When they look back to the years of exploration and discovery, to the first crush, the first dalliance, the first romance, the first entanglement, they see joy and embarrassment and humor. They see naiveté dance with desire. Yes, those things are there for us too. We, too, were foolish and hopeful. We, too, were hysterical and hysterical. But when we look back, we, too frequently and too acutely remember another emotion as unwanted as it was inappropriate. There it is, interwoven with the memories of laughter and drama, of endless moments passing in an instant and instants that lasted an eternity. There, lurking below the brazenness, the silliness, the joy and the pain is shame. They had the self-doubt born of youth. We had the self-doubt born of ignominy.

If it had been different? If we had grown in a world that judged us for what we did rather than what we were? Can such a world be imagined? Such is the stuff of fantasy.

Join me, then, in a story of beginnings in this world of fantastic construction, where epithets and slanders have no place, where the natural is unquestioned and the full range of human experience is never denied. It will be a story of discovery and folly and longing and triumph. It will not be a story with shame. Here, instead, is a story set in a world where shame has no footing.

 CONTROL and KAOS by David Buffet

Episode 1

EJ's posture reflected the seriousness of the conversation. He was seated with his feet planted widely apart, his long frame bent forward so that his elbows rested on his knees. His forearms angled back toward center to where his large hands clasped each other in front of him, creating a diamond of limbs. His brown eyes focused on his forefingers. The sides of his mouth curled slightly down and in.

Topher, too, was serious. But where EJ's stance pointed forward, Topher's was closed. An ankle crossed over a knee, he sat back with his elbows protectively in his lap and played with the little blond hairs that covered his shin and calf. They were, somewhat unexpectedly, in the same boat now.

That they had both recently found themselves single left a void that neither of them quite knew how to fill. Rabbit's graduation had left EJ, in his words, "squeezeless." Now he was a senior and back at square zero on the boyfriend front. He'd never really had to find a boyfriend before. The Rabbit had discovered him when he was a sophomore, and life had been an endless, happy fuck since then. It wasn't that he didn't think he could find someone -- he knew he could. He was as gifted on the field as he was off, and he was, he knew, way hot. Between him and Topher, you pretty much had the top two catches in the school that year. No, it wasn't that he wouldn't be able to find someone, it was that the process of looking was such a pain in the ass. All that work just to find a void to fill!

Topher was in worse shape. They had seen the loss of the Rabbit coming, at least. What they hadn't seen coming -- or rather, what Topher hadn't seen coming -- was being dumped by Lise. He had been burned bad. To his credit, EJ had never once used the word "pussy-whipped" throughout the six months that Topher and Lise had gone out. Since then, of course, he had amply made up for it. Topher didn't like it, but he couldn't argue with it either. He had been pussy-whipped and was still reeling from it. He wasn't quite sure how or when it had happened, either. So when the final shot came, it was a broadside. He was still listing.

That was why EJ had suggested he switch to boys -- at least for the next one. Girlfriends were great, EJ had said, but they were very high-maintenance, and this was a year that was too busy to be worrying about stupid shit like that. They were seniors. This year was supposed to be fun!

"Boys would probably be easier," he had said. "Make them cum and they're happy." Topher laughed at this, pointing out that he was much the same. "That's the whole idea," said EJ. "You don't have to spend all your time worrying about what they're thinking or what they want. Girls are fucking baffling."

This was an argument in which Topher could find no flaw. Girls were baffling. They clearly liked sex as much as he did, but everything was always such a battle. Why do you spend so much time with the guys? Why can't we ever see the movies I want to see? How come you never say, I love you? Why can't you be more romantic? Why do you think farting and holding my head under the covers is funny? Everything was a fucking issue. A boy would be easier.

But he still found himself thinking about Lise all the time. Her smile, her smell, the way she squirmed when he was boning her and she was just about to cum. She made this little squealing sound. Maybe if he apologized for...for...for whatever the hell he had done to piss her off, she'd reconsider.

"I can't really argue with you, dude," Topher said, "but I'm not there yet. My head's still too messed up. I think I'm just going to take some time off."

"Yeah," allowed EJ, "she fucked you up good. Maybe you should."

"Anyway," Topher went on, "who? And how would you find him?"

EJ thought about this for a while. "Well," he said finally. "I don't know. I'll look around."

*****

Seth was engaged in Serious Business. As Theo looked on trying his best not to laugh audibly, Seth inched the grape closer to the barrel in front of him. They were sitting next to each other in band, passing the time in their favorite sport: pissing off Amy Neuman. While the director busied himself haranguing the trombones, Seth was trying to see if he could lodge a grape in the barrel of Amy's flute without her noticing. It wasn't so easy. While she sat with the flute in her lap so that its barrel pointed out and back -- toward Seth who sat behind her -- she spent most of her time chatting with Jen, her stand partner. That put her in a position that made Seth's movements plainly visible out of the corner of her eye. Seth had to time it perfectly. He needed the moment after she turned to look left, but before she repositioned the resting instrument. A particularly vehement invective from the music director caught her attention and Seth made his move. He brought the grape to the end of the flute in a quick, fluid motion. It wouldn't go in, and if he pushed, Amy would feel the pressure and turn to see what was happening. He beat a hasty retreat.

"Fuck!" he mouthed to Theo. "Missed it by that much!" Theo, still trying not to laugh out loud, reached into the baggy of grapes in his knapsack and found a smaller candidate. He traded with Seth, popping the returned grape into his mouth. In the meantime, Amy had turned back to talk with Jen. Unfortunately, while this should have delayed a second assault, Seth had been paying too much attention to trying to make Theo laugh and not enough to his own battle plans. Without noticing that she had turned back he mashed the smaller grape into the end of the flute while she looked on in stunned horror.

"What the fuck?!" she said in disbelief. Alas, it was during one of those spontaneous silences that sometimes occurs in a crowded room. The look on her face was so precious Theo lost it. The grape he was about to swallow blew from his mouth like a cruise missile, landing in Jen's thick black hair just as the music director's gaze came to rest on the poor unfortunate who had decided to interrupt his rehearsal by audibly swearing.

By now the entire woodwind section was in an uproar. All were laughing hysterically except Jen who was feeling around the back of her head trying to figure out what had hit her, and Amy who was doing her best to defend herself to the music director by trying to implicate Seth. Her best efforts and highest indignations were of no avail, though, and she was ejected, unceremoniously, from the room.

Unlike Amy, Jen was a trooper. Finding the partially masticated grape in her hair, she pursed her lips, quietly palmed it, turned and grinned evilly at Theo. He would be finding it somewhere on his person by the end of the day.

Seth was having a hard time keeping his laughter to silent, unreleased spasms. Theo punched him on the thigh to get him to stop, but this only served to increase the pressure building up in his diaphragm. Tears began to form in his eyes. Having disposed of Amy, the director's attention had turned back to rehearsing the `bones, which gave Seth time to try to calm down. But every time he looked at Theo, the need to explode in hysterical fits just grew. He turned away from his best friend, and cast his gaze on the other side of the band in an effort to compose himself. That's when he saw something that made him instantly and completely forget the whole Incident with the Grape. There, staring intently back at him, was Saxyguy.

Seth and Theo had their own private names for pretty much everyone who intersected their little world. There was the Oaf and the Hobbit, there was Velveeta Stretchmark and Unibrowboy. There was the girl whose name was the sign of holding three extended fingers up from the forehead to signify her impossibly large hair. These weren't people Seth and Theo knew, per se, just ones they saw all the time. These were people who deserved mention, but not real names. High school is rife with this kind of anonymous familiarity.

There were all sorts of reasons Seth and Theo wouldn't know Saxyguy's real name. He sat on the other side of a hundred-piece band, and in high school, friendship is synonymous with proximity. He was a senior and they were sophomores, which meant that, according to the Indisputable Laws of the Universe, they had nothing in common. And every Friday he wore a football jersey indicating he was on some kind of team (Theo suspected it meant he was on the football team, though he could not be entirely certain) and they were drama geeks. All these forces conspired to keep him nameless. He merited a nickname in Seth and Theo's world for one reason alone: he was stunningly gorgeous.

Tall, both lanky and muscular, he was Mediterranean in tone and Viking in stature. His medium-short brown hair was covered by an ever-present light blue and white UNC Tarheels cap. His wide, square, slightly dimpled chin could easily sport a beard if he didn't shave every day. He had a straight nose and deep brown eyes and when he played his sax his jaw muscles flexed in an enticingly evocative way. He dressed casually to the point of distraction -- one was left wishing the shirt were just a little more open, the pants just a little lower.

"86," Theo whispered, following Seth's gaze.

"Yeah, 99?" Seth responded, still caught in Saxyguy's stare.

"Don't tell me Saxyguy is checking you out!"

"Saxyguy is checking me out," Seth said, turning back to Theo with a knowing smile.

"I asked you not to tell me that," Theo said, finishing the routine.

*****

EJ and Topher sat on Topher's front porch, tossing a ball back and forth and enjoying the last light of the September evening. The kid was way cute, EJ explained, and just his type. Little and blond. And he seemed like he was okay -- at least from a distance.

"He's a sophomore?" Topher asked, throwing EJ the ball.

"Yep."

"You're going to date a sophomore?"

"I'm not going to date him, guy," EJ said, rolling his eyes. "This isn't about dating. This is about fucking. I'm going to fuck him. Wasn't that the point? Fucking without the shit?"

"You know he likes getting fucked?"

"Pretty sure," EJ replied, throwing the ball back in a perfect, easy spiral.

"How do you know he wants to get fucked by you?"

"Oh, he wants me," EJ said laughing. "He's interested. And if he isn't, I can make him interested."

Topher pursed his lips, considered this answer for a few moments, nodded, and threw the ball back. Yeah, he probably could. EJ could get pretty much anyone to do pretty much anything.

"But why a fucking sophomore? I mean...what'll...what if...a fucking sophomore?" Topher did his best to articulate his concerns when he had them. He was not, however, always successful.

"Look, what are you worried about?" EJ said, putting the ball down and beginning a patient explanation. "He's younger. That's a good thing. That's a good thing for a whole bunch of reasons. You worried that people will give me shit for doing a sophomore? No one's going to give me shit. First of all, if they give me shit, I'd fucking kick their balls in -- or you would."

Topher nodded. That was true.

"Second, why would they give me shit? Because I'm with a sophomore? Its not like I'm going to be hanging out with him -- I tell you, dude, I just want someone to fuck regularly. It's not like he's coming to our parties, or anything."

Topher considered this second point, and, in his time, acceded to it as well.

"Besides," he added, "I was a sophomore when I started doing the Rabbit. He was a year older than me."

"Yeah," said Topher, "but a year ain't two years."

"Look," said EJ, trying to find the words that would sway his friend, "it's good that he's younger because...well, I just want this one to be easy, you know?" EJ let the thought hang unsaid between them. When he realized that Topher wasn't getting it, he sighed, resigning himself to having to say it out loud.

"If I find someone younger, I can turn him into what I want. I can teach him. I won't have to go through all the shit you went through with Lise."

"I got it," said Topher. Lise had, indeed, put him through a lot of shit.

EJ picked up the ball and tossed it back across the porch to Topher.

"What if you're wrong about him?" Topher asked, turning the ball in his grip. He tossed the ball back to his friend, who caught it and spun it, balancing it on his finger.

"I'm not wrong about him." He stopped the ball from spinning, held it vertex-up from the bottom in one hand and punched it back to Topher with the other hand as if he were place-kicking it. Topher caught the ball and put it down on the wooden decking of the porch before voicing his real concern.

"Won't...won't the Rabbit be really pissed off?" The question hung in the air with the cricket chirps as the boys read each other's faces for a few seconds.

"So what?" EJ finally said. "Rabbit ran. I'm over him."

EJ tried to look at Topher with new eyes. They had known each other practically from birth and had been best friends as far back as either of them could remember. Try as he might, though, he couldn't see his friend as he was without also seeing him as he had been. He couldn't see the small bump on the bridge of Topher's nose without also seeing what it looked like before it got broken in that scrimmage two years ago, the way it swelled to the point where his eyes shut while in the hospital as they waited for him to be seen, the way they made fun of him for weeks until his two black eyes faded, the way his nose used to be upturned and pug before he went through his growth spurt in middle school. He couldn't see Topher's coarse blond hair without also seeing his head shaved when their summer soccer league team won the title, the time they decided to grow it long and he ended up looking like a yellow Brillo pad, or the time that chick convinced him to cornrow it.

"What?" asked Topher, suddenly self-conscious.

"What?" echoed EJ, pulled from his thoughts.

"You're staring at me. Something wrong?"

EJ laughed. "No. Shit, man, we've been friends a long time, haven't we?"

"Yep," Topher replied, picking the ball back up off the decking and tossing it back. "A long time."

They no longer spent all of their time together like they used to. Topher was the most loyal, most dependable guy EJ had ever known and that was why they had stayed such good friends. If there was a war and they were fighting together, Topher would jump on the grenade to save him. But what Topher had in loyalty, in athletic prowess, in sportsmanship, in trustworthiness - the really important qualities, EJ thought - he lacked in the ability to concentrate on tough ideas. They were split apart in middle school as classes started becoming leveled; EJ was always put in honors classes, Topher some levels below.

At first, it was difficult for them. They both felt like EJ was being punished for something. But over time they both began to trust the fact that while EJ was really smart, that wasn't going to get in the way of his being a good guy. They also both began to understand that it would be EJ who would be the problem solver between them.

In the beginning, when a really difficult problem arose, Topher would make suggestions. EJ would entertain the idea seriously and they'd discuss the benefits and drawbacks of Topher's approach. Invariably, it was Topher himself who admitted it was probably a bad suggestion. EJ was never condescending about it, and Topher never felt like it was wrong for him to have made the suggestion in the first place. But after time, it started becoming clear that EJ always had the better ideas, and that if for no other reason than to save time, it made sense just to go directly to EJ's plans.

If you were to ask either of them if Topher was a follower, they'd both laugh at the suggestion. Topher was one of the strongest guys in school, was completely respected by the coaching staff and kids alike, and was enjoying his second year as varsity quarterback. Quarterbacks aren't followers. Quarterbacks are leaders. It wasn't that Topher followed EJ, they'd say. It was just that EJ could think through things faster. You don't put a 300 pound kid at wide receiver. If guarding is what the kid can do, you let him guard. Thinking was one of the things EJ could do real well, and so Topher let him.

So if EJ said he was over the Rabbit, he was over the Rabbit. And if EJ said that his doing a boy would be better, then his doing a boy would probably be better. It wasn't that Topher understood why, or trusted, even, that it was true. What he did trust was EJ.

"Anyway, I am over the Rabbit. Just like you're over Lise, right?" EJ asked, interpreting the silence that hung between them.

"Yeah, sure," said Topher in a voice that left his friend completely unconvinced. "Just like that."

 Episode 2

Seth operated under the conviction that his modest status in life belied the grandeur of his being. He ought to have been rich, but he was born to the wrong parents. He ought to have a license, but he wasn't old enough. And he ought to be treated better than a mere sophomore. The century had begun with three years of oughts, as far as he was concerned.

When Theo had first met him he had joked that Seth was plural. When Seth walked into a room, it felt suddenly crowded. Seth was invariably Bubbly. Seth was Cheery. Everything Seth touched was Superlative. Theo thought of him as existing in a world of Wanton Capitalization. Seth wasn't larger than life -- he was merely larger than his life. That is what had led him to the theater.

He had, in fact, landed a small role in the first show for which he had ever auditioned. That it was a small role didn't particularly bother him. He was a first year student -- it was a three-year high school -- and there weren't that many speaking parts to go around. Theo had auditioned as well, and hadn't even been cast, having to content himself with being on the stage crew. And in the Great Ladder that was high school social interaction it made a kind of unjust sense that he only had a small part. Such were the Immutable Laws of the Universe. Big parts went to upper classmen. Besides, Seth lived by the maxim that there were no small roles -- just opportunities to bitch ebulliently about the people who got the large ones.

Such was how they normally spent most of their time in rehearsals. They would hang out backstage, complaining wistfully about how very bad Jon and Joshua -- the two leads -- were, how they wouldn't know the difference between schtick and acting if it bit them on the ass, and how much better Seth could do it. But not this rehearsal. In this rehearsal, the conversation was altogether different. This wasn't a Bitchfest. This was a patented Seth Effuse-orama.

"When we get married, do you think something wacky will happen at the wedding, like drinking the map to the Melnick uranium mine or something?" Theo took a breath to answer, but Seth continued on without pause. "And do you think we'll live in an apartment like the Smarts, or in a house like the Bradys? I couldn't deal with astroturf in the back yard. Either way, he'll come home every night and we'll fuck and fuck and fuck. Sigh." Since he had been cast, Seth had taken up the habit of speaking in stage directions.

"Don't you think you should get his name first?" Theo asked calmly.

"Name shmame. Oooh! I bet it's something hot, like "Dirk" or "Rock". I bet it's, like, Rock Solid. Wouldn't that be a great name? This is my husband, Rock Solid."

Theo was laughing. "You're over the top, Seth. Even for you. Anyway, how do you know he even likes you?"

"Didn't you see the way he was looking at me? He's interested. He's Definitely Interested. Can you imagine what our kids would look like?"

"Butt babies don't survive long, dear," Theo said, patting his friend consolingly on the thigh as he sat opposite him. Seth giggled.

"With Saxyguy? Anything is possible! Oh!" Seth shouted, interrupting himself. "Can you imagine what the Evil Alex will say when he finds out I'm dating Saxyguy? He'll fucking Shit!"

"Get a grip!"

"I can't. I can't! I'm so excited. So when do you think he'll make his move?"

"I don't mean to burst your bubble, or anything but...Jesus, Seth. He's a senior. Why's he going to go out with a sophomore?"

"'Cause I'm Da Bomb, baby," Seth said in a perfectly convincing voice. "But you're right" he said leaning in and dramatically looking around to make sure no one could overhear, "we need a Plan!"

"Maaaaaaax..." Theo warned.

"Oh lighten up, 99. It'll be fine. It'll be just fine."

*****

Feigning illness, Seth and Theo had skipped out of rehearsal an hour early and were sitting in the stands along the sidelines of the football field trying to make sense of the chaos in front of them. Boys were running alternately at and away from each other in a dance that they suspected was somehow choreographed. One in the middle would grunt rhythmically, then they'd all collide with each other and fall down as a group.

The players on the field existed in helmeted anonymity, which allowed Seth and Theo to focus on the charm of their costumes. Mesh half-jerseys ended well above tight spandex pants creating an array of treasure trails as distinctive as the numbers sewn onto the players' backs.

"Holy Disappearing Hairline, Batman!" Theo was saying, "look at that brown curly one! You know, I see that, and all I can think is how much I want to make it wet."

"Down, Boy Wonder," Seth returned, "we're on a serious Bat Mission here."

"Yeah, but look at the ass on that one over there," Theo said more quietly, indicating with a slight point of his chin which player he was talking about.

"What, the fat one?" Seth asked, crinkling his nose in disgust.

"No -- next to him. On the left."

"Oh, him!" Seth said. "That is, indeed, a mighty ass."

"A mighty, meaty ass, to be sure," Theo echoed.

"That'd be a good team name, don't you think? The Mighty Asses?"

"I'd play for them," Theo allowed, lost in the view.

"Like you know anything about playing football," Seth said.

"Who said anything about playing football?" Theo asked without breaking his gaze.

Seth turned to him, blinked, and cracked up.

"So which one is he?" Theo asked, still scanning the field. "Are you sure he's in there?"

"Yep. He's in there," Seth said. "He's got to be. He wears the jersey in band on Fridays. I think that's when they play."

"We should have paid attention to what number he wears. How are you going to find out which one he is?"

"How long we been here?" Seth asked.

"Huh?"

"I said, how long have we been here?"

"I don't know," Theo shrugged. "About 10 minutes."

"Like this, then." Seth stood up and stretched languorously. As the grunting player in the middle of the field grunted his last grunt and shoved his hands between the legs of the player in front of him -- Seth could learn to like this game, he thought -- Seth reached down, crossed his arms, took hold of the hem of his T-shirt and lifted it clear over his head, pulling it off altogether. He turned around and bent over to fish into his knapsack making a big show of waving his ass in the direction of the field. Finding a long-sleeved jersey, he pulled it out and popped it over his head, turning back just in time to see the ball fly across the field to hit a player who had turned to look in his direction in the side of the head.

"There ya go," Seth said, sitting down again. "That would be him. Number 32."

"Too bad it's not 86, huh?"

"That would be cool," Seth answered smiling.

The Grunter walked over to the guy at whom he had just thrown the ball and began yelling at him, taking off his helmet in the process to reveal a sweaty mass of coarse blond hair.

"Ooh," said Theo, "who's Mr. Yummy, and why is he yelling at your boyfriend?"

The second helmet came off to reveal Saxyguy's angry face as he yelled back at Mr. Yummy. The two exchanged a few more indeterminate invectives before they walked back to the crowd and took their places squatting in the faces of other boys who squatted right back. But not before Number 32 glanced again, this time with mild annoyance, at Seth.

"We can go," Seth said.

"That was it?" Theo asked incredulously. "You're not going to wait for the end of their rehearsal? You're not going to talk to him?"

"No need," Seth said. "It's the old take-off-your-shirt-and-wave-your-ass- to-get-the-attention-of-the-guy-you-have-your-sights-on trick. Works every time."

*****

"Yeah," Topher repeated for the umpteenth time, "he's cute. But you still shouldn't'a let him distract you like that."

"I know, I know," EJ replied, dismissively waving with his free hand as he drove with the other, "I shouldn't have."

"Next time keep your eye on the fucking ball." Topher wasn't amused at all. All may be fair in love and war, but football was fucking football. EJ looked across the cab of his pickup and grinned.

"But you've got to admit," he said, "he is cute." Topher merely glared back. EJ returned his gaze to the road, sliding into one of his many accents. "And I told you he were interested. That boy want it bad. And he gonna git it. He gonna git it real gooood."

"Seems to me like you're the one got it bad," Topher said. This observation caught EJ short. He all but screeched the truck to a halt on the side of the road, and turned in his seat to face Topher full on. Topher continued his condemnation. "You're the one going fucking gaga at a little tit and ass, dude. You're the one fucking up at practice. Who gonna git what?"

EJ's brows knit. "You think?" he said.

Topher nodded ominously.

"Well that's not good," EJ said. "That's not good at all. If I'm gonna ride, I'm driving."

"That's alls I'm saying, dude. I mean, a fucking sophomore..."

EJ frowned. "Okay," he said, turning in his seat back to the road and starting the pickup again, "I got it."

"So what're you going to do?" Topher asked.

"We'll show the twink who's in charge."

*****

Procession of the Nobles was a bitch to play, even for the second clarinets. It was all he could do to keep his fingers from tying in knots. Theo wasn't in much better shape and was taking this play-through to write in every flat individually on the score. This, Seth knew, was his way of looking intently busy while not playing things he couldn't play. The first three musical skills Theo had learned were to look as if he were playing, to blame his reed, and to point at his stand partner whenever things went wrong. These were qualities Seth would have admired were he not the stand partner.

Having finished the play-through, the music director turned his attention to the trumpets, which allowed the boys some time to chat.

"So explain to me again why we didn't wait to the end to go over to talk to him?" Theo asked.

"What if I told you he had to write a sonnet to me, exclaiming his love for me in nine different ways before I'd consider it?"

"I wouldn't believe you." Theo answered, happily reciting his lines from the script.

"Would you believe a haiku expressing mild interest?"

"No."

"How about a limerick about a boy from Nantucket?"

They smiled. It was a tired routine, but they loved it. Theo waited for the real reply. When Seth figured out that the question was serious, he sighed.

"Because," he began with enough of an eye roll to indicate that this was something Theo Really Ought to Know Already, "then he'd think he could have it anytime he wanted it."

"But he can. Like you'd ever say no to that?"

"Well of course he can. But he doesn't have to know that, does he? Why buy the cow if it'll milk you for free?"

Theo giggled. "So he has to ask you out? You can't ask him?"

Seth shrugged.

"Seems a tad stupid to me," Theo said.

"I don't make the rules. I just live by 'em."

"And what if he doesn't?"

"Condescending pat," Seth said while patting Theo's knee condescendingly. "He will."

"He will?"

"I've got secret weapons," Seth whispered, conspiratorially.

"Shoe phone?"

"No," Seth answered seriously. "These." He smiled broadly showing two large, deep dimples. "And these." He tilted his head down so he was looking up at his friend. The yellow specks in his green eyes twinkled from below his eyelashes.

Theo grinned. He was well-familiar with these weapons and the effects they had on people. Seth had always been completely adorable, even as he matured. He played the angel so well that very few people other than Theo knew about the twisted little devil deep inside.

The music director was calling for attention again, having dispensed with the trumpets. Instruments were readied, postures were straightened. Theo rewet his reed and set his embouchure ready to look like he was playing. Seth did the same, ready to actually play, when out of the corner of his eye a blue UNC Tarheels cap turned in a direction it shouldn't have, distracting him from his music.

Clarinet in mouth, he glanced to the other side of the band while the music director raised his baton. Saxyguy, evidently, had an itch that couldn't wait. While his tenor hung on its strap from his neck, one hand held the hem of his shirt up slightly while the other was pushed directly down the unbuttoned front of his jeans where it was scratching things that three quarters of the school would have gladly volunteered to scratch for him. He wore light blue boxers with penguins on them. The penguins danced a little as he scratched beneath them. The hem of the boxers were pulled out from his stomach by his embedded wrist, and Seth could barely make out the penguins on the top doing their best to peek inside. They weren't alone. Seth spontaneously and unconsciously levitated nearly an inch to try to get just a little better viewing angle. Unfortunately, this was at the same instant that the director's baton came forcefully down and the entire band played, forte, the first chord of the piece. The shock of the sound popped Seth back into time and space, where he collapsed back into his chair and blew for all he was worth.

If only it had been the right note! (Or even the right octave!)

Looking back on it, he couldn't tell which was worse -- that he had made a sound so intensely ugly that the baton had actually flown from the hand of the conductor on the upbeat as if it, itself, were trying to flee from the cacophony; that before the squeak had even finished ringing, Theo was pointing directly at him in a far-side-hand, over-the-head point that Absolutely Everyone could see; or that everyone else's head had instantly snapped to look at Seth except Saxyguy's. Saxyguy hadn't moved a muscle save for calmly taking his hand out of his pants and quietly rebuttoning the front of his jeans. In particular, he hadn't snapped his head around. This was because, Seth realized to his horror, he had been staring at Seth all along. And he was smiling. A victorious, self-satisfied, smirky little smile.

 Episode 3

Seth and Theo sat, as they did almost every evening, in Seth's playroom with their homework sprawled out before them watching TVLand. Usually, half of their attention was taken up in watching the show, half in talking, and, if a half was left (Theo, in particular, hated fractions) in doing their homework. But this was one of their favorite episodes: Snoopy Smart vs. the Red Baron. It was the one where Max and Sigfried have the dogfight over the potato fields of Idaho. More importantly, it was the one in which 99's mother was introduced. She was one of the boys' favorite characters. As a result there was more watching, more talking, and less homework tonight.

"Go get me a soda," Seth said when the commercial came on.

"Get it yourself," Theo answered dismissively without looking up from his math. "Jesus. It's your house."

Seth sighed. "Theo," he began, closing the French book he was pretending to read, "we both know you're going to get me a soda. I'll ask you again, and you'll be all, fuck you, and then I'll say, pleeeease, and you'll be, like, get it yourself dude! and I'll get all whiney and annoying, and you'll finally get it just to shut me up. So we can save on time if you just get it now while the commercial is still on."

"I am not getting you a soda," Theo said. Unfortunately, Seth's logic was impeccable, and Theo knew it. Seth always got his way. He was the pushiest, most obnoxious, most self-centered person in the universe. Sometimes Theo wondered why he put up with him. But at times like that, he remembered that he was also funny, he could be tremendously sweet and, when you got down to it, was a very good friend.

"Pleeeeease..." Seth whined with a dimple-pocked smile.

"Max, you realize you're a pain in the ass?"

"And loving it!" Seth answered. So much of their interactions had been lifted from Get Smart they hardly realized when they were doing it any more.

"Jesus Christ," Theo muttered, getting up. "But only because I have to pee." Seth batted his eyelashes coyly. "Don't push it," Theo added. "You're not that cute."

"Yes I am," Seth answered with a smile. "And thanks."

When Theo returned, he threw Seth his soda and took a swig of the one he had gotten for himself. "I saw them together at the Bell," he said.

"Who?" Seth asked, pretending to pretend to do his French conjugations.

"Mr. Yummy and your boyfriend. They were tailgating on the back of this really old shitbox blue pickup truck in the parking lot of the Bell at about 9:00 last night. We were driving by on the way back from my lesson. I saw them in front of one of the lockers in the Science wing a few days ago. Evidently they hang out a lot."

"Gasp! Locker in the Science wing? How is it I didn't know this sooner?" Seth said animatedly.

Theo laughed. "It was, like, yesterday, dude. I would'a told you but you were too busy squeaking."

Seth pursed his lips, unamused.

"Anyway," Theo continued, I can show you tomorrow where it is."

Seth rolled his eyes yet again. "We can't just show up there, Dingus."

"And why is that?" asked Theo, thumbing through his algebra book as if he knew the page on which he was supposed to alight.

"Because then he'll know."

"Ooh, I think he knows, 99." Theo said, putting his hands into a high D fingering pattern and issuing a blastissimo vocal eep. "You missed it by thaaat much."

"You're an asshole."

Theo smiled and kissed the air in the direction of his friend.

"Anyway, if he's going to be my husband, he's going to have to learn who's in charge, and the sooner he learns it, the happier he'll be."

"And that would be you -- the one in charge?"

Seth thought a moment before answering. "Look at Samantha and Darren. On the one hand, it was always about his work and doing it his way. But when you come right down to it, you just know that when they hooked up, she totally called the shots. And he was kind of cute -- at least the first Darren was -- but he's gotta have known that one little nose-twitch and she could'a had anyone she wanted. That's the way it Should Be."

"You ever begin to think that maybe we watch too much TV?"

"Definitely Not," said Seth, momentarily confused by Theo's non-sequiteur. "What made you think that?"

"Whatever," said Theo. "So what's the plan now, 86?"

"Simple, 99," Seth said. "We get him to come up to me and say hello."

*****

At 10:15 p.m., after Theo had left, Seth stood before his bathroom sink, assessing his reflection and sharing with it thoughts so private he hardly felt comfortable confessing them to the mirror. Clothed he was not so bad, but naked he felt he left a lot to be desired. The hair was good - blond, though darkening as he aged, cut short on the sides with a little to play with right up top at the front. The eyes, too, were good. Light green, widely spaced across a nose that still had a bit of a boyish buttonness remaining. His lips were full, his jaw square. His cheeks contained his best features, he felt: dimples which, when fired and on target, were devastating in their effectiveness. But things went south with his gaze. He was Too Short, Too Narrow, Too Pale, and Too Smooth. He had hair under his arms and on his crotch, but that was it and, he feared, that was the way it was going to stay. His father was as smooth as he was. Nor did he have much hope for his stature in general. His chest muscles were beginning to get a shape to them, but even if he grew taller, his shoulders weren't wide enough to support a really good chest. The best he could hope to achieve was "swimmer build" - that term he had read so many times on the Internet it had lost all meaning. His dick was a good enough size, he had decided. It neither stood out as very large or very small. He also felt he had a pretty good ass, but again, that was because of the way it looked in pants. Nude it did not seem as high or firm or pronounced.

He brought a hand to the area between his crotch and navel and rubbed the skin lightly. He had counted a total of six hairs there - hardly enough to be classified as a "trail." Still, he was thankful he had any at all. He tickled them a little and felt his dick pulse in response. He spent a minute wondering if one could take a pulse on a hard dick and if so, might he want to become a doctor rather than an actor?

His hand absently traced his centerline up past his belly button to his pectorals. He poked the muscles a few times, testing for any firmness, then struck a WWE double-pump pose. There was depressingly little response from his chest which, continued to break, though just barely, the plane of his torso.

He released the pose and brought his inspection to his nipples. Strange little things, he thought. Why do men have them? His were small with areolae that hardly cleared the central knobs. He squeezed his entire pectoral, half-imagining milk squirting out. Where's the hole? Women's have holes, don't they? Why do they have holes and men's don't? Do women's not have holes either? Does the baby have to chew off the tip of it like a cigar before they can get any milk? That's gotta hurt!

Seth brought his fists up beside his head and flexed his biceps. These were more visible than his chest muscles, but still nowhere near where they should be.

"Tomorrow I'll start doing push ups," he told his reflection, who listened as patiently and silently as it had the night before when that very same promise had been made.

He put his arms back at his side and sighed. It didn't matter how many pushups he did. He'd never have arms like Saxyguy had. Seth closed his eyes and pictured those arms for the umpteenth time. Each muscle was separate from the other ones. You could actually see where each individual muscle started and ended, making his upper arm look like it was pieced together out of interlocking parts. Seth's looked more like it was rolled out of dough and baked into place. He wasn't sure if Saxyguy's looked so good because the muscles went so far out or because the crevices between them were so deep. Seth's muscles hardly went out at all, and there were certainly no crevices between them. Slight depressions at best.

Then there was the hair on his chest. He had hardly seen it under the mesh of the football jersey Saxyguy wore on Fridays, but that was enough to fuel a dozen different fantasies. Seth had seen the hair on his stomach more, since he tended to wear short shirts and was always lifting his arms above his head for some reason or another. He had two pronounced muscles that ran vertically up his stomach, dividing his front in half. They were separated by yet another deep furrow. But this furrow was not fallow. It sprouted a luxuriant line of hair from the chest down to where it disappeared below his belt line.

Seth's fantasies frequently centered around that vertical line of hair. They were lightweight fantasies, he knew. Not much really happened in them. Even though Seth had read endless accounts of sex on the net, he had never had any of his own -- save for some experimentation with Theo -- and fantasies need experience to take root. So mostly they were of Seth running his hand up and down that soft, silky line of hair while feeling the hard muscles underneath expand and contract with Saxyguy's breathing. Sometimes, he'd imagine his hand sinking into Saxyguy's pants to feel what was hidden there. Sometimes he'd imagine Saxyguy holding him in his strong arms and pressing his body to his.

This time, it was of Saxyguy sitting in his band chair across the room. In the fantasy, he was wearing shorts and the mesh football half-shirt jersey and his light blue Tarheels cap. The shorts were open in front, and Saxyguy's hand was down the front of them, tenting out his penguin-covered boxers. In the magical way movement can happen in fantasy, Seth appeared on the floor, kneeling in front of him, staring at the tent. Seth's fantasy hands rose to stroke the tops of Saxyguy's calves as his real hand lowered to stroke himself. Saxyguy's legs were hard and warm. The hair on them made the skin feel pebbly as he rubbed. Saxyguy seemed not to notice or to mind, so Seth stroked up and up, past the back of his knees to his hamstrings. His hands disappeared beneath the low-riding shorts as he felt the majestic curve of the thighs. He rubbed them up and down, up and down, warming the skin, kneading the steely muscles beneath. The exertion was causing him to lose his breath. Finally, his fingertips blisteringly hot, his hands moving at a frenzied pace over the tightly stretched skin, he looked up to see Saxyguy had turned his head and was looking directly at him, a slow smile breaking on his lips. Seth froze, every nerve in tense anticipation, every muscle bunched, his lungs paralytically full.

"Go for it," said the senior, and Seth did. So completely, in fact, that he had to get the Windex when he was done. That night, his dreams were populated by penguins.

*****

A mile away, EJ turned in his bed as the blue-green lights of his alarm clock flashed 1:04 a.m. He had finished his homework an hour and a half ago -- the Calculus took almost two hours that night -- and, having spent a few minutes chatting with Kristen on the phone, had turned in to try to sleep.

Kristen was trying to get into his pants. All things being equal, he'd have been delighted to let her get there. She was, indeed, quite the babe. But all things weren't equal. Kristen wanted everything EJ wanted to avoid -- commitment, involvement, intensity. It wasn't worth it.

God damn it, why did the Rabbit have to go and graduate? He was so perfect. When they had first met, EJ had been completely clueless. But the Rabbit had made quick work of EJ's naiveté and inexperience. Within a week of their first hook-up, he had had EJ fucking him like a pro.

Despite his desire to sleep, EJ smiled in memory of their first time together. EJ had been so hot for the kid he was still amazed he was able to make it the whole minute forty-five before cuming all over him. The Rabbit had laughed at him, which had kind of pissed him off but did nothing to deflate what was, even post-coitally, a persistently strong erection.

The next two times were a bit more relaxed. "Just lie back, stud," the Rabbit had said. "Lie back and let me do the work. I'll show you how it's done. Pay attention. This'll be your job very soon."

Of all the times they had hooked up -- and those were almost countless over the next two years -- that was still one of the most powerful memories for EJ. Invariably, it boned him, as it had just done again. His right hand slid under the sheet.

EJ was always a prominent and central image in his own fantasies. Even when he was remembering something that had actually happened to him, it was almost as if he remembered in the third person. There he was, lying on his back on the Rabbit's bed, pants strewn on the floor, shirt still hanging askew on the bed post. And there, straddling him and holding his wrists immobile above his head, was the Rabbit. EJ saw Rabbit slowly lifting himself and recalled the intoxicating tightness of his ass as it sucked at his dick. He saw himself trying to buck up, trying to rebury his slick, shiny dick as it emerged from Rabbit's grip. But the Rabbit was controlling the pace, teasing, bouncing shallowly a little before sinking all the way down again in a wave of liquid flame. EJ's left hand joined his right under the covers.

It was the sight of his own dick disappearing into the Rabbit's ass that got him most hot. There was something about the strength of it. His abdominals became prominent with the exertion of desire. He began pumping himself under the sheet as he watched his hips rise to the Rabbit's shivering ass. His other hand began stroking his chest, enjoying the feel of his own skin.

The scene morphed, and he was fucking the Rabbit in the empty stands on the sidelines of the football field. Rabbit was bent over, hands on the bench in front of him, grasping for balance while EJ stood behind and plowed him relentlessly. A strange scene for a fantasy -- EJ had never screwed Rabbit in the stands. The Rabbit's pants were puddled at his feet, and EJ was wearing his uniform as if he were at practice. The lacings of his pants were undone, and the tops flapped as he drew Rabbit's hips forcibly back. EJ's own hips left the bed as he jacked himself, pushing into his own hand as demandingly as he used to push into the Rabbit.

Another morph, and now it was the little blond kid he was defiling. EJ liked to think of it as defiling. Sex was supposed to be dirty. It was more fun that way. He was still in his pads, but the ass had changed. It was the blond kid's, and EJ was taking it for the first time. The kid whimpered, and EJ, toes curled and calves rock hard in contraction, blew into his own hand.

*****

At 2:40 a.m., Theo finally turned off the computer. He had been an insomniac for as long as he could remember, or perhaps since he was twelve. He wasn't really sure. But he wasn't sure of much at 2:40 in the morning, and he had seen a lot of 2:40s. He didn't need much sleep. Not at night, at least. That's what English class was for.

He had hung out at Seth's until ten or so. The two spent most nights together hanging out, watching TVLand, doing homework, talking about nothing. They had met in sixth grade when Theo's family had moved to town -- or the GBMD -- the Greater Bumfuck Metropolitan District, as Theo called it. He had been put in Seth's class and the two bonded immediately after they both failed a spelling test, only to discover that they had each been trying to cheat by copying off the other's test.

They had discovered the joys of anime together, and had taught each other how to look good dancing. They had shared their first clandestine drink -- a sloe gin fizz of all things -- and had developed a joint passion for old, stupid sit-coms. Finding a shared attraction for boys, they taught each other how to kiss and practiced the art of giving hand and blow jobs on each other in preparation for the day they found real boyfriends.

Seth made Theo laugh. And, as wrapped up in himself as he was, he was a good friend. True, he was pushy and stubborn at times, and once he got an idea stuck in his head there was absolutely no dislodging it, but when Theo's folks split up, it was Seth who got him through it.

Seth had gotten a lot of ideas stuck in his head over the years. Shortly after they had met, he had convinced himself that he was going to be the next Triple Crown-winning jockey, despite the fact that he had never been on a horse. A mild growth spurt finally put an end to that, and that idea was replaced by the notion that North Dakota was just a hoax. Since then, Theo had endured, in turn, the convictions that an affected English accent bespoke sophistication, that he could marry Mr. Matt Damon if he could only arrange a meeting, that cats were spies, that the answers to all life's questions were encoded in old sitcoms -- especially Get Smart.

The current fixation was unusual in that it seemed to be, at least in part, based on reality. Theo really had seen Saxyguy staring at Seth and, as remarkable as it seemed, had read the same desire in that stare as Seth had. But the idea that that stare was, inexorably, going to turn into the great love of Seth's life was ludicrous. Or, as Seth would have put it if he were thinking more clearly, it defied the Inexorable Laws of the Universe.

Ah well. Seth's foibles were something to muse over, but not something to be concerned about. At least not at 2:40 in the morning. Theo plugged in his headphones and cranked his CD player. He'd be asleep in a couple of hours.

*****

At 3:00 a.m., Topher was doing the same thing he had been doing at 11:00 p.m. -- he was fast asleep in his bed. Sleep came easily during football season. After school came practice, and then, after dinner, he ran five miles or, if the weather was bad, worked out for three quarters of an hour or so. By the time he hit the sack, he had enough energy to strip and pull the sheet over himself. He was usually asleep within ten minutes of his head hitting the pillow. When Toper died, it wasn't going to be from stress-related illness. Topher didn't believe in stress. When he was happy, he laughed. When he was angry, he yelled. And any frustrations that built up were easily released on the field where he could rely on something solid: the capacities and limitations of his own athletic prowess.

He did dream, though. Strange, vivid, color dreams. In the one he was having that night, Lise and he were on a roller coaster. She was screaming and holding onto him. In his sleep, Topher smiled.

*****

Seth and Theo had just left their World Cultures class. With band and lunch, it was one of three periods over the course of the day they were able to spend together. They were playing one of their favorite games: Name the Agent.

"Okay," Theo said, "the name of the chambermaid protecting Tanya Lupescu in Too Many Chiefs?"

"Easy," Seth answered. "41. How about the elevator operator who's watching 41 'cause Max doesn't trust him in the same episode?"

"Forty....forty-eight?"

Seth nodded. They poured out into the hall with the rest of the class when the bell rang. Theo was on his way to Math, Seth to Biology, but they were in the same direction. Knapsacks slung over their shoulders, they navigated the hall rapids with the confidence that only boys in their third week in a new school could.

"I got one," Theo said. "What's the name of the firm that Max's lawyer belongs to?"

"Good one," answered Seth, racking his brain. "The law firm. The law firm. That was in The Little Black Book...It was...18, 26, 36, 44, 51, 33 and Sons?"

"Pretty impressive!" Theo allowed, "but it was 35, not 36."

"Un unh," Seth said. "36 was the one in Strike While the Agent is Hot."

"No," Theo said, "that was 35."

"Dismissive snort," Seth replied. "No, he was the one who was hiding in airport locker 31, and..." The sentence was never finished. Without notice, Seth was flat on his back on the ground. He had been looking at Theo instead of where he was going and as they turned the corner the irresistible force had walked smack-dab into the immovable object.

EJ and Topher stared down at Seth in momentary confusion. The kid had come out of nowhere, run directly into EJ, and taken a dive. As the sea of humanity flowed by, he sat on his butt staring up with the same look of surprise that was directed down at him.

It was EJ who recovered from the irony of the moment first. Without saying a word, he bobbed up his chin slightly in the universal greeting of the disinterested. But Seth was right on his heels. With equal nonchalance and in recognition of the compromising position in which he found himself, he charged up his dimples, took aim, and fired.

In response, EJ grinned (but not too much), slouched back against a locker and puffed his chest out a bit. Seth looked down demurely and rubbed his inner thigh, as if that was the part on which he had fallen. EJ gave his gum a couple of chews in a way he knew accentuated his jaw muscles, hooked his left thumb into his front belt buckle and leaned to the side, pulling the pants a bit lower on his hip. Seth reached for a book that had fallen from his knapsack which made the front of his jersey ride up over his belly button.

Theo rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ," he said, "this could go on all day. I've got to get to class."

Topher laughed.

"Hi," Theo said, holding his hand out to Topher, "he's Seth."

"He's EJ," said Topher taking Theo's hand and pumping it once. "He's glad to meet you."

"He's glad to meet you, too."

"EJ wants to know if you need a hand," Topher said after an awkward silence in which EJ licked then pursed his lips.

Theo looked over at Seth, who was all but batting his eye lashes.

"Naw," Theo said, "he's fine. Seth wants to know if you're going to Candler's party this weekend."

Topher looked over at EJ. "Don't know. We'll see," he said.

The bell rang. Velocities around them increased.

"Well...nice to meet you," Theo said reaching down to pull Seth up by the collar, "but he's gotta get to class."

"So's he," Topher replied. "Later."

"Yeah," Theo smiled. "Later."

 Episode 4

Simon Candler had that peculiar combination of qualities that guaranteed universal popularity in a small town: he lived in a large house with a pool and expansive yard and his parents traveled frequently. As a result, the junior hosted regular parties attended by pretty much everyone. Some of Candler's parties had been legendary -- like the time that they had lit a bonfire in the middle of his back yard. The cops came, saw the pile of wood burning in the middle of the lawn, turned to the group of kids nearest to it and ordered them to put it out. That group had included Henry Vaskasian, notorious for his bad judgment when drunk. Unfortunately, Henry had been blitzed at the time, so when the cop told him to put out the fire, he had happily complied. In front of everyone -- including the cops -- Henry unzipped his pants, pulled out his dick, and peed on it.

One was not invited to one of Simon Candler's parties so much as word spread that the party was to occur and everyone just showed up. The network was so efficient that one time Simon himself was one of the last people to know about it. Mrs. Candler, stopping at the supermarket on her way home from work, mentioned to a neighbor that she and her husband were being called away unexpectedly on business that weekend. The neighbor's daughter overheard their conversation, and with a few well-placed cellphone calls from the produce aisle, started the ball rolling. Meanwhile, Simon was across town playing soccer. He returned to the sidelines having been rotated out to hear that he shouldn't worry, a keg had already been procured.

Topher and EJ sat on a couple of deck chairs, pulled back from the rest around the pool, as the party swirled about them. There were already over 200 people there and it was only eleven. The music blared from speakers which had been turned around to play through two windows into the back yard. EJ sat looking at his friend. Topher stared into his beer, watching the foam dissipate.

"Quit moping," EJ said quietly. "You knew she'd be here."

"Yep," Topher replied as another bubble burst.

"What do you want me to say? You want me to go off on what a bitch she is? She is. You want me to tell you you're better off without her? You are. You want me to get someone to beat the crap out of her? Hell, I'd do that myself!"

Topher didn't even crack a grin.

"C'mon, man. Lighten the fuck up."

"I'm sorry, dude," Topher said still staring into his cup, "It just sucks seeing her dance with fucking McReady, ya know? I mean, I knew she'd be here, but I thought...I don't know..." He pulled a long drink from the cup, almost draining it.

"Topher, man," EJ said gently, "Topher, look at me." Topher looked up from his beer. "Man, you're my best friend. You know I'd do anything for you. You know that?"

"Yeah, I know it."

"Then listen to me. It's over, Topher. You're not getting back with her."

"Yeah," Topher said, "I know it."

"No, man. I mean it. It's over. She's fucking McReady. And Tyler. She did Tyler like two weeks before you split. She's not coming back."

Topher stared at him blankly.

"I didn't tell you because...shit. I don't know. I thought I'd tell you when you got over her. I thought you'd be getting over her and I didn't want you to get...fuck, Topher, don't look at me that way."

Topher looked back into his cup.

"Fuck," EJ said. "I'm sorry, man. I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought...fuck."

They sat in silence for almost a minute, EJ staring at Topher, Topher staring into his cup. Finally, EJ punched his friend lightly on the arm.

"Say something, bro. Anything."

Topher drained his cup and held it out to EJ. "Get me another beer."

EJ laughed. "Okay, man. That's something. I'll be right back."

*****

Theo and Seth arrived at the party respectably late. They had aimed for earlier, but it had taken Seth far longer than expected to find the perfect combination of flattering shirt and pants. He had settled on a cobalt blue pullover jersey that brought out the yellow of his hair and a pair of ass-friendly khaki shorts that had just the right amount of bagginess.

The whole first floor was packed with people. Dancing, milling, laughing, making out, drinking, being fabulous for and at each other. Seth spotted Evil Alex and Jen talking with Hymie on the far end of the living room. He steered Theo in the opposite direction.

"You see him?" Seth asked.

"Nope," Theo said, "but there's the Oaf and his girlfriend in the dining room."

"There's a Mrs. Oaf?" Seth asked, still scanning the room.

"Evidently."

They turned down the hall toward the kitchen, where they fought through the increasingly densely packed crowd. Once there, Seth, holding onto Theo's shirt to make sure they didn't lose each other, wove his way forward. Around couples where possible, through them when necessary, he forced his way past the mostly larger kids toward the vortex of activity which he knew must be where the bar was laid out. They got there just in time to find EJ pouring his second glass of beer.

"Hey," EJ said to Theo, looking past Seth.

"Hey," Theo returned.

"Why don't you bring these out to Topher. He's out back by the pool. He's waiting for them."

"Sure," said Theo, taking the beers. As he walked past EJ, he turned so that only Seth could see him and animatedly mouthed, "Mr. Yummy!" Seth smiled back as Theo disappeared into the throng.

"You want something to drink?" EJ said, finally turning his attention to Seth.

"Sure, Chief," said Seth. "A coke?"

"I can probably find a coke in here," EJ said. He took two cups, disappeared into the people who were leaning against the counter farther down from where the keg had been set up, and returned with the cups filled. He handed one to Seth and raised his as if in toast. Seth clinked the top of his cup to EJ's, took a deep draft to wet his suddenly dry mouth, and almost did a spit-take. The cup was only half coke.

"What's in this?" Seth asked when he finally caught his breath.

"Coke," EJ said. "And some rum."

"'sgood," Seth said. "I'm not much of a drinker."

"That so?"

"Yeah. I get real stupid real quick."

"Practice makes perfect," EJ said, clinking the top of Seth's cup again and taking a drink.

*****

Theo saw Topher sitting by himself in a lounge chair pulled away from the pool. He wore a gray T-shirt that said Cornell LAX across its stretched front. Theo marveled at the senior's looks. Thick chest, thick thighs, thick lips, thick arms, thick blond hair. The boy was a vanilla frappe. An unhappy vanilla frappe, Theo thought. Topher was frowning at his own knees.

Theo cleared his throat. Topher looked up.

"Would you be Gopher?" Theo asked.

"No, I'd be Topher," Topher said.

"Topher?"

"Yeah. Topher. Christopher. You're the sophomore's friend, right?"

"Yup. I'd be Theo." Theo handed him one of the beers and watched in fascination as Topher drained it in four enormous gulps.

"Neo?" Topher asked and belched loudly.

"Theo. Theodore." Not knowing what else to do, he handed Topher the second beer.

"Thanks," Topher said, and finished half the cup in two more gulps. "What'll you drink?"

"I guess I'll go get myself something," Theo said.

"Good. Bring me back one too," Topher said. Theo turned toward the house and smiled. Mr. Yummy wanted him to come back!

By the time Theo got to the counter with the keg, Seth and EJ were engaged in an animated conversation. They had been pushed together and off to the side of the room by the crowd. Seth stood with his butt to the wall while EJ leaned in over him, one hand against the wall over Seth's left shoulder, preventing Seth's escape. As if! Theo thought, and went to get two more cups.

Having fought his way to the keg and drafted two tall ones, Theo turned back toward the door. If possible, EJ had saddled up even closer to Seth than he had been before. Seth had lifted his foot and put its sole against the wall. EJ cradled Seth's bent knee between his thighs. EJ was now leaning his elbow against the wall, which put his mouth almost to Seth's ear, and was telling him something that caused Seth's eyes to glaze over.

When Theo returned poolside, Topher was, again, frowning at his knees, the second cup of beer also drained. Theo sat down in the deck chair next to him.

"Did they do something bad?" he asked, handing one of the beers he held to Topher.

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Your knees. You seem unhappy with them. Did they insult you? Steal some money, maybe? Did they break a mad-expensive amphora your dad spent months buying on eBay then blame you for it?"

Topher looked at Theo for a moment in confusion then smiled.

"No, man. Just in a funk. You know."

"Yeah? What's her name?"

"Lise," Topher said, pursing his lips.

"Peas?"

Topher laughed. A genuine, deep, resonant laugh. "How'd you know it was over a girl?"

Theo shrugged his shoulders. "I'm wise beyond my years." They clinked cup rims and both drank.

*****

Seth hadn't been lying. He did get real stupid real quick when he drank. The first stupidity came in allowing himself to be convinced to have a second drink. The second came in asking for a third. He found himself by the pool without quite knowing how he got there. He and EJ had taken their shoes and socks off and were sitting with their feet dangling in the cool water. EJ leaned with his back to the side of the diving board. Seth leaned with his back to EJ, who was tracing figure-eights on his upper arm in a way that made him shiver.

EJ was talking. Seth wasn't quite sure what he was saying. A carefully laid out argument for why his blue pickup was most assuredly not a shitbox. Seth didn't care. So long as EJ kept holding him he could say whatever he wanted. It was all foggy anyway. Seth loved the feel of EJ's chest behind his head. As much as it made the world swim, he slowly rocked his head back and forth, trying to map the curve of EJ's left pectoral with the back of his skull.

EJ's fingers traced a circle about Seth's elbow. It tickled and Seth trembled in response. Mistaking this for cold, EJ drew Seth closer to him and enveloped him more in his arms.

"You cold?"

"No, Chief," Seth sighed contentedly, relaxing into EJ's embrace. "Perfect. So what were...something...shitbox?" The sentence made perfect sense in Seth's mind. He wasn't quite sure how he had lost two-thirds of it in the attempt to make it audible.

"No," EJ replied emphatically. "That's the whole point. It's not a shitbox at all. It's..." Seth lost the line of logic almost as soon as it started, and EJ's voice turned into a steady, soothing drone behind him.

EJ liked Seth. He was certainly cute enough, that was for sure. EJ wasn't sure why he was so taken with little blonds, but the fact remained he was. The little made sense, at least. They fit better -- the way Seth fit perfectly in EJ's arms. But why blonds? They had a silkiness to them in EJ's mind that was irresistible. It was like asking why he liked broccoli and not cauliflower. It didn't matter why, he supposed, he just did. Whatever it was that got him where he needed to go, Seth had it. And Seth was growing more and more adorable as the evening wore on and EJ got used to his face.

It wasn't just the dimples, or the sparkling green eyes, or the satiny smoothness of his skin, or the way his little nipples pushed out his jersey when EJ tickled his upper arm. EJ liked him. Seth was agreeable and interested in what he had to say. He was a good listener. Seth was focused on him, and EJ liked that in a person.

Seth shifted position a bit and his hand found EJ's shin. It was dark tan and covered in scratchy hair which Seth began to comb with his fingernails. By varying the spacing of his fingers, he found he could make wavy trails. Twisting it, he could form little spikes. He found an old scar and measured its length against his thumb.

EJ was still talking, but he seemed to have changed topics. Something about an offensive line. Seth didn't get who had been offensive or what the line he had used was, but it didn't matter. Instead, his attention was taken by the belt buckle that had begun to poke uncomfortably into the small of his back when he started playing with the hair on EJ's shins.

Wait a minute, Seth thought. An idea began to formulate out of the rum and goo that was his consciousness. That's not a belt buckle at all. What was that?

"13, is that you?" Seth asked blurrily.

"Huh?" EJ asked, not understanding the interruption.

"Oops," Seth said, "was that out loud?"

EJ laughed. "Yeah, babe. What did you say?"

"Nothing," Seth answered, recozying himself against the bigger boy behind him. "You talk."

EJ did, picking right up where he left off. Seth used the new position to do some investigation. He rotated his hips by the slightest possible amount. This pushed his lower back against the buckle. The buckle pushed back. No, that wasn't a belt buckle at all.

EJ was saying something about a running game. Making sure to stay in contact with the pokey part, Seth leaned over to the side so that his back was supported by the crook of EJ's arm rather than his shoulder and looked up at the older boy. He liked him. He liked him a lot. And not just because he was stunning. When Seth shivered, EJ wrapped his arms about him. When Seth stroked his shin, EJ popped a woody. Seth could make EJ react, he realized, and that made Seth very, very happy.

Looking up from that angle he could see the stubble underneath EJ's chin. There was a small bare patch on the bottom, nestled just behind the front of his jaw. The imperfection that made him perfect. Seth reached up and touched it. EJ lowered his head, trapping Seth's finger between his chin and chest.

"Who you poking?" EJ said, holding pressure on Seth's finger while he talked.

Seth grinned a goofy, contented grin. EJ smiled back.

"I can make him smile," Seth thought.