Simple Physics
Chapter 15 - Magnetism
“So, you’re whipped,” Kwan concluded—and immediately doubled over with
a pained grunt at the force of Dash’s next toss, football burying
itself in his gut.
“No,” Dash growled, “I’m just…” He frowned. “Whatever, it’s complicated.”
Kwan huffed, catching his breath before hiking the ball up. “You like
him, right?” he asked, tossing, and Dash caught it smoothly.
“Well, yeah,” he said.
“And you’ve been seeing him for…how many months?” Kwan caught Dash’s return toss.
“Err…” Dash tried to think back, mentally tallying up the weeks in
backwards succession. Somewhere around five, he gave up. “Man, hell if
I know…too much math. Almost a semester, I guess.”
“But you haven’t fucked him,” stated Kwan, and Dash fumbled his catch, almost dropping it.
“Hey, now wait,” he objected, “it’s not my fault he’s not ready for-”
“You broke up with your cheerleader girlfriend…”
“Dude, she was drunk off her ass and slobbering all over Marcus’s dick…in my bedroom! What the hell was I supposed to do? Close the door, walk back out like nothing ever happened and go-”
“-fuck someone else? Sure,” said Kwan. “It’s not like you’ve never done it before…but this time… Man, you didn’t fuck anyone at that party, did you?”
Dash kept silent, rubbing a hand behind his neck and studying the football quizzically.
“Dash, seriously…do you even remember the last time you got laid?”
“Hey, yes,” Dash snapped. “Of course I do, it was, umm…”
He frowned, “…that time…a while back…at that thing…the uhh…” Kwan
looked unimpressed, “…the bonfire!” he said. “That was it. That beach
thing, yeah.”
“The…huh?” It took Kwan a moment to remember. “Oh! The…oh…holy shit, dude, no wonder you’ve got your panties in a—owww,
shit…Jesus, watch how you throw that thing, will you?” Kwan coughed,
wincing and looking uncertain as to whether or not to risk returning
the ball to Dash at all.
Dash snorted. “Whatever,” he grunted. “Just ‘cause I haven’t gotten
laid in…” He trailed off, scowl deepening the more he thought on it.
Eventually, he folded his arms. “Man, can you even get whipped over a guy?”
Kwan looked tempted to roll his eyes. “Uh…duh?” he
responded, obviously still slightly piqued about having been the victim
of not one, but two retaliatory gut-shots. “Whipped is like…a state of
being, dude…totally not gender related…and anyway, saying you couldn’t
get whipped over a guy would be like saying you couldn’t fall in love
with a guy, and-”
“Hey, wait, I am not in love with him,” Dash cut in sharply—and something about Kwan’s look was deeply unsettling. “What? I’m not,”
he insisted, and something told him Kwan’s acquiescent shrug might have
been significantly more satisfying if he hadn’t looked so annoyingly
unconvinced when he did it.
“Ok, whatever, man…didn’t say you were,” Kwan conceded, and, apparently
deciding it wasn’t worth it to risk being the target of another angry
outburst, he tucked the football under his arm, eyeing Dash
thoughtfully instead. “So, you’re not even…‘dating’ him, then, huh?”
Dash grumbled something vague and barely intelligible, then kicked dully at the grass. “So?”
“You don’t think might be, like…a good first step…?” Kwan ventured.
Dash immediately fixed him with a that-is-the-stupidest-idea-I-have-ever-heard stare and shook his head sharply. “No, man, you don’t get it…he is pissed
at me right now, ok? It’s like…how was I supposed to know beating up a
guy’s best friend is like running over a girl’s puppy? But it is…and it’s like…he won’t even…I can’t…no,” He shook his head again, “just no. Anyway, at least not…not right now.”
“Ah,” said Kwan, “But…you’ve at least…called him, right?”
“I’ve called him fuck knows how many times,” Dash half
growled, “but he never picks up. He ignores it when I text, never
responds back, and I’ve tried apologizing but it’s near fucking
impossible when he’s not even listening, and I can’t…it’s
just…” Dash shut his eyes, shoving a hand back through his hair and
squeezing—then releasing a held breath in a rush. “It’s
just…frustrating,” he admitted, softer, “and now…I don’t even know what
else I’m supposed to do anymore, you know?”
Kwan frowned thoughtfully. “Well…it seemed like he, umm…let you talk to him the other day alright, right?”
Dash opened an eye. “Yeah…”
“So, he’s probably not totally off of you, it’s just, you know…a matter
of getting him un-pissed. Like you said…think of it like you ran over
his puppy,” reasoned Kwan. “What do you do when you run over your
girlfriend’s puppy?”
“Uhh…” Dash blinked, tilted his head back and squinted up to the sky. “Pshh, heck if I know…girls never
get over that kind of thing…buy her a new one? Or some flowers… Cook
her dinner, give her a foot massage…watch as many chick flicks with her
as she wants…” Kwan snickered, and Dash looked down. “What?”
“Does he like chick flicks as much as you?”
Dash narrowed his eyes. “You’re lucky you still have that ball…”
Kwan flashed a grin. “Yeah, I know…that’s why I kept it.”
“Hnph,” Dash snorted, lacing his fingers behind his head. After a
moment he shook his head. “No, actually,” he said, “he doesn’t…” and at
Kwan’s look added, “…like chick flicks, that is. Probably safer to go
with the flowers…what?” Kwan shook his head. “What?” Dash insisted, and his friend smirked, mouthing whipped and just barely escaping Dash’s subsequent swing at his shoulder. “Ass,” Dash grumbled.
“Hey,” Kwan put his hands up, “I think I’m taking this pretty cool, all
things considered…I mean, it’s not every day a guy finds out his best
friend is like…a flamer with his heart set on some weird, geeky-”
“Hey, hey, no, no, not a flamer,” Dash stressed, “…flamer
is like…twenty piercings, tight pink glitter shirts and rainbow
shit…with like…sausage-fest orgies in gay clubs and stuff…” He shook
his head, “not going there,” and Kwan looked slightly green.
“Besides,” Dash ignored Kwan’s nauseous look, “I thought you said you
guessed a while ago?”
“Uhh…” Kwan swallowed, shaking his head—probably to clear the images.
“Well, I mean yeah…you watch the romance channel and collect stuffed
bears, dude…that’s like…gotta mean something, right?”
Dash looked skeptical. “Not necessarily, but whatever…you are right,”
he admitted after a bit. “You’re taking this really well. I guess I
never…well,” He looked down, hating the heat in his cheeks and hoping
Kwan wasn’t looking too closely, “just thanks, I guess.”
Kwan shrugged. “No sweat…what are friends for, right?” he said, smiling
when Dash stole a glance up. “I mean, as long as you don’t go off and
kiss me again…why should I care who you do?”
Dash snorted. “Yeah, right…no need to worry there. I think the chances
of me ever kissing you are like-” It took until that moment for the
full content of Kwan’s statement to sink in. “Wait…” He turned a sharp,
accusing eye on Kwan. “Did you say ‘again?’”
“Uhh,” Kwan cleared his throat, “did I? You know, I think maybe I should head home. It’s getting a bit cold outside and-”
“When did I ever kiss you?” Dash demanded, and at least Kwan had the shame to blush.
“It was only once!” he defended desperately, “And a long time ago at
that…I figured you might not have remembered, but it was, you know, the
first time I really started seriously wondering about your sexuality,
that’s all-”
“And you never decided to tell me?”
“It’s not like it just randomly comes up in conversation!” Kwan nearly
squeaked, backing up because Dash was advancing. “Oh, yeah, dude,
remember that time you got totally smashed and put your tongue down my
throat? No? Oh, sorry I brought it up then, anyway, how’s the game
looking?”
“So I was drunk…” said Dash, pausing, and Kwan nodded, swallowing.
“Yeah, man…off your ass, and then you never mentioned it later and
didn’t even act weird or awkward or anything and you did date plenty of
girls so I just, you know, kina shrugged it off, but, I mean…you can’t
get mad at me, ok? I
didn’t kiss you, and I didn’t figure you’d want me to bring it up if
you never did…like, especially if it didn’t turn out that you really
were…err…you know…into, um…swinging that way…or whatever…”
Dash regarded his friend—ball still tucked under one arm, cheeks pink,
and apparently uncertain whether to look more guilty or embarrassed.
Finally, snorting dismissively, he rolled his eyes, crossed his arms,
and then fixed his friend with smirk. “So,” he asked, abruptly changing
the pace, “how was it?”
Kwan gawked. “I…it…” His face screwed up in a grimace, “…eww, dude…no. I’m straight and you were hammered,
ok?” he insisted, trying to keep a straight face despite Dash’s
laughter. “It was wet and pushy and tasted like Budweiser…and you…it
was…” The laughter died to snickering, and Kwan glared. “Whatever, you
can laugh…just, no repeat experiences, deal?”
Dash grinned. “Deal. So, you, uh…gonna pass the ball back or what?”
Kwan snorted. “You gonna buy that kid some flowers?”
Dash groaned. “But-”
“Look, the whole rejected and depressed thing really
doesn’t suit you,” Kwan stated, point blank, “and pretty soon, it’s not
gonna be just me that’s noticing it. Now, if you just wanna get
straight up laid, I’m pretty sure Richie’s gay too, so-”
“No, no, no,” Dash shook his head, “that’s…no. It’s not…I don’t…eh.” He
grimaced. “It’s not that. I can wait for the sex, really.” Kwan gave
him a Look which he promptly ignored. “It’s just…he’s not a girl, you know? And flowers are like…well…I mean, really
girly…all I’m saying is…don’t you think…I mean are you sure he wouldn’t
take it the wrong way? Plus…how am I supposed to get them to him if
he’s not letting me get anywhere near him? It’s not like I can just
chase him around the school…so, what? Walk up to his locker and tie
roses on it…? That just doesn’t…it sounds lame…”
Kwan wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, ok,” he said, “so, one…you totally need to get him flowers. Anyone who’s worth putting off sex for is worth flowers. Two…yeah, uh, duh,
I know he’s not a girl…but think of it this way…would you really have
minded if one of your girlfriends had ever just randomly given you
flowers? Sure, they almost never do…but that doesn’t mean it can’t be a
cool gesture coming from either side…even if they are girly, so no, I
don’t think he’ll take them the wrong way, and three…umm…what was the third thing you said?”
“Uhh…I can’t chase him around the school?”
“Oh, yeah, right,” said Kwan, “and you can’t just tie them to his locker like you said ‘cause…why?”
Dash scoffed. “Oh, I don’t know…maybe ‘cause it’s gay? ‘Dash Baxter, Outed Fag of Casper High Courts Tucker Foley in Hallway’…I’m sure that’d go over great.”
“Ah…so you’re not ready for anyone to know yet.”
“I’m…” Dash paused, thoughtful, “…actually, you know at this point…I
really don’t give a shit. Yeah, sure, it’d be easier if no one knew…at
least through the rest of basketball season, and I’d really rather not
have my parents find out…at least until after I’m out of their house
and preferably until they’re done giving me money, but…more than that,
I don’t know how he feels about it…”
“Uhh…huh?” said Kwan.
“Look, at first, he’d say he didn’t date guys…so, you know…I kina got
the impression it was at least a partial secret…and yeah, he doesn’t
seem to think much one way or the other about it…certainly wasn’t
worried like I was, but, you know, I still wouldn’t wanna just randomly
out him to the whole school, but…I guess more important than that…”
Dash shuffled a hand through his hair, frowning. “It’s just…I know I
can take whatever gets thrown at me, ok? Maybe some lame ass gay
jokes…jibes, whatever…but fact is, I doubt I’ll even get much of that.
I’m bigger than most of the guys at our school, and I can handle myself
even with the ones who got me beat…but the thing is…if anyone gets seriously pissed about it? I’m guessin’ it’s not me they’ll go after…”
“You think they’d…? Oh…” Comprehension dawned, and Kwan matched Dash’s
frown. “Yeah, that’s…a point…” He eyed his friend curiously. “You’ve
really thought about this haven’t you?”
Dash shrugged. “A little.”
“Hm…well…get some chick to do it,” Kwan suggested.
“Err…what?”
“You know,” he continued, gaining confidence as his idea developed,
“use your Baxter charm…woo some blushing freshman, make your
proposition…”
Dash blinked, then, slowly, started to smirk. “Right, so…pull the ‘Hey,
baby, what’s your name? Ah, yeah, that’s nice…here, look, can you do me
a huge favor…?”
Kwan rolled his eyes. “Uh, yeah, something along those lines,” he
muttered, smiling in spite of himself, “but you know the saddest part
is…that would probably actually work just like that…”
“Of course it would,” Dash’s grin was wicked, “’cause I’m that good.”
“Yeah, uh-huh…” Kwan shook his head, taking the football out from under
his arm and clapping it between his hands, “…now, be useful and back
all of your fantastic self up so I can throw this thing to you…”
“Aye-aye, Date Doctor,” Dash conceded, still grinning even as he followed through, backing up accordingly.
A week later, the first Wednesday back after break, Dash shared the gym
with three others—Kwan, Enrique “Richie,” and Marcus—the rest of the
team already rushing in typical stampede fashion to the locker room,
ready for the usual battle of brawn to determine who got first dibs on
ideal shower stalls and hot water.
Tap,
Tap,
Tap…
The clap of the basketball hitting the court floor echoed sharply in
the wide, near-empty room, ricocheting off the flat walls and high
ceiling.
“Dash!” was his only warning before Kwan passed, and Dash swerved in obligingly.
Eyes on his target, he barely evaded Richie’s close block, fingertips
just nicking the ball enough to change its momentum, catching it and
sending it immediately down into a fast dribble. He moved for the net.
“Marcus! Hijo de punta…” Richie’s cursing followed close behind him, “he’s got-”
Not a second too soon, Dash swept his arms up, passing just out of
range of Marcus’s reaching fingers and—he held his breath for a half
second—landing safely into Kwan’s capable hands again. He grinned,
breathing again. With another few shuffled steps, he positioned himself
close enough to the net for a dunk should Kwan manage to get the ball
to him for a clear shot, and yes,
Kwan avoided Richie, slung the ball up, and—the gym door opened with an
echoing clang, drawing Dash’s attention in spite of himself—the ball
smacked him in the face.
“Aw, shit…”
“Fucking hell, what did you do to him?”
“Who shot that?”
“Score!”
“Damn, ‘omie, you hit him up good…”
“Way to watch the ball, Baxter…”
Dash groaned, blinking dully upwards and bringing a hand to his abused
nose. Once his vision cleared, he threw a loaded glare towards
Marcus—the last to speak. “Hey, whatever,” he growled, “I was…” He made
the mistake of looking back towards the door again, where the source of
his distraction had one hand over his mouth—probably stifling
laugher—and Dash shut his eyes again with another suppressed groan.
So it wasn’t an apparition—even better.
“No, man, seriously,” Kwan’s voice came in over the throbbing, “you
alright? I totally expected you to catch that…what got into y—ohh…”
Dash didn’t have to open his eyes to know where Kwan was looking.
“Well,” His friend cleared his throat, “that’s probably enough extra
practice for now anyway, yeah?” he said, obviously trying to usher the
others out as quickly as possible after taking note of Dash’s reason
for failure. “This leaves the final score at seven to thirteen…” Dash
opened his mouth to object to having Richie and Marcus’s last shot
count, but gave up in light of a particularly stubborn throb across the
bridge of his nose, “…and we can pick up from here tomorrow.”
“Oh, sí,” Richie agreed sarcastically, following Kwan
towards the door in spite of his objection, “so you two can whip our
asses again? No…next time, I say we switch it up…you can take Señor Ball-hog, and I’ll-”
“’Ey, ‘ey, wait, now…who are you calling ball hog, Pretty Richie?” Marcus jumped in. “If your little wandering eyes spent more time on the ball, and less time on our esteemed captain’s a-”
“Hey, now, watch it, ‘omie,” Richie snapped back. “If-”
“Oh hey-ho, look-it here,” Marcus cut him off, attention diverted for
the moment. “Looks like we have ourselves a little geek-freak come to
join the party…” Still at the far end of the court, Dash frowned
uneasily, not particularly liking the undercurrent to Marcus’s words.
“What brings you to our side of school, pixie stick?” Marcus continued,
addressing Tucker directly this time. “Thought you were through callin’
dibs on the chief’s time after last semester…aren’t your little ‘study sessions’ over yet?”
“They are,” Tucker answered flatly, apparently unaffected by either
Marcus’s looming or his snide tone. He lifted a sheet of paper and a
hall pass. “Delivery.”
“Hn,” Marcus grunted disinterestedly, apparently convinced and looking
about ready to turn away when his gaze dipped and landed on—shit, Dash
mentally cursed when he followed Marcus’s line of sight—“Flowers,
four-eyes?” Marcus asked, curiosity reborn, and he looked torn between
laughter and a sneer. “Where did these come from? Don’t tell me you actually found a serious lady friend…”
Tucker jerked back when Marcus reached for the spoken of flora,
scowling and taking a step away, out of grabbing range. “Don’t you have
some place to be?” he countered, ignoring the question entirely, and
Marcus took a step in.
“Why?” he taunted, similarly ignoring Kwan’s muttered suggestion to
just leave it be and get moving. “Not enjoying my company, geek-freak?
Or maybe you’d rather have some alone time with-”
“Marcus,” Dash grunted sharply, cutting the other off, and Marcus’s
head jerked up, surprised. “Lay off,” Dash ordered, and at first,
Marcus looked fully ready to argue, glaring and opening his mouth for a
retort, but, after a brief pause, he apparently changed his mind.
Grousing unintelligibly, he shrugged it off, shaking his head.
“Whatever, then…you deal with him,” he grumbled, and a
moment later he followed Kwan and Richie out, muttering some last
comment about flowers and geek fags before his voice faded out of
hearing distance.
When the door clicked shut, finalizing their privacy, Tucker tilted his
head. “You know…” he began at last, “you didn’t have t-”
“I know,” said Dash, and he let his eyes drift over his visitor more
speculatively—paper and hall pass still hanging loosely from one hand,
backpack slung over a shoulder and three roses tucked neatly into an
open outside pocket. He was wearing those lame-ass,
several-sizes-too-big army green cargos again, but no hat, and Dash
wondered if Tucker had just skipped haircuts altogether this year,
because he certainly didn’t remember those braids reaching past his
shoulders before—at least not in the beginning. All through the
inspection, Tucker surprised him by not fidgeting, holding still and
waiting wordlessly instead until Dash finished, lifting his gaze once
more.
“So…” said Dash.
“So?” repeated Tucker.
“You…have something for me?” Dash asked.
“I…” Tucker blinked. “Oh, right,” He shook his head, as if the supposed
reason for him showing up in the first place had slipped his mind
completely, “here…” He held out the slip of paper previously resting on
top of his hall pass. “Not sure what it is, didn’t look, but…something
from Ms. Watson, anyway.”
“Ah,” Dash accepted the sheet without a spare glance, “thanks…” he
mumbled, more focused on the brush of their fingers during the exchange
and noting with some satisfaction that Tucker didn’t rush to withdraw
any more than he did. “So that’s…not why you came?” he asked.
“Oh, no, it was…” said Tucker, making no move to depart.
“I see.” Dash waited. Tucker stayed silent. “That’s all, then?”
“You…” Tucker hesitated, eyeing him with a strange, unreadable expression, “you tied roses to my locker…”
Oh, so they were on to that then.
Dash weighed his options. Eventually, he replied, “I haven’t touched your locker in months,” and it was
the truth—technically. He loved the way heat darkened Tucker’s
cheeks—turning a soft, toffee brown into a rich, smooth chocolate.
“Ok,” Tucker amended, cheeks fetchingly aglow, “so you got someone else to tie roses to my locker…”
“Mm…” Dash pretended to consider the statement, “…and what makes you
sure it was me?” he asked. “Maybe someone has a crush on you, Foley…you
could have a secret admirer…” He watched with growing amusement as
Tucker narrowed his eyes, opened his mouth, faltered, and then finally
pursed his lips with a half-assed glower. “Hey, it could happen,” Dash
asserted, “Stranger shit has gone on…” and Tucker rolled his eyes.
“Uh, yeah, right,” he agreed, words dripping with sarcasm. “Last I
checked, girls don’t randomly leave flowers attached to the lockers of
total strangers on a daily basis…or did I miss the memo where short and
nerdy became the new hot and popular and freshman chicks now totally
dig the four-eyes and tech lore gig?”
Dash shrugged. “Never know…” He watched Tucker lean his weight against
the wall, a
I-totally-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying-but-I’ll-listen-silently-for-now-anyway
expression solidly in place, “…but whatever it is…you have to admit someone seems pretty set on you…” and the patiently-waiting-out-the-bullshit expression vanished.
“Dash-”
“Look,” Dash cut him off and took a breath, gathering his nerve, “if all you came here for was to give me this note…fine. Just tell me to piss off…and if that’s what you want…I will, ok? But if you don’t…”
He planted a hand to the side of Tucker’s head, watched his shoulders
tense as he drew a small, quick breath, “…I’m not gonna quit. I’ll keep
coming, and coming, and coming, until eventually…”
Tucker’s brow furrowed, but not in anger—more a befuddled, seeking
curiosity—and his eyes were large and searching behind his glasses.
“You’re serious,” he realized aloud, and Dash resisted the urge to
throw his arms skyward.
“Of course I’m serious! Haven’t I made it obvious that I’m serious yet? I-”
“But…” Tucker shook his head, confusion marring his features, “I’ve been such an asshole…”
he insisted, and Dash’s frustration evaporated, eclipsed by surprise.
“I mean yeah,” Tucker continued, “at first I had some reason to be
pissed…what you did was stupid and immature, but…I knew from the
beginning it wasn’t all your fault…it takes two people to fight, after all…but I acted like it was. It was so easy to shove all the blame you that I did…I didn’t give you even half a chance to talk to me for a week…and
when you quit calling over the break…well, I felt for sure I’d blown
it, ‘cause I mean it made perfect sense…why would you still want to
talk to me?”
“But-”
“And then you gave me that note before Christmas…and there was just no excuse then…” Tucker barreled on without pause. “I almost called you after that…I almost called you that night,
and maybe I should have, but it was late and I didn’t know what to say
and I was still angry…though almost more at myself by that point I
guess, but-”
“Tucker-”
“-you’re right, too. Even after all that, I never even had the decency
to say so much as ‘Hey, just back off’ or ‘Ok, maybe we can talk about
this…’ Not a word one way or the other. So even after you apologized
umpteen thousand times without a single response, I didn’t even…” For
the first time, Tucker came to a wavering pause. He shut his eyes. “I
guess…the moral of the story is not only do I fail epically at ever
getting into a proper relationship with you…but I also fail at breaking
up with you…is that about it?” he asked, venturing a glance up when he
did, and Dash tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
“Well yeah, you fail at breaking up with me…” he said, a
smile tugging on his lips even as he said it, “I mean…you couldn’t have
broken up with me even if you’d wanted to…” and Tucker’s eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, is that so?” he asked.
“’Course,” said Dash.
“And why…might I ask…is that?” responded Tucker. “Because you’re rich, hot, popular, and better hung than-”
“Well, yeah, duh all that…” said Dash, smile curving into
a smirk at Tucker’s eye roll, “but also…” He slid his hand on the wall
in closer and leaned in, purposefully looming, “…you can’t break up
with someone you’re not dating yet, ya know…basic rules…”
“Ah, yeah, and that’s…‘yet’?”
“Yeah,” Dash confirmed, “yet,” and Tucker watched him—intrigued, cautious, evaluating.
“Are you-”
“No,” Dash cut him off again, “but…” Why the hell not? He
took a breath and reached down, catching Tucker’s hand with his free
one and clasping, gently, barely daring to twine their fingers, “…I was
kina thinking about it…” and when Tucker’s shuddered exhale rippled
across his cheek, his fingers twitching just the tiniest bit tighter
into his grasp, it sent shivers from the palm of his hand to the soles
of his feet and back up, and Dash came to a stark realization: they had
never held hands before. Swallowing his sudden bout of nerves, he
returned the squeeze. “So, how about it,” he asked, “be my boyfriend?"
Chapter 14 ~~~~~~~~ Back to Dash/Tucker ~~~~~~~~ Chapter 16
