Seventh Day (Saturday and After)

Teri

I woke obscenely early. As in cuss a blue streak early. But I didn’t cuss—I felt too good to cuss. Apparently, good sex is good for more than just the orgasms—who knew?

So when it was clear I wasn’t getting back to sleep, I got up and buckled down to work: actually copy-editing the dratted Downstar Runner novella already. The easy edits, I made myself, but reading it through, there were two things that needed extensive rework. First, Zoe’s established character acted completely out-of-character in an early scene—either this needed to change, and so change the plot, or that it was a problem that needed be threaded through the rest of the story, which would be much better. Second, the climactic sex scene, which we’d all written pieces of, needed polish—rushed in some places, missing sensuality, and too drawn out in others, almost turning into tab-A-in-slot-B. I annotated the rougher places—comments I would not have known to make, a week ago—but wanted Zoe and Cal’s approval before rewriting it myself. Or better yet, have each of us make a revision pass on the whole scene, to blend our pieces together.

Apparently good sex is also good for writing better smut. Which I knew, really—that’s why I usually left most of our sex scenes to Zoe and Cal, and focused on plotting and characters. Well, no more of that.

I typed up my beta notes to send on with the edited text. At the end, I added: “As you’ve probably guessed, I’m seeing someones now—and fair warning, going out with two people will probably cut into my time with you guys. I’m still All In for Downstar and will keep up my writing and editing, and nothing but nothing keeps me from our weekly meeting. (I’ll even tell you guys all about my smexy sex-life tomorrow.) But I may not be online as often through the week.”

And then tapped Send. One commitment down.

I checked my unfinished story, but decided the climax still wasn’t ready to be written—needed more time in the ol’ backbrain, though last night had given me a couple hints. I thought for like half a second about starting that report for Alverez—but I felt too good for that. Besides, I was getting hungry—and no wonder, it was past my usual breakfast time. I pulled on some workout clothes, packed civvies and school tablet in my gym duffle, and headed downstairs.

Extra large protein shake, I decided—light enough for the heavy lifting, but enough energy to get me through. Also, quicker than fixing something solid. I wasn’t sure about this new flavor I was trying, though. I drank my breakfast standing up, a mouthful at a time, near the sink.

I didn’t reckon that running late would mean running into Sam—usually I was out of there before she got up. As it was, she looked like she needed a few more hours down: she gave me one glazed-over glance and shambled straight to the coffee maker. Heh. Saturdays, I waited to take my dose till after working out. Besides, I prefer it with a lot more steamed milk.

I’m not sure I wanted to know my sister has sushi-print pajama bottoms. TMI, yanno?

Sam’s unfocused eyes gazed though the kitchen table. After her second sip of elixir, eyebrows twitched. Another sip, while I chugged some more shake—nope, artificial vanilla wasn’t doing it for me. Maybe if I blended in some frozen berries.

“Where you going?” she said suddenly, frowning at my duffle on the chair.

“Rec center,” I said, as if that was normal. Which it was—the going, not the explaining. No more hiding my true self.

“Since when do you go there?”

“Since seventh grade.”

Blank look. After a couple seconds, a couple synapses started firing. “I thought—” She shook her head, to clear it. “You just always hide in your room with that fanfic stuff.”

“Mostly I do,” I said into my nearly empty glass. “Saturday mornings, I get out.”

“What the heck do you do there?”

Since she asked so politely: “Use the machines to work on muscles I can’t isolate here, then lift some heavy iron.”

Puzzled frown. “‘Heavy iron’?”

“Clean-and-jerk and snatch.” The competition weightlifting events.

Ricky came into the kitchen, looking more chipper than either of us, despite yesterday’s game. He barely glanced at me, then zeroed in on the canister of shake powder I hadn’t gotten to putting away. “Hey, that’s mine!”

“No, yours is marked with an R,” I said, rotating this one to show the T sharpied onto the label, before returning it to the cupboard next to his.

He stared at me. Then, “What—you mean that disgusting strawberry stuff was yours? I thought it was, like, a mistake no one had gotten to throwing out.”

I rolled my eyes and turned to rinse my glass in the sink. Behind me, Ricky said, “Ow!”

I glanced back—he rubbed the back of his head, as if Sam had whapped him upside it. “Thanks,” I found myself telling my sister. Never thought the day would come.

“What was that for?” he protested.

“My stuff’s been on the shelf for two years, and you never thought to ask about it?” I shook my head and picked up my duffle.

As I left the kitchen, Sam asked, “Why the rec center and not Delgado?”

I looked back at her. “I’d rather get tips from an Olympian in the event than be coached by a guy who’s never taken anyone further than state champion, and that in another sport.”

It’d been twenty years ago, and Bud had been 18th in his weight class—but that’s still 18th in the whole fucking world.

I almost walked straight out the door, before remembering tonight’s plans. I found Mother in the den, skyping her sister. I did the Hi thing with the aunt, and confirmed my parents had gotten my message about going out with Dana—then I left.

I spent part of the walk looking forward to telling Bud exactly what I thought of his ratting me out to Delgado—but more of it looking forward to meeting Dana and Mike afterwards, at the main library, to do homework together.

And maybe, just maybe, to tonight.

Mike

I woke from torrid dreams to the smell of sex—I’d aired out the room before Dad came home, but my sheets were permeated with the sweat and secretions of sexyfuntimes. Despite having washed up with Teri and Dana (more fun times), I needed another shower after lying all night in that. I wasn’t sure I wanted to change my bed, though. Not yet. Well, I’d have to before the next visit, which I hoped was soon.

I contemplated my wheelchair. I’ve spent five years fighting back against teasing and outright bullying with every tool at hand—sarcasm, tattling, brute strength, anything I could. I’d pretty much been left alone, on that front, since freshman year. Carved out place on my own. And sometimes broken things off with friends, after one hurtful comment too many. Pushed them away before I could get hurt again.

Sometimes that wheelchair was not the real problem—sometimes I used it as an excuse. It got so tiring, though, just trying to cope with it all.

Suddenly, I was really, really glad Dana and Teri hadn’t taken my confession about the barrettes the wrong way. Very glad it was them that I was going out with. I’d needed to show them, however badly I actually did it, but I would have handled their anger even more badly.

When I emerged from my room, Dad was already up, eating breakfast at the table. He was looking at his phone through—were those reading glasses?

“Nice specs,” I told him as I rolled into the kitchen. “You totally rock the tortoiseshell look.”

He grimaced. “From the dollar store. I’ve reached the age where they actually help, more fool me.” And, indeed, he looked much more confident, tapping the screen. It had been middle-aged eyes and not just terminal cluelessness—who knew?

Cereal, bowl, spoon, milk—a circuit of the kitchen and out to the table. Dad looked over his glasses at my sugar-loaded breakfast and shuddered, as usual, before taking another spoon of that tasteless mush he calls ‘oatmeal’.

“Have a good time last night?” he asked.

I paused to consider how to describe it. “Yes, I do believe I did.”

He grinned. “I take it you anticipate more date-dates in the future?”

“We, ah, decided to make a go of it—see what comes.”

He nodded. “Thought you might, the way you talked.”

I did not roll my eyes, though I was sorely tempted. “Yeah, yeah,” I told him.

“Anything planned for tonight?”

Here it came. “Not tonight, no—it’s my night off.”

It took him less time than I expected to catch the implications of the pronoun. He licked his lips. “Is this the part where you tell me ‘It’s complicated’?”

Well, it was going to be. Time to make it as simple as possible. “I’m going out with both Teri and Dana, who are also going out with each other.”

Dad slowly put his spoon down. “Well.” Then he pulled off his glasses and set them on the table. “So they are...?”

“Bi, yes.”

“And all three of you also...?” He made a circle motion with his finger.

“Together, yes.” My stomach fluttered, but my voice stayed steady.

A small, wry smile. “You always did like a challenge.” Said the same way as when I told him I wanted to marathon. And, shortly before the accident, to play baseball.

My throat suddenly felt dry, and my hands tingled. I realized I wanted to say even more—a lot more than I’d intended. While I was being confessional.

“There’s something else I need to tell you. Not about them—about me.”

He looked at me steadily.

“I’m also bi. I’m not seeing any guys now, but I’ve had sex with boys.”

“I ... see.”

Does Dana feel this lightheaded, when she’s prompted by the Spirit?

“Um,” I finally said. “I should probably mention I’m not out, or not yet—I’ve told Teri and Dana, and now you.”