some chocolate at it and next time you get a free period, come and drool at Mathboy with me.”
“ Deal,” I said, not bothering to explain that it wouldn’t be for a week. If she knew I was stuck with Trystan for several additional hours every day, she’d insist that I transfer to a new school. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe Trystan was destined to break my heart. I didn’t want to find out.
CHAPTER 18
~TRYSTAN~
Trystan slipped away from practice as soon as humanly possible. There was no food at home. He’d have to run into the deli and hope Sam was still there.
The door chimed as he walked inside the small shop. The deli wasn’t big, but the owner was great. Trystan called out, “Sam? You here?”
A small man with dark skin walked out of the back room, “Trystan Scott. What can I do for you?”
“ Can we barter this week?”
Sam walked up to the counter and looked at Trystan. He knew the kid was on his own and had been for some time. Whatever so-called parent was supposed to be taking care of him deserved a punch in the face. Trystan was a good kid. “Sure, grab whatever you need and set it up here.”
Trystan went through the shop grabbing what he needed, checking dates, and trying to pick up things that had been reduced. When he was done, there were two bags filled with food. Sam tallied the items as he put them in. “Not bad. Only $45. You can work that off in one day.”
Trystan had done the math in his head as he picked up the items. “No charity, Sam. You shaved off nine bucks.”
Sam’s face reddened a little. He looked down at his pad and said, “It’s not charity. I was going to throw those things out.”
“ We do this every couple weeks, Sam. I try to get as little as possible and you always forget to add something in. Come on, I don’t want a hand out. I’m good for it. I’ll work Saturday and Sunday, the 5:00am shift. I’ll see you then.” Trystan reached for the bags.
Sam pushed the groceries toward the young man. “You’re a good kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Trystan smiled at the old guy. It was a lopsided grin, filled with pride. Sam was one of the few people who could evoke that emotion. Trystan nodded and headed out the door.
When he arrived home, he swallowed hard. His dad was home. The lights were blazing in the windows, the sound of the television wafted out the front door.
Trystan pulled opened the rusted screen, balancing the paper bag on his hip. Nights like this made him what he was—an actor, a liar. His dad was a thin man well past his prime. He sat in a tee shirt and shorts in front of the TV with a beer can in his hand. It was still early. He’d move onto the hard stuff later.
“ Where the hell have you been?” Dad grumbled not bothering to look at his son.
“ School. Then I stopped at the store for some food. I got some of that pasta you like. I thought I’d make it for us for dinner.” It felt like he was walking on egg shells. Dad worked to pay the bills, but he didn’t bother buying food or cooking. Trystan learned how to use the stove before most kids could tie their shoes.
Dad scoffed, “You expect me to believe that?” Trystan didn’t bother pointing to the grocery bags. He knew it was pointless. “I’m talking to you, boy. When are you going to stop lying to me?”
Trystan stepped in front of his father, blocking his view of the TV. One grocery bag was clutched in each arm. “I’m not lying.”
“ Then what the hell is this?” his dad asked, holding up a guitar. Trystan’s heart clenched. For a second all he could do was stare. He’d hidden it, locked it in his room. “Yeah, I thought so. My son’s a fag, singing fairy songs around a campfire. Perfect.”
Trystan saved his money forever to get that instrument. It was an acoustic guitar with honey wood. It came from a second-hand shop, but it still cost more than he had. He saved his money for months to get it. Since then it’d been hidden in
“ Deal,” I said, not bothering to explain that it wouldn’t be for a week. If she knew I was stuck with Trystan for several additional hours every day, she’d insist that I transfer to a new school. Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe Trystan was destined to break my heart. I didn’t want to find out.
CHAPTER 18
~TRYSTAN~
Trystan slipped away from practice as soon as humanly possible. There was no food at home. He’d have to run into the deli and hope Sam was still there.
The door chimed as he walked inside the small shop. The deli wasn’t big, but the owner was great. Trystan called out, “Sam? You here?”
A small man with dark skin walked out of the back room, “Trystan Scott. What can I do for you?”
“ Can we barter this week?”
Sam walked up to the counter and looked at Trystan. He knew the kid was on his own and had been for some time. Whatever so-called parent was supposed to be taking care of him deserved a punch in the face. Trystan was a good kid. “Sure, grab whatever you need and set it up here.”
Trystan went through the shop grabbing what he needed, checking dates, and trying to pick up things that had been reduced. When he was done, there were two bags filled with food. Sam tallied the items as he put them in. “Not bad. Only $45. You can work that off in one day.”
Trystan had done the math in his head as he picked up the items. “No charity, Sam. You shaved off nine bucks.”
Sam’s face reddened a little. He looked down at his pad and said, “It’s not charity. I was going to throw those things out.”
“ We do this every couple weeks, Sam. I try to get as little as possible and you always forget to add something in. Come on, I don’t want a hand out. I’m good for it. I’ll work Saturday and Sunday, the 5:00am shift. I’ll see you then.” Trystan reached for the bags.
Sam pushed the groceries toward the young man. “You’re a good kid. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Trystan smiled at the old guy. It was a lopsided grin, filled with pride. Sam was one of the few people who could evoke that emotion. Trystan nodded and headed out the door.
When he arrived home, he swallowed hard. His dad was home. The lights were blazing in the windows, the sound of the television wafted out the front door.
Trystan pulled opened the rusted screen, balancing the paper bag on his hip. Nights like this made him what he was—an actor, a liar. His dad was a thin man well past his prime. He sat in a tee shirt and shorts in front of the TV with a beer can in his hand. It was still early. He’d move onto the hard stuff later.
“ Where the hell have you been?” Dad grumbled not bothering to look at his son.
“ School. Then I stopped at the store for some food. I got some of that pasta you like. I thought I’d make it for us for dinner.” It felt like he was walking on egg shells. Dad worked to pay the bills, but he didn’t bother buying food or cooking. Trystan learned how to use the stove before most kids could tie their shoes.
Dad scoffed, “You expect me to believe that?” Trystan didn’t bother pointing to the grocery bags. He knew it was pointless. “I’m talking to you, boy. When are you going to stop lying to me?”
Trystan stepped in front of his father, blocking his view of the TV. One grocery bag was clutched in each arm. “I’m not lying.”
“ Then what the hell is this?” his dad asked, holding up a guitar. Trystan’s heart clenched. For a second all he could do was stare. He’d hidden it, locked it in his room. “Yeah, I thought so. My son’s a fag, singing fairy songs around a campfire. Perfect.”
Trystan saved his money forever to get that instrument. It was an acoustic guitar with honey wood. It came from a second-hand shop, but it still cost more than he had. He saved his money for months to get it. Since then it’d been hidden in
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