When I am seventeen I am looking down into the eyes of a remarkable person; not the one I wanted, not the one I noticed. Rather someone who presented himself and made himself present and made himself, by the end, irreplaceable. He smells like a wrong chance.

He has a girlfriend back home in New York, in Arcadia, in a Bob Mould song that has ( Read more... )

It is decided a week in advance that our holidays will begin with Thanksgiving, at our house, hosted by Bertie. I am intrigued; Xaime is already exhausted by his presence. I can tell that Bertie's good for him, the way he punctures his moods and his artsy self-centeredness at every opportunity. It makes me feel like a Musketeer, or a member of a ( Read more... )

"Every glass in the house, guys? Really?"

We stir on a couch in the sitting room, clambering out from beneath each other; I'm wearing his tuxedo tie around my neck, still perfectly tied, and Bertie's got a chenille throw around his head like some kind of turban. We never do figure that one out. Xaime's standing over us in the wreckage, hands on hips ( Read more... )

"I thought you'd be home tomorrow," Bertie says.

"I thought you'd be... British," I stammer, as though it's some vindicating accusation, and he throws back his head and laughs. It sounds like a crow picking his way across the ice.

"Rocky," he says, dripping weariness and tact, as though that's an explanation. And perhaps it is; there's something ( Read more... )

"Don't. Even."

It's the hour of the wolf. All Xaime's done is take my hand in his, climbing quietly into the bed beside me, wondering if I'm even awake. I haven't slept. I have stared at the Chicago skyline through the hotel window, boiling my anger down to something small and manageable.

"What is your deal?" he chuckles; he's tipsy, jolly, but not ( Read more... )

CHAPTER THREE: SEXT

When I am twenty-three my entire body freezes at Xaime's touch. I don't like to be physically affectionate in public. I don't want anyone to think this is the best that I can do, or to know that I am happy, because they'll try to take it away from me. That's what I would do. Emily says it seems like my own personal discomfort, ( Read more... )