Bottled Up Secret Read online

  Kara and I start clearing the table like it’s our job. With two striped balls remaining for us to sink, compared to our opponents’ six solid-colored balls, I notice Chris and Mark join the group of spectators. Kelly is up and attempts to hit the yellow one ball into a corner pocket but misses. I chalk up my stick and go for the twelve ball. Sunk. Next up is the fourteen. Done. All that’s left is the eight ball.

  “Be careful, Brendan,” Reese says. “This is where we usually win. Don’t let the pressure get to you.”

  I bend down and angle my stick to trace a path. “Side pocket,” I say before striking. Well, I sank the ball…the cue ball. Scratch.

  “Yes!” Reese and Kelly high-five each other.

  I reach out my arm to shake their hands. “Great job, you guys. You really earned it,” I say in a sarcastic tone.

  “I know how much you two hate losing,” Reese says with a smile.

  “We’re not used to it,” Kara responds. “You guys, on the other hand…”

  It’s true. Kara and I are pretty competitive. I swear we’re not sore losers, but our blood pressure rises a little bit when we compete.

  “Who’s next?” Kelly says. As they choose their next victims, Kara and I get some food.

  About thirty minutes later, the music is pumping and the party is still hopping. A small dance floor has even formed in front of the TV. While I’m snacking with Kara, I notice one of my theater friends dancing. She and I actually share the same last name, but we’re not related. As our eyes meet, she waves me over to join the dance crew.

  “Get over here, Brendan Madden. If he knows this song, I know you do.” Suddenly I notice the “he” she’s referring to—Mark. As he turns to smile at me, I start to walk over, suddenly getting nervous. I attempt to seamlessly dance myself into the group but feel self-conscious.

  “You guys know each other, right?” my friend asks us.

  “Um…” I say.

  “Kind of,” Mark says.

  “Yeah, how’s it going?” I finish.

  His beauty is breathtaking up close. His eyes couldn’t be any bluer, his skin couldn’t be any clearer, and I hadn’t noticed his nice, full lips before.

  As the mob of dancers moves around, I suddenly find myself cornered off with him. It seems awkward to keep dancing, so he and I decide to gradually stop and talk instead.

  “So, I heard you went to the cast party yesterday,” I say.

  “Yeah, it was…interesting,” he says, flashing his gorgeous smile.

  I laugh. “These parties always are.”

  “Wait, you weren’t in the show tonight, were you?”

  “No, my sister’s getting married next weekend, unfortunately, so I couldn’t do it.”

  “Unfortunately.” He laughs.

  “Unfortunately for me,” I clarify. “I even asked her if I could show up late to the reception so I could still do the show. She considered it for a second but then was like, ‘Wait, what? No!’” He laughs again. “And your sister’s in the show, right? Is she here?”

  “Yeah, she’s over there in the yellow shirt,” he says, pointing across the room. Once I spot her, I can’t believe I didn’t notice the resemblance earlier in the night. They both have the same blond hair and tall, athletic build.

  As I search for the next topic of conversation, I realize how pleasantly surprised I am by Mark’s demeanor. I would expect someone so good-looking to have a pompous attitude. So far, he’d been nothing but kind and sincere.

  “So, do you live on the west side?” I ask. Almost everyone I know lives in the suburbs of Cleveland as opposed to downtown. I’m about a fifteen-minute drive west of the city. My high school is in Cleveland proper, so Mark could just as easily live on the east side, but I’m hoping he lives in my part of town.

  “Yeah, I’m in Rocky River,” he responds.

  “Oh, nice. Not far from me at all.”

  “Yeah, you live near Chris, right?”

  “Yep, just a few streets away. I’m his chauffeur to school every day.”

  “Oh, that explains why he’s always late,” he says, smiling.

  “What? No way. I pull into his driveway at seven-fifteen every day. He’s the one who makes me wait.”

  “Kidding, kidding.”

  “Wait, do you even have first period with Chris?”

  He nods. “French with Mr. Trumble.”

  “I have him too.”

  “He’s crazy, right?” Mark says. “In a good way.”

  “Crazy slash terrifying.”

  “Slash hard. The oral exams are so tough.”

  “See, I’m actually good at the oral stuff.” His eyes widen as I realize what I just said.

  “Whoa, T.M.I., Brendan,” he says. “We barely know each other.”

  I bow my head down and cover it with my hand as I feel my cheeks getting red. He grabs my shoulders and shakes me a little bit. “I’m just messing with you.” Feeling him touch me ensures that the color in my cheeks will remain for a few more seconds. I look back up at him anyway.

  “So, what grade do you usually get on these oral exams?” he asks with a straight face.

  “You know, it depends how much I practice,” I say, matching his seriousness.

  “Okay, well maybe you can give me some pointers.”

  “Absolutely. It’s actually all about the tongue pla—okay, I’m done,” I say, finally cracking.

  “I win. And I know how much you hate to lose,” he says, referring to my bad luck at the billiards table earlier.

  “I choked. Too many eyes were on me.”

  “How are you so good at pool?”

  “I have a table at home, but I really don’t play much.”

  “Well, I was impressed. I’m thirsty. Want to get something to drink?”

  “Yeah, let’s go.”

  I don’t have any close straight male friends, so I don’t know if the conversation I just had with Mark is considered normal. I know we were talking and joking around, but the gleam in his eye made it seem like flirting. Or maybe I’m just delusional. Either way, I’m feeling major butterflies right now.

  As soon as Mark and I start walking toward the counter, Natalie and Chris spot us. The dance floor offered us some sort of secret, secluded space that we may not get back the rest of the night.

  “Brendan,” Chris says.

  “I feel like I haven’t talked to you all night, Chris. How’s it going?”

  “Okay, Brendan,” Natalie interrupts. “Time for you to tell us your favorite parts of the show.”

  “They did this to me in the car,” Mark whispers to me. “Just say ‘the dancing.’”

  “You can get away with that,” I say. “They expect a detailed review from me.”

  “Yes, we do,” Natalie says.

  “Okay, first off, I loved the show as a whole—the style of music, the corny storyline, the dancing.” I give a smile to Mark. “The number toward the end was amazing. And I liked your song with Dorothy,” I say to Natalie. “That was cute.”

  My answer seems to have satisfied them, but I’m sure we’ll revisit the topic later. I do this with my friends after they see shows that I’m in. I’m always curious what sticks out as highlights.

  “How do you know these two?” Mark asks me.

  “Grade school. Natalie I’ve known since first grade. Chris…well, I don’t know. When did we first meet?”

  “Good question. I was friends with Natalie before you. Probably like sixth grade. You were in seventh. But I feel like we didn’t really start to be friends until I shadowed you at Xavier.”

  “Oh yeah. I remember not even volunteering for that. One morning someone knocked on the door of my first-period class and was like, ‘Brendan Madden, we have an eighth grader here who’s going to follow you around today.’”

  “Yep, that was my mom’s doing,” Chris says. “It’s because Mrs. Hansen said you remind her of me so my mom felt like I’d be in good hands.”

  “And you were,” I say with a
smile to feign modesty.

  “Who’s Mrs. Hansen?” Mark asks.

  “Our eighth-grade teacher,” I respond. “Sorry, are we going too fast for you?”

  “Yes, I’m the outsider.”

  “I’m right there with you tonight,” I say. “I don’t know half the people here.”

  I look at my watch and notice that it’s already twenty after twelve. I don’t have a curfew, but I never really stay out too late. Maybe because my weekends usually consist of low-key events, such as going to Applebee’s for their late-night, half-priced appetizers or seeing a movie at a local theater. Pretty badass stuff.

  After about ten more minutes of conversation, I make eye contact with Kara and see if she’s ready to go. She nods. After I go around the room saying my good-byes, I end back at Chris, Natalie, and Mark.

  “See you, Brendan,” Chris says before we embrace.

  As Natalie gives me a hug, she whispers into my ear, “I’ll call you tomorrow with an update.” Sure, some part of me will be jealous to hear the details of her interactions with Mark, but it’s also fun to live vicariously through her. And I’d rather have all information relating to him as opposed to being in the dark.

  I then turn to Mark. “Good seeing you,” I say.

  “You too. See you soon I’m sure.”

  Maybe it was because I was on a hugging spree or maybe my body overtook my brain, but seemingly without control, I lift my arms up and go in for a hug. Thankfully, he does the same. As I pull his body into mine, I feel a jolt of electricity. I don’t know how he’s done it, but I’ve fallen hard for this guy after one night.

  Chapter Two

  “Brendan?” I open my eyes the next morning and see my mom peering through the crack of my bedroom door. “Natalie’s on the phone.”

  “What time is it?” I ask in a barely audible voice.

  “Ten-thirty.” Not too early, but I could have used another thirty minutes. I keep my cell on silent at night so I can avoid unwanted wake-up calls.

  My mom hands me our house phone. “Why are you up so early?” I immediately ask Natalie. She usually doesn’t get up before noon on the weekends.

  “I have no idea. Probably because I’ve been waiting to spill all the details from last night to you and whoever else will listen.”

  “But I was there. What could have possibly happened?”

  Natalie proceeds to tell me how Mark went out of his way to drive her home last night. In the car, they apparently chatted and flirted nonstop. She tells me the details of their conversation and how charming he was. I’m happy to hear that the car ride concluded with a hug and not a kiss.

  “So then I texted him after he dropped me off, thanking him for the ride,” she says. “He texted back, saying ‘Anytime’ with a smiley face.”

  Big deal. She’s the one who texted first. Gosh, what’s my problem? I feel so catty. I’m usually very supportive of my friends, but my competitive spirit is coming out the more Natalie talks about Mark. I feel such a strong sense of jealousy, although I make sure she doesn’t notice.

  “That’s awesome,” I tell her.

  “Oh, I’m also calling because a group of us is going to that coffee shop, Cravings, today if you want to go. I know, I know, you don’t drink coffee.”

  I don’t ask who’s going, although all I can wonder is if Mark will be there.

  “What time?” I ask.

  “Two.”

  “Okay, so you’ll get there at what, two-twenty?” She’s notorious for being late.

  “Sounds about right.”

  “All right, I’ll be there.”

  After getting dressed and brushing my teeth, I head downstairs where I’m greeted by my two dogs, a black lab and a teacup poodle. It’s an odd pairing but it works. The poodle is actually the more aggressive of the two, trying to overcompensate.

  “What time did you get home last night?” my mom asks.

  And it begins. She never used to ask many questions about my social life, but lately it’s been like an inquisition: Where did you go? Who was there? Who are you texting?

  My mom and I have never been that close. Ever since my dad died, she sort of checked out as a parent. Before I knew it, all of my sisters were out of the house, so it was just the two of us. As I got older, my mom would comment on any signs of femininity or so-called “gayness” that I displayed. Every time she did that, I suppressed my true self more and more.

  Without realizing it, I slowly adopted two personas: a fun, outgoing, happy-go-lucky person who doesn’t take life too seriously when he’s with his friends, and a quiet, boring person when he’s with his family. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but I don’t want to give my mom anything to evaluate or criticize me about.

  It’s been working just fine until recently. She seems to be suspicious about everything I do. She knows that I don’t drink or do drugs, so it has nothing to do with that. I’m scared that her fear of my being gay has turned into her belief that I’m gay, and she’s trying to dig deeper each time she interrogates me. I haven’t even thought of how I’d have the coming-out conversation with her, mostly because I don’t plan on having it any time soon.

  “I got back at, like, twelve forty-five,” I answer.

  “Where did you go after the play?”

  “The cast party.”

  “Whose house was it at?”

  “Just this girl from the show. I don’t know her.”

  As I start to pour some cereal into a bowl, I’m waiting for normal questions like, “How was the show? Did you have fun? Were your friends good in it?” But the questioning is over.

  After some TV and lounging around, I get ready for the afternoon get-together. I’m usually a low-maintenance guy, but today I’m paying extra attention to how I look due to a certain someone I might see. I’ve picked out some jeans, but I only own two pairs so it wasn’t hard. I’m not having much success with a shirt, though. I finally settle on a long-sleeve red and white baseball tee.

  Now on to my hair. It’s the usual disheveled mess, but today I’m whipping out the hair product. With a little twist, a few pulls, and a couple flicks, it doesn’t look half bad. I decide to stop before really messing it up.

  I pull into the Cravings parking lot at about two-ten, halfway between the meeting time and Natalie’s expected arrival. Although it’s a popular local coffee shop, I’ve actually never been inside before. I open the pink door, walk in, and look around for a familiar face. I still don’t know who will be here, but I assume Chris and other theater people. I suddenly spot him, Kelly, and a few others.

  As I smile and head over, I notice Mark sitting across from Chris, looking even better than last night if that’s possible. Next to him is an empty seat. Would sitting there be too obvious, or should I take one of the other available chairs? I decide to be bold.

  “It’s our fan club!” Chris says as I sit down.

  “You know it!”

  “Perfect timing,” Chris continues. “We’re playing a game where someone throws out a question and we all have to answer it.”

  “Also known as a conversation,” I say jokingly. “Okay, what’s the question now?”

  “If you had to hook up with a celebrity of the same sex, who would it be?”

  “I wonder who thought of that one.”

  “Guilty,” Chris says.

  “Wait a minute, that’s too easy for you,” I say to him.

  “No, no, I had to pick a girl. All right, Kelly, your turn.”

  “Okay. Alicia Silverstone.”

  “What?” Chris and I say in unison.

  “What?” she says, slightly embarrassed.

  “That’s so random,” I say. “Is she still even considered a celebrity?”

  “Yeah,” Chris says, “have you thought about this before today?”

  “What the hell?” Kelly says. “I was trying to think outside the box and I love Clueless. All right, next.”

  “You know we won’t let you live that down,” Chris say
s to her. “All right, Mark, you’re up.”

  Like Chris, I’m on pins and needles waiting to hear what he’ll say. The two of them are just friends, but I remember Chris talking about how he wishes Mark were gay or even that he suspects that Mark is gay. I never paid much attention because I hadn’t met Mark before. Of course now I’m kicking myself for not remembering every detail of what Chris said. I want to know if I have a shot with this kid.

  “I don’t know who to pick,” Mark says with a smile on his face, clearly not wanting to answer.

  “Mark…” Chris warns.

  “Okay, um…Taylor Lautner?”

  “Hot,” Chris says. “All right, Brendan…” I can tell that Chris is anxiously awaiting my answer as well. I have no doubt he thinks I’m gay. We’ve known each other long enough for him to suspect.

  I take a few seconds to think of a hot blond celebrity who resembles Mark to subtly let him know what my type is. Plus, I don’t want to answer too quickly. Suddenly it hits me.

  “David Beckham,” I say, perhaps too excitedly. Not only is he a hot blond, he’s a hot blond soccer player, just like Mark.

  “Interesting,” Chris says.

  The game continues with an array of questions, including the age at which you had your first kiss, your most embarrassing moment, and the last one—what’s your dream college? This question segues into a side conversation between Mark and me.

  “So, do you know where you’re going to school next year yet?” he asks.

  “No idea. Well, I have an idea. I got into Georgetown and Ohio State, which are two of the frontrunners, but I’m waiting to hear from a couple others. I do know that I want a big school in more of a city as opposed to a college town. I know you’re only a junior, but do you plan on playing soccer in college or what?”

  “Yeah, I hope so. I’ll probably have to go to a smaller school, though…in a college town.”

  I laugh. “Okay, so we know we won’t be going to the same school.”

  “You’re not planning on playing tennis next year?”

  “No, no, no. I got burnt out when I was fourteen,” I say, wondering how he even knows that I play. I guess I’ve gotten a good amount of publicity for it at school and in the paper. I started playing when I was really young and have had a successful competitive tennis career, but I can’t picture myself continuing after this year. “Maybe intramural tennis,” I add.