I Have Only Myself to Give, Nothing More

“How was your first day of school, Ryan?” Dad asks the moment I walk in the door, leaning over me with eyes that glitter dangerously in the low light.

“It was good,” I mumble. “I met some nice people.”

“Boys?” he asks suspiciously and I give a noncommittal shrug. “And no kiss for daddy this morning either. You think we’re not a family anymore? You think you can get away with ignoring me?”

What? I think mutinously, watching him stalk closer to me. You can’t stand the taste of your own medicine?

I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he breathes into my face and I brace myself for the worst.

But all he does is give me a relatively light punch in the eye and walk away, muttering as he does so. “Damn faggot.”

I press a hand to my eye and stagger upstairs to find the first aid kit, such a usual occurrence in this household.

It’s only after I smear my face with some weird ointment and tie an ice pack around my head that I notice the piece of paper that Brendon snuck into my backpack during History.

Ryro—
I’m thinking about having a little get-together at my place on Friday. You in?
—Bden

Ryro? Bden? I think, raising an eyebrow and smiling to myself. Cute nicknames.

I flip my cell-phone out of my pocket before starting my homework to find that Brendon entered his number into my contacts when I wasn’t watching. Sneaky, I think, pressing the call button.

“Hello?” Brendon asks when he picks up and I’m so startled that I almost forget to say hello.

“Hi!” I squeak breathlessly and he laughs.

“Oh, hey Ryan. What’s up?”

My eye throbs suddenly and I throw myself down on my bed. “Well, I got your little note,” I say with a smile.

“Yeah? And?” he asks and I can hear the excitement in his voice.

“I’ll definitely be there,” I say firmly, knowing that I’ll probably send Dad into a drunken rage when he finds out where I was after the fact. But becoming friends with Brendon and the rest of these boys is worth it.

“Awesome!” he exclaims and I can practically hear the beam in his voice. “We’re gonna have so much fun!”

“Yeah,” I agree, gingerly pressing a finger to the ice pack covering my eye and wondering how badly it will bruise. “Who else is invited?”

“We-ell,” he says, dragging it out into two syllables. “I live at Jon’s house right now, so he’ll be there, and I’ll probably invite Spencer and maybe one other person. Does it matter to you who?”

He lives at Jon’s house? I think, wondering why on earth he doesn’t live with his own parents and would it be rude to ask? “Uh,” I say, thinking. “It doesn’t really matter since I don’t really know any of you that well yet, but … well, Patrick seemed really nice.”

“Done,” he says and I can tell that he’s grinning. “See you tomorrow at school, Ry.”

“You too, Bren.”

We say our good-byes and we hung up our phones and I sit on my bed thinking about how much I already love this kid.

* * *

I wake up the next morning with a pale purple bruise splashed across my right eye—nothing a little bit of concealer and an exceptionally cheery disposition won’t mask.

Of course, I’ve never been one to be overly happy-go-lucky but I figure I can still pull it off well enough and no one will be any the wiser.

Carefully brushing the liquid tan over the bruise, I stand back to admire my handiwork. No one will notice the bruise unless they’re looking for it—and no one will be.

I see the bus out the window and I run downstairs, grabbing my backpack and thanking my lucky stars that Dad is still sleep, hung-over probably.

Gabe insists on sitting next to me again today and I get the feeling that this will be how our bus-rides for the rest of the year will go.

“You and Brendon will be best friends, novato,” Gabe states calmly, and I squirm uncomfortably in my seat.

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It makes sense,” he says. “Everyone else has their closest buddy, their best pal, their whatever. Me and William. Patrick and Pete, kinda. Spencer and Jon. Everyone except for Brendon. And I can tell that he likes you a lot already. Best friends, for sure.”

“So basically you’re saying that we’re gonna be best friends because Brendon’s the leftover, the odd number out,” I say flatly, even though I like Brendon a lot already too.

“If you want to put it that way.”

I ignore Gabe the rest of the drive because I don’t like what he’s implying, and there’s a smug smirk on his face when we get to school and Brendon greets me with a bright smile.