps, deep down, Finlay had wanted Rory’s attention and praise all for himself.

“Rory told me,” I begin hesitantly, not knowing if I should even bring it up. Finlay takes a break from snapping twigs and raises his head, his green eyes shining with interest. “He mentioned what happened in that bedroom. And…” I break off, because maybe this is too personal, maybe this is overstepping my mark, intruding on their private history. “He said it was just a one-time thing.”

Finlay releases a breathy laugh, an explosive, shock-tinged puff of air. “Lyin’ bastard,” he mutters, raking a pale hand through his dark hair. “It was a one-time thing the first time. It was mair than that by the seventh.”

“The seventh?” I ask, stunned.

“Y’know, after the treatment Danny got, I cannae deny – Ididwonder if the same would happen tae me… last summer.” He glances at me cagily, as if to check I understand his meaning.“But… I dunno… we’ve aye been at each other’s throats, me and Rory. I dinnae think I’m that easy tae get rid of. So aye, I did wonder. Seems he chose tae ignore last year instead o’ outright ostracizin’ me.” He shoots me a wry look. “We serve a kind and generous master.”

I think about this statement. About how identical we are, pinned by attraction to the same hard-hearted boy.

Finlay gives me a humorless half-smile, as though daring me to ask if he’d lie about something like that. “Can I tell ye a secret?” he asks.

In my mind, I’m already flipping over my notepad. “Sure.”

“I’d already seen the film,” Finlay says, and he resumes his attack on the branch before him.

“The film you and Rory…?”

“Aye. It wasnae new tae me. I just wanted tae see his reaction.” Finlay glances up at me, like he’s too curious to resist mine. My face has definitely slackened somewhat, my lips parted in surprise. Of course Finlay would manufacture a scenario to make his desires come true. I can picture it so clearly: Rory frowning deeply at the screen, Finlay slanting his gaze toward him, as artful sex scenes play out in front of them. Moans and groans and naked skin emitting from the screen. The two of them sitting bolt upright with quickened breaths, Rory with his jaw tensed, Finlay with hope in his heart. “And when he wanted mair than just images on a screen,” Finlay adds slowly, “I gave myself up tae him wholeheartedly.”

Blood is pounding in my veins and I don’t know why. There’s an incredible intensity to Finlay whenever he discusses Rory, a kind of possessive flare that sears heat to my core. It gnaws at me, then, the idea that maybe I should back down. That maybe I’m getting in the way of these two. But then Finlay’s gaze drops to my lips and he tosses the branch aside.

“We were good,” Finlay murmurs, “in the loch. Weren’t we? The three o’ us?” I hear it then, the soft pine, the plea for validation. He looks relieved when I nod. “I dinnae want Rory tae take ye away from me,” he says. Softer still, he adds, “But I also dinnae want ye tae take Rory from me.” And there it is. Raw, brutal honesty. Finlay swallows, and it’s like he’s choking back his next words, like he doesn’t want to put them out into the universe just yet. “I know it’s crazy and weird…” He breaks off, gazing toward the sky as though searching for the power to continue. “I dunno. Maybe we could, like… be together? The three o’ us? Is that possible?”

It feels like Finlay’s raided my mind. “The three of us?” I ask, astonished. It’s something I’ve toyed with at night in my head — and not just as a three, but as a four with Luke, and sometimes even including Danny. But reality is a whole other messy realm. Reality is conflict and knots and boys with egos who are too stubborn to be mature. “Does Rory know how you feel?”

Finlay scoffs. “Oh, he knows. He knows after last summer. But trust me, we’ve never kissed. You cannae make someone like him interested in other lads like that.” He says this as though he has plenty of experience in the matter. “Ye just cannae. Ye cannae make someone bi, and ye cannae even make him bi-curious. He’s a deliberately, beautifully rigid being, full o’ Old English sentiment and old-school values.”

I stare at him, wondering if Finlay’s lost his mind. English sentiment? Old-school values? That’s everything Finlayhates. It makes me wonder if I’m as bad as Finlay, losing my head, my identity, whenever the thought of Rory clouds my brain.

I remember Rory from last night. The way his arms curled around my body, the way his heartbeat soothed as I listened to it. I would have given him everything. “He’s going to need us, isn’t he? So perhaps we should be there for him, as a three. After what his father did to him, he’ll need us there for him.”

A broad, beaming smile spreads across Finlay’s face, and I can’t help but return it. “Parents are shite and adults are always wrang, and Oscar Munro is the worst o’ baith,” Finlay concludes simply, kicking out his legs and sprawling lazily against the tree. Afternoon sunshine filters between the leaves, dappling him with shade.

“Ye wantae know somethin’ tragic?” he asks with a flick of his dark mussy hair. An ironic smile twists at his mouth. “Everything I dae, every calamitous fuck-up I’ve been involved in, it’s all just tae get my mum’s attention.”

I ache for him then, at the cloak of irony he must wear to divulge his innermost truths. Finlay’s words make me think about my own family, the mother I left behind with barely a goodbye. Perhaps I’d been wrong to be so self-absorbed, so wrapped up in anger with my own mother. It’s becoming more and more obvious that I’m not the only one out there who feels let down by their family. At least my mother never wasted her time with stupid flings or shot a damn eagle out of spite.

No. My mother just didn’t care. Or perhaps she cared too much that I never lived up to her expectations, and then no longer cared at all when I became unable to meet them. I don’t know which is worse — giving too many fucks or giving none at all.

Finlay picks himself up, dusting himself down, as though brushing away all his insecurities from our conversation. “Come on. I think the sun’s gettin’ tae me. Let’s get oot o’ here.”

We walk hand in hand through the graveyard, passing the memorial stone to a companion so devoutly loyal he’s remembered with fondness more than a century after his death.

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