Chapter Twelve: Rolly Polly Fish Heads

David sat down on the bed he'd adopted, and Jack sat down facing him. "What's up?" David asked, furrowing his brow a little bit, trying to figure out why Jack looked so serious. Even when sick, Jack didn't usually look serious; he seemed to have a happy go lucky life philosophy that was startling, when David considered the life he'd lived it with. But then, David was a cynic to begin with.

Jack sat down opposite David, hands clenched together, elbows resting on his knees, leaning so far forward he looked like he was looking down. Pensive, David thought; it was the best adjective he could come up with for the way Jack was acting.

"Jack?" David asked, when Jack didn't say anything.

Jack looked up, straightened a bit, and bit his lip. Finally, nervously, he stated, "Dave, I'm gay."

David stared at him.

Jack waited for a response.

David blinked a few times.

Jack swallowed nervously.

"Oh," David said finally. "Okay."

"Okay?" Jack repeated, sounding startled.

"Well… Yeah. I mean… Isn't it?"

Jack nodded quickly. "Just, I didn't know how you'd react. I, uh… It's one of those things that I don't tell a lot of people."

"Okay," David agreed. "I won't tell anyone, if that's what you're worried about."

"Yeah," Jack agreed. Well, he'd been worried about that, too, and this was sort of a weight off his shoulders. He started to tell David the rest, then stopped. David didn't care that he was gay, which was fine, but he'd probably be more freaked out if he knew Jack liked him, and Jack decided one shock at a time was probably the best plan. "Thanks."

"Hey, no problem." He paused. "You know, you don't have to worry about telling me things, Jack. We're friends, right?"

Jack grinned. "We are," he agreed, and hoped he wasn't blushing. "I just get nervous telling anyone that, I mean… I, uh, had a couple of nasty experiences. I've lost friends over it, so…"

"Sorry."

"Hey, ain't your fault."

"Yeah, but I'm still…" He trailed off. "What happened? I mean, it's okay if you don't want to talk about it or–"

"It's fine," Jack interrupted, and suddenly looked nervous again. "It was in ninth grade, and I was actually kind of popular back then, because… Well, because no one realized I was gay yet. I barely realized it. I mean, the town we live in isn't, uh, well known for being open minded." He took a deep breath and leaned back on his bed, making himself comfortable, staring at the ceiling, and began to narrate aloud the way he remembered things.

"I mean, I was pretty sure… I'd never had a serious crush, though, just that all of my 'I wonder if…' thoughts were always about boys… And then there was this guy. He was… Pretty amazing, really; nice guy, athletic, smart, funny… You know, Johnny Highschool. That guy."

"Football team?" David asked.

"Lettered, yeah. I swear, every girl in school had a thing for him, and his younger sister… She, uh, had a thing for me. He was in eleventh grade and I was in ninth with her, and she'd invite me over a lot. We were pretty good friends, hung out all the time, and I really wished she didn't have a crush on me 'cause that made things pretty awkward, but eventually…

"One day she went to wash some laundry or something and I was just sitting there in the room with her brother, and pretending I was watching TV or whatever we were doing and we started talking and got along pretty well. He started saying hi to me in the hallways, let me sit at his table at lunch–and I was just a freshman, so that was a big deal–and eventually, like, we became friends too."

David nodded a little, though Jack couldn't see it; he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as he spoke. David didn't want to interrupt, but he had an awful feeling this story was going somewhere extremely painful. Listening had the awful feeling of slowing down to watch a car wreck on the highway, but he was slightly mesmerized by Jack's voice, and if Jack wanted to tell him he certainly wasn't going to stop listening…

"I had a crush on him. I mean, of course I did, he was everything I said before, and real nice to me, too, and one day started joking around about… Being gay, stupid jokes, things that hurt me pretty bad because by that point I was sure of what was going on. I liked him too much to brush it off, I was starting to worry about how to tell my mom and he started joking and I kind of freaked.

"He didn't get why at first, and when he asked what was wrong I actually told him the truth. All of it, god, I was such a moron. And he was kinda shocked, but…" Jack stopped. "It was really fu–messed up," he said, remembering that technically he wasn't supposed to swear in front of David. But he took a deep breath and continued anyway. "Well, he got over the shock pretty fast, and next thing I knew we were kissing and I couldn't believe it, thought it was too good to be true…"

He couldn't quite say it. It still didn't feel real; it wasn't supposed to have happened like that. Three years hadn't made it stop hurting, hadn't taken away the sting of betrayal that was worse than anything physical.

"And?" David asked, when Jack didn't say a word for almost a minute.

Finally Jack mumbled, "The football team beat the crap out of me in the parking lot the next day."

"Oh… Oh my God, Jack…"

David didn't know what to say, which Jack had pretty much expected. "Yeah, well, I shoulda expected it, should have known better…"

"Did you tell them about you and him kissing?"

"No." Jack rolled over so he was facing David. "Nah, wouldn't have done any good."

"Did you talk to him after that?"

"I tried to, I… I really wanted to know what happened. But he wouldn't talk to me, and his sister stopped talking to me too… Just about everyone did."

"That's awful."

"Yeah, that whole school was pretty awful. Creeps." Jack sighed. "Yeah, and then I had to explain to Mom and Jordan why I was getting in fights at school so much all of a sudden, and they weren't exactly thrilled by it, either. By me, I mean. Jordan wanted to kick me out, but that was about the only time Mom really put her foot down, did something for me."

"At least there's that," David said, attempting to be optimistic. It wasn't easy, given his cynical nature, but he felt he had to find an upside for Jack.

"Yeah; Jordan ain't gonna start charging rent until I turn eighteen. Got a good six months left."

"Wow, that's… He is an asshole."

"Yeah, pretty much." Jack shrugged a little. "That was about the worst of it, but I actually ended up in the hospital the next year, had to change schools after that…"

"In the hospital?" David asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, Johnny Highschool was feeling aggressive one day, and the rest of the football team followed his lead." Jack shuddered a little, involuntarily. "I changed schools, and it always sucks to be the new kid, I guess."

"Tell me about it," David mumbled, and Jack chuckled.

"Yeah, you probably got that this summer. At least they only haze third years," Jack offered. "It does suck, though."

"A lot."

"Yeah. Yeah, and the new school… It wasn't quite so bad. I mean, they found out I was gay pretty fast, 'cause it's in the same city so there are people who knew each other and rumors travel pretty fast, but… I mean, it isn't quite as big a deal."

"No more fighting?"

"Not quite none, but nothing as bad. And hey, I'm not too bad in a fight, I give as good as I get. Unless the whole damn football team…" He trailed off.

"I can't believe anyone would do something like that," David said, catching Jack's eye.

Jack shrugged. "Not everyone's like that. I'm just glad you ain't freaking out on me."

"I wouldn't do that, Jack," David promised. "I'd never hurt you, not like that."

And Jack just smiled a little. Because with David promising things like that, old betrayals suddenly didn't hurt so badly.

*

Bumlets knocked loudly on the door.

"C'mon in!" Specs yelled. "We're both decent!"

Bumlets slid the card key through the scanner and the light turned green; he pushed the hotel room door open. Specs and Dutchy were, indeed, dressed, and lying on their bed watching TV, not exactly cuddling, but there wasn't enough room to slide a piece of paper between the two of them. He tossed Specs the car keys, and settled on his bed.

"So, did you find anything interesting in this sad excuse for a city?" Specs asked.

"No," Bumlets answered. "I think the club you mentioned, and a grocery store, but nothing else was open."

"Yeah; they close everything at nine around here," Dutchy agreed. "The camp is fun, the city sucks."

Bumlets nodded his agreement and kicked off his shoes.

"There's just the club and the grocery story and an IHOP," Specs added. "Hey, you two wanna hit IHOP after the show tonight? I could seriously use a chocolate chip pancake with strawberries and whipped cream." He shot Dutchy a look. "Brings back good memories."

Dutchy ran a hand through his hair and ignored the comment, though Bumlets thought he might be blushing a tiny, tiny bit. Specs chuckled, and Dutchy gently smacked his shoulder and he laughed harder. "Domestic violence is never funny," Bumlets mused, which made Specs nearly choke, and Dutchy fake hit him again. Specs hit back, and that lead to a shoving match, which eventually culminated in Dutchy being shoved off the bed by a very triumphant and very smug Specs.

"Jerk," Dutchy muttered from the floor, then made himself comfortable staring up at the ceiling. Specs laughed and leaned over to over him a hand up and instead got yanked off, and landed bodily on top of his boyfriend.

"Uh, hi there," Specs said.

Dutchy raised an eyebrow. "Comfy?" he asked wryly.

"Of course." Specs kissed him quickly then scrambled to his feet and got back on the bed, and Dutchy followed suit. Then they seemed to remember there was someone else in the room, and saw Bumlets had taken up a renewed interest in the television. Specs shrugged a little and he and Dutchy went back to watching, smiling, holding hands.

*

Sarah hadn't thought anyone would stoop that low. She knew what had happened the moment she walked into the bunk and inhaled; the fishy scent was rather hard to miss. She wrinkled her nose, took a deep breath and held it as she made her way over to her bunk and… Well, there was no fish in it, but there were a few conspicuous wet spots.

She gasped for breath and almost puked from the smell. It was truly amazing, Hotshot, Smurf and Swinger all had to share living quarters with her. They'd have to smell it, too. It was hurting themselves at least as badly as her.

Making a face and trying to breath as little as possible, she stripped her bed and went to get her spare sheets, hoping that nothing had managed to sink into the mattress itself, and as she did so noticed that the scent actually got worse as she got closer to the set of drawers she'd claimed as her own, and nervously she pulled the top one open. Nothing. She moved on to the second one and still found nothing out of the ordinary, and then to the third.

She didn't scream when she saw the five fish, slimy and with eyes either totally blank and bulging out, or missing entirely from having been on the beach for too long. They were laid carefully across all of her shirts, so carefully that not a single shirt was left clean.

Calmly, Sarah shut the drawer and walked back out of the bunk.

She stopped on the porch where she could inhale again, and she took a deep breath.

Then she screamed at the top of her lungs.

*

The club was eighteen and over, which was kind of exciting for Bumlets, who'd just turned eighteen the past month. He'd never been clubbing before, though this didn't count as clubbing so much as going to a club, and hanging out. Okay, hanging out with guys he didn't really know so well, but still. It felt remarkably normal to him, like the kind of thing a regular guy did on his summer vacation.

Dutchy revealed himself to be the oldest member of the group by charming a bartender into letting him have a drink without checking his ID, which was good, as he was still a few months underage. Specs probably could have gotten away with something similar, but didn't try; after all, he was driving home, and it was less that he was worried about himself and the people he was driving, and more that he worried too much about his car. Dutchy made a point of explaining that to Bumlets, who really wasn't terribly surprised.

(Specs's revenge was to point out that Dutchy got the homemade equivalent of a sorority girl drink, which did seem to annoy him. They bickered about it for a few minutes, and Bumlets just assumed this was one of their strange, couple-y things and ignored them.)

There was no smoking in the bar, though there were ashtrays left over from the days when public smoking was allowed in the state. Enough of the ashtrays had cigarette butts in them that it was probably safe to assume that most people ignored the no smoking laws, though really, the air in the bar did seem fairly breathable.

The lighting was dim, the music was loud, and conversation was difficult. "There should be a band on in a few minutes," Specs yelled over the din, checking his watch. "Just something local."

Bumlets shrugged a little, and glanced over at the stage. It was tiny, and barely rose above the regular floor. He doubted a band would actually have enough room to set up on it, and considering that there was a band setting up on it, he could see he wasn't wrong by much. Everything looked cramped and crowded together, the people who were setting things up definitely looked less than pleased. But somehow it got done, and there was a very quick soundcheck.

"Okay setup," Dutchy mused, then, "Nice guitar." He thwacked Specs's arm. "I want one for my birthday."

"Ha. No," Specs said.

"Please?"

"Sure, if you'll pay for it."

Dutchy shrugged, as the band made their way on stage. It was a four piece set up, with a drummer crammed at the back of the stage (which was practically also the front of the stage) and a guitarist and bassist; Bumlets was surprised by how young they looked. He'd expected people who at least looked old enough to have been in college, but only the bassist looked possibly old enough to be a college graduate, and that was just because he had bad facial hair. The guitarist had thick glasses and was clearly trying for (but not quite pulling off) an Elvis Costello look; the drummer had a giant mess of curls and was wearing a sparkly t-shirt that declared him a princess.

Then the singer stepped out on stage.

Bumlets gaped, and Specs noticed him gaping and started laughing. Unlike her bandmates, the singer was female; she was wearing a tight, sleeveless shirt with silver sparkles, and ripped jeans, and had short hair, dyed purple. It wasn't that she was beautiful; she was simply noticeable. Bumlets had met beautiful girls before, most dancers, after all, fit some standard of beauty. She didn't look like they did, though. She just looked… Unique.

A few moments later they started the first song. It was somewhere between punk and rock; Dutchy muttered something about punk bands just not having the talent to play real rock. Then Specs swatted his shoulder and called him a pretentious music snob, and Dutchy nodded and finished his drink. The music was… Okay. Not great. And the singer's voice, similarly, was okay and not great.

As the set continued, and during the course of it Bumlets found out that her name was Gabby (she introduced the rest of the band, too, but that didn't register as well) and that the band was called Fiendish, and that they had a CD for sale. It was their first CD, apparently. ("Duh," Specs muttered. "They're what, twelve years old? How can they even play in an eighteen and over club?")

But the three of them enjoyed their set; so did everyone else. A few minutes after they packed up and the next act started setting up, Specs declared he couldn't take the smoke anymore ("What smoke? You're an asthmatic wuss." "Shut up, Dutchy.") and on the way out to the car, there was the band, moving their equipment into a van.

Bumlets glanced at Gabby and sighed a little, and Specs shoved him. "Go talk to her."

"What?"

"Go talk to her."

"No!"

"Wuss," Dutchy accused.

"I am not."

"So go talk to her."

"I can't. She's in a band."

"Dude, so's Dutchy," Specs pointed out. "Bands like it when people tell them they're good." And he gave Bumlets a not so subtle push, and Bumlets froze. Because the band was looking at him. Well, at them, and after a strange pause, Dutchy called, "Hey, you guys were pretty good."

"Gee, that's encouraging," Gabby noted.

Dutchy shrugged a little. "My friend thinks you're hot," he said. "I'm just making conversation. He's shy."

"Dutchy!"

"Well, you do."

"Shut up!"

She looked amused, then thoughtful. "Have I seen you somewhere before?" she asked.

He shook his head.

"Huh. Okay, then I'm hallucinating." She laughed. "We rockstars use drugs and all, you know."

"Uh…"

There was a pause, and she waved him over to them, and Specs shoved him again, and awkwardly he approached the van. She dug around inside for a moment, then found a CD and handed it to him. "Here. Pictures of me." She winked. "Come see us again."

"I will. I'll try to," he said quickly.

"What's your name?" she asked, as the bassist shoved past him a little to put away some equipment.

"Alec."

"Alec. All right, well… Nice to meet you." She shrugged.

He blushed, and smiled, and finally managed, "Yeah, you… too…" And then retreated. "I can not believe you did that!" he yelled at Dutchy and Specs as soon as they were safely in the station wagon.

"You got a free CD out of the deal," Dutchy said philosophically.

"You made me go talk to her!"

"Well, yeah."

"You told her I think she's hot!"

"…You do, don't you?"

"Yes, but–"

"Well, then there you go."

Specs sighed, and Bumlets looked a little pained. Specs glanced back over his shoulder before pulling out of the parking space. "Dutchy isn't very subtle," he said finally. "And has no sense of shame."

"I noticed that."

"You love it, Rich."

"I do. Other people don't, dumbass."

"Whatever. Besides." Dutchy turned around in his seat and grinned. "She was totally flirting with you. If you hadn't frozen like that, she'd totally have hit on you. You didn't even get the CD signed. So really, I'm not the dumbass."

"Dutchy, stop being mean to him."

"Yes, Mother."

"Mother?" Specs laughed. "If you're confusing me with your mother, that's a whole psychological can of worms that I'm really not okay with opening." Specs grinned, and Dutchy chuckled and turned on the radio, and Bumlets just had no idea what to think.

Dutchy and Specs were nice, and pretty cool, he supposed.

They were also very weird.

*

Chauncey looked at the drawer and grimaced, started to sigh, then thought better of sighing because it stunk. She lead the way back out of the bunk and shook her head a little. "Very immature; do you know who did this?"

"Yes," Sarah answered immediately. "It was Smurf and Hotshot."

"Did you see them?"

"No, but I know it was them because–"

"Is there any actual proof?"

"Well, no, but…"

"Sarah, then I'm afraid there's not much I can do. We'll air out the bunk and send your shirts to the laundry early, of course, and I'll take care of the fish, and warn everyone very firmly, but without proof I can't actually punish anyone."

"But I know it was them!" Sarah yelled. "I know it, and my stuff is ruined and the bunk reeks and it's not fair!"

"Sometimes life isn't fair." Chauncey shrugged. "We all have to follow the rules; the rule breakers, if caught, will be punished by the rules. But I can't just take your word on it; how would that be fair?"

"It would be fair because they're guilty!"

Chauncey shook her head. "I'm sorry, but that's the end of it. I'll make sure everyone knows this is unacceptable behavior, and I'll keep my eye on people who you… suspect are responsible."

"But I'm right."

"Sarah." Chauncey used her 'end of discussion' tone; by the second week of camp, everyone knew what that meant. Sarah glared a little, muttered, "Fine," and stomped back out of the cabin and towards the dining hall, which seemed to be the center of camp life.

*

"Yeah; he's real cut rate."

"He's what?" Smurf asked absently, as she glared across the dining hall at Blink, and fiddling with the bucket cap she could be seen wearing almost all day, everyday.

"Cut rate."

"That's a bad thing, right?"

Swinger rolled her eyes and nodded.

"Why can't you speak English like a normal person?" Hotshot demanded irritably, watching out the window.

"Ain't my fault you can't dig my jive."

"I almost followed that one," Smurf said.

"You'd think we'd get them all by now."

Swinger suddenly followed Hotshot's gaze out the window. "Focus." She gestured a little.

"Focus on what?"

"The battle."

"What?"

"Focus; here comes the batt–"

"Sarah," Hotshot interrupted, before Swinger and Smurf could just start repeating 'focus, here's the battle' 'what?' 'focus…' over and over again, because that was how all of their conversations went.

"Oh." Smurf threw Blink one last nasty glare, which he returned, and waited for Sarah to walk in. She also thwacked Swinger's shoulder and demanded, "Why couldn't you just say it's Sarah coming?"

"Be kopasetic," Swinger mumbled to the other two, as Sarah slammed the screen door open and glared at them.

"What?" Smurf demanded.

"She means be calm," Hotshot hissed.

"Why can't she just say so?"

"I did beef it. In jive."

"Okay, I swear to God you're making stuff up now."

"It's bible, bree."

"Hotshot, make her stop that."

"No one's been able to make her stop all summer, just deal with it," Hotshot snapped.

Sarah walked over to them, though stomped was a better word. "Real funny, you three," she hissed.

"What was?" Smurf asked innocently.

"Dead. Fish."

"Dead fish?" Hotshot faked confusion. "Well, you certainly smell like something died, but I assumed that's because you never shower."

"What did you say?" Sarah snarled.

"You heard me."

"You'd know a lot about not showering."

"Real slick comeback." Smurf tucked one of the blue streaks of her hair behind her ears, fidgeted with her hat some more, and smirked.

"Well, gee, Smurf. Even if I don't shower, at least I don't have to dye my hair neon to make boys pay attention to me."

"You're coming up on the wrong riff there, battle."

Sarah ignored Swinger, because she couldn't think of a comeback; in all fairness, that was more because she had no idea what had just been said than anything else. "All I'm saying is watch your back," Sarah finally snapped. "I'm not putting up with this."

She threw a quick look around the room, and discovered Blink was walking towards them.

"Hey; I hear someone mocking Smurf and her stupid hair. That's usually my job." He grinned.

"Have fun," Sarah muttered.

"I will."

Smurf narrowed her eyes, but got only an innocent smile in return.

"What do you want, pirate boy?" she snapped.

"Pirate boy? I'm hurt. Psychotic midget." And with that, he reached forward, snatched the hat off her head, and held it up over his own. Which was fairly effective, considering he was nearly a full foot taller than she was. Sarah started laughing, and so did he, though he kept his laughter mostly under control; and now everyone in the whole dining hall was staring at them.

"Give it back!"

"Make me."

"I will."

Smurf proceeded to stomp on his foot with all of her weight, and he grimaced but that passed quickly. "Barely felt it, tiny," he declared, then shot her one last look and took off out of the dining hall, hat still in hand. She took off after him, and the door slammed behind them, and everyone kind of stared after the two of them quietly.

Finally, Sarah turned her attention back to Hotshot. "I'm going to get even."

"I'm terrified."

"You will be." She started to stride off, glad to have the last word for once, but her dramatic exit was ruined by the guffaws from outside.

"Hey that's fighting dirty!"

"You want dirty?! I'll give you dirty!"

"HEY!"

And then there was incoherent yelling and a few dull thuds, and a minute later, Smurf walked back in, clenching her hat (now totally mud encrusted) in one hand. She stomped past Sarah without acknowledgement, back to where she'd been standing with Hotshot and Swinger.

Blink came back in after another brief pause. His entire front was as coated in mud as Smurf's hat had been.

No one asked what had happened. No one really wanted to know, but he did walk up to Sarah, tap her on the shoulder and gesture out towards the porch. She followed hesitantly.

"She's going down," Blink muttered as he attempted to wipe some mud off, which didn't work very well.

"And Hotshot."

"Hotshot, whatever; Smurf has to die."

"I don't care about Smurf as much as Hotshot."

"Okay." Blink paused in his attempt to scrape the dirt off his clothing. "So we get them both. Agreed?"

"Agreed."

"You got any plans?"

"Not… Yet, no," she said hesitantly.

"Don't worry." Blink smirked. "I do."

[End Chapter Twelve]
Chapter Thirteen: Here's To Romance
back