Friday (part 2)

The cake solution was far less grand than I have suggested. It was a boxed affair, already a little smushed to one side by the treacherous car ride, with the Safeway logo on the box. Brandon grinned at my frown and said, "What, you expect miracles? Give me more than an hour's warning then."

Brandon looked really weird with clothes on. He was wearing a blue T-shirt with brown stripes and some tan khaki slacks. "What, what's wrong?"

I shrugged. "It's so odd not seeing skin from the neck down."

He laughed. "Look who's talking. At least you've got more colors on than black this time." Which was true. I'd traded the normal black long-sleeved shirt for a dark purple one. Maybe not so much of a difference, but hey, whatever works.

Meredith had had the presence of mind to arrange carpools, so that not too many cars cluttered up our driveway. Zach pulled up in this huge sleek minivan of dark blue, and we piled in. Meredith and Brandon balanced the cake in the back seat; Sajel took the navigator's post in the front passenger seat, and Derek and I were left with the middle-row bucket seats. As opposed to, say, the back seat, which would've allowed us to sit a little closer together. But no, I needed to be close to the front so that I could direct Zach to the restaurant. Stupid Brandon and Meredith didn't even take advantage of the back seat either, they put the cake between them and left it there the whole ride over. I swear. Those people.

My mother said hello to all my friends, made sure I had my cell phone (uncharged, as always), and bade me happy birthday. And just like that, we were off.

"Did you bring any music," Sajel asked me.

I said, "What?"

"Music," Sajel said. She was twisted in her bucket seat and her head leaned over its shoulder. "CDs, discs, cassette tapes even. It's a tradition. Brandon started it. Whoever's birthday it is, gets to choose the music." She made a face. "He was fourteen. We had to listen to boyband music."

"At least I don't still listen to it, Ms. Heartthrob Seven," Brandon called from the back seat. It's hard to hear in a van sometimes.

"Yeah, and like the next year was much better," Zach retorted. "Remember ABBA? That shit must be about a million years old."

About as old as Garfield, I thought inanely.

"Hey, what's wrong with ABBA," Derek said. "I like that stuff." And Brandon said, "And lo, the skies opened, and he was vindicated," and they high-fived.

"So, did you bring any music?" Sajel asked me.

"Uh," I said.

"Uh-oh," said Zach.

"Nobody told me!" I protested.

Zach and Sajel gasped.

"Brandon," Sajel said, scolding. "How could you."

"What, how come it's my fault," Brandon said, "one of you could've told her. Am I my Program partner's keeper?"

"Here," said Zach, making a left turn. "Sajel, open the glove compartment. Arie, there's all my CDs, see if you can find something you like."

"Why is this music thing so important, anyway," I asked.

Sajel tossed the folder of CDs at me and grinned. "One word: karaoke."

Brandon and Zach whooped like drunks.

"Hey, we got three people in choir in here," Derek said, "it ought to be interesting."

"And you can't forget me," Zach said, "I'm the next Andrea Pavarotti."

"The next what, " Meredith exclaimed.

"It's Andrea Bocelli, dumbass," Sajel told him, grinning.

"Oh who cares," Zach said, "all these Italian people, all their names are the same. Andrea Bocelli, Andrea Pavarotti, Andrea Spaghetti, Andrea Fettuccini—"

I put my head in my hands and groaned.

That was basically the car ride. Brandon does a really good straight man, but I found myself taking that role more often than not, being the one reacting and letting them bounce off me. In part it was just because, despite everything, I felt a little uncomfortable. This wasn't a milieu I was familiar with—not this group, not these traditions, not this style. Derek was finding ways to fit in just fine (and God, I wish I knew how he did that) but as for myself... Of course, I imagine Meredith felt even worse.

The music, on the other hand, was something else.

Jimmy Eat World and Dashboard Confessional leaped out at me at first, but I passed it over—you can't sing along with that. Well, maybe Brandon can, but I can't; I have these things called boobs and I don't have these things called balls and it makes it hard to sing low. For a moment I wished for Tori Amos; that, at least, I can do. But most guys aren't sopranos. Finally I passed the folder back to Brandon and asked him to pick out something with a democratic voice spread. I approved his choice and we passed it forward.

"Aww, what the fuck," said Zach, plugging the disc in. "ABBA again?"

"Hey," Brandon said, "it's your CD folder."

You can dance, you can jive,
Having the time of your life...

Now here's the thing. I don't know why Sajel isn't in the choir, she sings pretty well. And Zach isn't that bad either. Then you throw in Bran and Meredith and Derek, and I was just showered in all this incredible sound. If you've never had a chance to surround yourself with really good singers and let them loose, I highly recommend it. You get into something like "Take A Chance On Me" where the guys and the girls sing something completely different—and then Meredith shifted down to the harmony, and then Zach started on that really weird electronic honking they use on the background, and then I think we were all laughing a little too hard to keep singing. But, like... Jeez. It's like surround sound, except better, 'cause it's this entire car load of your friends. And they sounded good... And I guess I sounded okay too.

Though public opinion of my croaking was higher than I expected. Derek started it—he turned to me and said, totally deadpan, "Arie, if you don't quit the orchestra and come sing with us, I'm never going to kiss you again."

"No kidding," Meredith amplified. "If you don't, I'll never kiss you again either. —Oh wait."

"Uh-oh," said Brandon, making a show of his uncertainty. He turned to Meredith, exaggeratedly timid. "Honey? Is... Is there something I oughta know about?"

"Hey, keep your hands off my girl," Derek protested. "If anyone's gonna not kiss her, it's me."

My girl. I like that.

"Jesus," Sajel said. "Good at violin and good at singing. Whose brain did you eat when you were young?"

And that got me thinking. My mother would complain, yes—but maybe I could get out of violin. I'd rather sing. And I don't think my voice is half as wonderful as everyone's saying, but I wouldn't mind having a future as a vocalist. Maybe, when Dad suggested I'd rather be part of the choir, he wasn't just pulling an option out of his ass.

The restaurant was pretty crowded, which was to be expected, since it was Friday night. Most of the patrons were Asian. It was a little surprising how many there were; this area isn't exactly known for its Asian demographic. But then again, Zach had driven us for the better part of an hour to get here; maybe people came from miles around. Meredith took charge of the cake—she told them to keep it in the kitchen until we called for it. It looked remarkably squashed at that point. The waitress looked at it very dubiously and agreed to take charge of it. In the meanwhile, we got our reserved table and sat down.

"Hot Pot Palace. I've never been in this place before," Sajel said. We had to speak pretty loudly to hear over the noise of the other patrons.

"It's nifty," I said.

"How do we order?" Zach asked.

"You don't," I said. "It's a buffet. Go take a look."

Zach and Sajel stood up immediately to go investigate. Derek, though, cueing off me, stayed put. Brandon started to rise, but Meredith had seen the same thing, and she pulled him down.

"So," she asked, "what's with this thing?" She gestured to the fixture in the middle of the table. A sunken pit had been built into the table, perhaps foot square and half that in depth, and in it was a strange rectangular object with some weird thin knobs on the front, one round and one rectangular. Of course, I knew what those knobs did, but to Meredith it must look bizarre. On top of the object, held up by metal claws, was a wide metal plate covered in tin foil, with a smaller metal container in the middle, like the pot from a rice cooker. The plate was about level with the surface of the table.

I just grinned. "You'll see."

Sajel and Zach were back within moments. "Arie, if salmonella is your idea of a good birthday present..." Sajel said.

"All the food's raw," Zach said.

A grin grew on Meredith's face.

"Yep," I said smugly. "Grab what you like. "When the— Ah, here we are." As if rehearsed, one of the waiters bustled up. He attached a round plastic thing to the round knob—and suddenly it was a dial with positions for "On" and "Off". (They take off the plastic dial so that customers can't play with the appliance.) He switched it to "On", made sure the other knob (a lever) was pushed all the way to the top, and then produced an electric match. A couple of snaps later, there was a fire burning under the metal plate. The waiter took back the dial, produced a large kettle, and poured water into the container in the middle of the plate. Then he left.

"Grab what you like," I said. "You use this thing to cook it."

"Cool," Zach said, clearly delighted.

"Just be glad we're not still in The Program," I told Brandon. "Lots of grease flying around. Though your clothes get really stinky too. You'll be smelling your dinner for the rest of the night. Oh, and—" Catching Zach and Sajel as they were about to go. "—They charge extra if there's uneaten food left over, so try not to get too greedy."

Brandon and Zach looked at each other very slowly. "You know not to whom you speak," said Sajel, rolling her eyes.

Eating at Hot Pot Palace is an adventure in itself. You can boil things, you can fry things on the plate—and for those who'd rather just eat, there's a few things that come already cooked. None of us seemed interested in that, though. The first ten minutes was a chaos of going back and forth, grabbing chunks of chicken or sliced beef or lamb or anything that looked interesting. On occasion, we even got something green. That was more Meredith and Sajel and I. The vegetables you had to boil; they tended to be leafy, and you can't fry that. Some of the chicken and beef went into the pot too, but most of it (especially the marinaded stuff) was spread out in thin slices onto the hot plate. There was also a frantic run to find some forks; Sajel and I were the only ones who could use chopsticks. And then after that we had to find some more forks, and chopsticks, once Sajel pointed out how truly intelligent it would be to both prod raw meat and then eat cooked meat using the same utensil.

When we finally had something cooked (I think it was a lump of chicken), Derek grabbed it and dropped it onto my plate. "Weird new restaurant. Birthday girl gets the first taste."

I threw it back onto his. "What are you talking about, I've been here before. You try it."

"But it's your birthday," Derek protested, sending it back.

"You're just scared it's going to poison you or something. It's edible. Trust me."

No I am not," Derek said, "I'm just—"

He dropped it on the floor.

We both looked at it. Then we looked up at each other.

"Guysh," said Zach, lips smacking, half of a greyish meatball on his fork. "It'sh fine. Naow eat arreddy."

Cooking stuff yourself is fun. There's just a certain novelty in tossing slices of meat onto the heat plate and watching them sizzle. The problem is, each slice is only about a mouthful, and there's pretty limited space on the plate. It takes a long time to cook for six people if you have to work with a surface area not much larger than a piece of binder paper. And no, none of us were really into the boiled stuff. I guess we're too American, can't stand anything that hasn't been fried. McDonald's would be proud of us.

Over dinner, the topic inevitably came up: "So, Arie, how goes the domestic campaign?" Oddly enough, it was Sajel who asked me. "Any casualties to the latest battle plan?"

"Well... Some," I said. "I don't know what my father thinks. My mother... She agreed that we should seek counseling, which I think is a step in the right direction. But I'm not sure if she'll listen."

"So why's she going into therapy then," Zach asked.

"Because... To shut us up," I said. "She may not agree that she's fucked-up, but she agrees that we're fucked-up. Me and Trina. Maybe she figures she can get us back on track without having to change anything about herself."

"But..." Meredith said. "If she's the reason you're off-track..."

"Yeah, that's the problem," I said.

"Welcome to the human race," Sajel said. "Stupidity and ignorance, or your money back."

"Sounds like a neat trick," Zach said, "just ignoring everything to go your own way. "How do you do it?"

"Very, very carefully," Brandon said with dull sarcasm.

"With great skill and deliberation," Meredith said in the same voice.

"By being desperate," Derek said, and his tone was so different from the others that we all turned to look. He stared at us all, his fork limp in his hands. "It's when your plan isn't working and everything's going wrong, but you cling to it anyway, because you're scared and you don't know what else to do."

We blinked at him.

"What?" he said. "Play an online war game. Play StarCraft or something. Suddenly your opponent does something you weren't preparing for and you don't know how to respond to it. Then you lose a lot."

"Except that it's not a game, it's Arie's life," Meredith said.

"Well, that's where you gotta have confidence in yourself," Derek said. "Not, 'Oh no, things are going wrong what am I gonna do, ' but 'Okay, things are going wrong, but I can handle it.' He comes over the horizon with Mutalisks, well, I can build Corsairs instead of Archons, and have his fleet for dinner."

"... He comes over the horizon with whats," Zach asked.

I stared at the cook pot for a while, ignoring them, saying nothing. ("See, it's this big flying alien thing..." "Uh-huh...") It was really sort of a scary thought. My mom had made a mess of my life, and of Trina's life, because she didn't feel... Confident. Because she didn't think she could guide us, handle us, provide for us. She'd been scared that she'd mess up.

The only response I could think of was, Well, you were right to be scared, werntcha!

But it wasn't an angry thought. All in all, I could hardly blame her for being scared that she might screw up her children's lives. I mean, Christ, I'm so scared of that, I'm not even gonna have children. And the fact that she'd gone and done exactly what she feared, only gave credence to the fear.

Though, arguably, if she'd had enough confidence to trust her own parenting abilities, none of this would have ever happened. But I've been where she was—where she is. That sort of confidence in yourself can be really hard to muster.

Well. All we gotta do is convince her to change her mind. Which will be, as it always has been all along, the real challenge.

The cake was pretty battered; half of the frilly frosting trim was smashed to ruin. But the "Happy Birthday Arie" was still legible, and it tasted good, so who exactly was complaining? And there was no extra food to pay for; either we'd all done a very good judgement on how hungry we were, or the menfolk had bottomless stomachs. I suspect the latter. I had no idea Brandon was one of those guys who makes a big deal over being able to stomach about fifteen people's worth of food.

After we left, the sun was already gone, leaving only dark reds and purples and blues to mark its passing, and no one really wanted to go home. Brandon's house was the obvious solution, since there were no parents to displace. "When exactly do they plan to return," I asked him, and he shrugged and said, "I think some time in late October." This time Derek and I got the back seat, and we actually used it this time. Not that we, like, got it on or anything. But we didn't keep the empty seat between us. Unlike someone I could mention. Zach keyed the music down, and we talked and chattered, while the sun slowly sank away. It's fun being on the road at night, surrounded by friends, with the bright angled shine of headlights the only light source. It's dark—but you feel warm, and safe. And not alone.

It's really nice to be not-alone.

Derek and I sat close together, wrapped up in each other's arms. This is what Brandon and Meredith do, I thought to myself. I wonder how they think of it. I knew what I thought of it: it was making me horny. Being near Derek was like an aphrodisiac. From the way he fidgeted, I thought he felt the same way. Which, of course, meant I needed to shift a little bit and wiggle my bum against him, and rearrange his arms so that one of his hands—purely by coincidence!—lay across the top of my boob. Time to put a little of the pressure on him for a change. Though the pressure was building on my end too.

Derek was the only one who hadn't seen Brandon's house by now. I half expected him to comment on it—how empty, how vasty its powers—but he didn't. And I was startled to realize that I didn't feel that way either. We were too busy talking and laughing.

After we had called our parents to tell them what was going on (Meredith's idea), we ended up in the room with the giant TV, sitting around drinking soda and munching on whatever snacks Brandon had rustled up and smashing each other around in video games. And Brandon sat back and fetched a deep contented sigh and said, "I should pay you guys to live here. We have enough money. And this house wouldn't be so damned silent all the time."

Zach laughed. "I'd stay. I mean, shit, look at this place! DVDs, big-screen TV, wireless network—"

"You've got him," Sajel said to Brandon. "He's hooked. Dangle modern technology in front of him and he's yours for life."

"I'd stay," Meredith said, which made Zach whoop. "Ah, but you got your own reasons for staying," he said, which Meredith actually faced without blushing. At least, as far as I could tell. Derek and I were wrapped up in each other on the couch and not really paying attention to anything. Every now and then there was a whoop when someone did something spectacular on the video game—I think people kept yelling at Meredith for some reason—but I had other things to worry about. Besides, there were only four controller ports. It wasn't my fault the other four had pounced on the video game, leaving poor Derek and I stranded on the couch, with only each other for company. And it wasn't our fault that we were so, umm, so full from dinner that we, uh, didn't feel like straining after the controllers. Or, something.

Eventually someone tapped me on the shoulder. It was Brandon, with a bright, quirky smile on his face. "Uh, guys, don't you think that sort of thing ought to be left in private?"

"In other words, Get a room, you guys, " Sajel said with a dry grin.

Zach laughed. "They could. This place has like a thousand rooms."

Derek and I glanced at each other. What do you think?

"Oh, nice work, Zach," Sajel said.

Derek and I looked at Brandon with puppy dog eyes.

Brandon looked down at us. "Christ. I feel like a pimp or something." Behind him the other three laughed.

"Is that what you want for your birthday present, Arie," Brandon asked. "A private place for the, uh, The Grand Deflowering Event?"

"Not my deflowering," I retorted, sticking my tongue out.

"Uhm," said Derek quietly. "Mine instead."

"Oh-ho-ooo!" said Zach, and he came over ponderously and shook Derek's hand.

Brandon looked from one of us to the other and said, "So, what do you think," and suddenly I realized he was taking this seriously.

"I'm game if you are," Derek said, but I could tell he was reluctant.

"We'll take a look," I said, and we got up off the couch.

Brandon turned to the others. "I'll be back soon, guys." And with that he lead us away, out through the kitchen to the main lobby, where the front door opened out onto miles of green lawn.

"Where are you taking us," I asked.

"I dunno, let me think," Brandon said. "Did you know there are four guest bedrooms in this house? Plus some of the other rooms can take a number of sleeping bags... I think my dad had some weird dream of gathering his entire family into this house for... Well, anyway."

"Just pick the nearest one," Derek said, "so that we don't get lost on the way back."

Brandon made a wry smile that didn't reach his distant, occupied eyes. "Oh, believe me, it's not quite that simple..." Something turned in his eyes, and he made a decision. "All right. Let's go."

The room whose lights he flicked on was small, but perfectly proportioned. A freestanding bed stood in the middle of the room, covered in sheets of rose and beige. One wall was a full-size closet with sliding mirror doors. The lights were wall sconces that set up a warm orange glow; the only other furniture was a waist-high bank of drawers along one wall in rich brown wood, its surface covered with occasional objects—a digital clock; some random knickknacks. It was beautiful—but the position of the bed made it intensely clear what this room was for.

"Wow," Derek said. I just stared. Now I knew why it had been such hard decision for him.

"This is special," I said.

"Yeah..." said Brandon. He ran a hand through his hair. "If... I always figured that, if Jane and I ever got this far... It would be here. Every time, I always... I never showed her this place. I wanted it to be a surprise." Then he sighed, a deep sigh, like a farewell. "But I guess that dream isn't for me anymore. Now it's yours."

"What," Derek said, mustering his humor from somewhere, "Jane?" His hand was tight and rigid on mine.

Brandon rolled his eyes, a grin on his face. "No," he said. "You. You both. If you guys are going to have your first in my house, I want you guys to have the best."

"It's not my first," I protested again, but Brandon shook his head. "It's your first," he said. "You two, together."

"Brandon..." Derek said. "We can't. This is your house. It should be your..." His words ran out, and he held his hands out. "It's yours."

But Brandon shook his head, and smiled. "No. I give it to you. To both of you. To make something wonderful out of this thing you have together. If this house my parents gave me can somehow help you in that... Well, let that me be my honor."

Derek and I said nothing. We just stared at him with tearful eyes.

Brandon hugged us both. "My friends," he said; and then that smile shone out, like light, like all the light in the world.

Then he stepped to the door, and that more familiar, less-unsettling grin was back—except, maybe a little more unsettling, because of the truly wicked gleam in his eye. "Be sure to enjoy yourselves," he said.

Derek and I glanced at each other, stunned.

And he took his leave of us, leaving the door just slightly ajar.

F .5

For a long moment, Derek and I just stood there, staring at each other in blank confusion.

"Well, uhm," Derek said. "Are we, uh."

"Do you want to," I asked.

"I do, but... I'm kinda... I dunno. I'm worried."

"Why," I teased, "scared it's gonna hurt? I thought that was only for the girls."

He colored. "No, not scared that it's gonna hurt... More like... The opposite. Scared that I'm gonna screw up." His eyes dropped. "Scared that you aren't gonna enjoy it."

How totally sweet is that? I could put up with any amount of fumbling after that. "Derek," I said, taking his hand. "I'll be fine. I want this too. Besides," grinning, "you're such a good student, I'm sure you'll listen if I give you some lessons."

A smile perked across his face—some of that old Derek spirit, showing its face again. "Will I need to take notes? Shall I get my pen?"

"There will be a written test," I said loftily.

He cackled. "Too bad there won't be an oral test."

Then we giggled like schoolgirls.

"No, but, seriously, Arie..." he said, humor fading from his voice. "I... It does make me nervous. You're... You're really important to me." His eyes were wide and shadowed, as honest as I had ever seen them. "You're special to me. I don't know if I can ever show you just how much you mean to me."

I just stared at him for a few moments, totally incredulous. "What happened to your confidence," I asked him. "You're always so... So out-there, so forward, so in-charge-of-everything. Christ, you make jokes when you don't even know the people around you! Who are you and what have you done with the real Derek!"

Derek paled, and he sputtered for a few seconds.

"The real Derek," he said. "The real Derek. He's standing right here in front of you."

I didn't get it.

"You talk about confidence." He gave a rueful laugh. "Confidence is a face on the water. That's my mask, that's how I keep people away from me. You want the real me? I have no confidence. I'm scared."

That was such a startling thought that, really, I should've predicted it beforehand. Hadn't I just been telling Trina, earlier today, that there was no reason I shouldn't have a face on, just like she does? So why hadn't I thought Derek might have one? Probably because he has, like I said, confidence. It didn't look like he needed one. If you're sure of yourself, why do you have to protect yourself? But what if the confidence was the mask?

"I'm scared," Derek said. His face was slack and naked in the indistinct light.

"Of me?" I asked quietly.

"For you," he said. His face turned miserable. "And maybe for myself too."

I moved closer to him and pressed my body against him. He was rigid, almost trembling; it was strange to be next to him. I kissed him on the lips—no, that might not be a good idea, better get his cheek instead. "You don't have to be afraid for me."

He said nothing.

"Jeez, Derek, you need to calm down," I said. "It's not like you're going to your execution or anything."

"What if you're a black widow," he said. "They eat their mates after they're done in the sack."

"That's only if you really fail, and I doubt you're going to do that," I snapped impatiently. He's just taking this way too seriously. I untwined my body from his and stood back. "Look. Putting aside all the fear and the worry and all that. Do you want to do this?"

He looked down at me, and I could see the answer in his eyes before he spoke it. "Yes. I do. Oh yes." Suddenly the rigidity of his face was gone, replaced only with turgid need.

Now was the time. I stepped to him again, letting him feel the pressure of my breasts against his chest, kissing him on the lips. "Then everything will be fine."

I could see the light in his eyes when I pulled away, and I knew I had him. And that, pretty soon, he would have me. Hey, we'd have each other, how convenient!

"Have you seriously never done this before," I asked him.

"Don't rub it in," he said, a wry grin on his face.

"What, it's kind of cute, actually," I said, smiling. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"Try telling that to a sixteen-year-old virgin."

"There isn't," I repeated. "It's just a little surprising, is all. I mean... You know. Confidence and all that."

"I have fooled around with girls before," he said, sounding a bit defensive. "And I waste a lot of time on the Internet."

I grinned. "Well, you should be just fine then. I mean, it's not like there's a lot to know when it comes to the guy's part."

"Excuse me," he said, grinning. "I have to do all the moving and such. You're just supposed to lie back and think of England."

I burst out laughing. "You better hope not, or I'll dry up!" England! What a boring place!

"Well, then," he said, and suddenly that old mischievous gleam was back in his eye. "I'll have to make sure you're far too distracted with other, more... Pleasant thoughts."

Then we were kissing again, and now his hand was on my breast—and despite the shirt and bra in the way, it felt even better than this morning. I'm not really sure why. All I knew was that I liked it.

"If you tell me we're going to be late for class," I warned.

"Nope," he said. "Lesson's over. Time for the final exam."