Page 16 of The Love of My Next Life
“You’ve got boxing tonight?” he asks, even though he already knows. He makes the schedules for the rec center because his husband, James, owns it. Hank knows exactly what I teach and when, but I nod anyway.
“And pottery starts next week,” I say, nodding at the pottery wheel. He picks up on my not-so-subtle hint—leave me alone and let me practice—just as Lennon waltzes in. Hank winks at me, and some of the tension bleeds out of my muscles. He won’t say anything around her. He knows how important it is to me that no one knows. Not even my mom.
I started volunteering at the Franklin Youth Recreational Center when I was sixteen.
It wasn’t exactly voluntary.
I’d been caught tagging a random house, and rather than press charges, the owner agreed to let me off with an alternative. Volunteer at his rec center, and I wouldn’t have to go to juvenile court for a suspected hate crime. It wasn’t a hate crime. I had no idea who lived in that house, but the threat alone was enough to make me accept James’s offer without hesitation.
After a year, and after I stopped showing up high as shit, James started paying me, and I was able to quit my job stocking shelves at the supermarket. It was going great until my dumb drunk ass drove my fucking car in the ditch. I called James instead of Mom, and he and Hank helped me out. They wanted to tell my mom, but since I’m nineteen, they, thankfully, left it up to me. I do have to start teaching another class at the Center to pay them back for the tow, though.
Pottery.
Hence why I’m spending my free period learning the basics of working the wheel. It’s fine. I don’t know what the fuck else I’d do, anyway. Get high, probably.
I watch Lennon as she walks to her table and sits. She keeps her eyes off me, but mine zero in on the scarf around her neck. Her moves are practiced and precise as she sets her paints and brushes out in front of her, like she’s done this a thousand times.
My legs itch with the need to go over there. To watch her paint.
I bet she’s fucking brilliant at it. Lennon doesn’t know how to fail.
When she catches me staring, she sneers, and I smirk before looking away. I spend the rest of the hour trying, and failing, to make a simple bowl. I’m supposed to teach a bunch of ten-year-olds how to throw clay next week, and I can’t even make a bowl. I’m going to have to stay late this week at the rec center and practice some more, so I don’t make a complete ass of myself.
One thing I’ve learned working at the Franklin Youth Recreational Center: kids can be real dicks. If I suck at this, they’ll gladly let me know.
I finish cleaning my station and washing my hands seconds before the bell, so I’m right behind Lennon as she speed-walks out the door.
Because I’m an addict, I sidle up next to her and match her pace.
“You gonna take that scarf off for me, Leonard?” I taunt. “I want to see my artwork.”
Like always, she stays quiet. It makes me madder than usual. I move closer to her and lower my voice.
“Does it hurt? Can you still feel me?”
I can see goosebumps rise on her pale skin and she tries to walk faster; I keep up just fine.
“Want me to give you a matching one on the other side?”
“Shut it, Macon,” she whispers, her voice quiet but full of venom as we walk up to her locker. I lean my shoulder on the locker next to hers as she undoes her padlock. She turns her body, so I can’t see the combination, but I already know it’s her mom’s birthday. I open my mouth to tell her as much, just as some prick from the football team moves next to her.
“Hey, Lennon,” he says, and his grin shows off two stupid dimples that I know for a fact the girls in school die over. Lennon’s shy smile tells me she’s no different.
“Hey, Eric,” she says back. She hugs her bag to her chest and looks down, then back up at him through her lashes, and I can’t hold back my scoff.
“Don’t you have practice, Masters?” I cut in, and he flicks his attention to me. He widens his eyes, tries to give me that universalbro back off I’m running gamelook, but I cock my head to the side and stare him down, instead.
“On the way to practice now,” Eric answers. He looks back down at Lennon. “I was hoping maybe I could talk to you for a minute?” He smiles tightly back at me. “Alone.”
“Yeah, of course,” Lennon says airily, like she’s breathless over this douche. “I was just, um...” She shuts her locker and locks it up. “Walk with me?”
He puts his hand at the small of her back, and they head toward the doors that lead to the parking lot.
“Use a condom, Leonard,” I call to her, forcing humor into my tone. She glares at me over her shoulder.
“Don’t you have a janitor’s closet to visit?” Her voice is a hiss, but I laugh and send her a wink.
“Why are you always thinking about my dick, Leonard?”
