[ 16+ for language and violence, mostly. ]
Dante rarely laughed, kept that certain action to himself like a juicy secret in the dark pool in the middle of his eye. What he did give away of his private store was thick and hearty enough to spread on toast, and when he heard it Ari would feel a delicious wriggle begin in his feet and work its way up through his spine. Ari laughed constantly, it seemed, an abrasive, joyful yelp, and in looking at the two it could be said that the smaller made up for his companion’s lack of good cheer, or channeled it, or expressed it for him, depending on how you looked at it.
Ariel, named for the arch-angel and not the mermaid, he’d have you know, was constantly ablaze with an extraordinary wattage of energy, racing childlike from tree to tree, person to person, idea to idea. Dante often found himself startled by this boundless vigor, but in a sort of pleasantly surprised way, so that every day – no, every moment – was alive and new when he was with his friend. He hung back always, grinning reluctantly at Ari’s antics, never joining physically but right there alongside him in his heart, hands in jacket pockets, even stride never breaking. Ari had decided long ago that Dante was the angel, never mind who was named what; the way he walked with that gliding constancy, right knee buckling a little with each step, a jolting, endless carousel horse. Sometimes he found himself chatting away pointlessly just so that he could see that absent smile, watch that walk. When he thought about it, maybe it was the walk that had pushed him over the brink of friendly admiration and into love.
When Dante looked at Ariel he saw a boy who had to stand on tip-toe to whisper breathily into his ear, one small hand burning on his broad shoulder. He saw ribs and black eye shadow, the gentle curve of gentle hips, a belly-button peeking out at every opportunity from behind a t-shirt so small it bit under the arms. He saw the other half of his soul and his own face reflected in the blue eyes.
Dante himself was a firm boy, stern in posture and face, heart written across his dark eyebrows which dipped and slanted like strokes of a calligraphy brush. Ari liked to be the one who held that brush, and it pleased him endlessly to watch what he painted and try to read the marks he left. Dante, so firmly shut, mortar sealing his edges, crumbling so readily at Ariel’s touch that it sometimes frightened him. Dante, proud and stiff, sometimes felt like a lightning rod, grounding Ari’s electricity. Sometimes bristled and crackled with the magnitude of that electricity, sometimes wanted to melt with its heat in a puddle at Ariel’s feet. But never did.
‘Come by when you’re off practice,’ Ari said, never looking up from his knee where he was picking intently at the dried blood he’d found there. ‘I’ll be bored. We can go for a walk.’
‘Okay,’ said Dante, blinking. His fingers shifted their grip on his schoolbooks. ‘Coach might want me for a little while after. Said he’s got a proposition.’
He pronounced ‘proposition’ carefully. Prop-o-zi-shun. Ari glanced up, grinning.
‘I hear Coach likes boys,’ he said blandly. Dante blinked, heard the tone, didn’t rise to the bait.
‘Of course Coach likes boys. He coaches us. Be mad if he didn’t like us.’
Ari shook his head, stuck his tongue out a little. ‘No, Dante, I mean he likes boys. You know what I mean. All I mean is, guard your virtue during his little private talks.’
Dante sneered. ‘My virtue?’
‘Your anus, Dante m’boy, your anus.’ A wink, a two-fingered salute, a sudden pat on the bum. ‘You better get going now,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t want to keep Dear Coach waiting.’
Dante shied from the touch, strode firmly to the door. He paused to glance back incredulously. Ari grinned, tipped on his chair to point to his bottom. Shook his head with a mock severe expression as if to say ‘no’. Dante shook his head irritably. Ari was a dick. As he marched down the polished wood hall he heard the other boy’s mad cackle of a laugh and felt his damned mouth twitching involuntarily at the corners.
He liked football: it was a physical game with rules so ingrained into his being that he did not need to think. He did enough of that during classes and it was nice to have a change. The air was cool but he barely felt it as he sprinted through the scrimmage, dodging tackles, waiting to catch the familiar brown ball, skin burning in his practice uniform from the warm up exercises they’d done before. When the coach blew his whistle the boys dropped the tense atmosphere they’d been clutching and jogged obediently towards the orange beacon of his reflective jacket. It was a good game, they’d done well, he hoped to see them working harder during the next weeks, could Forsythe please pass him that water bottle. He guzzled it as if he had been out there, running and shouting and sweating rather than yelling, red faced, from the sidelines. Dante felt the side of his upper lip raising instinctively in disgust as his eyes drifted downwards to the man’s swollen belly. Once a sportsman, always a sportsman? Coach dismissed the boys and Dante lingered awkwardly while the man made squiggly notes on his clipboard. Finally he looked up, rasped, ‘Bennett!’
‘Yessir,’ Dante replied instantly, stepping forward. ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’
Coach eyed him a long time. Dante couldn’t banish Ari’s words from his head and moved a hand instinctively in front of his jock-strap cup. He shifted uneasily.
‘I been thinking,’ said Coach. Dante waited. ‘I been thinking you been doing some good work out there, son. I’m gonna cut to the chase, here. What’d you say to wearing this big ol’ captain’s C right there on your chest?’ In his meaty right hand he held the golden C towards Dante, grinning like it was the biggest fish he’d caught.
Dante swallowed, blinked, almost bowed but stopped himself. ‘I’d like that very much, sir,’ he said, and his shoulders straightened themselves. He would like that very much. His heart had quickened. He could already see it shining on his red uniform, and it was lovely. The coach extended it towards him and Dante took it, cautiously.
‘Why me, sir?’ he asked. ‘I mean to say I thought the position was already taken.’ Coach laughed.
‘Like I said, you’ve done some good work. MacCarthy told me a couple days back he’d have to leave half-way through season, something about his parents moving. Can’t have a half a captain now can we?’ He elbowed Dante. ‘Can we, eh?’
Dante obliged with a grimace-like smile. Coach laughed uproariously.
‘I figger you’ll do us good. Now get along to your dorm, sew that C up proper to your shirt. See you bright and early Tuesday morning.’
Dante nodded curtly, murmured a Thank you, Coach, and was gone like a hijacked train.
Ari sat in his window seat, back to the wall, feet pulled up close to his body. On his lap lay a history textbook, opened on the Hundred Years War. The page had not turned in an hour. Ari’s head was tipped back, his eyes closed, his mouth in an unusually sober line. Not asleep, no, thinking, breathing, feeling his blood pump through his veins. Thinking of what? Of football, of great men in history, of friendship, of Dante. Of comradely love and brown-haired boys. Of things of great and little consequence, like the ache in his lower back and the exact words he would say to Dante when next they were alone.
Ari was dressed in loose jeans and a red sweatshirt, loathe as he was to sport the navy slacks and loose button-down shirts provided for ‘leisure and lounging’. No, he did as much as he could to forget he belonged to this school and all of its twisted ways and rules. Technically they could not chastise him for making the effort to pack some clothes from home, and he didn’t mind the displeased glares he received for standing out. It could be said truthfully that he enjoyed them. Attention was something Ari could not very well do without.
He really should get back to his studies. Could one get back when one had never been? It was a question worth pondering, so long as it gave him an excuse to avoid the monotonous pages a few moments more. If Dante found out he’d failed his test it would be tutor tutor tutor, study study study. It would mean that disappointed anger in the blaze of his colourless eyes, and it would mean time alone together, sitting close in the dark, a single lamp shining a fuzzy circle across the desk. It was almost impossible to weigh the two out. He would keep quiet for now.
Small fingers ran thoughtfully across his hair, a black, carefully parted, overgrown mohawk that ran down the middle of his skull, widened at its base. A haircut, Dante had said. Up yours, Ari had replied. A click, a squeal, and Calloway walked in. Ari did not turn towards him.
‘Evening,’ said the blonde boy, pleasantly enough. But Ariel heard the venom that threatened to leak through his white teeth and shivered. Two more sets of footsteps; two more boys; two more pairs of probing eyes. They shuffled in, making a point of stepping on Ari’s things strewn across the hardwood floor.
‘Park, this is Jennings and Appleby,’ said Calloway. ‘Say hello.’ Ari said nothing, closed his eyes and tilted his face away subtly, as if an odor offended. One of them, Jennings or Appleby, sniggered. Calloway stepped forward until his slim form was inches from Ariel’s. ‘You will speak when you’re spoken to.’ Ari could feel his breath ruffling the topmost hairs on his head. He inclined his head slowly towards the bigger boy, expression swathed in indifference. Inside his heart fluttered a little.
‘Go fuck an armchair,’ he said airily, and made as if to push past Calloway. An iron grip enveloped his forearm, a rolled-up newspaper cuffed him in the head. Laughter.
‘Watch what you say, you little shit.’ The tone was quiet but cold and the flutter became a quickened beat.
‘You tell me to speak but you don’t like what I say. You can’t win them all, Ryan. Would you let go, please?’
Keep the fear from you eyes, he told himself. Don’t let them see.
‘Fuck you.’ Calloway was getting frustrated. ‘Ask why I hit you with the paper.’ When Ariel said nothing, he shook him fiercely. His heart pounded violently against his ribcage. ‘Ask me.’ More sniggers. Ari made a show of pondering, while his eyes glanced towards the clock and he calculated how long it would take Dante to get back.
‘Hmm, I don’t know. Why?’ This earned him another smack.
‘You know what get hit with newspapers, Ariel?’ Ari didn’t like the way he spat his name. It was a pretty name, it shouldn’t be abused. ‘Do you?’
Ari shook his head miserably.
‘Dogs, Park. Dogs get hit with papers.’ He shoved Ariel against the wall, face painted with smugness, pupils swirling with adrenaline. He scrutinized him, then slowly brought a chiseled thumb to his mouth and wet it generously. A vice around Ari’s chin, pinning him to the wall. That gob of spit pressed to his eyelid, smeared about. Then the other, then his own arm pulled in front of his face and wiped across his eyes. Ari would have bitten Calloway’s hand if his jaw hadn’t been clamped shut by the other. As it was tears pushed to the corner of his eyes and he willed them not to tumble down his cheeks. Where was Dante? He was late, he should be here by now. They’d taken his eye shadow.
‘See, Park, me and the fellows here see you pretty much as a dog. You’re annoying. You’re small. But you’ll obey if someone beats you into it. Won’t you.’ Ari closed his eyes. A tear dropped, plummeted to his doom. ‘Won’t you.’ The blow came before he could brace for it, curled fingers to his cheekbone, a fist to his stomach. He crumpled over the arm that stuck from his torso like a sword through his flesh. Calloway pulled away in disgust and Ari fell to the floor. The fellows laughed. Then a rough hand to his face, against the swelling that was already beginning, pulling him roughly up. ‘Only one thing we don’t get,’ said Calloway. ‘See, as far as we know, guy dogs don’t screw other guy dogs. And they don’t wear makeup. So maybe you’re not a dog, huh? Maybe we were wrong all along. Maybe you’re a faggot.’ A pointed shoe to his stomach wound. He gasped; they laughed. ‘Listen to me. Are you listening, faggot? I’ve got something to tell you.’
But Ariel never heard what Calloway had to tell him. A casual knock on the closed door sent Calloway scurrying backwards. Appleby and Jennings faded to the shadows and picked up magazines.
‘Not a word, Parks.’ Then Calloway was on his bed and he had been there for hours.
Dante was smiling already, the golden C safe in his own dorm, stitched lovingly to the chest of his scarlet jersey. He knew Ari wouldn’t mind his being a little late. Not after he heard the news. Someone was talking quietly, most likely the asshole Ariel bunked with. Dante had never been able to see him as more than scum on the bottom of his shoe, but Ari had always laughed at this. You’re just jealous he gets to sleep next to me, he’d said. And maybe he was. Was that so wrong? His knock went unanswered, he rapped again. This time he was met instantly by Ari’s thin face, followed by some shoulders and a little frame which pushed past him into the hallway. Dante caught a glimpse of three boys on the other side of the room. Ari’s hand was in his and he was stumbling after him down the hall. As they reached the stairs Dante wrenched his hand away, but the warmth lingered. He’d always wondered how Ari managed make it do that.
‘What’s going on, what’s the matter?’ Ari’s shoulders shrugged, but Dante couldn’t see his face.
‘Nothing, I’m just sick of being cooped up. Let’s get out of here.’ And indeed they were already at the door to the grounds and pushing it open and stepping out into the autumn air, already cooling into evening since he’d been out for practice.
Ari walked in silence and Dante did not rob him of it, only followed a step behind, eyebrows performing their contortionist’s trick as they struggled to settle on an emotion. He was elated at his promotion, shouldn’t let Ari’s mood get to him. He was worried, despite himself, by this strange silence, the tenseness in the curve of the arms with hands thrust into tight pockets. He was angry that he was worried and couldn’t be happy. The cool air blew through his thin shirt and ruffled his shock of hair. The moon was dilapidated and starved, sacrificing its brilliance so that its stars could shine all the brighter. Dante shivered. He began to whistle but Ari shot him a look that made it clear enough he should stop. This offended him, as many things did.
‘What the hell crawled up your ass and died?’ he demanded. Ariel made no indication of having heard. Dante was about to grab his shoulder when he murmured something softly. ‘What was that?’ Dante asked.
‘A penis, according to the general populace.’
Dante blinked.
‘Where’d that come from?’ he said, and Ari shook his head, still walking. Whatever. Give him time to cool off. Didn’t want to talk to him anyway, not if he was going to be a dick. Why was he here, obeying the dolt? Why didn’t he just leave, then, if Ari was going to ignore him? He couldn’t, though. He couldn’t leave him like this. ‘Why don’t you just tell me what’s up, hey?’ Ari shook his head again, but turned to face him this time. Dante thought he saw the glint of tears, but the way the starlight was tonight could prove anyone wrong.
‘It’s nothing, okay? Can we just drop it?’ His tone implied Dante was prying.
‘I’ll drop it if you drop it,’ muttered Dante. Ari smiled, but not with his eyes.
‘Race you.’ And he took of running.
‘Race me where?’ called Dante, but his feet had already picked up Ari’s pace. He tracked him across the grounds, to the river and down its banks to the gnarled tree.
‘I win,’ said a voice from above him. Dante looked up. Ari sat on a limb, grinning. ‘I am very pleased with myself,’ he said. Dante rolled his eyes. ‘Ariel Parks beats linebacker Dante Bennett in a foot race. It’s history, Dante, I’ve made history.’
‘Shut up already, Ari.’
Ari grinned harder. A nice contrast to his self moments ago. At least Dante thought so. He gazed up at his friend, hands behind his back. And then he was scrabbling up the tree, throwing a leg over Ari’s branch, perching delicately beside him. Ari gazed at him with something close to fondness.
‘So you can still find time in your busy schedule to climb trees?’ Dante cocked his head, allowed a tiny smile and nodded. He’d like to tell Ariel about the big golden C.
‘I’m captain,’ he said quietly. Ari frowned, then recognition hit and a broad smile cracked his face in two. Dante felt his hand covered by Ari’s and did not shy from the squeeze.
‘You’re the right man for the job,’ said Ari. Dante felt his smile widen.
‘You think so,’ he whispered, but he wasn’t asking. Ari nodded anyway. They sat that way for many minutes, Dante gazing unseeing into the general void behind Ari, Ari swinging his feet restlessly and stealing glances at his friend. Then he tackled him. Dante yelled in surprise and they both fell to the ground, a sickening whump! as Dante’s feet hit and buckled, throwing him onto his back. Ari landed on top of him, chuckling pleasantly. Dante struggled for air, found it, swore, punched Ari in the head.
‘What the fuck was that, asshole,’ he wheezed, but he was already fighting his own laughter. Ari was infectious. He was also curling away, face covered with his hands, shaking silently. Dante rolled onto his side, laughter that never came already gone, hands across his chest as if protecting himself from something unseen. ‘Ari, Ari, what’s wrong, what’s going on, did I really hit you that hard? You did push me out of a tree…Ari…’
Ari turned onto his back, and the moon and stars lit his face. Dante fell silent and reached a hand across the distance between them, hesitated, placed it carefully on the boy’s cheek. It was hot to his touch. His thumb grazed over the bruise once, twice, and Ari winced but said nothing. He seemed to be shivering.
The cool touch sent spasms down his spine, and he had to bite his lip to keep from calling out. He was maybe the only one in the world who knew Dante could be tender, but the knowledge did not drain the strangeness from the gesture.
‘Who did this…’ Dante was lost for words. Ari knew he shouldn’t feel pleasure at his friend’s confused concern. But people do things they shouldn’t.
‘It doesn’t matter who,’ whispered Ari. ‘I got in a fight, okay?’ His face throbbed, though with pain or consciousness of Dante’s hand he could not tell. As if he had felt this, the bigger boy pulled away but dropped his hand on the grass between them. They spent a moment staring up through the twisted branches above them to the stars beyond.
Ari took his hand, and he did not resist. He realized that he had been waiting, hoping for him to. Their fingers interlocked loosely, hot hand and cool one, and Dante turned his head again to Ari.
‘You’re not wearing your makeup.’
‘They took it off,’ said Ari, and then he was crying and Dante was all concern, sitting up, hauling his friend to his feet, holding him against him, stroking his hair, whispering meaninglessly to him. Ari seemed to melt into the embrace, arms reaching ‘round to clutch the cloth of Dante’s shirt in his fists, pressed his face into his chest, sobbing soundlessly. Dante rocked him slightly, aware of some great wrong but unable to understand. His heart had quickened and his arms seemed to burn where they touched the boy. But he pressed the head down, rested his chin on its crown. Shh, he said. Don’t you weep. Don’t you weep. But Ari wept. Finally he seemed to calm, the quaking of his frame stilled and they stood there in the night, pressed against each other, wrapped around each other. Suddenly, what had been natural was awkward and Dante pushed Ari away gently, pulled him by the wrist to the cool ground. Ari sniffed. In the dim light his eyes were rimmed with red, his shoulders rounded in shame. Dante boiled with anger.
‘Who are they?’ Calloway, he was sure. That fucker. But Ari shook his head.
‘No one. I was in a fight. I’m fine. Leave me alone.’ But he was leaning on Dante now, head on his shoulder. Dante let him. Let him alone.
In his dorm, Chester was looking at him funny.
‘What,’ snapped Dante. Chester shrugged, but still looked at him.
‘You know that kid, Park…’ Dante wheeled around. He was feeling particularly protective of his friend at the moment.
‘Ariel? What about him?’
‘Well you’re not really friends with him, are you?’ Dante remained emotionless, searched Chester’s face. What the fuck was this? Chester look anxious, embarrassed. ‘Well me and the fellows, we were just wondering, you’re a good guy, we all think so. I heard about the captain, way to go.’ Dante made no motion. Chester looked increasingly uncomfortable. ‘What I’m saying is…well, we all think Park is a little off his rocker…’ He laughed forcedly. ‘Y’know, makeup and those tight clothes and all.’ He gulped. ‘What I’m saying is, you’re just sort of…nice to him, aren’t you? Just I mean the fellows, they’d think you were in with him but I’m trying to tell them you’re not, you’re an okay guy. You know?’
Dante nodded uneasily, unsure of what he was agreeing to. Chester looked intensely relieved.
‘Okay then, just wanted to clear things up. Um. G’night, then.’ And he was under his covers, his light clicked off, and Dante was left in the dark. For some strange reason he felt like vomiting.
As he lay on his bed, sheet wrapped awkwardly around him, Dante wondered. He wondered what had happened to Ari, though he had his own ideas what. He wondered how Ari was doing by himself. He wondered what it was he’d felt out there on the lawn. Reliving those moments made him uncomfortable in as relishable sort of way. He didn’t like not having words to describe things. He always had words to describe things. He fell asleep restless and did not dream.
*
Two days later, Ari was limping and sporting a yellow and purple bruise just below his left eye. Dante was furious; Dante was concerned; Dante was a little afraid. Nothing he did produced a name. Same argument, Ari was in a fight. Ari never fought. Ari was a pacifist, and Ari was tiny and weak to boot. Dante was hurt that Ari would think he would be so easily fooled. I know you better than anyone. I know you better than you know yourself.
Football was going well. The boys respected him, looked up to him, listened to him. They won their out games, they won their home games. They lost once, made up for it with another practice time tacked on to their already bursting schedules. And Dante was finding more and more that he did not want to be there. He saw Ari every day in classes, but he was only free on Saturday evenings, had to do his homework, study for exams. Sometimes he would help him with his own work. Ari was a terrible scholar.
‘Have you ever liked a girl?’ They were sitting by the river, the sun was making a valiant effort to stay in the sky past its time, the shouts and calls from the sports fields echoed comfortingly. Dante looked up from his notebook. He blinked once at Ari, and then as if he could simply not be bothered by such a question, he turned back to his work. Ari persisted. ‘Dante? Have you ever wanted to…touch a girl?’ Dante closed his eyes, sighed, put down the book.
‘What, Ari, what do you want?’ Ari frowned and chewed his lip.
‘I was just wondering.’ A pause.
‘I don’t have time for girls’. Lame, Bennett. Forced his hand to write something meaningless in the notebook.
‘If you had time, would you like a girl?’ Dante turned. Ari had a funny look on his face.
‘What, do you like a girl?’ There was something ridiculous about the phrase. Ari must have heard the skepticism. He blushed furiously, said nothing, reached up to touch his bruise tenderly, thoughtfully. Dante shook his head as if to himself, tried to herd his mind back towards Wordsworth. Ari’s leg was touching his and their ankles met where their cuffs rode up. Dante scratched an itch that wasn’t there. ‘What’d you say?’
A quiet voice.
‘I said I think I love you, Dante.’ Time froze. The water burbling over rocks stopped mid-burble, the sounds of the school dissolved into silence, his heart simply would not beat. Force your mouth to move. Force it. Move it. Say something.
‘You turning fag on me?’ No, not that. Don’t say that. Oh God, don’t say that.
A soft laugh, one that burned the tips of his ears.
‘Fag, Dante? I never knew you were so eloquent.’ Dante’s eyes throbbed. His throat throbbed. Look at him. Turn and look at him. He could not turn and look at him. His muscles, like time, had seized up. A disturbance in the air around him, the warm scent of breath. The lightest, softest lips brushed the corner of his mouth, lingered. And then he was alone.
They hadn’t spoken since. Ari would not cry, could not cry. He’d known for so long. He’d always known. So had Dante, he suspected. They all knew, that’s why they hit him. But they couldn’t know what only he and Dante knew. Whatever the cost, whatever poundage of his heart he would have to sell, he would not lead them to Dante. Yes, he was valiant and brave, suffering alone. A lone wolf. A lone fag. Knowing and accepting did not mean peace of mind. There were times he thought he would die, and this is when he would skip class or meal to sleep and dream of clocks and mirrors and pigeons. Or he would find Mr. Ingleman and let the man do what he wanted to him. It was not a comfort. Even less of a pleasure. Just a reminder of what he could become.
Dante did not so much avoid him as blend him in. No more time alone, of course. In class they would chat like indifferent schoolmates, and Ari would relish every word. He no longer went to watch the football practice. He got tutoring from Jacob Cline. Moved up a letter grade in every subject except history. Stopped in the hallways and watched Dante walk, that steady, tilted, stiff-legged stride, a pendulum and a slightly smaller pendulum, like the hands on a clock. And yet he could not regret what he’d done. Somehow, he’d needed to do that.
Dante developed a twitch. His right eye winked violently whenever he was distressed. Which was often. So he twitched when he saw Ari. He twitched when he didn’t see Ari. He twitched when he thought of Ari. He twitched when he felt the overwhelming urge to touch him. And he cursed him, daily, that he had brought this upon him. Had that moment never happened, they could still be friends, Dante wouldn’t be so confused. There were times when he convinced himself that he had dreamt it up, but these thoughts had little foundation and soon crumbled. Ari had kissed him, and he’d wanted nothing more than to turn and catch those lips with his own.
He became a recluse of sorts. Never before had he been so aware that he had no friends. Besides Ari. And they weren’t friends. If he only had someone to turn to, not to pour out his feelings to but someone who would kick a ball around with him or share a vulgar joke. So every morning found Dante dressing silently so as not to wake Chester, finding an empty classroom and studying relentlessly, viciously, religiously. It was like prayer, it really was. There was something comforting about knowledge. It could never deceive him. It was and was only, fact was fact and fact was golden. He would work through breakfast and up until first bell, when he would gather his books and rush to class, smoothing rebellious hair with a distracted palm. A quick lunch, then back to the books before classes began again. Football at three thirty. He began to enjoy the violence. Coach commended his aggression, said it was the sign of real dedication. Real heart for the sport. Dante hospitalized six boys in a month, but hey, people said, this was football. Nobody played football and didn’t expect to get hurt once in awhile.
Self destructive, the school counselor said. His daily habits were destructive to his personal, emotional health. He didn’t respect his body and mind. But I’m fit, Dante complained. I’m fit and I’m smart. And the counselor shook his head as if he were gazing upon something tragic and tipped back in his chair but didn’t say anything for awhile. Then he asked Dante if he had any friends. And Dante went red, rubbed his winking eye. Felt his face burning where Ari had kissed it. Sure, he said. Sure I do.
Ari was alone on the bridge, two sweaters over bare skin. It was cold and his breath was freezing but his skin crawled lovingly whenever a breeze found its way down his collars. He’d always attached a certain positive connotation to this sort of day, brisk and cold but dry and bright. Good things happened on days like this.
He wrapped his arms around his thin chest, leaned his elbows against the railing. The river burbled cheerfully, out of place in such silent stillness. The crunch of footsteps in old snow brought him slowly back to reality. It was Dante.
They looked at each other evenly; Dante’s toes lined up with the first board of the bridge, as if he were uncertain whether or not it would hold their combined weight. He seemed to decide it would and stepped forward, stood before Ari. Who swallowed but tilted his head, met Dante’s gaze evenly. He was so calm. He had never felt this before. And he was completely ready when Dante bent over him, hands in his pea-coat pockets, and their lips met softly. Everything floated away on a swirling coalescence of grey and white. Ari leaned into the kiss, found he couldn’t close his eyes because Dante’s were so beautiful. He was smiling as his arms unwound from his body and snaked up to wrap about his friend’s neck. Dante’s hesitation hung tangibly in the air between them, and then it was gone as his hands leapt from his pockets and he was clutching Ari’s wilting form, kissing his mouth and cheek and chin and neck and collarbone and mouth again.
Dante slept in. He did not eat breakfast, but more because his stomach would not sit still. He smiled all day. Football took too long. He sat, stiff but hot beside Ari at dinner. But curfew happened too soon and they only had a moment to clutch hands before bed.
‘Hi,’ Dante whispered. The day was cold but he felt feverish. Ari turned, beaming.
‘Dante.’
He felt a shiver. ‘C’mere.’ Ari obeyed, and Dante unbuttoned his coat. He gasped. Their chests aligned so perfectly. He shook bodily and his kisses were clumsy and awkward. His brown forelock slipped forward and stuck to their faces. Ari’s calmness was unnerving and soothing, a confusing combination. Dante was the one who taught Ari, who explained things and comforted him. And in love, it was reversed. He knew Ari had always known. His hands explored Ari’s body, frantic and careful, while Ari clutched his cheeks and kissed his lips. Sometimes they whispered things that the other couldn’t hear. Both knew something else was on their minds. Neither rushed the other. He thought about Ari always. The snow fell so thick and light, the sky shone grey and Ariel Park burned in his arms.
Days rushed by, breathtaking and sweet. He could barely stand it. Half the school knew, he was sure of it, but no one said a thing. He was watching practices again, and nobody passed to Dante. He never seemed to care though, and they would rush off after he’d changed.
Today was different; today he was late and there was something strange in his eyes.
‘We going to the river? The forest?’ Ari scurried to keep up with Dante’s huge stride.
‘I’m going to my room.’
Ari’s face fell. What now?
‘Can’t I come?’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Can I?’
‘Go away.’
‘Fuck you, Dante, what in hell’s going on?’
‘Fuck yourself.’
Ari’s heart caught in his mouth. His breathing became shallow, face contorted in pain. ‘What’d I do?’
‘Don’t you fucking bite your lip at me, don’t you try to manipulate me.’
His bottom lip fell from his teeth obediently. ‘Dante -’
Dante whirled around. ‘What?’ His eyes blazed. Ari saw he was crying. He stepped forward, hands outstretched.
‘Oh God Dante, what’s wrong, what happened?’ Dante whipped his hand from his pocket and dashed it across his eyes. Then he pushed Ari into the snow, turned and ran.
Ari landed muffled, a tiny breath of air jolted from his lungs. His body curled instinctively in the cold where he lay. He felt his insides imploding, crushing each other in their eagerness to die.
Chester had guessed first – he was brighter than Dante had thought. But maybe they had left too many clues. Maybe they hadn’t been so careful. Besides, it was over. No, it had never begun. He’d read about this in psychology textbooks – it was only natural that boys of their age would find hormones too great to ignore, and in an isolated environment such as an all boys’ school things like…what had happened between him and Ari were bound to happen. It was sexual confusion, over-active glands, that sort of thing. Which must be why he was weeping and shaking and choking on the air he tried to breathe.
So Chester had guessed, and suddenly they all knew, or anyone who mattered did, anyway. He’d never really expected it from the boy; not that they were all that chummy or anything, but they’d been friendly. In such environments you learn to form alliances where you can, at least if you want to stay alive. He had thought they had some sort of understanding. And he had been betrayed.
Nothing much. A passing comment in the locker rooms. They hadn’t been passing to him for a week.
‘Never thought you’d fall to sucking a dick as small as Park’s. Coach too manly for you?’
Nothing else. A couple snickers, it was to be expected. They were boys, after all. He’d punched Cruise in the face, anyway. And he’d been suspended a week from the team for fighting. Then he’d pushed his Ari. Not his Ari. Just Ari.
But the pain etched across the smaller boy’s face stayed etched in Dante’s mind, and he shook and tasted tears as he wrung his pillow with his calloused fingers. His heart seemed to twist violently in his chest, like it did when he was forced to swim and he thrashed and swallowed water and sank until he made it to the other side. When Chester came in he pretended to be asleep and the other boy made no attempt to speak to him.
*
The days were only getting colder. He barely recognized Ari, so bundled in wool he appeared to have gained forty pounds. But there he was, pale face made paler by the red of his toque, like porcelain – but more like the gauze of an insect’s wing, so very delicate and beautiful and almost transparent. Dante imagined he could see the veins and bones and the blue blood rushing through Ari’s skin. He did not want to touch him, for fear of puncturing through. They stood a couple feet apart, staring at each other.
‘What do you want?’ he said gruffly. He rocked on his heels, hands in his pockets.
‘You,’ whispered Ari, and Dante’s eyelids fluttered.
‘Why don’t you just give it up,’ he rasped.
‘Sorry,’ said Ari. But not a sorry-for-saying-that. A sorry-but-that-can’t-be-done. Dante shivered. Ari took a step in, tilted his head back to look into Dante’s eyes. Dante exhaled with some effort, the breath wobbly and jagged. And his face twisted painfully, he bit his tongue, a silent battle where tears poured and blood welled where teeth cut until one side won and he bent just slightly to catch Ari’s lips with his.
He did not move, accepted the kiss like a prodigal son, felt the acrid, metallic taste of someone else’s blood drip onto his tongue. And collapsed into Dante’s arms, legs suddenly nonexistent, heart beating like a frantic bird battering against the bars of his ribcage. Both afraid, both confused, both ecstatic, they tumbled to the ground awkwardly and laid pressed together in the crusty snow, breathing fitfully and touching frantically. Dante wept as he kissed Ari’s small face. Ari did not, but tightened his neck muscles to bottle in a sob. It was ripping Dante apart, and so it was ripping Ari apart twicefold. He reached to hold Dante’s cheeks in his cold hands and they both fell still, and Ari felt Dante’s entire body trembling with need and terror.
‘It’s past curfew, Dante,’ he managed, tucking his chin around the bigger boy’s neck. ‘Time to go in.’ Dante appeared not to have heard. Ari was about to repeat himself when the other boy cleared his throat and nodded stiffly.
‘ ‘kay,’ he whispered. Ari felt a smile wash over him.
‘I love you, Dante Bennett. Thank you for coming back.’ He heard a grunt of agreement. It sounded like an I love you too. Ari giggled. ‘I know,’ he said, rolled away from Dante. He began to shake with silent laughter. Dante was staring up at the purple clouds. He looked lost, white faced save for the drops of red on his cheeks that spread like watercolour. He turned to look at Ari.
‘What’re you laughing about?’ Which only sent Ari into torrents of hilarity, rolling back and forth in the snow like some grotesque stuffed bear. Dante sat up, mud-brown eyes shining with confusion, a little bit of hurt. ‘What’s so funny? You laughing at me?’ Ari hooted with laughter.
‘Get over yourself, Dante. Not everything’s about you.’ He got to his feet and hauled Dante up with him, though the boy seemed graceless and vulnerable in his self-consciousness. Ari held him by the hands, gazed up into his moon-lit face. ‘I’m laughing, Mr. Bennett, because I am happy.’ He grinned at him as he processed this, and then kissed his nose and spun away across the grounds towards the school. ‘You should try it sometime,’ he called back. Everything would be all right. Eventually, things would be all right.
Dante returned to his room in a daze, fingers and nose red and burning with the abrupt change of atmosphere. Chester slept soundly, kicking a little, a rat dreaming rat dreams. But none of that mattered. He undid his overcoat hurriedly in the dark, the buttons huge and unwieldy in his frozen fingers. Then long white sleeves rolled up to the elbows, red tie loosened, navy sweater vest tugged at restlessly. He paced. Shoes off, shoved under the bed. A grin plastered foolishly across his chapped lips. Let them know. Let the whole world know that he loved Ariel with all his bloody heart. He had to see him again, now. Out the door, sock footed, padding silently down the hardwood flooring, up the stairs, room 35. Knock. Knock again.
‘Ari?’
Calloway opened the door, and his ugly features lit up at the sight of Dante.
‘After hours visitors, here to see Ariel Parks?’
Dante squinted in sudden hatred, nodded soundlessly. Calloway stepped out of the way, that creepy smile still dancing, and Dante rushed in. How had he forgotten that Ari had a roommate?
‘Dante?’ Ari sat on his bed. He looked small and ill and afraid.
‘Ari, we need to talk.’
Ari shook his head. ‘No, Dante, go back to bed. We can’t talk right now.’ Dante frowned in bewilderment. Not how it was supposed to go. Not what he was expecting.
‘Why?’
Calloway cleared his throat.
‘Fuck off, Calloway.’
‘Watch yourself, Bennett.’
Dante turned around. ‘The fuck do you want?’ he seethed. Calloway let out an easy chuckle. There was no humor to it. It reminded Dante briefly of those classic villains, the ones that toyed with their victims. And only made him more angry. ‘Go find a corner to fuck yourself in.’
‘Leave him alone, Dante.’
‘Get out of here, Bennett, nobody wants you around.’
Dante whirled to look at Ari, who averted his face.
‘Just go, Dante, we’ll talk about the science project tomorrow.’
‘Science project?’ He was momentarily lost. But Ari’s eyes were wide, pleading. Dante scowled. The fuck if he was going to keep pretending. ‘You fought for me and now you pretend nothing’s happened? I don’t care if Ryan Fucking Calloway knows. Tell the whole goddamn school, tell the parents, I’m sure they’ll kick us out for moral indecency. I don’t care, Ari, as long as we can be together. I’ve realized that. Why are you pretending?’ Voice cracking the way it had been when he was still growing peachy facial hair. He was close to tears. And Ari had arrived at tears, was crying into the pillow he had wrapped in his arms. Calloway made a noise of disgust. Dante stared into Ari’s wet eyes, chest heaving with the difficult necessity of breath. And then he turned and left, slamming the door (the fucking door) behind him.
Ari let out a whimper of fear. Calloway’s face was contorted with glee and revulsion.
‘A confession, then. I’d hoped we were wrong about him. He was a good captain’ he said coolly. No element of tragedy in that one’s voice.
‘Don’t you touch him, Ryan, don’t hurt him, please.’
Calloway laughed, and then choked the sound with a snarl of disgust.
‘You faggot. You sick pervert.’ His voice broke, morally and personally wounded. He didn’t say anything else. Only punched Ari hard in the neck. Ari felt his throat collapsing as he tumbled to the floor. Calloway hauled him up by his shirt, slammed him against the wall. Ari shook, his head loose on its hinges. He heard his head smack against the bedpost, felt pain exploding dully behind his eyes. And Calloway’s grunts of exertion and hatred as he beat him. It had never been this bad. They’d knocked him around a bit, lots of times. This was different. He tried not to cry out because he’d learned that that earned him extra. He tried to detach himself from his body, like he did when Ingleman wanted him. Separate pain from being, humiliation from the self. Concentrate on Dante’s limp, how it looked when he was coming towards him, not walking away like he did so often. He would not fight back – he could not fight back. The blows just kept coming, each one more brutal than the last, and Ari’s only hope was that Calloway would tire, but he showed no signs. He was slowly slipping away, having finally succeeded in deserting his own body, leaving it like the coward he was to be destroyed as he swam away, away, out. Things were fuzzy around the edges, the contrast of colours seemed sharper somehow, sharpest where his blood soaked into the gray carpet. His heart beat very slowly. He felt nothing.
Then silence, but for labored breathing, a deep sniff, no more blows.
“If you even consider moving, I’m going to kill you.” Calloway’s voice cut cleanly through the air, strong and unwavering. Ari’s eyes were closed – he could not open them – but he heard doubly the scuff of shoe against floorboard, the soft drop of a body to a bed; and then he could breath, he could see, he could think. He risked a glance, felt searing pain in his entire body, saw the back of Calloway’s navy sweater, a thoughtful slouch in the boy’s shoulders as he gazed out the window. Maybe he was done. Maybe he was resting. Whatever it was, Ari felt the panic that he hadn’t before well in his throat like bile, kick-starting his heart, sending whirling colours through his vision. He had to leave.
In one single motion he was out the door. He was once again absent from his body, but here he was gazing through his own eyes, commanding his limbs and muscles to move, to carry him fast and away and down the hall and down the stairs. Behind him Calloway swore quietly, pursuing him closely. He ought to yell. He ought to call for help. But his mouth did nothing, might as well not have existed. The doors were firmly locked, barring him inside the school. Tears leaked down his cheeks as he breathed fitfully, sure that Calloway would seize him at any second.
“Ari!” No. No, no, no. Dante’s shrill cry echoed through the empty halls, and Ari heard Calloway turn and swear again. And then he was wrapped in someone’s arms, and he melted entirely, giving up his whole self. And Calloway dragged him down the hall, his hand clamped over Ari’s mouth, not that he would have said anything anyway, through a dark doorway and then all of his senses stopped working and it was still.
Dante couldn’t see where they’d gone. He’d returned to his room, paced a bit, then left again, planned on going back to Ari. He didn’t trust what was happening. He couldn’t let Calloway do anything to his Ari. And then there he was, Ariel, running down the stairs, and then Calloway, and Dante could have sworn he’d seen blood. And now he was here, in the entrance hall above which were the dorms, whirling about frantically, heart racing with adrenaline and fear. The doors – he tried them – they were all locked to keep the boys in at night. But he heard a muffled curse and that was all he needed, dodged down the hallway and into a nook where he only just managed to lodge his fingers between the crush of a heavy door and the door frame. Ignoring the numbing heat that spread through his knuckles, he pulled the door open and raced after a dark shape. “Ari!” he hissed, and his heart thrashed, and the overwhelming size of the night crushed everything to silence. Maybe across the field. Towards the river. He was running faster than he could ever remember, no ball in his arms but his stomach was in his mouth, if that counted for anything. It was dark and there was snow, and he found himself thinking about how ridiculous, how stupid that was. Why couldn’t he see.
Calloway dropped him. “Shut up!” he said, but Ari hadn’t said a word. He lay as he fell, crumpled and awkward, face pressed in the wet snow, sure that he was part mouse and his heart was going five hundred beats a minute. Dante was close. If Ari was a mouse, and Dante was an owl, Dante would hear his heartbeat from twenty meters away. That’s how they found their prey, because they hunted at night and mice were so small. They had to eat their body weight in mice every night, but they didn’t always catch them, they often missed. And their eyes were fixed in their sockets. They could turn their heads all the way around. They didn’t make a sound when they flew.
He was running blind and loud, had no idea where he was going or what to look or listen for. Breath like a fat freight train, squinting, throat kind of raw. Maybe there, over there. “Ari!” he shouted, and when he ran into Ryan Calloway they shared a moment of shock before Dante managed to punch him in the face. Calloway fell away with an ugly splintering sound and Dante sank down to the pathetic form on the ground.
“Ari, get up. Come on. Don’t do this. Get up.” Ari managed to lift his head, and Dante enfolded the battered boy in his arms and clutched him, and both their hearts thudded painfully as they shook. Dante buried his face in Ari’s neck and Ari reached to touch his face.
“How heroic,” he whispered, and coughed a tiny laugh. Then Dante felt his skull crack and doubled over the boy he held as his vision swam. Another blow and his arms lost their meaning, he could not hold anything and he fell to his side. The one to his ribs he barely felt, but there was blood in his mouth. His head again, again, and then the temple and the neck and his face and he lost count.
Ari screamed and screamed but Calloway threw the wood into the river and ran, and Dante was so still. Ariel felt his stomach turning in ways it shouldn’t and then everything came up, only he couldn’t move and he ended up in a pool of his own sick. He wasn’t as hurt as he’d thought. He found his way to his knees and wiped his mouth on his sleeve, spat on the ground. Dante’s eyes were open, and there was blood on his mouth and in his ear, and all through the snow around him. Ari crawled to him and turned him onto his back.
“Come on,” he said, pushing back hair from those beautiful eyes, but there wasn’t any laughter in them, no matter how Ari arranged the hair. “Come on,” he said, and pulled his sleeve over the heel of his hand to dab at the blood on the other boy’s lips that spread orange like spaghetti sauce. His fingers traced the crater where skull should have been above the ear, and found their way to the back, where blood matted hair like oil and there were shards of bone that scratched his palm. No, Dante, you’re not supposed to go, he thought. Come on. Come on, come on, come on. A little more frantic now, he bent over to kiss him, because it worked for Snow White, and again, because he knew it wouldn’t work for him. He put his ear against where Dante’s heart should have been and pretended he could hear it.
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I like that "[he] rarely laughed" and that he "kept that certain action to himself," but I don't like the "dark pool of his eye" dealie. It just doesn't make 
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