Just For the Week Ch. 02

The story continues with Friday afternoon.

It's after school and Tyson is driving us to my house. I regard the impossibly tall, good-looking boy next to me. Boy... I know he's eighteen, like me, and we're high school seniors, but he looks like he could be a college senior. I look away from him. This is not good. Being with him is so easy to get used to. So comfortable. So not meant to last.

It's one thing to have a crush on someone from afar, like I've had with Connor for four years now. I don't even know Connor Mills, other than that he's straight and nothing could ever happen between us. I know and accept that. It's a harmless lusting fantasy that exists only in my mind where no one gets hurt. It's another thing altogether with Tyson. Regardless of his model-like looks and athletic physique, it's Tyson the person that I'm starting to like and that's what's so dangerous. Layne hinted at it last night in the car. I am not officially "out" with her and Danny, but they know me better than anyone else. "And don't hurt each other," she'd said. I don't think he'd ever hurt me intentionally, but I predict a big hurt coming.

~~

I tell Tyson, "Help yourself to a drink in the fridge." I dash up to my room and quickly change into a pair of jeans and a solid black t-shirt. I find Tyson at the kitchen table with a bottle of water. I smile and say, "You could have taken anything you wanted."

He grins back, "Your 'juice lecture' is still burned in my mind." He looks me up and down, "Hey, you changed."

"Yeah. It's your turn to be stuck in the uniform." Grabbing my own water, I say, "Follow me."

As we head down the basement stairs Tyson says, "I was surprised to see juices and sodas in your fridge. This is your house, right?"

I chuckle, "Yeah, but just like with my friends, my lectures fall on deaf ears with my family too. So, not only am I the clumsy, awkward one, I'm also the freak who won't eat normal food."

He says, in a singsong tone, "You're not a freak. You're eccentric."

"Thanks, I think."

Our basement is finished and there's a ping pong table in the middle of the main room. Tyson's eyes light up and he asks, "Do you play?"

I say, "A little. You know I'm the least athletic of the Pearsons." I take a swig of water, "Including my cat."

He laughs, "Cats are surprisingly spry. How about a game?"

"Sure. Do you want to warm up first?" I hand him a paddle and bounce him a ball.

He hits it back and says, "Let's just volley for the serve." We hit it back and forth a few times and then he spikes it past me. He says, "I serve first."

He has a good serve. Low, fast and some back spin, but I counter that with a topspin backhand that lands perfectly on the white line. Tyson scrambles and comes nowhere close to it. "Point. Zero serving one," I say.

"Wow Pearson. Was that a lucky shot or do you have some skills here?"

"Serve and find out."

He serves again, this time faster and to my forehand side. I return it easily with backspin and it bounces a second time before he reaches it. I announce my second point and he says, "Hold up a sec." He shrugs out of his school blazer, removes his tie and drops them both on a nearby chair. He unbuttons and cuffs his shirt sleeves, stretches his arms and rolls his neck to loosen up. I just watch him, amused.

He waves over the ball from the backhand side aiming right but tries to sneak a forehand to the left past me. I'm ready for the trick and spike a forehand he can't react to.

"Nice try Courtland. Zero serving three." I'm grinning from ear to ear.

He points his paddle at me, "I've been duped. You let me win that volley."

I say, "You might want to try to get a point before it's my serve."

He doesn't.

Tyson, as competitive as anyone I know, seems to be more amused than annoyed. He bounces the ball to me and says, "Five serving zero."

My first serve is a topspin forehand that he never even reacts to. Next, I backhand right down the sideline and he makes contact, but the ball sails over my head. I ace him two more times and it's nine to zero. For my last serve Tyson, expecting more high velocity, stands far back. I drop in a slow, shallow backspin shot. His eyes widen and he races forward to reach it. He comes up way short, but not before impaling himself on the table. I laugh, "Are you okay?"

He looks at me, smiling. "The only bruise is to my ego."

I'm laughing so hard I literally collapse to the floor. When I finally recover enough to stand, I grin at him, "Last chance to avoid a shutout."

He serves the ball and I return it gently. He winds up for another spike but he aims too low. It hits the net and bounds back to him. Game over. He sets his paddle down on the table and stares at me. I am enjoying this immensely. Without warning, Tyson pulls out his phone and takes my picture.

"Dude, What the fuck?" That's not the first time he's taken a surprise picture of me.

"Sorry. You look so happy and confident. Inspiring, really."

Drops of perspiration bead on his forehead.

I say, "As much fun as it was to beat The Great Tyson Courtland, ping pong is just a game."

He hooks an arm around my shoulder. "Do you see me sweating? This is real."

"It's like bowling, darts or shooting pool. These are games, not sports. I'm not gonna win any scholarships for ping pong domination. Beating you in a game doesn't make me a great athlete."

He says, "Come on. That was impressive."

I blush a little bit. "Can I give you a tip? You're playing too big, like it's tennis. You wind up for these big arm swings and it just slows you down. Ping pong is all about reflexes and wrist flicks. Take my advice and you'll do much better against your next opponent. Assuming your next opponent isn't me of course." I grin at him and he playfully shoves me away.

I say, "Follow me." I lead him to the far end of the basement. I open the door and reveal the music room. There's a piano among other instruments.

Tyson's eyes widen. "Cool. Is this all for you?"

"I can't say that my parents don't support the interests of all of their kids. My brothers have all the sports equipment known to man and, as you can see, they've been good to me too."

He looks around the room. "Play something."

So, I play. After a couple of piano ballads, Tyson challenges me, "Sing An Innocent Man."

It's a beautiful song with a stunning vocal ranging low and high. Really high. I say, "Okay. But the piano part can't carry the song. The bass is really the driving force. You're gonna play the bass part."

His eyes bulge, "You know I don't play anything."

"You're about to learn." I pick up the bass guitar, plug it into the amp and show him a simple five note sequence: bum-bum...bum-ba-bum. I hand him the bass and he slides the strap over his shoulder. He's grinning like a kid in a candy store but he has a little trouble getting his finger placement right on the frets. I move behind him and he lets me guide him. Tyson is a good 6" taller than me and his muscular frame is far broader than mine. I have to practically press my chest into his back for my hands to reach his. I realize that I'm pretty much hugging him and suddenly it's more intimate than I had planned. He's all taught skin over muscles and bones. His warmth is nice but I rip myself away and move back to the piano, more than a little flushed. "See, you've got it now. Five simple notes, play and repeat."

He looks at me, "I know it's more complicated than this one line over and over."

I say, "Okay, yes. Technically it is but that will give us the gist of it. Trust me. That's all we'll need."

So, we play An Innocent Man. I sing and play piano while he repeats the basic five-note bass line. Tyson gets looser and more fluid as the song progresses. It's pretty cool playing with him and not just for him. When it's over, he's beaming and it's contagious. I whip out my phone and take his picture in revenge.

After a few songs on the guitar, it's approaching 5:00 and I want to get out before Mom gets home. It's fine for me to have friends over, even with no one else home, but I don't want to have to explain who this friend is. Not today. Not yet. I suggest, "Let's bounce, like all the ping pong balls you whiffed at."

Not sure if I went too far, I'm glad when he laughs, "You dare use my own word against me?" He checks his phone. "Oh, yeah. We need dinner before the show." He frowns at the tiny screen. "Gimme a sec, my mom texted." He taps, waits, reads, taps, waits and darkens his screen. He seems...troubled, but I don't ask. He'll tell me when he's ready.

I say, "Where do you want to eat?"

He smiles, "I have an idea. Do you trust me?"

I'm starting to.

~~

Tyson takes me to a rotary sushi restaurant. He explains on the way that we won't be ordering anything. We'll sit at a table and a conveyor belt will carry plates of sushi right alongside us. We just grab what we want. I try to read his expression because I kind of think he must be kidding.

I tell him, "Sushi is not my family's milieu. I'm a sushi virgin," and he laughs.

"I'll take care of you."

I wonder if we're talking about just dinner.

We get seated at the last open table. I had had a hard time imagining it, but it's just like Tyson described. No kidding, a conveyor belt runs right next to us and it's filled with interesting, intimidating looking things. I love seafood, but raw seafood is new to me. He says, "Grab what looks good to you, otherwise, I'll pick some things out for us." He eyes what's headed our way and immediately grabs four different colored plates. I follow his lead and set up some soy sauce for dipping as well as small mounds of wasabi and pickled ginger. He explains to me that the pickled ginger is meant to be eaten in between as a palate cleanser. He also warns me that wasabi can pack a punch and a little goes a long way.

He takes two pieces from a roll with a pair of chopsticks, puts them on his plate and pushes the other two toward me. I can see salmon, avocado, cucumber, rice and maybe even a piece of asparagus. There's a drizzle of a sauce across the top. He says, "Like this." He uses a chopstick to dab a small amount of wasabi on his first piece, then he dips just the bottom edge into his pool of soy sauce saying, "You just want a touch of saltiness," and he pops the whole thing in his mouth.

Nervously, I attempt to imitate his actions. I'm clumsy with the chopsticks and Tyson watches me, amused. He tells me to hold the chopsticks like I'm holding a pencil, but I think he's punking me because that doesn't help at all. Rescuing me from humiliation, he points out that there's no shame in using a fork. Especially for a "sushi virgin". I eventually get the first piece in my mouth and it's like a flavor explosion. My eyes widen. It's so good. Tyson seems to be enjoying the show more than actually eating his own food. We eventually fall into a routine. Once I have the process down, we begin to talk.

I say, "I'm going to ask you a personal question, but you don't have to answer if you don't want to."

He says, "Go for it."

"Why haven't you dated anyone since Stacey? I know it's only been a few weeks, but prom is coming up and everyone expected you to ask someone. Well...someone else."

He ponders the question a bit before replying. "I can only answer that by first explaining why Stacey and I broke up."

"I knew I was getting too personal, I'm sorry. Just forget I asked."

He says, "No, it's okay." He stabs a piece of a Dragon Roll with a chopstick, "We went out for a year but I only ever asked her because I thought that was what was expected of me. It was towards the end of junior year and I'd never had a girlfriend. Being me comes with certain expectations. I guess I was feeling the peer pressure so I did what I thought people wanted." He pops the Dragon Roll in his mouth and continues, "It was how it was supposed to be, the popular athletic boy dating the popular athletic girl. But it didn't feel right. I didn't feel a connection. If I'm honest with myself, I don't think I even ever liked her. She's not a nice person. I was never happy with her. When I started going through some stuff, you know, real stuff, she wasn't there for me."

He sips his water and eats a small piece of ginger. "Then she started hinting at taking our relationship to the next level. Physically. I just realized one day that she was not the person I was supposed to be with. I wouldn't let my first time be with someone I didn't actually care about. I know everyone thinks that she dumped me. The truth is that was a parting gift that I gave to her. I broke up with her and let her tell people it was the other way around."

He grabs another purple plate off the conveyor and notices me eying him. He blushes and says, "Yes, I'm still a virgin. And I'm not talking sushi here."

I half laugh, half choke on something covered in bright orange fish eggs. I consider telling him I'm a virgin too, but that's kind of like telling someone that water is wet and the sky is blue. I hadn't expected him to open up like this. I'm captivated listening to him.

"So back to your original question, I guess I'm a little gun shy at this point. I don't want to make another mistake. I have no idea who I should be with. Nothing has felt right." He stabs at something battered in tempura. He looks down at his plate when he says, "Except for this. Our friendship feels right. Talking to you feels right."

While listening to Tyson, I had accidentally put too much wasabi on an already spicy tuna roll. I pop it in my mouth and within a few seconds my eyes begin to water and I'm under violent attack. Tyson, entertained by my predicament, says, "I told you, a little goes a long way. It's my turn to ask you a question."

I squeak out, "No."

He cocks an eyebrow at me. "No?"

"I'm not done with you," I croak. I fumble for my water but Tyson reaches out and grabs my wrist to stop me.

"Water will only make it worse. Trust me." He releases his grip, "We don't have milk, so all you can do is wait it out."

After a minute, I'm okay again. As a bonus, my nasal passage has never been clearer. I sniff, "This is our second day together now and from the moment you walked in on me playing Vienna, I feel like you've gotten to learn a lot more about me than I have about you. You'll have your chance to ask anything you want, but not right now."

I think back to the collage he made before this all even began. "You started out knowing more about me than I did about you and that's on me. I missed opportunities, but right now, I'm asking the questions."

"Oaky. Shoot."

"Tell me about your family and your childhood."

His eyes glisten. "You know, you're the best friend I've ever had. We've been friends for of all what, twenty-seven hours? My friends don't ask me real questions. Nobody else, outside of my family, really cares. They just want me to be Fun Tyson."

He leans back in his side of the booth. He tells me about his parents. How they met, what they do. His mom is a speech therapist and his dad is in tech. He tells me about growing up in California, how they moved here because of his dad's job right before freshman year. He tells me about how he and his dad played one-on-one basketball on his driveway as a kid and how his dad encouraged him and instilled a love for the game.

He drops his eyes down to the table in front of him again, like he did before when he tells me, "My parents aren't here right now. They're in New York. About two months ago my dad was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor and was told he only had six months to live." As he tells me this his lower lip quivers and his eyes well up. "They kept seeing specialists, looking for second, third, fourth opinions and they finally found someone willing to try a new procedure. So, they had to go to New York where this trial is taking place. I'm eighteen and Miranda's almost sixteen now so they trust us to be alone for a little while. I have an aunt in Schaumburg who keeps tabs and helps out. Whenever I have to take a call or a text from my mom, it's because she's either checking in or updating me." He dabs at an eye with his napkin.

I wipe a tear from my own eye and I take a chance. I get up and cross over to his side and slide in next to him. I take his hand in mine, discreetly under the table. "You can talk to me any time. About anything. Call me, text me, ring my doorbell, day or night. I know I can't fix things for you, but I am a good listener and I care." The restaurant is buzzing with Friday night activity and nobody else is paying us any attention. I release his hand and put my arm around his broad shoulders, like he has done to me several times now.

Tyson looks at me. "Sorry to be such a downer. I'm sure this isn't the answer you expected."

"Don't apologize. It's real. You don't have to always be Fun Tyson with me. Just be you."

He says, "I don't mean to guilt you into anything. You already have your own friends - real friends - and family, performances, graduation, college to prepare for and now I've forced you into this week of unwanted attention. When this thing is over you should probably run away from me and never look back."

I lean into him harder. "The theme of the week was my idea, remember? You didn't force me into anything. I could have said no. It is possible to say no to The Tyson Courtland."

He smiles weakly.

"I decided to take this stand with you. I'm not running away, now or later. And I'm already your friend. Nothing's gonna change that." I give him one more squeeze and move back to my side of the booth.

Trying to shake off the emotions he asks me, "So, how was your first time?"

"What?"

He sees my cheeks color a crimson red and laughs, "The sushi. Now that your cherry has been popped."

Oh, right. The sushi. Whew. "It was great. I've been missing out all this time." I really have.

~~

After the play, we all pile into Tyson's car for the short ride to the frozen yogurt place. I allow myself a small sugar-free chocolate topped with fresh strawberries. Everyone else has larger cups filled with sugary twists topped with copious amounts of candies and cookies. I am, once again, the butt of the joke. It doesn't bother me though. I know they love me.

We chat comfortably for a while as we eat our desserts. I am amazed by how easily Tyson fits right in, talking with my friends like he's been tight in our group for years. With a big smile on his face, Tyson tells the story of getting me to eat sushi for the first time. He has Danny and Layne laughing as he exaggerates my awkwardness with the chopsticks and my wasabi mishap. I can't help but laugh too. And honestly, he's not exaggerating that much.

Danny asks, "Jack, have you decided if you're gonna say something before your song Monday night?" I had texted Danny confidentially about this.

Tyson sits up straighter, "What do you mean?"

Danny explains, "Mrs. Jensen is giving him the opportunity to address the audience before he performs. You know, introduce the song, tell everyone why he chose it, what it means to him and say something to the graduating seniors." He talks about me like I'm not sitting right here. "He told her that public speaking isn't his thing and he probably won't do it, but she said that she'd leave the free-standing mic at center stage, just in case he changes his mind."

Tyson says, "Oh, Pearson, you are totally going to say something. You're not gonna miss this chance."

"Good luck convincing him." Danny stirs his sugary concoction, "Our man Jack here prefers to be in a supporting role, not front and center."

Layne says, "I don't know Daniel. You haven't been around much lately. You're in the presence of a new Jackson Pearson. He takes a stand and holds his ground." She takes a bite of fro-yo covered in Oreo crumbles and one gummy bear -- head in, ass out. "The class president here has two days to convince him. My money's on Tyson."