I’m hiding in the fiction section, my English Lit assignment half finished on my knee in front of me, when I hear about the party.
“Don’t worry, man. It’s going to be tight. They already have two kegs hidden in the basement. Alcohol won’t be a problem. Girls, on the other hand…” I recognize the voice. It’s Darren Weathers, the basketball team captain, and he sounds excited. He always does. He’s the epitome of Port Royal High cheer.
“I’m not drinking, dude. We have a game tomorrow night. Have you never tried to run up and down a court with a hangover?” This voice I’m not so sure about. It’s deep, which means it should be easily recognizable, but it’s not. He carries on speaking, and I still come up blank. “Can’t they push it back until the weekend? A Thursday isn’t exactly the best night for a rager.”
“Damn it, Cross, don’t be such a mom. You’re fifteen years old. You’re supposed to want to drink and fuck high school girls, not get eight hours’ sleep and hide behind your damn camera lens every single waking moment of the day. You’re a part of the team. You need to contribute.”
“All right, all right. What the fuck do you want me to do?”
Callan Cross. His name is Callan Cross. It’s amazing that I didn’t recognize his voice sooner, considering the fact that the guy has lived next door to me my entire life. He’s borderline popular, though. He always seems to have his head down, looking at the ground. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t even know I’m his neighbor. I hear a slapping sound, followed by Darren’s obnoxious hyena laugh.
“That’s the spirit. All you gotta do is find five girls to bring to this party. We all have to do it. Otherwise it’s going to be a major sausage fest, and I’m already sick to death of catching glimpses of your dick in the changing room as it is. You feel me?”
Cross laughs now too. “You’re just jealous, asshole. Not my fault I was blessed with seven inches and you were cursed with three. Have you seen those weird suction cup things in the back of porn magazines? That might help some. Ahh, fucker! Get…off!”
Darren obviously doesn’t appreciate Cross’s comments. It sounds like he’s trying to get him in a headlock or something. I cower back, trying to avoid the books that topple from the shelves overhead, raining down on me as the boys in the next aisle roughhouse. I don’t make a sound. For some reason, it seems like a very bad idea that they know I’m here. Eventually they stop.
“Your mom knows just how big my dick is, Callan. Why don’t you ask her about it.”
Callan groans. “Seriously, dude? A mom swipe? Lame.”
“Whatever. I’m sure she’ll confirm that I’m a gentle lover if you ask. Hey, call me when you get back to your place. I might need to ask a favor.”
“What kind?”
“The I-need-you-to-drive-me-somewhere kind.” Callan makes a pissed off sound, but then I catch sight of them doing some sort of weird bro handshake through the gap created by the fallen books, and it seems as though this is all just part of male teenage bonding. “Later, man.” Darren slaps Callan on the shoulder and then disappears out of sight, leaving my dark-haired neighbor behind.
What follows next is weird. Callan stands there, perfectly still, and he appears to be staring at the floor. I see his face in profile—the proud, strong line of his nose, the equally strong line of his jaw, the way his forehead is furrowed as he apparently thinks very deeply about something.
He blows out a long, unhappy sounding breath down his nose and then he ducks down out of sight. Books start appearing on the shelf, blocking up the gap into the next aisle. Seems like books must have been knocked to the ground on his side, too. Most guys would have left them, probably. Not cared about making a mess in a high school library, but not Callan.
My heart nearly climbs up out of my throat and runs away when he’s suddenly standing there at the entrance to my aisle, wearing a surprised look on his face. “Oh,” he says. For a while it seems like that’s all he’s going to say, but then he says, “Are you concussed? Any of those land on your head?” He points to the books scattered all around me.
“No. I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, I am.”
“It’s rude to eavesdrop, you know.”
“I wasn’t. I—I was here first. I couldn’t help overhearing.”
Callan angles his head over to the left a little, narrowing his eyes at me. The beginnings of a smile forms on his lips. “About my seven inch cock?” he asks.
My cheeks might as well burst into flames. They’re instantly red and on fire. Fuck this guy if he thinks he can embarrass me, though. “I doubt very much that you have a seven-inch cock, Callan Cross.” I try to sound bored, but the truth is that I’ve ever said the word cock out loud before, and I nearly choke on it. Oh, god. Now I’m thinking about choking on his cock. Callan looks away, his smile taking over his features. Seems as though he’s trying not to laugh.