Russel Middlebrook: Double Feature Part 6

But as the days go by, the students start turning into actual zombies-with yellow skin and mussed-up hair. So Brad teams up with Christy to try to figure out who's turning the whole school into zombies, and why. That's what the scene at the vending machine was all about: they're finally realizing that, no, it's not all in their imaginations.

They kept shooting the vending machine scene over and over. I was still ignoring Kevin, but around the fifth take, I couldn't help but notice that he suddenly seemed to be getting awfully cozy with one of the other zombie-jocks.

88 Or maybe they were just talking. I mean, since Min, Gunnar, and I were ignoring him, Kevin had to talk to someone, right? I couldn't tell if the other guy was good-looking or not, because of the yellow makeup and messed-up hair. I hadn't paid any attention to him before, but now I couldn't help but notice that he did have a pretty good body.

I tried to put them both out of my mind. Before the next shot, I talked with Min, Gunnar, and Em.

"I have a question," I said.

"Yes?" Min said.

"Has anyone figured out what a brain zombie is yet?"

Min smiled. "Not a clue. It hasn't been mentioned in any of the scenes I've been in."

"I still say it's explained somewhere in the script," Gunnar mumbled.

Suddenly Kevin laughed. I turned. He was standing across the hall with that other zombie-jock. The guy had his hand up against the wall, leaning into it, exactly the way a guy leans into the wall when he's. .h.i.tting on a girl. But Kevin didn't seem to mind. He was laughing and talking, so engrossed that he didn't even notice me staring at him.

Well, what difference did it make if he was being hit on by another guy? I wasn't interested in Kevin anyway, right? I didn't even want to talk to him. But it did sort of speak to Kevin's state of mind. I mean, if he was so des perate to get back together with me-so desperate that 89 he'd become a movie extra just to get close to me-what was he doing letting himself be hit on by another guy? He had to know that I'd notice. Was he trying to make me jealous? Or was he just so weak-willed that when some random guy hit on him, he was powerless to resist?

I decided to block Kevin and his new "friend" out of my mind completely. Instead, I concentrated on Declan McDonnell. Him, I did want to talk to again, desperately. I didn't really expect to, but I decided why not swing by that bathroom where I'd seen him before? So I did.

Six times.

Every time we had a break or even an obviously long pause between shots, I went to that bathroom. And every time, I found myself alone. It was stupid, I know. Of course I was never going to talk to Declan McDonnell again. I'd been lucky to talk to him once!

When I went back to that bathroom a seventh time, he was there. He was standing at one of the thirty urinals, just zipping up.

"Oh!" I said.

"Oh," he said. "h.e.l.lo again."

He picked up a silver dagger that I hadn't noticed sitting on top of the urinal. It had jewels in the handle and every 90 thing.

"What's that?" I asked.

"Just a prop. What I use to kill the zombies in the last part of the movie. I find it in a drawer in the princ.i.p.al's desk."

Taking the dagger with him, he crossed to the sinks to wash his hands.

"Hey, can I ask you a question?" I said. I didn't really have a question in mind, but I figured I had to say something, or he'd fly away again.

"Huh?" he said. "Sure, I guess." He finished washing and started drying his hands.

"What's the secret of high school?"

I have no idea what made me say this. It was just the first thing that popped into my head. I guess it was because Declan McDonnell was always playing high school students. He had to know the secret, right?

He shrugged. "Beats me. I didn't even go to high school."

"What?"

"It's true. I dropped out my soph.o.m.ore year, when I started getting jobs on television. I had on-set tutors. I always wondered if I missed out."

"You didn't," I said quickly. "Seriously. Not at all. Trust me on this."

He laughed. "Well, it is ironic. I've spent the last ten years playing high school students." 91 "You're twenty-six?" I said, surprised. I knew he probably wasn't a teenager, but I had no idea he was that old.

"Maybe even more like twenty-eight." He winked. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" He looked at me. "So you hate high school, huh?"

"Well, hate is a strong word. So I'd say, yeah, it's perfect to describe how I feel about high school."

He snorted. "You're pretty smart," he said. "Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yeah. It's part of the reason why I've always been known as Mr. Popularity at my school."

He laughed one more time, and I wondered why I couldn't ever be this charming around guys who weren't untouchable angels.

"I didn't go to high school, but I read a lot of high school scripts, so I've learned a few things," Declan McDonnell said. "You really want the secret?"

"Yeah," I said. "Totally."

He fingered the pommel of the dagger in his hand. Fake rubies and emeralds glinted in the fluorescent light. "Adults think they know what's going on," he said, "but they actually have no idea."

I thought about this. "I know that's a movie cliche, but that's actually true."

92 "The less you care about popularity, the cooler you are,"

he continued.

"I can't deny it," I said.

"Finally, high school is about the future."

"What?"

"Think about it," he said. "Every year in high school is a new one, a chance to reinvent yourself, a chance to try something different. And every year leads you closer to that ultimate adventure, graduation. When you've played as many valedictorians as I have, and given all those graduation speeches, you know that high school is about looking ahead. Believe me."

I thought about this last one. It actually made a lot of sense.

"Well," Declan McDonnell said at last. "I should be getting back."

"Right," I said. "And thanks! A lot."

"Sure."

This time I watched him leave, disappearing up that little flight of steps. It didn't make him any more human, though. Declan McDonnell was the kind of angel who didn't need wings to fly.

When I got home that night, I felt better than I had in a long time. It was partly my second encounter with Declan 93 McDonnell. But it was also the fact that in three days Otto was going to be here, and then everything would be clear. I was certain I'd see him, and it would feel just like old times. Everything would be right again, and I'd know that we could make this long-distance-relationship thing work. Or maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't feel right. Either way, things would finally be settled.

For the time being, I'd forgotten all about my parents. Let's face it: they were being total babies about this whole gay thing, and I had more important things to worry about.

Unfortunately, my parents were waiting for me again, right inside the front door. What had they been doing, standing in the foyer?

"What," I said. I could tell just by looking that whatever they wanted to say, it wasn't good. For one thing, there was more dirt under my mom's fingernails.

"He can't come," my mom said.

"What?" I said.

"That boy. The one from summer camp."

"Otto?" She knew his name. We'd been talking about Otto's visit for weeks. But now that she knew I was gay and he was my boyfriend, he had suddenly become "that boy." "Mom," I said. "What are you talking about?"

94 "Your mother and I talked about it," my dad said. "He can't come here for Thanksgiving break."

"But he's already bought his ticket!" I protested. "It's all planned! It's been planned!"

"Look," my mom said, "did you really think that we were going to let you bring your boyfriend into this house to stay with you?"

"But-!"

"There is no 'but'!" my mom said. "He can't stay here, and that's final!"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

I don't know why I was so surprised. It should have been obvious when my mom had learned Otto was my boyfriend that she wasn't going to let him come and stay with us. I 95 guess I'd deliberately avoided doing the math.

But now what did I do? I honestly didn't know. I needed Otto to come for Thanksgiving, not just because I really, really wanted to see him, but also because I had to figure out where this relationship of ours was heading. Now my parents were saying he couldn't come. Living so far apart, we weren't going to be seeing much of each other anyway, but now the one chance we had was gone.

"Why doesn't he stay here with me?" Gunnar said.

Gunnar lived right near me, and I'd gone over there to b.i.t.c.h about what my parents had done.

"What?" I said, perking up.

Gunnar shrugged. "Well, why not? He's my friend too."

This was true. We'd both met Otto at the same time, at camp that summer. "I'll have to ask my parents," Gunnar went on, "but I'm sure it'll be okay. I'll tell them Otto got a free ticket at the last minute or something. Or I might even tell 'em the truth!"

"Are you serious about this?"

"Why not? We can pick him up at the airport together, and we can even eat Thanksgiving here. But then you guys can get together too. You can even spend the night over here, downstairs."

"But my parents-"

96 "What about them?"

I thought about this. Technically, my parents hadn't said Otto couldn't come visit-just that he couldn't stay with them. And they were being completely unreasonable and h.o.m.ophobic, so why should I care what they said anyway?

I let myself smile. "Gunnar, you're a genius! Let's do it!" Two days later, Gunnar, Em, Min, and I picked up Otto at the airport. We had to wait for him outside the security gate. So close to Thanksgiving, it was a madhouse. I was jumpy, excited to see him, but also anxious that somehow things had changed between us.

I stared into the crowd of people rushing at us through the security gate. After a while, everyone started to look the same. It's not that the individuals stopped looking different-old, young, fat, skinny, black, white, whatever. It's just that after about a minute or so, all I saw were about fifteen "types" of people, like one of those old cartoons where the character is running, and you can tell they're recycling the background.

Finally, the crowd parted, and Otto emerged. He looked a little dazed, dragging his suitcase but trying to figure out where to go next. Then he saw us, and his face lit up like a halogen lamp. He looked like I remembered, but more so, if that makes any sense. And he looked nothing 97 whatsoever like anyone else around him. No, really. For one thing, he was really cute. His smile reached out and really grabbed you. And if he didn't snag you with his smile, he got you with his eyes, which are this amazing brownish burgundy. He also had this nice trim bod, if I do say so myself.

For another thing, he had this huge scar that covered one half of his face (and others on his shoulder and back, except they were obviously hidden by his clothes). The scar on his face looked sort of like a swirl with his eye in the middle. When he was seven years old, he'd had an accident with some gasoline. But this didn't make him any less handsome. In my mind, it made him look better, because it was something unique, part of him and him alone.

He let go of his bag, stepped forward, and kissed me. I was surprised for a second, but then I kissed him right back. He smelled like juniper bushes (and tasted like ginger ale).

I knew people were staring at us, two teenage boys kissing. But I guess Otto with his scar was used to being stared at, because he didn't seem to notice.

I didn't mind either. On the contrary, I was busting with pride.

Once we got to Gunnar's, Otto and I went for a walk so we 98 could be alone and talk. It was after ten on a November night, but if the air was cold, I sure didn't feel it. The best part was just being able to hold his hand-though we did have to let go of each other and step apart every time a car drove by. (It's one thing to be stared at in airports; it's something else entirely to have beer bottles thrown in your direction from pa.s.sing pickup trucks. But that's young gay love for you.) "G.o.d, I've missed you so much!" Otto said. "Me too," I said.

"How much?"

I looked over at him. "What?"

"How much have you missed me?" He smirked mis- chievously, so I figured he wanted me to say something romantic.

I glanced up at the sky, and then I had it. "I've missed you like the earth misses the moon!" A second later, I added, more quietly, "You know that the moon used to be part of the earth, right? They learned that from moon rocks they collected back in the seventies."

Otto didn't say anything, just smiled. So I added, "Wow, romantic sayings lose a lot when you have to explain the science behind them, don't they?"

Otto laughed, so I laughed too.

"Okay," I said. "How about this? I've missed you like the beach misses the wave." 99 "How does the beach miss the wave?" Otto asked. "It only has to wait a minute or so for the next wave."

"Well, not at low tide. Because there's a twelve-hour period when-"

"More science, huh?"

"Everyone's a critic! Well, this is harder than it seems. You try."

"Okay." He thought for a second. "I've missed you like a desert misses the rain. There. Nice and simple, and you don't need to know the scientific explanation."

"Yeah," I said, "but it's a total cliche."

"Oh, yeah? Like a beach missing the wave isn't a cliche? Okay, you don't want cliches? Well, then, I've missed you like a decapitated head misses its neck!"

"Definitely not a cliche," I agreed. "But not very romantic either!"

Otto snickered. "Take your pick! You can't have everything."

"Well, in that case," I said, "I've missed you like a frog misses the ozone layer!"