“Sam, it’s okay.I was joking.I mean, there was some self-pity mixed in there too, but it was mostly a joke.”He cracks a smile.“Fifty-fifty.”
I don’t know what to say to that, so I smile back, but it feels pretty miserable.
“Let’s try that again,” Mr.Somerset says.“I can see why that would be frustrating, getting that kind of feedback.Especially when that’s not a part of the job most people would anticipate.”
“I’m not saying Chief Peterson’s wrong, sir.I just—I don’t know what to do.”And then, even though I’ve been there less than five minutes, I ask the question I told myself not to ask: “Would you hire me?If it were you, I mean.”
This time, Mr.Somerset grins.“Sam.”
When I say, “I know,” it’s a lot grumpier than I mean it to be.
For some reason, that makes Mr.Somerset smile even bigger.And I can’t help myself after a few seconds, and I’m smiling too.
“You know there’s a pretty easy solution to this,” Mr.Somerset says.When I don’t say anything, he continues, “You establish some community relationships so you can prove to Peterson that you can do the work he wants you to do.”
“Right.Okay.Yeah, I can do that.”Itdoessound pretty easy, now that Mr.Somerset pointed it out.“Uh, so, where wouldyouvolunteer, sir?”And because Mr.Somerset says it’s better when people think for themselves and when they take the initiative—and because one time, Mr.Hazard wanted to go to bed and I’d stayed too late talking and he said I’d probably be able to think more clearly if I didn’t have Mr.Somerset’s dick in my mouth—I hurry to add, “I mean, there’s my gran’s church.”
“That could work,” Mr.Somerset says.“Do you have a connection there?Besides your grandma, I mean.Do you worship there?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, you could still ask.Or you could find something you’re passionate about, Sam.I think that would be more meaningful.What are some things that you care about?Something you’d like to advocate for?”
Before I can answer, the front door opens, and Mr.Hazard’s voice carries into the house.
“—because it looks like a fucking trap when you’re lying in wait for me to get home.”
And then another voice answers, and it’s Detective Dulac.“Bro, I wasn’t lying in wait.That’s some Renaissance Faire bullshit.I just pulled up and—”
That’s when they reach the kitchen.
Mr.Hazard looks at me and says, “What are you doing here?”
Detective Dulac slouches against the wall and gives me the once over.Then he purses his lips like he’s blowing me a kiss and says, “What’s up, beefcake?”
Mr.Hazard and Detective Dulac are about as different as you can get.Mr.Hazard is a big guy.He’s got dark hair and these bright yellow eyes.He says what he’s thinking, which is a good thing, because Dad always says you should say what you mean.And he’s smart, too.But what I would tell somebody, if they asked me about Mr.Hazard, is you don’t want him looking at you.That pretty much sums it up.
Detective Dulac, on the other hand, is…well, it seems like he’salwayslooking.He’s about my height, a few years older than me, and he’s got these freckles that make me think he was one of those kids in school all the teachers liked, because they didn’t know what he got up to behind their backs.A couple of years ago, he was trying to rescue Ashley—that’s Colt’s boyfriend—after he’d been kidnapped.The girl who took Ashley had made a lightbulb bomb, and it exploded when Detective Dulac went into the house.He survived.(Gran would say,Obviously.) But the glass cut up his face pretty bad, and for a while, we all thought he might lose one of his eyes.Last year, he saw a doctor about the scars, and they’re pretty much gone now.You can’t even see them unless you know what you’re looking for.Detective Dulac makes jokes about it sometimes.I guess it’d be hard to be that handsome and have something like that happen to you.
I don’t say anything back, by the way.Detective Dulac’s the kind that Gran says talking back only encourages them.
“Gray,” Mr.Somerset says, like it’s a warning.
“What?”Detective Dulac’s doing his innocent look now.“It’s a good thing.”
“Why are you here?”
“Do you remember when he got hired?He was a skinny White kid spiking his hair up in front.”
Mr.Somerset rubs his forehead.He does that sometimes when he has a headache, like when we’ve been having one of our mentoring sessions and the sun is too bright or something.He says to Mr.Hazard, “Why is he here?”
“Not that it’s bad to be a skinny White guy,” Detective Dulac says.“Skinny White guys have those giant horse cocks.”
That’s when Mr.Somerset chokes on his Diet Pepsi.
“I’ll see him out,” Mr.Hazard says.
But now Detective Dulac is grinning, and he’s still watching me.I know my face is turning red—I can’t help that—but I stand there because anything else will only make it worse.
