Draw the Line Read online

  Audrey smooths her hair back in place. “What deterrent does Doug have now to hurting you?”

  “Adrian keeping out of his way and not rockin’ the boat!” Trent says. “Let that doomed cruise ship just sail away.”

  I nod.

  A few groups on the other side of the courtyard head back in.

  Audrey continues. “Taking action could actually bring justice, you know. And at the least, if anything happened to you, everyone would know it was Doug.”

  “Oh! So I’d basically just be letting everyone know who to go thank when I get killed?”

  “You’re completely missing my point!” she says.

  I stand. “Why don’t you go start a petition or a sit-in or whatever the hell you want me to do?”

  She shakes her head. “You were there. I didn’t see it up close like you.”

  “So?” I scan around, but no one’s in earshot.

  “Besides, I think it would have the most impact—and highlight that Kobe’s beating was a hate crime—if it came from another gay teen.” She picks up the pink folder and holds it out to me.

  “That’s so not true,” I say.

  “Un. Freakin’. Believable.” Trent gets up.

  “What am I, Audrey? Your senior project?”

  Still on the grass, with one hand on her hip and the other clutching the folder, she says, “Adrian, you’re my friend. Will you at least think about what I’m saying? Please?”

  I stretch my arms way up and twist my spine back and forth. Almost every joint pops.

  Eyeing her, I take the folder. “What’s in here? And does it have to be pink?”

  Audrey shifts her knees. “I just printed out info about different cases from schools all over the place. Plus some other stuff. Some could apply, some not, but it’s all good reference.”

  With his back to us, Trent watches people amble back inside. “Do not rock the boat. Choppy waters out there.”

  “Will you stop it with the boat stuff? Jeez, we got it.” Audrey pushes herself up from the ground and brushes herself off.

  I stick the folder deep in my stupid backpack and heave it onto my shoulder. What was I thinking, bringing every damn book and folder I have? I’ve hardly used any of it.

  Audrey puts her hand on my arm. “Think about what I said, all right?”

  I want to tell her to leave me the hell alone, but instead I say, “I honestly don’t think my brain can handle anything else today.”

  She nods.

  We go back inside, head our separate ways, and I hustle to chemistry.

  I know she cares, but that girl needs to get a life and worry about her own crap. And with Kobe possibly teetering on the edge, he doesn’t need me doing anything stupid and pushing us both off the cliff. Kobe’s in danger too, but maybe more from himself than—

  Slam! I plow right into a wall of guys, who say, “Watch it!”

  I almost stagger off-balance but catch myself.

  Crap. It’s the staring Wrestler Guy with two others.

  “Look where you’re going, douchebag,” says the shortest one, who’s stocky but shorter than me.

  “Sorry” is all I manage to squeak. I spot a teacher way down the hall.

  Wrestler Guy looks around us, then at me. “Piper, right?”

  I swallow. I hate that using-my-last-name crap. “Uh, yeah?”

  The short guy points at me. “You know this wuss, Calderón?”

  “Nah,” Wrestler Guy says, “just seen him around.” He locks eyes with me and his face turns bright red.

  Huh?

  “C’mon.” With the back of his hand, the other friend pops Calderón on the shoulder. “Can’t be late.”

  “Yeah,” Calderón says, scanning me up and down. He locks eyes with me again and blushes even more.

  He turns and they move on.

  What was that? What did he mean, he’s “seen” me around? In the video? Or at Boo? And why was he so embarrassed and looking at me like that?

  No. It couldn’t be. Did Calderón write the note? Is there even more to it, like he’s gay?

  Now I’m delusional.

  I make it to chemistry as the bell rings. It’s easier to ignore the few odd looks I get right now, with what just happened. I rack my brain to remember if he was there Friday night. He would have been with the bubbas, though. Okay, this is way too much.

  I can’t do this. I gotta pay attention here, focus.

  I take a long, deep breath, then pull out my books.

  Lev’s girlfriend, Kathleen, is in this class, and I catch her checking me out a lot. It’s like I’m some sort of experiment gone wrong. I’m sure Lev filled her in on what a freak I was in French. She’s probably just waiting for me to melt down here, too. No way that’s gonna happen.

  Catching up after missing two days helps refocus my head. Chemistry isn’t my thing in any case, so I have no choice but to really concentrate. The class goes by pretty quickly. When the bell rings I’m the first out the door.

  To avoid the bathrooms all day, I’ve practically had nothing to drink. But now I majorly gotta go. So, on my way to sixth period, I enter the boys’ room on the second floor by the entrance to the auditorium balcony. This one’s always the least crowded. There are just four guys in here now, and they don’t look at me as I head right to the stalls, which are all empty.

  I slip into the one stall with the door that stays shut. It’s criminal they took off the latches, but at least there are doors. I can barely wedge in here and close it with my stupid backpack.

  I unzip and let loose. Whew. That’s sooo much better.

  Ugh. Someone’s scratched a really bad drawing of a spread-eagled girl onto the wall divider. I could do way better. Well, drawing a guy, of course, and in a far less repulsive and demeaning pose. I would draw Graphite.

  Graphite. Weird. Haven’t thought much about him today.

  I hear all the guys leave. Then someone else enters and a loud voice bounces around the tiles. “You’re so fulla shit.”

  What?

  Then I hear a deeper voice. “I swear, this one’ll kick your ass.”

  NO! Buddy. Doug.

  I freeze.

  There’s no sound of Doug’s keys—clanking like a dog’s tags, always hanging from his side—but I’d know their voices anywhere.

  “No way,” Buddy says. “Gimme your worst, I can handle it.”

  “Not this batch,” Doug says. “You’re too much of a pussy.”

  I silently zip up and turn, careful not to bump the door or walls. Gripping my backpack straps, I peer through the narrow opening between the stall door and divider. I face the sink and mirrors.

  They go to the urinals, off to the left. I can’t see them and there are no other sounds. I’m in here alone . . . with them.

  I’m trapped! I should make a run for it. Now. Right now.

  My backpack’s so huge. This stall’s too tight.

  And my legs won’t move.

  DAMMIT!

  “What’s your famous ‘secret ingredient’ this time?” Buddy asks. “You always talk about your ohhhh-so-secret ingredient. What the hell is it?”

  “It’s a half cup of none of your damn business.”

  Their voices bring back everything. My mind races.

  “Hey, don’t splash me, faggot,” Doug says. A urinal flushes and he comes into my view.

  What do I do? If I had my damn phone, I could text for help.

  I pull back so Doug can’t see me peering through. Bending my knees, I pretend to sit so he’ll think it’s just some guy doing his business. He must notice my feet under the stall door. But my shoes could be anyone’s. He doesn’t know.

  Just gotta wait this out.

  They have no idea it’s me. No idea.

  Through my narrow view I can spy Doug checking himself in the mirror. He glances in Buddy’s direction, then takes off the red cap, his dull brown hair molded in a bowl shape. Odd to see his whole face, even though it’s more of a glimpse from here.
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br />   I think of what his eyes looked like that night. Bloodshot. Coming at me.

  Doug spikes up his hair. He styles it to one side and smiles at his reflection. Freakin’ weird. Like a different person.

  I hear Buddy finish and zip up. Doug fits his cap back on his head in one quick motion, smile gone.

  I pull back even more in case they can see part of my face. Buddy comes into view.

  “Just wait, Bud,” Doug says. “One drop’ll turn your nuts inside out. This batch’s a twenty-alarmer.”

  What the hell are they talking about?

  “Twenty? No such thing. And, bro, real men don’t cook.” Buddy flops his hand with a limp wrist.

  “Screw you. You’re just a wuss.”

  “I’ve tried all your lame-ass hot sauces. Guess what? Your shit ain’t so hot.”

  “Watch it, dickhead,” Doug says. “My sauces are better than anything you’ll ever do. Even hotter, like me.”

  Buddy cackles.

  Doug checks his reflection in the mirror and adjusts his hat. “I’m too hot. Ladies just line up to get burned.”

  “That why they never stick around?”

  Doug kicks at the back of Buddy’s knee. “They can’t handle it.”

  “Oh, yeah? So what’s your secret ingredient?”

  Doug pops him on the chest. “It’s called secret for a reason.”

  “Bro, the wimpiest baby could handle you or any hot sauce you make. Even that little homo Piper.”

  What? Oh, my god.

  “Hey, that little fag’s here, ya know,” Buddy says. My heart hammers. “Back at school. I saw him this morning.”

  Doug sniffs. “I know. I saw him.”

  I put my palm to my chest. My heartbeat’s so loud they must hear.

  Doug turns a faucet on and off and flicks water at Buddy.

  “Come off it!” Buddy says.

  “Wimp,” Doug says. “Okay, let’s move.”

  “Hear that guy in there?” Buddy takes a step toward my stall. “Gross. He’s panting. What’s he doing?”

  I hold my breath.

  Buddy punches the hand dryers on, noise bouncing off the tiles. I can’t see where they went. Did they leave?

  The stall door next to me opens. Shoes squeak. What’s happening?

  Above me I hear, “Holy shit!” Buddy gapes at me over the divider, then pounds it with his knee.

  Oh, my god! I scramble, claw at the door, open and slam it against the divider. I wedge out of the stall. Doug blocks me.

  He squints at me, confused.

  Buddy bolts out of the other stall. “You? What the fuck you doin’ in there? Jackin’ off watchin’ me pee?”

  There’s no one else here and I can’t get to the door.

  Buddy grabs his crotch. “Tryin’ to see my dick?” He shoves me toward the urinals.

  “Hey!” I barely steady myself.

  “No.” Doug grabs Buddy’s arm. “You fuckin’ nuts? Not here.”

  The bell rings.

  Doug steps right to me, stares down in my face.

  I don’t move a muscle.

  Hand dryers stop, leaving silence.

  “Piper.” Doug’s spittle lands in my eye. He glances at Buddy, then back at me. He studies my face. “I’m watching you, every step. Everything you do.”

  He looks down at my shaking hands, then turns to go.

  Buddy kicks me. “Ow!”

  Doug whips around, grabs the front of Buddy’s shirt, and pulls him up. “I. Said. Not. Here.” He practically tosses him toward the door.

  Buddy glares back at me. Then they’re gone.

  My breathing echoes all around the empty room.

  I rub my shin where Buddy kicked me. It burns. I hold back a moment, then open the bathroom door, ready to run, or scream. But the halls are almost empty and classroom doors are closing. Wait—there, all the way at the end of the hall. Doug and Buddy turn the corner. They’re gone.

  I can’t stay here, and there’s no way I’m ready for class.

  With no one around now, I try the auditorium balcony door. It’s not locked. Checking over my shoulder, I slip in and close the door with a soft click. As if smothered by a pillow, the echo and brightness of the hall disappear and are replaced by cool darkness. It’s practically pitch-black.

  I’m in a little side hall that wraps around the balcony level. I lean against the scratchy carpeted wall and let my eyes get used to the faint glow of red from the exit sign above my head. My shin stings. I grope my way along the wall to one of the two archways that lead to the seats.

  I peek around the corner. Rows of dark-purple seats fan down from where I stand at the top of an aisle. A couple dimmed lights faintly shine from the ceiling, making soft glowing pools between here and the railing. Everything else is in shadow.

  Without making a sound, I descend one step.

  All the way down below, beyond the railing, only the stage curtain has any light on it, casting stark shadows in the deep folds of the golden fabric.

  I stand perfectly still and scan all the seats, listening for any sound. My eyes adjust more and, with the faint light from the ceiling and red exit signs above both archways, it’s clear I’m alone. I only hear my heart, pounding through my ribs.

  In the top row, I slide over to the far corner. My back and shoulders throb as I take off my backpack and place it on the floor. Springs creak as I ease into a seat and pull my knees up against my chest. Then there’s only heavy silence.

  What do I do? What the hell do I do?

  I am so screwed.

  I WALK RIGHT INTO CLASS and up to the teacher, whisper so only he can hear, “Sorry I’m late, but I needed extra time in the bathroom,” and then sit down. It’s the best excuse I could come up with to cover my ten (fifteen?) minutes of hiding in the balcony. I must look bad enough that he believes me. He doesn’t ask questions so must think I’m still “sick” from being out for two days.

  Well, I am.

  Everyone’s still watching me, of course, but it’s better to be in this class than out in the hall, exposed. Plus, I don’t need the school calling my parents to say I disappeared.

  It’s last period—almost the hell out of here.

  Well, for today.

  “Those assholes.” Through the car window, Trent glares into the distance.

  Audrey drives with her usual finesse as we zip by parked cars in the shopping mall lot. I grab the seat as she spots an open space, whips into it, and comes to a quick stop.

  “Harassing you in the bathroom? Why didn’t you go straight to the assistant principal?” she says, shutting off the engine. “What were you thinking?”

  “About not getting killed, okay?” Leaving my backpack on the floor, I hop out on the passenger side and a raindrop hits my face. Sporadic dark dots pepper the pavement. I close the door. I’ve got a massive headache.

  Trent extracts himself from the car and shuts his door.

  Audrey slams hers. “Adrian, this is serious.”

  “Really?” Trent says. “Wow, I’m sure he didn’t notice that.”

  “Audrey, you weren’t there!” I scan the lot. No one is nearby. “Like I told you, Doug’s watching every step I take. He’s got eyes everywhere.”

  Audrey, hands on hips, ignores the raindrops and stares at me across the hood. “Then maybe Doug would be more careful if he knew he was being watched by—”

  “The school?” Trent says. “Oh, come on. What are they gonna do? Doug is God, remember? Football rules and he rules football. Where do you think you live, Norway?”

  I start toward the mall. “Besides, he made it clear with Buddy. It’s not at school that worries me most.”

  Trent easily catches up to me with those long legs, his black boots clomping along. “Then why’d you want to come to the mall?” he says. “Little exposed, don’t you think?”

  “Safety in numbers,” I say. Well, numbers that aren’t drunk bubbas. “Besides, Doug and Buddy have football practice after school, right?�
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  After a few steps I stop and look back at Audrey, trailing us.

  “I get where you’re coming from,” I say to her. “In a perfect world I’d run to the authorities and all would be la-di-da happy. But you saw how the cops closed ranks around Doug. His dad’s a sergeant, remember? And anyway, around here, no one’s gonna side with the gay kid.”

  Huffing, she marches past us.

  “I’m only looking out for you,” she says. “This incident is the perfect example of what I was telling you earlier. You’ve got to do something to protect yourself. I’m not being some naïve dreamer here—the only option is to let the school know. Okay? Done.”

  I grit my teeth and keep my thoughts to myself. She’s not listening anyway.

  We enter the mall through Neiman Marcus, the only worthy entrance according to you-can-guess-who. Overpriced luxury stores aren’t my thing, but the tinkling music and pricey perfume samples seem to calm Audrey. Trent and I keep going, zigzagging around the glittering glass cases, and wait for her outside the store in the actual mall.

  It’s not too crowded—just the usual mix of parents with strollers, old people “power-walking,” business types, and after-school kids. Some I recognize, but at least there’s no one I’m worried about. And here, everyone’s more interested in looking in mirrors than looking at me.

  Trent’s belt chains jangle as we sit on one of the benches sandwiched between towering potted plants. I lean back and let my muscles go limp. Comforting mall sounds echo all around. I want to close my eyes, but I’d probably just pass out. “Can we get some coffee?” I say. My headache’s worse.

  “Better wait for Her Highness,” he says.

  I spot Audrey over in Neiman’s, drooling over the rainbow of lipsticks.

  Trent blows his jet-black hair from his eyes. “Just ignore her. I don’t get what planet she thinks she’s living on.”

  “More like what solar system,” I say.

  I watch her banter with the big-haired saleslady.

  An old couple strolls by, but when they see Trent in his goth finery, their faces harden and they pick up their pace. He slumps lower on the bench, curving his back into a C shape.

  “Why’s Audrey ragging on you so much?” he says. “What’s the deal with that pink ‘research folder’ crap?”