What Love Means Read online

  I made it to the classroom and fell into the nearest desk. God, why had I thought alcohol and a night out with the guys would solve my problems? And on a Thursday. A school night. I tried to act composed, but the breakup caused temporary insanity. I hoped it was temporary. I ate organic food and didn’t overindulge in carbs, yet I let my body be poisoned by several dark colored liquids without even asking about them. My head pounded. I felt like I was going to die.

  Having too much to drink wasn’t the Winthrop-Scott way. Of course, nothing about getting dumped was the Winthrop-Scott way either. My insides wanted to explode or claw their way out of my body, but I would get through this. Hopefully. There was a plan. I was on my way to an Ivy League education and future success. Stanford, though my parents preferred Princeton.

  I sat upright for a few seconds while observing the other neurotics like me who were up for taking the exam at an ungodly hour before heading to their regularly scheduled classes. Some of the other students were chugging coffee and doing last minute reviews with flash cards. They all had their calculators and pencils out. I considering grabbing the necessary items from my pockets for a brief second. I slumped down with my head on the desk.

  The cool surface was a welcome relief to my pounding head. The aspirin I took earlier hadn’t kicked in yet. What had I been thinking? It seemed like a good idea when my friends said I should get my mind off Katie. In West Windsor, New Jersey, everything was manicured lawns, ice mochas, valet parking: the finer things. We escaped to the city, saw crumbling buildings and bums drinking from brown paper bags. We ended up at some decrepit place on the word of a friend of a friend. We trespassed. Was it a rave? I faintly recalled neon lights and techno beats.

  I mostly remembered booze, warm skin, and the way my body buzzed from liquor and the heat of another body. I intended to get over my ex by finding someone else to spend the night with. At least something went according to plan… well, there was one unexpected hitch. Someone? I hadn’t planned on finding someone. I fully expected to meet a girl, one who could stand my pale body and nerdy conversation topics like obscure words and chess strategies. The guy had been a curveball. There hadn’t been much talking. How did breaking up with my girlfriend lead to party crashing and sucking face with some guy? I blamed alcohol.

  There had been something about him. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. I thought we were around the same age, but he’d skipped the awkward teen phase. I’d never seen someone so confident and comfortable in their skin. He had that classic bad boy look with a broody expression, tight dark jeans, and a leather jacket. He shed the latter sometime during the night to reveal strong arm muscles and a trim waist. He moved so fluidly, at home in his body. He looked like fun, like sin. I couldn’t help but stare at the motion of his hips.

  Somehow, I’d attracted his attention. We probably looked good together: my blonde hair and his darker brunette locks, his firmer body with my lighter one. A contrast in opposites that still somehow fit together. I hadn’t cared about aesthetics as much as getting my hands on him. We shared shots of dark liquid from a bottle before drinking from each other’s mouths. What the fuck was I thinking?

  I stopped wallowing in confused horror at my life choices when the proctor came in and started the exam. I did my best to comprehend the words on the test and fill in the appropriate little bubbles, though it seemed like a Herculean task. Even doing the bare minimum, it was challenging to focus without being hounded by thoughts of what hadn’t happened last night. Couldn’t have happened. There was just no way that could have been me. I didn’t hit it off with a dark haired, mysterious walking bad boy cliché. We didn’t spend the whole night dancing and making out on a couch.

  No, it hadn’t been a couch. We had been at some dusty, unused warehouse in Trenton. He’d pressed me down on some wooden pallet thing. His body covering mine had almost been enough to distract me from the stiff, uncomfortable surface below me and the vague mildew smell. Almost, which is why we moved.

  I should have stayed home and slept. Only I wouldn’t be able to explain why I’d missed this exam to my parents. Between my complaining body and haunting memories of last night, I eventually stopped reading the questions. I filled in bubbles at random. Completing the test was all I wanted to accomplish and seemed more achievable than forgetting about the insanity of last night.

  Last night… we’d vacated the pallet and found some dark corner that the freaking trash can fires and neon lights didn’t disturb. My back had been pressed to the wall, an interesting change of pace as I’d only dated girls that expected me to be the pursuer. I wasn’t thinking about girls then, just how good it felt to trade insistent kisses and explore his body with my hands.

  His rugged, chiseled features weren’t the only draw. He seemed familiar, like we were kindred spirits if I believed in that hippie nonsense. I was drawn to him.

  I tried to literally shake the thoughts out of my head. I winced when my hungover brain protested. I would stop for coffee before heading to school and down some more aspirin. I would forget about this. It was one night of fun, but I had more important things to focus on. Like weathering my parent’s disappointment about this poor SAT score and getting my girlfriend back or maybe finding a different one.

  I was a Winthrop-Scott. I was a winner. Anything else was unacceptable.

  ***

  Max

  “You’re supposed to be in school,” said my groggy voice.

  April stood over me, her long brown hair falling onto my face and into my open mouth. Gross. I blew the hair away and shot her a grumpy look.

  April had a round face that had to be a childhood thing since mom and I had squarer visages. Mom complained about that, thinking her forehead was too wide as she often had her hair pulled back, but a few strands of wavy hair normally fell onto my forehead and I rocked the square, striking jawline.

  My sister rolled her eyes. “You really think you have room to judge?”

  I rubbed my face. “You’re expected to go to school. I’m only expected to not get thrown in jail.” Mom would so not be able to afford bail. I loved having low standards.

  “You’re coming to my spelling bee.”

  I blinked at her. Damn, that wasn’t a dream. “You’re really in a spelling bee? Did you learn nothing from my mistakes?”

  “You just implied that I wasn’t supposed to follow in your footsteps.” She put her hands on her hips, giving me the no-nonsense look my mom always sent me. April was formidable but also adorable. I reached out to rub my hand through her hair and she stepped away. “But now I’m supposed to learn from you?”

  “Well, you aren’t the truant in this family. That role is already taken.”

  My spelling bee memories weren’t pleasant, but I didn’t exactly want to discourage April. I wanted her to do better in school than me and already walked a fine line between supportive big brother and bad influence. I stewed in indecision while she tapped her foot impatiently. “It’s just my class competition, you drama queen,” she said in the most unimpressed voice I’d ever heard.

  “It’s a gateway bee.”

  She stared at me, deciding that didn’t merit a response. I closed my eyes and pretended to fall back asleep. She started smacking me. Having a little sister kept my ego in check. I could be as macho and manly as I wanted – and I was doing a pretty good job of that between my buff body and a devil may care attitude – but none of that mattered when met with my 11-year old sister. I was wrapped around her little fingers.

  I sighed. “Okay, fine.”

  She smiled and ordered me to find different clothes. “You smell like a bar.”

  “How do you know what a bar smells like?” I hollered at her retreating from.

  “Just from you!” she yelled back.

  ***

  I walked down the halls of April’s middle school, idly scanning the colorful art projects on the wall. I let April lead the way as I hadn’t gone here. We moved from a house in the suburbs to an apartment in the
city after my parent’s divorce. God, there was so much to do in the city. Why did she pick spelling bees?

  Spelling bees were fucking insane. It was a chance for type A parents to push their children and see who prevailed while fighting for a scholarship. Everyone pretended like just putting in your best effort was good enough while you sat in the loser’s lounge trying not to have a nervous breakdown while minders patted you on the shoulder after a simple ‘a’ instead of an ‘e’ destroyed your whole world.

  Alright, maybe I am overdramatic.

  When I walked into the classroom, April’s friends practically ran to each other and started up with the excited whispers and giggling. I ruffled her hair while she sulked. April might keep me humble, but I did the same for her. I didn’t put any effort into looking my best for a bunch of preteens but tattered jeans and a clean-ish blue t-shirt still left them drooling over me. My wardrobe didn’t have a lot of color in it, but I guess I was in a good mood today since I didn’t don my normal all black.

  The band around my wrist was sometimes the only color in my outfit. I tried to deny that was some kind of metaphor for my life. The bracelet was a homemade gift from April. It was made of simple blue thread tied together in some pattern she learned in art class.

  “You’re a jerk,” April said while her friends eyed me and went nuts.

  “Hey, you wanted me to come.” She just glared, so I grinned and heard high pitched squeals for a minute before there were frantic shushing noises. “I can’t help that I’m hot.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Ew.”

  “Who knew 12-year-old girls had such good taste?”

  She puffed up, mollified that I implied she was older, 12 instead of 11. She shook her head at her friends. “They have no gaydar.”

  I gasped. “You aren’t learning that in social studies?”

  She shrugged. “Can’t expect much from a public-school education.”

  We grinned at each other before I patted her on the shoulder “Hey, kick some ass.” She held up a fist to me that I bumped with my own.

  “That kind of talk isn’t allowed in my classroom.” Oops. A stern woman frowned at me. She was too young to be the uptight, scary teacher who threatened kids with a ruler, but it seemed like she would make it there someday with that impressive scowl. She even had glasses to peer through disapprovingly at me.

  “I’m gonna watch my sister spell some big words,” I said with more enthusiasm than I felt. April smiled gratefully at me for that.

  The teacher didn’t find my spirit infectious as her frown stayed in place. “This is a very informal bee. It’s not even the competition with the other 6th grade classes.” School had only been in session for a month or so, but most competitions took place in the fall semester while Nationals happened in the spring.

  “I wanted my brother to see.” The sweet, innocent expression she gave her teacher always worked on me, but this lady must have been immune from so much exposure to kids and their bullshit. April was perfect but other kids could be annoying as hell.

  “Most people don’t bring visitors for this,” the teacher said, eyeing me up and down. Her persistent frown said she didn’t like the look of me as a teacher, but her gaze told me she enjoyed it as a woman as her eyes went back for a second helping of my tall form.

  “I’m not most people,” April said seriously. Pride swelled in my chest. God, April was the best. Nothing would ever stop her. “Plus, he’s a ringer,” she pointed at me. “He went to Nationals three times.”

  Okay, April could be annoying as hell too. The teacher looked at me with wide eyes. “Really? Your help could certainly give our class an edge.” April seemed to like that idea, so I shooed her away and she went to chat with her friends. “It would really be great if you could give the kids a few pointers,” the teacher continued, “Maybe drum up some more enthusiasm. April’s one of the only kids who cares.”

  I shook my head. “It’s just spelling. Pretty sure you can handle it.”

  She tutted like I was just being modest. “No, you could be an inspiration to the students.”

  “I’m really not that kind of guy,” I insisted. Hell, I was skipping class right now.

  “Do you like playing hard to get?” she asked coyly. I guess the plea for educating young minds was over. It was time for personal matters. Bold. I liked that but there was just one problem.

  “Sure,” I smiled. “I love it with the right guy.”

  “Oh.” She straightened her clothes unnecessarily and cleared her throat. “Well, sit in the back and be quiet.” She went to corral the kids and get the bee started.

  The kids formed a line in front of the blackboard with their chairs. During an official bee, there were well-established conventions and rules. School bees were much less formal, and the words used now were regular sixth grade vocabulary words. The kids mostly spelled with bored expressions like they’d be judged if caught having fun doing something like this. Middle schoolers weren’t much different from teens actually. Caring was so uncool.

  April sat up straight while a few kids looked nervous. She had straight brown hair that went more than halfway down her back. Maybe she took after dad. Well, in looks. Her face was often animated with something: intelligence, curiosity, mischief. She dressed much like the other girls in pinks and pastels and was one of the shortest in her class. She didn’t blend in though; she was tiny but her personality was gigantic and vibrant.

  April’s smart, not just with books, so I figured she wouldn’t go into full bee mode. This was a public school. These kids hated nerds, but they especially hated nerds who showed off.

  But kids like her have enough attitude to pull off more than the others can get away with. She jumped up from her seat when it was her turn and clasped her hands in front of her. “Temperature,” she repeated after the teacher spoke. “May I please have the definition?” she asked with such intensity, like Barbara Walters asking some celebrity a question guaranteed to make them cry. The kids laughed. Not at her, with her, except she was too committed to laugh. April focused on the teacher and nodded her head seriously while listening to the definition and then the sentence.

  “It’s one of our vocabulary words, April. Just spell it,” her friend Tinsley urged. I guess “frenemies” was more correct. Tinsley probably didn’t like April having the spotlight. I smiled when Tinsley missed the word ‘piano.’

  With two kids left, April’s competition missed the word ‘campaign.’ She nailed it and was given the word ‘bazaar.’ Okay, the words weren’t that tough, but it wasn’t bad for a public school. Half my friends probably couldn’t spell campaign.

  She looked right at me when she spelled the word to win. She met my eyes as she recited each letter, daring me to remember how much fun this was. Dammit, she definitely wanted to go all the way with this bee stuff.

  Maybe I used to like spelling. I don’t advertise what an awkward little nerd I used to be. Younger me loved staying inside all day with a good book. My favorites were detective novels like The Hardy Boys… and maybe Nancy Drew. Man, how did I not realize I was gay sooner? It’s incredibly lame but spelling was as close as a middle-class weakling like me could get to solving a mystery. Even when a word sounded completely foreign, there was an order to it. You just had to use the clues to figure it out.

  After April won, I walked over to where she stood with a crowd of her friends. She had a gold star sticker on her shoulder for winning. I gave her a high five. Her friends scattered. They had a hard time being in my direct vicinity without blushing to death.

  “Will you help me prepare?” she asked.

  “The real thing is different. It’s a lot harder,” I warned. These were easy vocabulary words that anyone who studied had a shot at. It was different when there was a whole dictionary to choose from and kids who wanted it just as badly.

  “I want to do it,” April said firmly.

  “Kids study a lot for it. It’s all they do,” I warned.

  “I can study
too,” she insisted. “I have been studying, but I didn’t tell you yet because I knew you’d be a gigantic weirdo about it.”

  I ignored the jibe. “I don’t want you to get so absorbed in it you forget everything else.” I knew from experience that was dangerous. “And I don’t want you to be disappointed,” I admitted. I had experience with that too.

  Maybe I couldn’t completely separate my personal feelings about the bee, but it took a massive effort to succeed at it. She was a bright girl with many interests and didn’t need to waste her time on this. Technically, sixth grade was on the old side to start. Competition ended after 8th grade and age 14. I started at nine-years-old. While they didn’t always make it to the finals, most kids started as young as they were able to. Some of these kids would have been spelling before they could talk. Seriously, there were parents who taught freaking sign language to their babies.

  “I want to do this,” she insisted, putting her hands on her hips.

  She always talked about becoming an equestrian. Maybe I could distract her with a horse. No, how the hell would I afford a horse? She hadn’t been to regionals or nationals yet. Including this year, she only had three tries. It was pretty unlikely. I couldn’t tell her that, so I just sighed.

  “Alright,” I relented. “It looks like you’re going to be a spelling champion.”

  lavrəˌvīt, noun

  A green mineral made of igneous rocks

  Cal was caught between a lavrəˌvīt and a hard place.

  Chapter 2

  L-A-V-R-O-V-I-T-E

  April’s spelling bee high hadn’t evaporated the next week as August turned into September. Instead, she’d done research. There wasn’t a club or study group at her school, but there was one that welcomed other students at a fancy prep school in West Windsor. It was a half hour away, but I didn’t mind taking her. I was in supportive mode. Mostly. She’d committed, so I had to also. I wasn’t the one who told her she couldn’t do things. There would be enough jerks like that. My past experience at least meant I could help her with this.