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“That all you got?” he grunts from the other side of the door. “Just sorry, sorry, sorry?”
He sounds stuffed up and nasally. I don’t want to entertain the idea that Hoyt is actually crying, so I’ll assume it’s just the tears of laughter I forced out of him that are clogging up his nose. “Hoyt, I really am. I just wanted to come find you, and … and maybe—”
“—rub it in that you made me piss myself in front of the class? And I thought you and I were friends.”
That sets me off, making me forget every ounce of guilt I just a second ago had. “Friends? Are you kidding me?”
“I bet you liked that a lot.” The toilet seat he’s likely sitting on creaks as he shifts his weight. “Making me scream out like that in the middle of the classroom, tickling me the way you did.”
“I said I feel bad about it.”
“Yeah, sure you do. Now everyone’s seen me pee myself. I bet you enjoyed that, too. I bet you were into it. You’re twisted.”
“I didn’t intend for that to—”
“You’re just as twisted as Vann is. Both of you are the same person now.” He snorts with derision. “Twisted and messed-up.”
Okay, so I guess this was a pointless, useless mistake, and no lessons are going to be learned between us yet again. “Well, I came in here to apologize and see if I could do something to help—even going as far as to bring you back your shoes—but I’m now realizing what a futile endeavor that is.” After Hoyt makes a dismissive sort of snorting noise, I roll my eyes, toss his shoes to the floor, then walk off. “Forget it. Enjoy your semi-permanent bathroom break.”
“Wait.”
I stop halfway across the restroom. Beyond all reason, I close my eyes and indulge him. “What?”
“Can you …?” He sighs. “Never mind,” he groans miserably.
My jaw tightens up. I feel a vein bulging in my forehead. After ten long seconds of deliberation, I return to the stall door, cross my arms, and bite. “Can I what, Hoyt?”
The door clicks, then swings open. Hoyt’s face is cleared of all the forced tears of laughter, but his cheeks and eyes still look red and puffy. Somehow, the wetness has made his eyes look pretty in the weirdest way, and I’m left feeling struck at how vulnerable and exposed he looks. He just stands there awhile, staring at me, not revealing what the rest of his question was.
The next instant, he grabs hold of my shirt, pulls me against him, and presses his lips to mine.
The action comes as such a surprise, I trip over my feet in an attempt to step back, then stagger backwards and slam against the wall. Hoyt, still gripping me, comes along, pressing me to the cold, hard wall at my back as his lips dig with such force, my teeth hurt.
I manage to push him off of me at last. “What the hell, Hoyt?!”
He catches his breath and lets out a strange, delirious chuckle. “Just wanted to see what it’s like,” he grunts, wiping his mouth.
I stare at him in disbelief. “What it’s like …??”
“To kiss you. What the big deal is. Why Vann is so obsessed … obsessed with …” He wipes his mouth again, but just with a thumb, his eyes on me. “With you,” he finishes, softer.
My back against the wall, Hoyt still seeming to taste me on his lips with a mixture of confusion and excitement, I can’t seem to close my mouth as I process what the hell just happened.
“I ain’t gay,” he then throws in, like it’s a necessary point to make. “I just wanted to see what the big deal is. Your lips are soft. You taste good. Whatever. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
I’m not entirely convinced that’s the reason. “Hoyt …”
“I said I’m not gay. Stop lookin’ at me like that. Are you gonna help me out or what?” he suddenly blurts, spreading his hands. “I need a change of pants. They’re in my gym locker. Go get them for me. It’s the least you can do.”
My mind is racing with so many thoughts right now, for some reason I can’t bring myself to feel indignant or angry anymore. All I feel is sympathy. “Okay,” I finally manage to say. “What’s the …” What’s that word I’m trying to say? Thoughts are coming so slow. “… the combination? For your locker?”
“10. 3. 1. My birthday. My locker number’s 205.” Hoyt licks his lips between sentences. “Do you wear lip balm or somethin’?”
“No. Your birthday is … Halloween? 10-31?”
“Yeah. It sucks. Can you get my pants or not? You gotta get them before the bell rings. C’mon.”
“Okay.” I move past him in a daze. When I glance back at him over a shoulder, he’s gone back into the stall. The door soon shuts and locks again, and then there’s nothing but silence. If I stand still and hold my breath, I’d never know anyone was in here.
