Definitely Not Gay (Harringrove)

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Billy

I didn't like that at all. That girl kept gushing over Harrington. I'm not used to being second place. And what kind of guy slaps another guy's ass? Was he gay? Is Harrington gay? That would describe why he got so pissed when I called him a fag.

He can't be gay, though. He has a girlfriend. I don't understand why Wheeler likes him. He's not even that hot. He just looks like a regular guy. The only sexy thing about him is those skin-tight shorts. God, he has a big bulge. Dammit. Stop looking.

In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I scramble for a conversation topic. "Why are you getting all romantic for her?"

"What?"

I shift in the seat, trying to make my spontaneous question seem casual. "Wheeler? She special or something?"

"Oh. Sure, we're super close. I love pampering her." Sounds mostly straight? Who says 'pamper', though?

"Damn." I gesture at the candy, flowers, and movie, "All this just to fuck her."

"What?" he snaps his head towards me.

"Eyes on the road, Harrington."

"I'm not—it's—she's a good person! And she makes me a better person, too."

"That sounds so cheesy. You watch rom coms with her often? You think she's making you better. She's actually making you soft."

"No, no, it's not like that." He rubs his temple. "Haven't you had an intimate relationship that's about more than sex? Candlelit dinner. Ice cream in a park. Driving out a ways and laying under the stars. You ever done that?"

"Why waste time with pleasantries. In the end you're having sex."

Harrington's look of disappointment is unsettling.

"This is mine," I say, pointing at my house.

Harrington pulls into the driveway. I get out of the car. So does he.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"...Walking you up?" he says plainly, nodding towards the door.

"I'm not a fragile little girl, Harrington. I can get from my driveway to my door."

Gravel sprays as a car pulls up behind us. Shit.

"You should go," I tell him.

"Is something wrong?"

Dad opens the door and walks up to us, his hair rumpled from the long day. "Hi, there," he says to Harrington, cautiously. He glances briefly at his shorts.

"Hi! You must be Billy's dad!" he responds, cheerily. Can he be more oblivious to the look of hatred Dad is shooting him?

"Thanks for the ride, Steve," I say in an urgent tone.

"No problem! Nice to meet you Mr. Hargrove!" Steve climbs into his car. I watch as he drives away, giving a small wave.

"Where's your car?"

Deep breaths, Billy. You didn't do anything wrong. "It crapped out on me."

"Well, what are you going to do about that?" He sounds mad. Shit.

"I'm gonna call a tow truck once I find the phonebook."

"And where's your sister?" Holy fucking shit. I forgot.

"...She's at... at a friend's house..." His eyes drill into my own. "...probably?"

He grabs my elbow and drags me into the house, away from the prying eyes of neighbors. Not that they don't already know how fucked up our family is.

He bashes me against the wall the moment the door is closed.

"Next time you and your kiss ass faggot friend make love in his car instead of going to school, try to remember the one thing I asked of you." He shakes me. "What's the one thing, Billy?"

"Neil!" Susan watches motionlessly from the other end of the hallway.

"What's the one thing, Billy?" he repeats, ignoring her.

I take a deep, shaky breath, trying to compose myself. "Take care of Max and Susan." He knees me in the shin. "Ah!" Jesus, that hurt.

"Take care of Maxine and Mom. Because we're a family." A shitty one, but he didn't ask for details.

He lets go of me. I can still feel the heels of his hands digging into the spots just below my shoulder blades.

"Go find your sister."