He rested his arms on the guitar, looking up at me. “What do you see in the Lost Boys? That’s a real question. I have no clue what a super-successful, super-aloof digital security specialist is doing hanging around with a scrappy band of small-town guys,” he said, as though his name wasn’t known around the world.
I couldn’t help but note the way he saidspecialistlike a curse.
“I know I’m the odd man out,” I admitted, shifting uncomfortably. “But I knew my parents would be disappointed—no, horrified—to learn I was gay.”
He nodded. “Solidarity. Though… I at least had my mom.”
“Well, I didn’t. So I was this high-strung queer kid who didn’t belong anywhere. Even though I didn’t really fit in with the Lost Boys, and I definitely didn’t fit into shop class, y’all made room for me anyway. Mr. Paige was the only adult who knew about me and kept in touch with me after high school. I’m pretty sure all my success is thanks to having friends and one adult who had my back.”
“Lost Boys forever,” he said, putting his hands back on the strings.
My lower belly tightened, imagining those hands on me. “Lost Boys forever.”
I sat and watched him for a few minutes as he continued to pick out the song, giving it shape and depth. His focused artistry differed so wildly from the frenetic guy I’d noticed at my first high school football game. I smiled, thinking about the day Hendrix Cavanaugh changed my life.
I was in the stands, alone and feeling out of place, annoyed that my parents had decided that a high school football game was what I should be doing with my time. I was bored out of my skull and about to leave when the school’s newest mascot was announced.
Hendrix Cavanaugh was like his own power grid, indefatigable as he ran up and down the sideline, performing cartwheels and sight gags for the spectators in a hilariously oversized coyote costume. I couldn’t look away.
After entertaining us through halftime, Hendrix finally ran to the water station. He struggled to pull off the head of his costume, but the reveal was worth the wait. Shaking out his sweaty, raven-black hair, he looked like a surrealist’s wet dream—incandescent high school spirit with a dark emo soul.
Yanking off the furred glove with his teeth, he grabbed a pre-filled plastic cup and tipped it back. I hungrily took in every detail—the black nail polish, perfectly smudged eyeliner, the way the water dripped down his chin and over his Adam’s apple before slipping past his collar.
It was his devil grin at one of the football players, however, that changed the course of my life.
Given my parents’ feelings on the matter, I was pretty sure I was meant to hide my attraction to boys. I’d started making out with my buddy Major, just to be sure, but that fact would never see the light of day.
Hendrix, however, openly displayed his interest and didn’t care that others saw who he liked. It was the most terrifying and thrilling moment in my life, and my cock ached with the thought of kissing him. Touching him.
Before the second half started, I left the game, went home, and soundlessly jacked off in my room while my parents watchedThe Hunger Gamesdownstairs. I was wrapping up my third silent orgasm as Katniss and Peeta fought off a pack of bio-engineered dogs.
After spending the weekend quietly finding opportunities to abuse myself to increasingly unhinged thoughts of the tiny mascot, I searched out his class schedule. I was a GT student, and the only class I could take with Hendrix was Mr. Paige’s shop class.
Mr. Paige had always repped his queer identity, and Major had been trying to get me to switch my schedule since the beginning of the school year. He said that there was a group of queer guys in that class, but that felt dangerous. My gut told me they’d clock me in a heartbeat, and I hadn’t been ready for that kind of visibility. That is, until my crush on Hendrix made me desperate enough to sign up for shop next semester.
When the spring semester rolled around, it was just as I’d feared. Mr. Paige and his Lost Boys—including Hendrix—knew who Iwas before I said a single word. I suspected that Major had paved the way for me, and discovered that being seen wasn’t as scary as I’d built it up to be. They simply folded me into their supportive friend group and never asked for an explanation.
I sucked at woodworking, but that class taught me the most important lesson of my life: nothing was shameful about who I was.
Hen’s beautiful chord progression brought me back to the present. I wished I’d been brave enough to tell him what I wanted. I wished he were in the right headspace to hear it. But, as always, we were on two different planets, destined always to miss each other as we performed our lonely orbits.
His strumming stopped, and I looked up, catching him observing me. “I passed the old Allen farm on the way back from getting my tea.”
I set my jaw, not wanting to talk about it. Hendrix pushed on.
“I didn’t realize it had been sold. Looks like there’s some construction going on out there.”
I still didn’t answer, and the silence stretched out between us.
“That’s where you’re building your house, isn’t it?” he asked, tapping out a rhythm on the fretboard.
“Yes,” I admitted. “I—” I sighed, not sure I wanted to voice this next part. He ran his fingers through his hair, and I tracked the gesture, helpless against his talented hands.
“You what?”
I shifted my gaze to the river, watching the water eddy and swirl. “I wanted to take back the meaning of that property. After what happened to Holden, the sheriff’s department shut down the bonfires, but I guess…” I paused, listening to whatever type of bird was in the tree nearby. “I didn’t want that land to just be the place where Holden was nearly killed. We pass by there any time we’re in town—the guys who live here must do it several times a week—and it’s like pressing on a bruise, you know?”
“I didn’t realize you thought about it that way. Or that you’d know how it feels for the rest of us. For me.”
