Caught

  Caught

  By J. Tomas

  Published by Queerteen Press

  Visit queerteen-press.com for more information.

  Copyright 2011 J. Tomas

  ISBN 9781611521948

  Cover Credits: Anke Van Wyk

  Used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

  Cover Design: J.M. Snyder

  All rights reserved.

  WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

  No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Published in the United States of America. Queerteen Press is an imprint of JMS Books LLC.

  * * * *

  Caught

  By J. Tomas

  Shortstop Mike Watson is standing in the aisle of CVS Pharmacy, debating between a bottle of generic pain reliever and Tylenol, when he sees his Junior Varsity teammate Robby Brown slip a tube of ChapStick into his pocket.

  Maybe he doesn’t realize he had it in his hand, Mike muses. What other reason would Robby have for stealing something that costs less than a dollar? Maybe he forgot he had it and when he found it, he’d laugh sheepishly and take it to the register. Maybe…

  But Robby glances around nervously, and when he pulls his hand out of his pocket, the ChapStick remains behind.

  Shit.

  Mike’s stomach turns over. He looks around, too, but it’s just the two of them in the aisle—the coach is near the front of the store, waiting for the rest of the team to stock up on candy and soda and whatever else they might need on the bus. They’re scheduled to play Hermitage High in a little less than two hours. In another few minutes, Coach Barrett will holler for the guys to get a move on. So why the hell is Robby stealing ChapStick, of all things?

  Mike doesn’t know.

  Should he say something? But what? Robby isn’t looking his way and probably doesn’t even realize Mike’s in the same aisle, standing there, watching him. As it is, Mike has difficulty talking to Robby on a good day—sure, they grew up together, and were even friendly as kids, but since high school, Robby’s popularity has soared a bit more than Mike’s. They don’t hang out with the same crowd any more, even though they’re in the same grade and both play on the baseball team.

  But Robby’s a legend on the field, the best third baseman they’ve ever had, able to pluck the ball out of the air with a grace few fifteen year olds can muster. Robby, with his dark, disheveled hair, his crooked grin, his soulful eyes. On the field, Mike spends most of his time staring at his teammate’s backside and daydreaming about getting up the nerve to talk to him outside the game. Mike doesn’t even dare to look Robby’s way in the locker room, lest one of their teammates see the lust in his face and rag on him about it.

  Yes, he has it bad for the guy. Yes, he’ll admit it, if only to himself, in the privacy of his own thoughts. But Robby’s untouchable, perfect in every way, at least in Mike’s eyes.

  Then, this.

  He can’t imagine what might be going through Robby’s mind at the moment, but his own heart pounds in his chest and his stomach churns nervously. Don’t they have cameras in the store? The last thing they need is for their all-star player to be caught stealing from CVS.

  Desperate times call for desperate measures, Mike thinks. That’s from a movie, isn’t it? Some Disney film he saw as a kid, probably even one he watched at Robby’s house back in the day, but he can’t remember which. Still, it helps strengthen his courage. Putting back the bottles of pain reliever he was waffling over, he walks the length of the aisle until he stands right behind Robby. Then he leans in a little, trying not to swoon, and whispers, “Put it back.”

  Robby jumps. Whirling around, he narrows his eyes at Mike before looking around to make sure they’re alone. “Put what back?”

  He tries to look confused. If Mike hadn’t seen him pocket the ChapStick himself, he might have bought it.

  “Whatever it was you put in your pocket,” he replies, pointing. He resists the urge to dip his fingers in after the tube, and tries not to envision what he’d feel curled against the front pocket of Robby’s jeans. “I saw you.”

  “I didn’t take anything,” Robby says, shaking his head.

  He keeps his voice low, but Mike knows he’s scared. The fear of discovery shines brightly in Robby’s eyes. “Robby—”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mike. I didn’t put anything in there.” Robby scowls. “Why would I do that? I don’t steal.”

  Frowning, Mike looks at Robby’s hands as they smooth down nervously along the sides of his jersey. “Prove it.” When Robby starts to protest, Mike says, “Empty your pockets. Prove to me you didn’t take anything.”

  For a minute Robby merely stares at him, shocked. Then anger covers his face. “No.” Turning away, he adds, “I don’t have to prove anything to you. I didn’t take shit.”

  Mike bites his lower lip and considers shoving his hand into Robby’s pocket after all. But what will that accomplish? When he stands there brandishing the stolen ChapStick triumphantly, what will he say? I told you so?

  Then Robby will glare at him and storm off. He’ll probably never speak to Mike again. Any hope Mike might have of getting friendly with Robby off the team would be lost. Mike doesn’t think he could live without the hope of something maybe, someday.

  Robby glances over his shoulder, as if daring Mike to push the issue. Face it, Mike tells himself, staring his teammate down. You don’t want to make him mad at you.

  In a soft voice, he sighs, “Fine.”

  “I didn’t,” Robby says, pouting.

  Mike nods. “Okay.” He’ll believe Robby, this time. Maybe it was his own ChapStick and Mike just hadn’t seen him take it out of his pocket in the first place. Maybe that’s all it is.

  Then why doesn’t Mike think that’s it? Why is his stomach twisted into knots, his hands sweaty, his head throbbing in his temples? And he isn’t even the one shoplifting.

  From where they stand, Mike can see the front of the store where Coach Barrett waits by the exit—legs wide in an intimidating stance, arms crossed in front of his barrel chest—so close to the automatic doors that as soon as they wheeze shut, their sensors trigger and they lumber open again. A handful of teammates stand in line, nudging each other and snickering as left fielder Price Johnson flirts with the cute cashier.

  He doesn’t know what to do. Push the issue with Robby? Tell on him? No, that’ll just get ugly. He doesn’t even know why it bothers him so much. It’s just a tube of ChapStick, for Christ’s sake. If the guy wants to snatch it, there’s little Mike can do to stop him.

  But a part of him is disappointed. Since starting high school, he’s had a fierce crush on Robby, who can do no wrong in Mike’s eyes. That’s the real reason they no longer pal around—Mike’s in love with the guy. Robby’s perfect, from the tanned shade of his flawless skin to his careless hair to his haunting eyes. Every inch of him seems chiseled from the same stuff from which Mike’s wet dreams are made. Until today, Robby was untouchable, unapproachable—a distant star Mike could long after and wish for but who remained forever out of his orbit.

  And now, this. This. Robby’s no more special than Mike is himself. It pisses Mike off, to be honest,
and he was so angry at having the illusion dashed, he’d called Robby out without thinking about it. Had they actually exchanged words? Had Robby really looked at him? Mike feels a little light-headed at the thought.

  From the corner of his eye, he sees Robby’s hand slip into his pocket again. Please, he prays, not really sure what he wants to happen. For Robby to put back the ChapStick? To take it out and show Mike it isn’t a new stick but one he already owned, the label chipped and the product worn down from applying it to his lips? Mike holds his breath until Robby looks at him and frowns.

  But when Robby takes his hand out, it’s still empty. Fuck.

  “Shit, man,” Mike mutters. He isn’t up for this, not right now. They have a double-hitter this afternoon, facing off against not one but two of the best high school JV teams in the state, and Mike feels frazzled already. The sooner they get out of the store, the sooner they can get back on the bus and put this whole thing behind them.

  As he brushes past Robby, heading for the register, he grabs his teammate’s arm and gives it a quick tug. The brief touch sets his fingers aflame.

  “Hey!” Robby stumbles a few steps after Mike, then shoves him hard in the back.

  A week earlier, Mike would’ve grinned like a jackass at the touch. Hell, twenty seconds ago, it would’ve made him giddy, before he saw Robby pocket the stolen ChapStick. Now it just makes him mad, even though he still feels Robby’s palm imprinted on his back.

  Falling into step with Robby, Mike cautions, “I’m not going to say anything to anyone, but I know what I saw.”

  “What did you see?” Robby challenges.

  Mike shakes his head and hurries to the register, leaving Robby behind. As angry as he is with Robby for letting him down, he’s twice as mad at himself for letting it slide. But he can’t turn Robby in—it isn’t like he stole something big, right? Just let us get out of this place without getting stopped, Mike prays, if that’s not asking too much.

  * * * *

  Robby pushes past Coach Barrett and heads for the yellow school bus in which the team travels to away games. The driver’s inside CVS with everyone else, grabbing a soda or snacks. This is their final pit stop before reaching the other school’s baseball diamond, and the last chance to pay a decent price for something to eat. The cost of concessions, even for ball players, is through the roof.

  The driver left the bus’s folding door open. Robby launches himself at the steps and takes them two at a time, the bus shuddering under his heavy footfalls as he clamors aboard. Rows of green pleather seats stare back at him, empty. Punching his right fist against each seat in turn, Robby makes his way to the back of the bus, where he can sulk in privacy for the rest of the ride.

  When he reaches the last seat, he throws himself into it bodily, stretching his leg across the length to deter anyone from sitting beside him. With his back against the cool metal side of the bus, he ducks below the window and tugs his baseball cap down over his eyes. He should’ve swiped a pack of gum, he thinks. His jaw’s clenched so tight, he wishes he had something to chew on to loosen it.

  Shifting onto his left butt cheek, he reaches into his pocket and plucks out the tube of ChapStick. It’s sealed in its plastic wrapper, unused, new. He still can’t believe he didn’t see Mike standing in the aisle behind him before he palmed the damn thing.

  Well, no, I did see him, he admits, if only to himself.

  From the edge of his vision, hadn’t he seen Mike watching him? He felt his friend’s gaze on his back the way he felt it so often during their games. On the field, it was easy to turn around and shout something across the distance that spanned between them. “Look alive!” or “Head’s up!” Something game-related in the hopes of jumpstarting some kind of conversation.

  But in the locker room, Robby was always so damn tongue-tied around Mike. He never knew what to say or do to get the cute shortstop to look his way. Was it just him, or did Mike deliberately avoid him off the field? What had happened to the kid who used to play G.I. Joes with him after school let out, when Robby’s mom watched both of them until Mike’s father got off from work? They’d been friends once, real friends, and Robby doesn’t know how to get that back.

  All he’d wanted in the store was to hear Mike say something to him, anything, and he didn’t have the first clue how to bridge the gap between them. The vague shouts of encouragement he relied on during a game wouldn’t have worked in the quiet aisles of a pharmacy. Everything else that came to mind sounded forced or insincere. “Still play with action figures?” didn’t have that seductive a ring to it.

  He could’ve asked about Mike’s classes. As much as he doesn’t like to think about school when he isn’t in it, at least it’d be an opening gambit. He’d read in his sister’s Seventeen magazine that getting a guy to talk about his classes would be a great way to show interest in him, but Robby doesn’t know if that only works for girls or not. Why aren’t there any teen magazines out there with advice for gay guys on how to chat up a hot dude at school?

  Robby had half-turned, intent on asking Mike what he thought of Geometry this year, but the sight of the slim ball player took his breath away. There was something so sexy about the way Mike’s white pants hugged his butt and the blue away jersey pulled around his slim shoulders, how his close-cropped blond hair curled at the tops of his ears and over his brow… Robby felt the words dry up in the back of his throat. What had he been planning to say again?

  He couldn’t remember. When Mike glanced at him, Robby quickly looked away. Without thinking, he stuck his hand in his pocket and dropped in the tube of ChapStick. If Mike saw it, he’d confront Robby about it. At least then they’d be talking, right?

  Only the disappointment in Mike’s pale eyes was too much to see, and Robby couldn’t admit the ChapStick wasn’t his. He couldn’t back down, either, not when he saw how nervous Mike was about the filch. Robby planned on putting the damn thing back once Mike turned away, but by then it was too late and they were already leaving the store. Robby didn’t have a chance to stop, not with Mike right behind him and their teammates up ahead.

  If it had been just the two of them in the store, maybe he could’ve played it off—pulled the ChapStick out of his pocket and pretended he didn’t realize he had it in his hand. Maybe Mike would’ve laughed at that, told him it was cool.

  But that didn’t happen. Now Robby has a tube of ChapStick he doesn’t need clutched tight in his fist like a shameful mistake. As much as it burns his palm, he doesn’t want to throw it away because it isn’t really his, is it? He didn’t pay for it, and he sure as hell didn’t want to use it, and now Mike knows he stole it.

  What can Mike possibly think of that?

  I don’t know, and I don’t care. Robby almost believes that. He peels the cellophane wrapper off the tube, not just the protective part covering the cap but the whole thing, peels it off until the ChapStick is nothing but a naked white tube in his hands. In disgust, he throws the tube against the far wall of the bus. It hits the window, then clatters to the floor, rolling away beneath the seats until it’s out of sight. Robby wants to take it back to the store. He wants to apologize to someone, tell them he’s sorry, he took it because he wanted Mike to talk to him and that hadn’t really worked, had it? It only made Mike angry with him and he didn’t want that, so please just take it back, take it all back.

  * * * *

  Mike follows his teammates onto the bus. From the head of the aisle, he leans to the left, then to the right, looking for Robby even if he doesn’t want to admit it. When he sees the third baseman hunkered down in the last seat, he breathes a sigh of relief. So no one caught him, good. Even if stealing’s wrong, Mike doesn’t want Robby to get into trouble over it.

  As much as he’d like to take a seat beside Robby, he knows he doesn’t have that kind of courage. Instead, he falls into the first empty seat he finds on the opposite side of the bus, turning as if to chat with the guy behind him. What he really wants is to be able to glance over at Robby f
rom time to time, just to look at the guy. With his cap pulled down low, his shoulders slouched, Robby looks sad. Mike wishes he could think of something to say to make him smile again. He wants to tell Robby it’s okay, he won’t tell anyone about the ChapStick, but he can’t say anything here, where everyone else can hear.

  When he scoots back against the wall, his foot nudges something on the floor. He glances down and sees a tube of ChapStick, wrapper-less. Bending over, he plucks it off the floor and just knows this is the same tube he saw in Robby’s hand earlier. It’s his, then, he thinks, because there’s no wrapper on it. His heart soars and he’s already mentally apologizing as he uncaps the tube. I knew he didn’t steal anything. It’s—

  Brand new.

  He can tell because the lip balm inside the tube is still rolled down even with the top, and there’s a little concave dip in the balm where it settled after production. A used tube would be rounded out, smoothed from applying it to the lips and, if it were old enough, might have a little dimple in the middle where the stick inside was. This ChapStick didn’t have that. It was crisp and fresh, and when Mike screws up the tube a little, he knows it’s never been used.

  Even though he’s on a bus full of kids, he feels someone looking at him. He glances up and, sure enough, Robby’s staring back. He has half a mind to chuck the ChapStick across the aisle, aiming for Robby’s cap, and holler out, “You dropped something.”

  But he doesn’t want to answer any questions the others might ask. So he just holds up the tube where Robby can see it, then he palms it like a magician doing a trick and tucks it into his own pocket.

  His anger is back.

  * * * *

  Robby glares at a spot on the back of his seat and keeps to himself for the rest of the ride. When they reach Hermitage High, he stands for a quick moment, then lets the bus’s forward momentum drop him back into his seat. The aisle fills with his noisy teammates, each excited about their upcoming games and ready to hit the field.

  Robby isn’t quite so gung-ho.