Swing for the Fences
by Little Buddha
Chapter 26
It was early April, and although you could still see your breath in the mornings, the sun was finally winning its battle with the wind. Patches of grass peeked out from where snow had been just last week, and students wandered the quad in hoodies instead of heavy winter coats. Spring wasn't just coming – it was here. Baseball season was underway.
And for once, the world didn't feel quite so heavy.
In the weeks after everything with the administration, Jack and I started to settle back in. We were a lot more careful now – anything that even came close to "sexual" activity stayed in our room, behind a locked door, usually after lights out. Not that we'd really gotten very far anyway – our sex lives were still stuck firmly in the PG-13 section. Although, our banter with our friends was often in the R or even X section – jokes about who jacked off the loudest, who probably watched the most porn, or who'd last the shortest if they ever actually got laid. Typical pubescent, hormonal teenage boy stuff. And our friends knew better than to blab, so there wouldn't be any more rumors or sudden cafeteria announcements. Jack still worried about what his parents might say, but since we hadn't heard a word from them, he tried to convince himself that everything would be fine. They probably expected such behavior from their "fag son." My mom kept reassuring him, and I did too. If something did happen, we'd deal with it – we weren't going to waste energy worrying about things we couldn't control. Easier said than done, sure, but Jack was working on it, and I wasn't about to let him go through it alone. As far as I was concerned, the whole incident was behind us, and I was damn well going to enjoy my right to hold his hand, kiss him, and snuggle up to him in public without looking over my shoulder.
We were doing what my mom said we had to: moving forward. Her voice echoed in my head sometimes. "No news is good news. You boys can't live your whole lives waiting for something bad. Go be teenagers." So, we tried.
Today, being a teenager meant attending the varsity baseball game – Christian's first as the starting pitcher on the mound. He'd been training hard the past few weeks and kept insisting he "wasn't even that good." Naturally, the bleachers were packed. Every jock, gossip, nerd, and theater kid with a hoodie and a latte had shown up to see if Harrison West's two-sport golden boy could throw as well as he could quarterback. Well, at least a few were probably there just to see his ass in those tight baseball pants.
Jack and I were late because we'd taken our time back in the room, which included trying on outfits as if it were a red-carpet event (and maybe a few stolen kisses or ten and some light groping). I settled on jeans, a long-sleeve tee, and my junior varsity tennis jacket, which I noticed no longer fit me as well as it used to. Jack wore a black hoodie, black jeans, and fingerless gloves – typical emo boy spring attire .
He had re-dyed his hair blond, so the dark roots were gone – though you could barely see it beneath the black Detroit Tigers cap I'd given him, which he wore almost constantly now. His fingernails were freshly painted black again, glossy and chipped in places like always. And despite my ongoing efforts to shave off the faint peach fuzz above his lip while he slept, he somehow always caught me before I could finish the job.
On our way to the field, we held hands openly. No one said anything – a few glances, but nothing overtly hostile. Just two boys heading to a game like any couple would.
The snack shack was open, steam billowing from the ancient fryer. I ordered nachos with that neon-orange cheese that looked like molten plastic and was covered in those neon green canned jalapeños, along with a double cheeseburger and tater tots. Jack got four hot dogs with enough spicy mustard and sauerkraut to make his eyes water, and a massive tub of fries.
"Mountain Dew?" I asked Jack.
"The biggest one they'll give us without ID."
The student worker behind the counter handed over two super jumbo cups, the kind you practically have to dive into and drink your way out.
"You know we're gonna regret this at like, midnight," I muttered.
"You can always just pee right in my mouth," smirked Jack.
"Oooh, kinky! "
As we turned around, we nearly ran into Emery and Mark.
"Wow," Mark said, squinting at our tray. "Planning to feed a football team?"
"No," Jack said flatly. "Just one gay boy with the appetite of a trucker."
"I'm right here," I said, deadpan.
Emery laughed. "Save us seats?"
We nodded and made our way up the bleachers, which vibrated slightly with the movement of so many people.
Jonah and Danny were already camped out in the front row, squeezed shoulder to shoulder like they owned the place. Jonah had a foam finger on one hand and a half-eaten pickle in the other, chomping away like it was gourmet. In his lap sat a bulging bag of peanuts which, knowing Jonah, weren't for eating at all but for chucking at the opposing team's outfielders the second they drifted too close to the fence. And sure enough, between bites of pickle, he was already heckling the umpire – shouting something about needing glasses and some vulgarities we couldn't quite make out, with pickle brine dripping down his chin. Danny just sighed and muttered, "This is why we can't have nice things," like he'd already accepted his role as Jonah's reluctant babysitter for the night.
"I saved you some seats but only because Danny told me I had to," Jonah said, waving the pickle like a conductor's baton. "Also, because I'm a generous goblin."
Danny looked up with pink cheeks. "He didn't actually save you any seats. He just shouted at people to stay away when a few opened up."
"I am the wind beneath your bleachers," Jonah said dramatically. "The voice that cries in the dugout."
I snorted and took my seat next to him. Jack sat on my other side and immediately handed me a hot dog. I loved him.
"Okay," Jonah said, turning to Danny, "so see that guy in the black helmet? He's the batter. His job is to hit the ball with the stick."
"I know that," Danny said, exasperated.
"But do you know what a shortstop is?" Jonah wiggled his brows.
"No?"
"Me neither," Jonah admitted. "But I know it sounds like a boutique haircut for lesbians."
Danny burst out laughing and leaned into him.
The game began with Christian stepping onto the mound. He looked like he belonged there – poised, confident, not even flinching at the low murmur of the crowd.
The first pitch sizzled through the air and smacked into the catcher's glove.
" STRIKE! " the umpire bellowed.
Jonah stood up, foam finger in the air. "SOMEONE CALL HEAVEN, BECAUSE AN ANGEL JUST THREW A FASTBALL!"
The bleachers laughed. Danny hid his face in Jonah's jacket.
"Do you do this for every sport?" he asked.
"Only the ones where boys wear tight pants and look emotionally repressed."
"So, all of them."
"Correct."
Through three innings, Christian was fire. Three strikeouts, two pop flies, and a sliding catch from the center fielder that made the crowd erupt.
In the fourth, Harrison West scored their first run – an RBI double by a lanky red-headed sophomore who immediately tripped rounding second. Jonah gave him a standing ovation anyway.
"Truly, a gay icon."
Danny was curled up next to him now, half-watching the game, half-watching Jonah.
Every time Jonah got excited, Danny lit up like he was looking at the moon. The two of them were so unbelievably different, yet somehow, they seemed to work together as a couple.
Jack leaned into me and whispered, "I feel like we're watching two games."
"Baseball and 'Will They or Won't They?' starring Jonah and Danny."
"Exactly."
By the seventh inning, the game was 2–1, and Christian looked winded but determined. He struck out the last batter with a fastball that made the catcher nearly fall over. The team mobbed him as the final out was called.
"We're all proud of you, baby!" Jonah yelled. "Your thick, muscled thighs carried us to victory!"
We lingered outside the field house while Christian showered. God, what I wouldn't have given to be a fly on the wall in that locker room right then. Jack's hand found mine and didn't let go, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my knuckles, grounding me while my mind wandered.
"Hey," he murmured, "I haven't said this today, but thanks."
"For?"
"For dragging me to do normal things. Like this. I needed it."
I squeezed his hand. "You're not being dragged. You're walking."
Finally, Christian emerged freshly showered, hair damp and sticking up in places, looking like a slice of heaven.
"Ready for food?" he asked.
"Only if it's not whatever mystery meat they've been serving all week," I said.
"I think it's Salisbury Steak Surprise," Emery chimed in.
"What's the surprise?" Jonah asked. "That it's technically not meat? That Mrs. Ridgeshaw's cat went missing exactly a week ago? That it screams when you cut it?"
The dining hall smelled vaguely like an armpit dipped in gravy. We sat together at a long table near the windows. The food wasn't quite as bad as advertised, but no one really cared anyway. Most of us just ended up getting big salads from the salad bar, and the soups didn't look too bad.
"Danny," Jonah whispered, "if I die from this meal, delete my search history and tell Christian I loved him."
"I'm right here," Christian said.
"I know ."
We laughed until we cried. Jack and I split a slice of pie that tasted like disappointment, but feeding him bites made it better.
Later, back in the common room, we curled up on the couches and started another round of Game of Thrones. Danny dozed off halfway through episode eight of the second season, head resting on Jonah's shoulder. Jonah didn't move. He just draped an arm around him and kept his running commentary to a whisper.
Eventually, I looked at Jack. He looked at me. No words needed.
We stood, and the others immediately burst into fake gasps.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" Jonah said.
"That's not narrowing it down," Jack muttered.
"You know where to find the condoms!" Mark added.
"Under Nick's pillow," Jonah said, without missing a beat.
I flipped him off as we left. They should have learned by now to keep their filthy mouths shut.
In our room, Jack locked the door and turned around slowly, his eyes soft.
"You okay?" I asked.
"I am now."
We stripped down to our birthday suits, not in a rush, just familiar and tired. Jack tugged on my hand and pulled me under the blanket. My back pressed to his chest, his arm curled around my waist.
"Today was good," I murmured.
"It was really good," he whispered into my hair. "Better than I thought it would be."
"You deserve everything good you've ever dreamed of," I whispered to him, gently kissing his neck.
He didn't say anything. But his grip on me tightened.
"I love you," I said.
"I love you more."
"Impossible."
We didn't watch anything. We didn't need to. Just the sound of our breathing, the moonlight on the wall, and his warmth against my back.
Eventually, I drifted off with Jack still wrapped around me, and for the first time in a long while, I didn't dream of anything bad.
Saturday had been one of those days I wanted to freeze in amber and keep forever. Just – everything about it. Being outside in the crisp April air, huddled with Jack and the others on the bleachers, watching Christian crush his varsity baseball debut while Jonah provided what can only be described as the most unhinged sports commentary ever committed to human memory. Laughing until my stomach hurt, watching Danny turn six different shades of red every time Jonah said something vaguely inappropriate, teasing Jack about his snack shack mustard addiction. It was just fun – the kind of easy, full-hearted fun I'd always dreamed of having.
And I had more of it coming, too.
For so long, I'd wanted this. Not just a boyfriend, but a best friend . A real group. People to goof off with, to walk around town with, to sit in a room with, and feel safe . To talk to. To kiss. To laugh with. And now I had all that. I had Jack, and Christian, and Jonah, and Emery, and Mark, and even Danny, who was like our slightly overcooked muffin of a little brother. It felt so real, so permanent. Like a second family. And Jack – Jack was letting me in more each day. Ever since we'd talked about his fear that his parents would try to ruin things now that he was finally happy, I'd been trying to get him to talk more, not just hold everything in. And it was working. Slowly, steadily, we were talking about real things. (Also, stupid things. We were still boys after all.)
It made me feel more alive than I ever had.
I didn't want to waste another second.
I wanted to keep doing everything – goofing off with Jonah, whispering Mandarin with Emery behind everyone's backs, getting fashion advice from Mark that I half-understood, playing pickup tennis with Christian, and teaming up with Danny to prank Jonah with increasingly elaborate fake love letters. Even my mom had gotten in on it – she and Jack were full-on texting now, sometimes even calling just to chat and check in. She'd adopted him without asking me. And honestly, I was okay with that.
Everything felt perfect.
Until Sunday morning.
I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a brick wall, dragged across gravel, and then stuffed into a microwave. My throat was sandpaper, my head was pounding, my nose was stuffed shut, and my body ached like the marching band had trampled me. I was sweaty and freezing at the same time. Definitely not how I'd planned to start the day.
"Ugh," I groaned, flopping onto my back.
Jack stirred beside me, blinking blearily. "You okay, babe?"
"I think I have every disease known to science."
He sat up, instantly on high alert. "Wait, like seriously? Even genital warts?"
I know he meant it as a joke, but I was not laughing.
"Like I'm seriously dying. Probably. Could be Ebola. Can you get my phone?"
He handed it over without question, and I did what any reasonable sick child does: I called my mommy.
She picked up on the second ring. "Uh-oh," she said immediately. "I hear the sick boy voice. What's going on, baby?"
"Headache. Throat. Fever. Nose. Death. Hell," I croaked.
She got me to take my temperature while she stayed on the line. 101.7.
Jack stage whispered that he would check it again later – rectally – just to make sure it's accurate.
"Flu," she declared, ignoring Jack's lewd commentary. "You're not dying, but you are forbidden from getting out of bed. Fluids, cold compress, DayQuil, rest. If your fever gets higher or you start vomiting, go to the infirmary. Got it?"
I let out a dramatic whimper. "Yes, Dr. Kincaid."
"Good. Let Jack take care of you. He likes that sort of thing."
"I do! I do!" he shouted in an incredibly authentic imitation of Donald Duck's voice.
I looked over and Jack was already rummaging around for fresh blankets like he was training for nurse boot camp. "Yeah," I said. "I think he's already on it."
Within fifteen minutes, Jack had completely reconfigured our room. He'd made up the bed with fresh sheets and extra pillows, helped me change into my softest hoodie and sweatpants (he said a onesie would be better, but I didn't have one), opened the window to let in the cool spring air, and then disappeared to the kitchenette downstairs to make ginseng-honey tea. I didn't even remember telling him that it was my sick-day comfort drink, but apparently, he'd been taking notes. He'd even gone to the Grab-N-Go and bought several bottles of orange juice and Vicks VapoRub. Best. Boyfriend. Ever.
I was still bundled up in my cocoon of misery when the door creaked open again.
"Delivery!" Jack called – only to stop dead in his tracks. "...Um."
Our room was now full of people.
Jonah, Mark, Emery, Danny, and Christian were all seated cross-legged on the floor like a chaotic teenage council meeting. Emery had a sketchbook in his lap. Jonah had taken off his shoes and was already eating a protein bar and yogurt that absolutely weren't his, since his name certainly wasn't "Phillip B".
"I leave for fifteen minutes," Jack muttered.
"We broke in," Jonah said proudly. "Emery picked the lock."
"I did not."
"Figuratively."
"We wanted to check on our sick prince," Mark added, standing and fluffing the blanket around me. "You look pale. It's working for you."
"I feel like I was dug up and gnawed on by raccoons."
"Sexy raccoons, hopefully," Jonah said.
"Why are you all here?" Jack asked, setting the mug down.
"Solidarity," Jonah said. "Also, we were gonna go into town today, but since our fearless leader is horizontal and diseased, we're staying on campus."
"We were gonna go to that Lebanese place," I mumbled, dismayed.
"And shop for new sneakers," Danny added.
"And feed the ducks," Christian said.
"And shop for fashion, " Mark corrected.
"And seduce cashiers," Jonah declared.
"That was your plan," Emery said.
"Don't pretend you weren't going to follow me into Sephora."
Jonah scooted up and perched at the foot of my bed like a chaotic therapy cat.
"Anyway," he said, patting my leg, "we're here to boost morale. And we brought gifts!"
He gestured toward the door.
Which opened again.
And in walked someone I didn't recognize.
Tall, wiry, salt-and-pepper hair, thick glasses, and wearing a brown cardigan that could've been stolen from a high school English teacher in 1974. He held a brown paper bag.
"Uh," Jack said warily.
The man smiled. "Good afternoon, gentlemen. I'm Mr. Johnston. Your new house parent."
I blinked. "Oh. Right. Mr. G got reassigned."
"Correct," he said, stepping forward. "I heard someone wasn't feeling well. Thought I'd bring a little something to lift your spirits."
He placed the bag on the desk and opened it.
And there, in a neatly packed white pastry box, were pasties.
" Are you serious right now?! " I shouted, bolting upright despite my fever.
"Figured you boys might appreciate something local."
Jonah gasped. "You magnificent cardiganed wizard."
"Wait, what are those?" Danny asked, peering in.
"God's lunchbox," I said, already salivating.
"Meat pies," Christian added. "Like, real authentic ones, too. Beef, potato, onion, and rutabaga. They're basically like giant Michigan-style empanadas."
"They taste like the Upper Peninsula and love and cabin fireplaces," Jonah cut in.
"Shut up and pass them out," Jack said.
We all dug in. It smelled like butter and beef and happiness.
"I would marry a pasty," Jonah mumbled with his mouth full. "Like, legally. I would commit to it emotionally and physically."
"You'd cheat on it with a toaster strudel," Emery said.
"You know my weaknesses."
Somewhere in the blur of laughter and pastry crumbs, I took Jack's hand and gave him a quick, warm kiss on the cheek. It felt automatic. Sweet. Normal.
But something flickered in the air.
Mr. Johnston's smile faltered for half a second. Just half. But I saw it. The slight downturn of the mouth. The twitch in his jaw. The way he blinked – too slow, too tight.
Then it was gone.
"Enjoy, boys," he said quickly. "I'll check in later."
And he was out the door.
The energy came roaring back in his absence, but I was left with a strange twist in my gut that had nothing to do with the flu.
That night, after everyone else had left, Jack brought me food from the dining hall – chicken cordon bleu, creamy parmesan pasta with spinach, steamed veggies, and even chicken soup. I thought he was trying to fatten me up so no one else would want me but him. I managed a few bites before curling back into bed. I did manage to save some room for Jack for dessert.
Jack locked the door, turned off the lights, and climbed in beside me. Both of us stripped down beneath the blankets, skin to skin, warm and safe in the dark.
He held me gently, while I ran my fingers through his small patch of pubic hair.
"Do you think I'll feel better tomorrow?" I whispered.
"Probably."
"I hate missing school."
"You are school."
We were quiet for a long time.
Then I said it. "Did you see his face?"
"Yeah," Jack said. "I did."
"What do you think it meant?"
"I don't know," he said. "But whatever it is… we'll deal with it."
I nodded against his chest, his arms tightening around me.
And despite the fever, despite the chill, despite the gnawing unease…
…I believed him.
When I woke up on Monday morning, I was absolutely drenched. Like, disgustingly drenched. Sheets soaked, pillow soaked, hair plastered to my forehead like I'd just crawled out of a swamp. Jack stirred beside me and recoiled with a dramatic ugh.
"Okay," he muttered, half asleep, "which of us died and turned into piss soup?"
"Pretty sure it was me," I croaked.
Apparently, my fever had broken overnight – thank God – but the aftermath was like sleeping in a kiddie pool filled with my own bodily fluids. I felt a little better, or at least less dead , but still achy, weak, and coughing like a Victorian orphan with whooping cough. My throat was raw, and my limbs felt like they were held together with duct tape and spite. But none of that was going to stop me from going to school.
Jack, of course, tried.
"You're not seriously going to class like this," he said, propping himself up on one elbow, scowling at me like I had just announced I was going to rob a bank.
"I can't fall behind."
"You can barely stand. "
He had a point. When I tried to get out of bed, the floor rushed up at me way too fast – and if Jack hadn't caught me, I would've face-planted into our laundry pile.
"Okay, fine," I mumbled. "Maybe I need a shower first. I feel gross."
"You also smell like a mix of rotten cantaloupe, sulfur, and bad teenage B.O.," Jack said, squinting at me with faux concern. "Like... savory urine broth and suffering."
"I have been simmering in my own sweat all night," I said. "And I cannot let you see me like this."
"I've already seen you in worse states. Remember 'vomit night' after Halloween?"
"Not helpful."
"I'm just saying – this is not even among your top five low points."
I pouted. "I promise, this isn't a trick to get you naked and have my way with you in the shower."
Jack rolled his eyes. "First of all, you've already gotten me naked on multiple occasions. Secondly, don't be a doofus. Of course, I'm going to help you. That's what boyfriends are for. It's in the rule book."
"I like seeing you naked," I giggled.
"Likewise, champ, but now we need to get you clean."
So, we grabbed our toiletry bags and towels and hobbled down the hall to the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty. I did not need an audience for this. Especially since we were already taking a huge risk by being in the shower together.
We stripped off without much fanfare. I mean, yeah, we looked – of course we did – we were two horny teenage boys and we were naked. But this was a mission. I was gross, and I needed to be less gross, and Jack was acting like Nurse Jackie with tattoos and chapped knuckles.
We got under the hot water, and I immediately slumped against the tiled wall, too weak to even lather myself. Jack took over without hesitation – washing my hair, scrubbing my back, carefully soaping me up everywhere, even when it came to handling, well… sensitive terrain.
It was all very clinical. Very practical. And… yeah, stuff happened. I mean, certain body parts have minds of their own, okay? Not our fault.
Afterward, we dried off, brushed our teeth, sprayed half a can of body spray on ourselves, and shuffled back to our room in just towels. Jack kept a hand on my back the whole time like he was escorting an elderly grandmother down the aisle.
"So, we did finally have our sexy shower," I murmured as we closed the door.
"Yep," Jack said. "Very erotic. I loved washing mucus out of your eyebrows."
We got dressed in our uniforms and hustled over to the dining hall to meet the others. I was still weak, but I needed breakfast, coffee, and human contact.
We walked in just in time to see Jonah in a full-blown verbal war with a sixth grader.
"I'm telling you, Leon," Jonah said, arms flailing, "Santa Claus was invented by Coca-Cola to sell diabetes and lies. But the Green Goblin is real, and he feeds on children who believe in capitalism."
"That doesn't make sense!" Leon wailed, already on the verge of tears.
"Open your eyes, sheeple!"
"HE'S NOT REEEEAL! "
"You know what else isn't real? Your chances of making it to seventh grade with that attitude."
Leon burst into tears and ran out of the dining hall. Jonah sipped his juice smugly.
"Okay," I said, collapsing into a chair, "what did I just walk into?"
"Jonah emotionally obliterated a sixth grader," Emery said.
"He challenged me. I educated him," Jonah said. "Like Socrates. But with more flair."
"Remind me not to let you babysit my kids when I have them," Christian muttered.
Everyone turned to me.
"How are you feeling?" Mark asked, examining me like an old-fashioned doctor. "Still contagious? Should I be standing farther away?"
"I think I'm okay," I said. "My fever broke overnight. I still feel like a human bruise, but I'll live."
"Good," Danny said. "Because we need you at Dave & Buster's on Wednesday."
"I wouldn't miss it. Jack's 'Not-A-Surprise' Birthday Bash."
Jack smiled shyly into his oatmeal.
"The only problem," I added, "is getting Mr. Creepy Cardigan to let us go off-campus on a weeknight."
They all groaned.
"I don't trust that man," Christian muttered.
"He smells like Vick's VapoRub and a taint that hasn't been washed in ten years," Jonah said. "I think he just sits in his office all day and laughs while smelling his own farts and peeing into his coffee mug collection."
"You're not wrong," I said. "Anyway, I have a free period after my second class, so I'm going to the infirmary to lie down. I got a pass to skip tennis, too."
"Don't die," Mark said, touching his heart dramatically.
After breakfast, I made my slow trek across the quad, still a little shaky on my legs. That's when I spotted Emery standing near the music building… talking to Kit Wheeler.
Kit was a tenth-grader, very sporty, very tanned, and very attractive. He was on the JV football team and played running back. He would likely be on the varsity team next year. Kit had dirty blond hair that flopped into his eyes and had to be swooshed every thirty seconds, broad shoulders, soccer thighs, and a butt so round and perfect I felt like I owed it a tax.
What the hell was Emery doing talking to him ? Emery wasn't exactly the "sporty" type, and Kit was peak straight jock energy. Really nice guy, according to Christian, but definitely didn't give off gay vibes. What could he and Emery possibly have in common?
I made a mental note: Interrogate Emery. Immediately.
When I got back to Linden, Mr. Johnston was in his office, reading a book on microwave maintenance. His reading glasses were perched halfway down his nose like he was playing a character on PBS.
This was it.
I knocked.
"Come in."
He didn't look up until I was already sitting. Then he removed his glasses slowly and gave me the kind of look you give someone who's about to ask for your credit card.
"Feeling better?"
"Yes, sir. Thank you."
I cleared my throat. "So, sir… I was wondering if a few of us could go off-campus on Wednesday afternoon and evening. It's Jack's birthday and, well, we were hoping to take him to Dave & Buster's to celebrate."
"On a school night?" he asked, steepling his fingers. "Now, why would I allow you and your little group of hooligans to do something I wouldn't allow the other boys in this house to do?"
That's when the foul stench hit me. It wafted from his mouth in a warm, rotten fog – like if a garlic bagel had been mummified and stored inside a fungus-riddled shoe. A sickening mix of coffee breath, cheap salami, bad cigars, and sour milk. I actually gagged a little.
"I dunno," I said, trying not to breathe. "I just… I just wanted to do something nice for my best friend. He doesn't come from a great home. He's never had a birthday party before. I'd just like to make him smile."
Mr. Johnston narrowed his eyes and looked me up and down like he was trying to decide if I was trustworthy or not.
Then he sighed, long and dramatic, like I was personally trying to inconvenience him.
"Fine," he sighed. "But you will be back in this dorm and ready for lights out by 10:30 sharp."
"Absolutely. Thank you. Thank you so much, sir."
I bolted before I passed out from secondhand halitosis.
Later that night, after prep, the gang showed up in our room for a little "casual check-in" that somehow turned into a full-blown comedy special.
"Did you finally have your sexy shower?" Jonah asked, plopping dramatically onto my bed.
"Technically yes," Jack muttered. "But it was more like a medical intervention."
"He was soggy," I added. "Like, lukewarm raisin soggy."
"I have never been less turned on," Jack said.
"You say that now," Jonah purred, "but you still touched his balls and his butthole."
"I had to!"
"Sure, nurse."
Then somehow, it devolved into a nonsensical debate about who in the room would survive longest in a zombie apocalypse, which turned into whether a zombie could be vegan, which became an argument about whether Jonah should be allowed to rebrand himself as a "gay necromancer for hire."
"You'd get arrested in five minutes," Christian said.
"Only if they catch me," Jonah shot back.
Eventually, I told them all about the conversation with Mr. Johnston. The weird vibe. The breath. The look.
They all fell quiet for a second.
"He gives off...substitute biology teacher who dresses up as a 'gimp' for Halloween vibes," Mark observed.
"Like the kind who drinks pickle juice straight from the jar," Danny added.
"Or calls deodorant 'a scam by Big Pharma,'" Emery offered.
Jack leaned closer to me. "Just keep an eye on him."
That night, after everyone had left and the lights were out, Jack climbed into bed beside me. Naked, like always now. Familiar, safe.
He curled up behind me, arm draped over my waist, breath warm against my neck.
"Hey," he whispered. "Thanks. For planning the party."
"There's no one I'd rather celebrate."
He kissed the back of my neck. "There's no one I'd rather celebrate it with. "
We held each other, kissed gently, and squeezed each other's fleshy butts – because I think we might have been developing a butt fetish – before slowly drifting off to sleep.
It had been a strange day. But a good one. And I was glad to be a part of it.
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