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burning at the edges of his curtains, at a new day.

8
    The memory of what had happened yesterday crashed down upon Mitchell, and he groaned, wrapping his arms around his head. He shut his eyes tightly as though that might help, but he had spent hours last night trying to get to sleep, thinking alternately about his parents’ divorce and what had happened in the showers yesterday, though what had happened in the showers kept recurring again and again until he was replaying it endlessly, thinking it over and over.
    The worst things — the things he couldn’t come to terms with — were these.
    Firstly, that Robby Michaels thought he had the right to reach down and grab Mitchell’s cock the way he had. It wasn’t as though Mitchell or any of the other boys could do that to each other. But Robby Michaels had leaned forward and squeezed Mitchell’s cock to see if it was hard — as though you could do that to another guy! Robby was a jerk, a prick, and Mitchell didn’t care anymore if he said it to everyone he knew.
    He hated the guy.
    The second thing he couldn’t get out of his head was Luke’s reaction, because he knew, when he had looked at Luke, that Luke had known all along, for a long time, that Mitchell had a boner, almost always. Mitchell had even said it to him. Though it wasn’t only the fact that Luke had turned away (when he was supposed to be his best friend) that Mitchell couldn’t get over. When the boys had been turning off the showers, Mitchell had heard someone say, “He may as well get a sex-change,” and Mitchell had looked up to see Luke covering a foolish grin with his hand. He wasn’t certain that Luke had said it, but he was pretty certain, and someone else had laughed.
    The third thing, and the worst thing, was Tadd Parker. The jerk had come back in to comfort him, and then, after they had said everything they had to say to each other and shaken hands, Tadd had stood there, with his cock and balls pressed right up against Mitchell’s face, playing with them, adjusting them in his jeans.
    Part of Mitchell had wanted to grab Tadd’s hips and pull him forward so that he could bury his face into Tadd’s gear. He wanted to know what that felt like to feel a guy’s soft cock and balls against his face through a pair of jeans. But Tadd was such a fucking jerk. He was an idiot. Mitchell wouldn’t want to touch Tadd. He hated him. The sort of cock he had — that was the sort of cock a horse should have. It wasn’t natural. It flopped against his thighs. And his balls ....
    Mitchell threw off the covers and jumped out of bed, sick of thinking about it. He hopped into the shower and washed himself, and then he shaved, because he needed to shave a bit now, every three or four days. He walked downstairs, where his mom was in the kitchen making coffee. The two of them had talked last night before Mitchell had gone to bed.
    “How you feeling?” his mom said.
    “Not too bad.”
    She came forward and hugged him. “It isn’t so bad, Mitchell. I’ll always be your mother.”
    Mitchell nodded and pulled away. He didn’t really feel comfortable hugging his mother anymore. He was too old to be doing this, but she was leaving in a few days.
    He ate breakfast, and when his dad was ready, he got a ride to school, his dad talking about the divorce on the way and trying to make sure that Mitchell was okay with what was going to happen.
    Mitchell wasn’t thinking about his mom and dad — not really. There was nothing he could do. He had cried about it, but it seemed so small a problem when compared to going to school these days, when compared to just going to the place and hearing people call him Jumbo, that Mitchell found himself nodding at what his dad was saying, not listening, but thinking over again, for the millionth time, about what had happened in the showers yesterday and how all the guys now thought he was gay.
    Mitchell didn’t see any of the guys until lunch. He passed Mason in the hall at