Wednesday (part 1)

Coming into school on Wednesday was different. I've read accounts about how people would line up and wait for the Program participants to show up—basically you're supposed to do a striptease—but that didn't happen to me. I mean, there were people around, but they didn't pay me much mind. Who's interested in seeing Brandon Chambers naked in school anyway? And it was fine by me, because I doubt I could strip-tease if my life depended on it. Who exactly would I be teasing? Everybody's gag reflex?

Hi, I'm Brandon Chambers, and I'm probably the most cynical Program participant there ever was. Pleased ta meetcha.

But it was funny—when I got to our normal meeting place and saw Sajel standing there with Tim Kwan, the only thing I could do was smile. How interesting. Now I know how she feels.

"Hey, Brandon, what's up," Sajel asked.

"Uhm, not much," I said.

"Well, something's up," Sajel said, "that's a really weird smile on your face." She squinted at me. "You haven't been hitting the hash pipe or anything, have you?"

"No, I was just thinking that I know how you feel," I said. And so I had to explain what Arie and I had done the evening before.

"Wow," Sajel said. "You actually followed through with it."

"Yeah," I said, "I was thinking about... I dunno, it's really weird to say that those two idiots yesterday had a point, but they did. As everybody else reminded me by making the same point. I should... I might as well just, you know, whip it out more often. Say hello to Mr. Happy and all that. Even if it makes me uncomfortable."

"Yeah, but, why does it make you uncomfortable," Sajel asked me. "I mean, if there's some, I dunno, maybe your, uh, pistol only has a limited amount of shots in it or something. It'd be wise to..."

I laughed. "What, are you accusing me of firing blanks?"

"Absolutely," she said. "Brandon Chambers, impotent at sixteen. When you're in the Guinness Book of World Records, I'll say to my friends, 'Yeah, I knew him when.' No, seriously, why are you uncomfortable?"

"Honestly, I don't know," I said. "I thought about it a lot last night. Maybe there is no good reason. Well, aside from that whole fear-of-attack thing I have going." It comes from having parents who abandoned you when you were ten. It starts you wondering who else is gonna turn on you. That sort of thinking leads back to the Hole. "But if that's all that's holding me back... If that is what's holding me back... Then all the more reason to start whipping it out more often."

Sajel gave a truly evil grin. "Sounds like a good way to have fun. But you've already wasted half the week."

"No, I had fun yesterday too," I said. "Though it was still weird."

"How do you feel about it," Sajel asked me, and again I grinned. That's one of the central differences between men and women. I think it must be genetic. You tell Zach you got laid last night and he says, Cool, how was it? But you tell Sajel, and she asks, How do you feel? I wonder if I'm the only person on earth who tries to ask both, who tries to be both.

"Actually..." I said. "when I was thinking, I realized just how... How similar the situations were. To our time. One person who didn't take no for an answer... One person who wasn't so keen on it, but changed their mind and just went with it. Except that this time, I took the opposite role as before."

"And," Sajel said.

"Well..." I shrugged. And then grinned. "I guess I know how you feel."

Sajel tilted her head.

"I mean, it was fun, even though I don't think it was quite a good idea. And I don't really regret it so much, because things could've been a lot worse." I mean, Arie could've literally raped me, strapped on a dildo and stuffed it up my ass or something. "Well. I don't regret it, because it's either that, or drive myself insane with regret over something I can't change anymore. It happened, so... Might as well make the best of it."

Sajel gave me a true smile. "Now you feel the way I felt about it."

"Yeah, but... You did drive yourself insane with it for a little while."

"Not as long as you did."

I held up my hands in surrender, laughing. "Fine, fine, you win..."

Sajel winked. "Was she good?"

I rolled my eyes. "Sajel, Sajel. So prurient." So man-like, actually, was what was going through my head. Yay, somebody else tries to find a balance between genders!

She laughed. "Hey, you know me. Sexing up guys left and right." That's a hoot. Sajel's had how many boyfriends in her life? I'm sorry, was the correct answer zero? "So how was she?"

I blew out breath from pursed cheeks. "Well, honestly... It was great. She was, like, really into it."

I felt bad saying anything, because the only other experience I'd had was Sajel, and anything I said might make her feel bad, or think that I had found her lacking. Which wasn't the truth. I may have only had two partners (and only two experiences, how crazy is that), but I already knew that it wasn't a matter of comparison. Every girl is, simply, different. Not better, not worse, but different. And I don't just think that way because one of those girls happens to be my best friend, whom I hope will be at my wedding someday.

And thankfully, Sajel let the topic drop. Which gave me a chance to do the other thing I needed to do, which was grab her hands, give her a big kiss on the cheek (I was feeling unusually demonstrative that day) and say, "And because I didn't get to tell you yesterday, thank you so much for standing up for me yesterday."

She blushed. "Oh, come on, what else would a friend do?"

"Well, thank you for being my friend then," I said. "You think Zach would've done that?" Zach was my best friend for many years, and I still call him that, but the person I can really relate to? She's standing right in front of me.

Sajel laughed. "Yeah, true. But still. If he wouldn't do that, it's just proof that he's an idiot."

"Like we needed proof of that," I said, and we laughed.

Someone cleared a throat nearby. We turned. It was Jane.

"And what, may I ask, is going on here," Jane asked.

"I dunno," I said airily. "What is going on here?" I didn't know what she'd seen, or what was bugging her. Hopefully I could draw her out.

"Are you bringing in another replacement," Jane asked in tones of ice. Uh-oh. That meant she was angry.

"No," I said, serious again. "I'm thanking a friend for standing up for me. Yesterday Sajel took a punch for me. That means a lot."

Jane stared at us for a moment longer, her mouth working soundlessly, and then turned and left.

Sajel cut eyes at me. "Uh-oh."

"Yeah," I said. When Jane reacts like that, it's because she isn't really capable of backing down gracefully; the poor girl's just too headstrong. But still... "Hope this doesn't get out of hand."

"What'd she mean about 'replacements, '" Sajel asked, and I explained the backwash of Arie's plan yesterday. "Hnnnn," said Sajel, and I realized she thought I'd said the wrong thing to Jane. I probably had. "Well, here comes Arie. Maybe Jane can ask her how it went. Change her mind about... Wait, who is that?"

It was a woman I hadn't seen before, but given the cast of her eyes, the color of her hair, and the determined way she was charging around, Arie bobbing after her like flotsam in the wake of a boat, I could conjecture pretty well. "Arie's mother." Interestingly enough, Arie was wearing clothes, despite being on school grounds. She shouldn't have been. But just from the look of Arie's mother, I knew she wasn't the type of woman who would tolerate being followed by naked flotsam, Program rules or no.

"Wow," said Sajel. She can see those things too—see how people relate to each other, orient to each other. Arie was walking around like the back half of an animal, or maybe a trailer hooked up to a car: just following the decision-making part around. "No wonder she has such a bad time."

Arie's mother was, to say the least, imposing. She was shorter than any of us in height, taller than any of us in stature. Crowds parted before her—kids who knew instinctively that it'd be smart to get out of her way. There was a furious aura around her, detectable even at twenty paces, like the heat from a furnace. I've seen Dr. Zelvetti look like that once. Just once. People practically hid in the lockers. And boy, was she tired after that; you could see it on her face. Arie's mom, on the other hand, looked like she walked around like that all day. How the hell did she manage?

As they passed out of my vision, clouds rolled across the sky, obscuring the sun; a fitting prelude to the end of September.

"Excuse me," I said to Sajel, and left.

"Hi," I said to Arie. She gave me a dim glance and nary a word, but her mother rounded on us.

"Who is this, Arie? Is this your friend Brandon? Of course he is, he's not wearing anything. Arie?"

Arie gave a glum, slow glance. She seemed... Really unhappy. Almost slowed and burdened with it.

"Arie!" A whipcrack of a voice. "Answer me."

"Yes, that's Brandon," Arie said, in a voice that could charitably be called a whisper.

"Nice to meet you, Brandon," Mrs. Chang said shortly. "Come on, Arie."

Arie didn't move.

"Arie!" Mrs. Chang said again.

I took her by the shoulders. "Arie, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Arie said miserably.

"Because, you know," I said. "I am your Buddy in The Program. I'm supposed to support you." Oh please pick up on the hint oh please oh please oh please— "If you'd like someone to talk to or maybe just some company... Well, think of it as a reasonable request."

This time she did meet my eyes, and I could see the meaning behind them. "No, Brandon. I'm fine. Thank you."

And I let her go. She wasn't fine, any idiot with an eye could see that; but I think I understood that there was simply no way I could help.

"What was that," Sajel asked me when I got back.

"I don't know," I said. "One thing's for certain, though, I think Arie's a lot more depressed than she was yesterday."

"Yesterday she was bouncing off the walls," Tim reminded me.

"All right, than Monday then," I said.

Arie didn't come back before the bell rang, and the next time I saw her was in English. She was naked, so evidently her mother had been overruled, but she looked practically dead. She slumped there in her seat, the rise and fall of her breathing the only movement, and I felt bad for her.

I had other things to worry about, though. Most specifically, I had Meredith to worry about, who had passed me in the hall between first and second period, given me that beautiful, heart-warming smile, murmured, "Ooh, somebody's strutting his stuff," trailed her fingers (and fingernails) gently across my chest, and bestowed upon me a raging, teeming hard-on... All without breaking her stride.

And now I needed relief.

"Is anyone going to volunteer," Mr. Cavanaugh asked, as I slogged up to the front of the room, more or less determined to get through this. Sex is sex, I'll take it or leave it, but a chance to put more distance between me and the Hole...

"Anyone?" Mr. Cavanaugh asked into the silence. The echo of his own voice was the only answer. "... Anyone?"

"Oh come on," Zach said from his seat, "that's just sad. No one's gonna help him?"

Someone else spoke from the back of the room. "Why don't you help him then?"

Zach and I took one look at each other and simultaneously recoiled and went, "Ugh!" with our tongues hanging out. Which got a laugh, which is what I think Zach intended. I was glad to have him on my side.

But still no one stood forward.

"Come now, somebody," said Mr. Cavanaugh, stern now. "Alison Lowell." No answer. "Christa?" The girl from Monday—the one with the growing-out roots—jumped when he said this. "Sajel, care to help out a friend?"

"Bad idea," said Sajel and I at the same time.

I looked over the classroom and except for Zach, Sajel and Mr. Cavanaugh, no one would meet my eyes.

Sometimes the Hole is close to you. Some times like now.

I sighed. "Well. I guess that's it for me then." What a downer, what a motherfucking downer. I mean, how sad is that?—gets up to ask for relief, no one wants to touch him. Another time I might have been angry, but now I was just sad. "The Program is all about being comfortable with your sexuality and all that, but what if you don't get the chance? Well. I guess not everything works out the way it's supposed to. I think the pamphlet says something about..." Squinting, trying to remember the wording. "Comfortable with your sexuality, comfortable with your body, increased personal growth... Yeah, all that shit they throw at us. But it's not just me. We're all in The Program. Sure, I may be the only one naked, but that just means that it's my body everyone has to become comfortable with. I had it shoved on me the same as you did: I didn't sign up, they picked me. Maybe it'll be your turn tomorrow and I'll have to get used to you. But it's not like I'm the only one participating here.

"I have to learn... I have to learn about my body, I have to learn about my urges, I have to learn about fear... But you guys have to learn that too. It's a get-to-know-you process. It's a get-to-know-Brandon process. Yeah, you all know me, I'm the freak guy with the scars on his arms... But that's not all I am, I'm not even the only one with that label anymore. So who am I? Really? Besides all those convenient labels? 'The weird one, ' 'the freak, ' 'the guy who killed himself.' Honestly, I don't know, I'm still learning too. And now I'm in The Program, and everyone gets to learn. But if no one wants to... Well. I guess not everything works out the way it's supposed to."

I walked back to my seat and sat down.

For a second, no one moved. Then Mr. Cavanaugh stirred behind his podium. "Thank you, Brandon," he said, "I'll talk to Dr. Zelvetti on your behalf."

I just blinked at him. About what? I don't care.

Then he went back into Shakespeare, and it was back to business as usual. At least, for most of us. There were two of us now, sitting bleakly in our chairs, staring at nothing. I don't know if anyone looked at me that day, or what they thought of me. I didn't care.

Sometimes the Hole is close to you. Times when you don't measure up, times when you've failed. Times when you've done your best, played your hardest, given it all, and whoops—that just wasn't enough. Times you failed.

Times like now.

W .2

I wanted to get away during break, but I share Current Events with Kelsey, and she took one look at me and her eyes turned, those doors swinging shut, and she wouldn't let me go. She practically dragged me to Stetsen. I wanted to get away; I wanted to just fade into a corner somewhere. I wanted to stop being Arie Chang, on display; I wanted to stop being Arie Chang, naked in school; I wanted to stop being Arie Chang, depressed; I wanted to stop... Being. Just sit in a corner and fade away and disappear, and no one would ever remember me again.

But no, I had to face it.

"What was that in the morning," Brandon asked me. Brandon. God, I don't want to see him. I don't want to see me. Kelsey and Sajel and Brandon were all hovering around me looking really concerned; and Tim Kwan, that silent guy, was in the background somewhere, looking uncomfortable. And Zach too, because there was no one else to talk to, everyone was talking to me.

"That was my mother," I said. "She tried to take me out of The Program."

"I guess it didn't work," Zach said, "'cause I don't see any clothes on you." No one laughed.

"Yeah," I said. "Dr. Zelvetti took me outside and asked if I wanted to stay. I said yes."

Sajel and Brandon and Tim looked impressed. They'd seen my mother, after all. "Wow," Sajel said, "I'd liked to have seen that."

"What, seen what," Zach asked.

"Dr. Zelvetti stand up to Arie's mom," Sajel said.

"What's so interesting about that," Zach asked. (I found out later that he's faced down Dr. Zelvetti's wrath several times. Honestly, that's not surprising.)

"Dude, you haven't seen Arie's mom," Sajel said. "She's, like, the terror mom from hell, man!"

"Ehh," Zach said, "Right."

Of course, there'd been more to it than that. The conversation with Dr. Zelvetti out in the hall had been brief and typically to-the-point. "Do you want to stay with The Program," she'd asked, and I'd said Yes. "Good, I'll see that you stay in it. Does your mother bully you like this frequently," she'd asked, and I'd said Yes. "About what I'd expected. Are you planning to do something about it," she'd asked, and I'd lied and said Yes. Fighting my mother was just too tiring. It wasn't going to happen. But you could say the exact same about fighting Dr. Zelvetti.

Then Brandon asked me the question I'd been dreading. "Arie, how are you? Are you okay?"

There was simply no good way to answer that.

How was I? I was... Nasty, is how I was. I didn't take a shower last night, I didn't get my homework done, my hair was a mess, I'd barely eaten any breakfast, I didn't pay the slightest attention in any of my classes, I'd lacked the energy to get myself out of bed in time—and that was interesting, Mom yelling at both Trina and I to hurry up or we'd be late, and she wouldn't be giving the principal any excuse notices, oh no... God, look at all the ways I've managed to fuck up in only twelve hours. And then there was that other thing, the thing I'd did with Brandon. Where I basically, you know, raped him. And then there was that other other thing. But I couldn't tell him the truth, it wasn't worth the trouble. Especially not about the other thing. But I couldn't lie, he'd see through it.

"I'm fine," I said, not looking up to meet his eyes. I focused on his belly button instead.

Brandon's torso said, "My friends online say that's an acronym. 'I'm FINE—Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic and Emotional.'"

Fuck. His friends too? Goddamn. I was hoping that'd slip beneath his radar.

"Hey," Zach said in a voice unlike his own. "Hey."

I guess he must have seen, because the next thing I saw was Brandon's hand dipping into my field of vision. He picked up my left arm and held it up to take a closer look. I don't know if he did it deliberately, but because of the angle, my arm was centered perfectly in my own view, and I could see as well as he could.

Three new lines. Three new scars. And on the other arm, much the same.

Around me was pure silence. I could feel the eyes on my arm.

Fucked-up is right. Look at me. I'm Arie Chang, and I'm fucked up in school.

Brandon's arms were around me, holding me close; I could smell his skin, the faint warmth of his body, his sighing exhalations. "I'm sorry," he said, "this is my fault," and I knew he was referring to last night.

Oh God, now he thinks it's his fault. No. No. Love for Brandon welled up in my throat and I said, "No. It's not. It's mine. Don't blame yourself."

"But if I hadn't—"

"I wanted you to," I said. "It's not your fault I wanted something bad for me."

"Still. I'm sorry, Arie. I'm sorry."

I put my arms around him, the still-raw cuts pressed against his body. "It's not your fault. It's okay."

I don't know exactly how long we stood there, or what would've happened if I hadn't looked up. But I did look—luck, fortune, kismet, fate, whatever you want to call it—and saw. Over Brandon's shoulder, I saw.

And in the instant my eyes met Jane's, I understood.

Understood how much she wanted to be the one there, the one in Brandon's arms, her bare breasts pressed against his skin. Understood how much she rebelled against her own desires, so scared, so scared of being unearthed. Understood how scared she was, how much she hated her body for its lurching unattractiveness, how much she feared Brandon for finding it attractive. Understood how often she cried over her homework, frustrated with her implacable assignments, disordered assignments; how hard it was to maintain her 4.0 GPA, how important it was. Understood how fragile the whole castle was, how little it would take to bring the whole spun-glass empire crashing down. Understood how jealous she was, that someone could have what she wasn't allowed to, what she couldn't allow herself to.

"Brandon," I said, for his and her ears alone. "I think you need to talk to your girlfriend."

"Huh?" Brandon turned to look, and I felt the change in his body when he saw her, like a door revolving shut, a gate barred closed.

Jane was trying not to cry. "I think we need to talk," she managed to get out.

"Yeah," Brandon said, his voice wooden like the dead. "Yeah."

He stepped away from me—and I saw that the trouser snake had, once again, been fooled. It only takes a female body in proximity to a male one to make Mr. Snake take notice, and Brandon's had. Brandon's and Jane's and my eyes fell upon it simultaneously, and Brandon colored. So did Jane, but not with the same color.

This looks bad, Brandon must be thinking to himself. And it did. And guess whose fault it was, again? Say hello to Little Miss Fuck-up.

I squeezed his hand. "Good luck."

Brandon's face—that sometimes immobile, sometimes illustrative thing—quirked once, just a twitch of eyebrow and lip—and he gave me an unreadable glance. Then he walked into the lion's den, next to his girlfriend.

"This is going to be bad," Sajel said.

"How do you know," Zach said.

"You're such an idiot," Sajel said. "Isn't it obvious? All the signs are there."

"What signs, I don't see any signs. If Jane was holding up like a 'Gays Die' sign or something, or maybe 'Vote Rodham' or something, I'd see it, but she wasn't."

"God, you're such an idiot," Sajel said. "She was..."

I didn't hear. I just sat down on the cold concrete, letting it all wash over me. And the surprising thing was Tim Kwan—he sat down beside me, the usual faint smile gone from his face and an unreadable look in his eyes, and he put his arm around me and I leaned against him, welcoming the warmth of human contact.

But it didn't help a lot. I wanted to fall asleep and go away. Go anywhere. Anywhere but here. Anywhere where I didn't have to be always screwing up all the time. Anyplace but here. Anyplace but me.

W .3

Sajel was right. It was going to be bad.

After exchanging a few meaningless pleasantries (Hey how's your day been, Fine thank you, You wouldn't believe what happened in English class), we got to it. And it was pretty short, too.

"You like Arie," Jane said.

"No," I said.

"Yes you do," Jane said.

"No, I don't," I said. "Unless you meant like a friend. But if you meant, you know, do I like like her, then—"

"Well, you were... Uh. Hard."

I snorted. "Jane, that happens to everybody. You let Zach hug Arie, you let Tim hug Arie, you let Mr. Cavanaugh hug Arie—they get erections. That's just what happens when you hug people."

"You don't get them when you hug me," Jane said.

"Now what kind of bullshit is that," I said, "of course I do. But most of the time I'm wearing pants, you can't see it."

"You haven't this week."

"We haven't hugged this week."

"Yeah," said Jane, "you've been hugging other people instead."

"I'd rather hug you," I snapped, "but you won't let me." "Yes I would." "No, you wouldn't." "Why wouldn't I?" "Because I'm naked. Look, have you thought about what I said yesterday?"