Shine - Lauren Myracle [59]
“Did you give him a hard time? Call him girly names and make fun of him for being light in the loafers?” Light in the loafers, my God. I’d channeled Aunt Tildy rather than mustering the confidence to say the word gay.
Jason nodded, and I felt a stab in my chest. Maybe because I’d started to change my opinion of him after seeing him in the hospital? Maybe I wanted him not to be one of those Mario Mario jerks?
“But I don’t treat him like that anymore,” he said.
“Wow, you should be so proud.”
He stared at me, part hostile and part hurting. The hurting part must have won out, because he started talking, and he didn’t hold back. He told me that yeah, his college buddies were assholes, and yeah, so was he. But Patrick took it like a man, and Jason couldn’t help but respect him for it.
Over time, Jason started driving to Black Creek on his own, leaving his buddies at the dorm. He quit harassing Patrick. One night, he spotted one of Patrick’s philosophy books by the cash register, and it was a book Jason had read, so they talked about it for a while. It got to the point where Jason and Patrick would hang out at the Come ‘n’ Go for hours. They’d argue about philosophical issues, or they’d just shoot the breeze. Occasionally, according to Jason, Patrick wouldn’t be in the mood to talk, so Jason would leave.
“He’d act like nobody could possibly understand how hard his life was, and that got old,” Jason admitted. “But no one’s perfect. He’s a good guy.”
“I know.”
“He didn’t deserve what happened to him.”
“I know.” I looked Jason straight in the eye. “Do you know who did it? Was it one of your friends?”
“No,” he said. “The guys I hang with . . . no. They’re dumb shits, but they’re not . . . they would never . . .” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “They drink. They smoke a little weed. They go to parties and hit on girls, and that’s all life is to them, one big kegger.”
“Were you with them that Saturday?” I asked. “What if they were partying and wanted some beer and drove to Black Creek to try and buy some? And the store was closed, and Patrick wouldn’t open it back up, and things got ugly?”
“No,” Jason said.
“Well, what if they knew from the get-go that Patrick wouldn’t sell to them, and they drove to the Come ‘n’ Go looking for a fight? Boys can be like that, you know.”
“No. Not those guys.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because all their lives, they’ve been given whatever they want,” he said, anger flashing across his face. “Because I doubt any one of them’s been in a fistfight, even. They’re soft and they’re spoiled and they don’t know the kind of ugliness we know. Okay?”
I grew silent. How did Jason know what kind of ugliness I knew or didn’t know? And since when did him and me become a “we”?
“You live in Black Creek, right?” he said. “Same as Patrick?”
I hesitated, then nodded tersely.
“Yeah, well, I’m from Hangtree.”
My eyebrows went up, because Hangtree was even more backwoods than Black Creek. Think toothless hillbillies and cousins marrying cousins and corn liquor distilled with battery acid. That was Hangtree.
“But in the library, you called me . . .” I didn’t finish. The point was, being from Hangtree meant he was even more white trash than me.
He looked ashamed. “Yeah, and like I said at the hospital, I’m sorry.”
“Actually, you didn’t.”
“Yeah, I did.”
“No, you didn’t. You said you owed me an apology, but you never gave me one.”
“I didn’t? Well, um, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. What I said was uncool.”
“You think?” I said.
“I was in a bad place. I’d heard about Patrick, and I was so angry I couldn’t think straight. I was so angry I didn’t even go to the college computer lab, because I wanted to see what I could find out about Patrick, and I didn’t want some asshole coming over and saying, ‘Hey, bro, whatcha doing? Whoa, you reading about that faggot? What’s up with that, man?’”
His eyes were full of despair, and I had the craziest urge to hug that fool of a boy, the way a mama