Chapter #58Practicing Deceptions by: Seuzz   We're just supposed to watch what happens, you tell yourself as you hover over your backpack. If Gordon and Jack want to meet and talk about what happened to them ... well, that's what I would do if this kind of thing happened to me.
On the other hand—
"Prescott." Chelsea's voice comes snapping through your phone. "Are you there?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Where's 'here'? Because if it's not 'half a mile from Westside and burning rubber to get there'—"
"Alright, alright! Jesus! I'm on my way!"
You swipe the phone off, shove the last few books into your pack, and run for the door without even brushing your teeth.
* * * * *
Chelsea texts again while you're still on the road, to inform you that Jack is up in the bleachers of the gym, watching pre-class basketball practice. I kept him off Gordon when we got here but u need to keep him off after. You're not sure the good it'll do—if they want to meet and talk, they'll find a way—but the ill-temper you sense behind the text is enough to get you to run two yellow lights as you hurl yourself toward the school.
From long habit (Leah's long habit) you keep an alert eye out for any friends as you hurry across the parking lot toward the gym, but you don't see anyone. You flinch as you wrench open the door to the gym, as the stench of sweaty boys and unwashed clothes hits you in the nose.
Half your flinch is a Pavlovian reaction against the memory of P. E. class. But the other half is Leah's excitement at getting to see guys in action.
The east court is busy with basketball players. There's some kind of game in progress on the court proper—the walls ring and echo with the slap of the hard ball on the hard floor, and the squeak and squeal of rubber soles—but a handful of players are jogging around the perimeter. You can't stop yourself from pausing to ogle the guys in their shorts and tank tops, their limbs shiny with sweat. Steve Patterson. Jonas Martin. Seth Javits. Brendan Tummler. Scott Frazier.
Gordon Black.
He's in the middle of the scrimmage, dancing backward and blocking Shawn Sax from advancing toward the far basket. His expression, glimpsed even at a distance, is hard and menacing.
Shawn pauses and crouches, looking for an opening. Gordon crouches too, spreading strong arms. The other players scatter behind them, shooting hands into the air, as Gordon and Shawn lean in toward each other.
Then Shawn makes a feint, but Gordon anticipates and blocks him when he wheels in the opposite direction. There's a flurry, and then Gordon has the ball. Players come galloping toward you. But Gordon stops halfway down the court, goes up into the air—gently, almost, as though lifted from above by invisible hands—and sends the ball in a graceful arc for the basket. It bounces off the rim, then falls through, and is snagged by Patterson.
You think for a moment that Gordon has seen you, and is looking at you. But then his attention returns to the play, and he falls back toward his side's basket.
Well, you think, and even your inner voice is shaky. Either Gordon's back to being himself, or Jack picked up everything he needs during the night. I wonder what the real Gordon would think.
And that reminds you why you're here. You tear your attention away from the floor and look up into the bleachers.
On one side at mid-court, among a score of students lounging on the benches, Chelsea and Maria are sitting in lonely splendor. And on the opposite side, where there are fewer spectators—
Ah, there's Jack. Sitting by himself, also at mid-court, almost at eye level with the two cheerleaders. But he seems to be concentrating on the game below.
You edge along the side of the court, then pick your way up the bleachers to where he's sitting. He seems not to notice until you are nearly atop him, and then he flinches a little in a double-take at you.
"Oh my God," you gabble as you plop down next to him. "Looks like we both had the same idea." You feel short of breath, and have to swallow your heart, which is bobbing up the back of your throat. "Awesome start for a Friday, right?"
Jack's grunt is barely audible over the noise from the floor below.
"You get my texts? Guess you wanted to do this instead of going to breakfast."
"I was already up here."
"What? No! You've been up here since seven?"
"I wanted to—" His expression tightens. "I wanted to watch a practice."
"Yeah, who?" You walk your fingers up his thigh, and he flinches again. "Come on, I'll tell you my fantasies if you tell me—"
But you break off, for you've just noticed he's dressed the same as he was last night, in brown khaki trousers and a black polo. It's not like Jack to dress in yesterday's clothes: he's been known to change ensembles two or even three times in one day, depending on his social plans.
Maybe, you think, he didn't go home last night.
Does that mean he didn't get Jack's memories? You decide to test him. "You talk to Parker and them about what you wanted to do tonight?"
The sound of the game below fills the silence. Then Jack says, "I think Parker and Kristina were going to do something together, just the two of them."
Whew! That's what Kristina told you—well, what she told Leah—yesterday. "Okay, so what are you and me going to do?"
"Us?"
"Yeah, you and me." You run your fingertip up his thigh again. "We're the ones always making plans. What are we going to do?" A movement on the floor catches your eye. Patterson is gesturing one of the joggers—Darren Green—to come onto the floor, and is sending one of the players—Jonas Martin—out to jog the perimeter. "We could pick up two of the guys down there," you slyly remark, "make 'em our boy-toys for the night."
Jack stiffens noticeably, and almost you regret the jibe. How upsetting is it for Gordon suddenly to be inhabiting the body of a guy who is gay down to the tips of his toenails? Maybe you shouldn't push him.
Then you think, Fuck that, putting Gordon Black into a ragingly gay body is something we wanted to make happen!
So you lean over to mouth a name in his ear: "Scott Frazier!"
"What?" Jack jerks back, and gives you a look of alarm.
"Scott Frazier," you repeat with a grin. "That's who I'd tie up and take out to the river in my trunk."
"Jesus!" Jack pales a little under his tawny complexion.
"Now it's your turn. Come on, who?"
Jack makes a face and turns away.
"Seriously, come on, Jack. We never— I told you!" Jack ignores you. "Okay, then, dare!"
"What?"
"Dare. You wouldn't tell me Truth, so now I—"
"I'm not playing this game with you, Leah."
"What's got you down, Jack? It's Friday! This is, like, your day!"
"I don't wanna talk about it."
"Why not? Is it—? You're not mad at me, are you?"
"No." But he does a double-take. "Should I be?"
"No. Not that I know of." You rub his knee, and hesitate: your desire to needle and probe him is losing out to Leah's own instincts. "Do you need me to fuck off?"
"No."
Then he turns and seems to see you for the first time. His eyes actually focus on you, and hold your gaze in his. His lips part, and his brow creases, and he looks like he's going to say something.
But he doesn't. Instead, he leans back, and continues to regard you.
Shit, you think. I've fucked something up.
But then with a soft grunt, he goes back to watching the practice below. "So do you got plans for tonight?" he asks.
"Whatever you want to do, lover." At the last word, your heart flips over in your chest. Oh, God, worse and worse!
"Legends?" he says. That's Jack's favorite dance club, and the implication that he's getting into character relieves you.
"What about the Warehouse?"
"Nghn. Too busy."
"Okay, Legends it is. Who do we hogtie and get to go with us?"
He sucks in a cheek, then says, "I'll scare up a crowd."
Your phone chirps with a text from Chelsea: Get him out of here!
"Come on, walk me to my locker," you tell Jack, and tug at him, but he sits rooted to the bleacher. Down on the floor, it looks like Patterson is calling a halt to practice.
But when the team gathers around Gordon, and he begins addressing them, Jack levers himself up. There's a scowl on his face, and it is still there even after you're out of the gym.
* * * * *
Jack breaks away for class before you reach your locker, so it's just you changing out books when Brianna Kirschke pokes you in the shoulder to ask about the plans for tonight.
It would be in character for you to invite her along to Legends. But Jack said he'd be in charge of setting things up. He'll probably invite her along anyway.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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