The Music of What Happens(74)

I hear him take a deep breath. And then he says, “Fine. Whatever. Can I just say for the record, though, that I’m done being vulnerable for the day? I hate it so much.”

Rosa puts her hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“Good luck with that. The world will make you vulnerable. If you’re acting like you’re not, that’s what you’re doing. Acting.”





It’s later that morning and I’m in my room. I pick up my phone.

Me: U there

Kevin: Hey what up, u left in a hurry the other day, figured you hated me

Me: Just confused but I’m getting over it. Wanna meet?

Kevin: Maybe

Me: C’mon <smiley face> Wanna see you again

Kevin: Your like bipoler

Me: Lol am not

Kevin: Are so. Just come here?

Me: Cartel

Kevin: U want coffee or u wanna hook up?

Me: Lol both

Kevin: Okay whatever an hour?

Me: See you then

It’s not that easy to get my mom and Jordan off my back. Jordan has stayed around, just hanging out with us, which is nice but I’m really truly done talking about my feelings. I could tell he saw a window open up and he liked it, but let’s be real. That window isn’t gonna stay open. I’m Max, and that’s not me.

“I just wanna take a drive,” I say.

My mom frowns. “Why don’t you stick close to home today?”

“I need some air. Maybe go to the gym?”

“I’ll come,” Jordan says.

“I dunno,” I say.

Jordan and my mom share a look.

“Can I just have like five minutes to myself please? An hour, tops.”

“I’m worried about you,” Rosa says.

“Me too,” Jordan says.

I come over and stand between them and put a hand on each of their forearms. “Trust me. I’m okay.”

Mom finally relents, and as I go to my room to get ready, she asks Jordan to stick around for a second. I can’t help but feel a little pissed off. A guy doesn’t want pity and to be treated like a baby. Doesn’t matter what happened to me. Treat me like the guy I was before you knew, right?

I park at Cartel, my heart pounding. I need to deal with this my own way, and yeah, I know it’s in public. But I’m doing it in public because in private I’m afraid I might hurt the guy. I gotta use my words and just say what I need to say, and that’ll be it. I’m not calling the cops. I’m telling him that he hurt me, that he won’t hurt me again, and that if he knows what’s good for him, he’ll make sure guys say yes in the future. And that’s it.

Kevin is sitting on the second of four square wooden benches in a horseshoe formation, facing away from the back door. It’s perfect, because it’s dark and while there are people around, they’re mostly wearing headphones. I see his forehead first, and my throat tightens involuntarily.

“Hey,” I say, sitting down next to him. Leaving a little room in between us.

“Hey,” he says. He has a coffee. “You gonna get one?”

“Nah,” I say, and he laughs.

“Um. Okay …”

“Wanted to talk to you again,” I say, and he starts to stand up. I pull him back down by the shirt. “Nope. You’re gonna listen this time. Just shut up and listen.”

He looks super uncomfortable, and he’s looking around like he’s afraid and hoping there are witnesses.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” I say, careful to keep my voice low as I hear someone sit in the next bench over, like right behind where we are. “I just need to say something.”

“Fine,” he says. “Say whatever. I really don’t care.”

“You … raped me,” I say, my voice catching when I say the word, real soft so no one else can hear.

“That’s just. Wow,” he says. “I …”

“Shut up. Really. Just shut up. I told you no. You don’t get to decide what no means. It’s called consent. I’m not gonna like call the cops. I just want you to know that I know now that you raped me.”

“Wow,” he says.

I sit up tall so that he remembers that I’m bigger than him. He shrinks ever so slightly.

“I got an HIV test and it’s negative, so that’s good. I don’t know if you gave me anything else.”

“Maybe you gave me something,” he says.

“Yeah, no,” I say. “You’re the only person, asshole. I’ve done that with.”

He smirks. “Right. Of course. Sure. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“You could get in trouble anyway, dude. I’m seventeen. How old are you?”

“None of your business, dude. And that’s so lame. I’m still a teenager. I’m not some creepy old guy taking advantage of a young guy. Grow up. Take a little responsibility for your actions. You were there. You’re a big dude. You could’ve stopped me. You didn’t want to stop me.”

I don’t know what to say to that, and for about the millionth time in the last four weeks, I wonder if he’s right. Maybe I did want this. Maybe I’m being a big old baby —

“You did it because you were horny, and you’re no better than anyone else, even though obviously you think you are. You’re a horny dude, which makes it weird that you’re so frigid.” He laughs. “I figured you’d be more chili pepper and less … I don’t know.”