Good Old Boys

28 - Jeremy & Eli

Will was appalled at himself, and his actions. And yet, they were necessary if he was going to accomplish any of his goals: identify the cyber bully, find the psycho who maimed and kidnapped Matt Stone, and uncover Eli's murderer. Three things that weren't on his agenda just two weeks ago when he boarded a plane for Biloxi.

So why, he wondered while carrying a mug containing about a quarter cupful of military cadet gism to Headmaster Lee's office, didn't he board a goddamned plane the next day and return to NYC – where there are scores of murders every day, none of them involving him? A group of freshmen on the way up passed a group of juniors on the way down, innocently trading catcalls and shouting the occasional rude suggestion. Some poor sophomore was trying to hide his obvious erection behind his books, without much success. The books could only hide so much.

He also spotted, at different times, two couples. The two boys would be side by side, chatting. But every now and then, their hands would touch, and their fingers curl around each other. Not exactly holding hands – loose enough to break apart but touching just enough to get that electric connection of skin-on-skin.

He had stayed for them. To release them from fear. To maybe spare them from what appeared to be someone's 125-year-old twisted, self-hating desire for revenge, and power. Most of the boys saw the sex games as a physical challenge or fun release and nothing more. Their fathers had gone through the same rituals. Love is what was missing.

Yet love happened all the same. Perhaps that is what the Good Old Boys are terrified of?

Will found himself in front of the Headmaster's office. He knocked, and Mr. Steadman, Lee's secretary, answered. He had a telltale stain in the crotch of his pants, and Will watched as his face turned crimson. He heard his own voice coming from Steadman's laptop, a not-so-subtle sign that today's class with the sophomores had been recorded.

"Go in, Mr. Poulet. He's expecting you." Steadman looked at the floor.

Will didn't bother to knock. If his and his students' privacy were to be violated every day, he didn't see why the same shouldn't hold for the Headmaster.

Lee was fully clothed and seated at his desk, signing papers. The expression he threw at Will was one of guarded surprise. He put down his pen. Will walked over and handed him the coffee mug.

"As promised, Headmaster General Lee, sir. Youthful nectar squeezed just this morning. I am certain you will find it earthy but sweet. Hopefully, on Friday, they will be back at their literary assignments."

Will watched a smile play about Lee's lips just before he downed the semen, all in one gulp. He banged the mug on his desk, and said, "Bravo, Mistuh Poulet, bravo! That was quite an entertaining play on your part, showing your student's who's the boss."

Will began to leave, and to breathe regularly, when Lee spoke again.

"Tell me, Mistuh Poulet, what made you change your tune? What flipped your switch and turned you on? Or are you playing me for a fool? Because if that's the case, I warn you – I am no fool, and the Seeds of Priapus do not look kindly on players. They wind up defeated, and some never play again." Lee wore a smug and smarmy grin. Will found his inner strength and said without a hint of guile or disingenuity, "Headmaster General, Sir, I have learned that you are a man of your word. I need to show you that we are the same in that regard." Will saluted him and left.

He still had time to grab himself a bite for lunch, but he found Jeremy Singleton standing outside the dining hall, holding a tray with two 'Cookie's Charcuterie' plates and two soft drinks. Also, one large bowl of the suggestively named 'Dick Lickin' Sticky BBQ sauce' and a fistful of extra-large napkins.

"Afternoon, Sir."

"Good afternoon, Jerry. I'm guessing you're waiting for someone." He winked at Derek's son, and asked who the lucky cadet might be.

"I was waiting for you. Dad and I talked last night. He told me what happened to Jeb. We both agreed it was time I talked to you about me 'n Eli. That is, if now's not a bad time."

"No, now is fine."

He walked to a bench under a huge spreading oak tree. It was quiet, and it was obvious to Will that Jerry was nervous. It was up to him to start the conversation.

"You and Eli, huh? He seemed to be someone who'd stand up for the outcasts, the misunderstood and the guys who weren't the sort of gung-ho, oorah, turn-the-other-cheek type so overrepresented here at Boxton. I think I'd have liked him."

"Oh. absolutely, sir! He was my best friend from day one. I stood up for him, 'course, when he was called a 'stinkin' cut-cock Jew bastard' in the locker room."

There was a look of sharpened steel in Jerry's eyes that I'd never seen before. Those bullies' slights hurt him more than they did Eli. And the reason for that went beyond mere admiration for a kid that had more balls than most to stand up against bigots.

"You loved Eli, didn't you?" Jerry blushed. "But he loved you like a friend, because he was straight. He couldn't return your affection. Did you ever tell him?"

"No," he said, "but not because he was straight. Because I didn't want to complicate things between us. I told Chad, my roommate, one night when we were both plastered. I told him I loved Eli, and he told me he loved Huck."

Shit, thought Will, now there's a bombshell. "Huck? Did Huck love him back?"

"No," Jerry answered, "he just said he and I were a pair, loving someone who didn't love us back."

"Did Eli have any enemies?"

"Yeah, he didn't tolerate disrespect or name-calling based on race, religion or sexual preference – even though here at Boxton you get called a 'pussy slave' if you're straight. Which was another slur Eli had to take. Sometimes I'd find him in the Library, and he'd be sitting by himself, quietly reciting prayers from his Torah – which you're not supposed to have here at Southern Baptist Boxton – and I'd just hold him. Not in a gay way, but a best friend way."

The warning bell for class rang. Jerry picked up the tray. "Thanks for listening, sir."

"Thanks for talking with me, Jerry. Thanks for thinking of the food, too. If you think of anything else, call me. Your dad has my number. And Jerry?"

"Yes, sir?"

"When it's just you and me, or I'm with your dad, cut out the 'sir' stuff. Just call me Pete, okay?" He grinned.

"Okay, Pete!"