Call Out Your Name

The first day I met him was the first day at my new high school. Oh boy, was that fun!

Here I was, popular man on campus at my

old

school, Sacred Heart High School which is a huge institution —one of the largest Catholic prep schools in the country. I lived in Rancho Martinez, California in the heart of Orange County, and I had the world by the tail. I was the golden boy, made in America. With a soaring six foot height, ripped body and my long, flowing blonde hair and turquoise eyes, I was a chick magnet and everyone wanted to be me.

I played wide receiver on the Knights football team that won the CIF division crown in December and was ranked tenth in the nation, one of the team's stars with eighteen touchdowns this year alone. I also wrestled at 170 pounds on our squad, looking forward to a stellar season where I expected to be the top grappler in my weight class, and I was a sprinter in track. I could get laid just by asking a girl her name, and I was a good student one semester shy of graduating from high school and heading to a Big-10 or PAC-12 school on a full football scholarship.

On a personal basis, I had two semi-regular girlfriends. Danae was a tall brunette with a fantastic body who went to Sacred Heart with me. Kristina was at Loara High School, a tiny blonde cheerleader I met when our football teams played each other in September. Duh, they didn't know about each other which was fine by me. I was a typical teenager who loved to Facebook and Skype, get high once in awhile, play videogames with my buds and hang out long boarding on the streets.

I lived with my mother, Lisa, stepfather, Whit, and twin half-sisters, Suzanne and Roxanne, in an exclusive subdivision of mini-mansions in the Rancho Martinez Hills. My stepdad is, like, loaded and making Mom happy seemed to be his only desire. What made Mom happy was having a big 4,500 square foot house for showing off to the neighbors and entertaining. What did not make Mom happy was me, apparently.

So there I was on that mid-January Friday which had begun in a decent enough manner. With it being a final exam day, school let out at lunch and the possibilities for the afternoon were endless. I drove home after my last test, so thrilled to be able to boast to my mother about my grades. I knew she would be there because Friday was her hospital auxiliary meeting and they always ended at 11:30.

I was excited because I was going to get that A- in the Literature class that I'd worked my ass off for all semester, meaning I would have all A's and B's on my report card, something she should be proud of. I had managed with an illocutionary skill that often escaped me to convince my teacher that my term paper on the differences between Classicism and Victorian Poetry deserved a higher grade than a B-, and we reached a compromise. Who'd ever thunk old Ms Haney would be so fair?

Everything turned to shit the moment I opened the front door and saw the twins. They had their own finals and, for the record, I had no idea how they arrived home ahead of me, but they'd texted me earlier not to wait for them. Anyway, the girls were speaking to Mom in whispered tones, and all of them turned to glare at me. Roxie looked shocked and scared, but Suzie tried to hide an evil grin of triumph behind a look of moral outrage and family embarrassment.

"Shane," Mom demanded, "what is this nonsense your sisters have been telling me about Owen Turlock's mom catching the two of you naked in bed together on Sunday afternoon?"

I turned beet red, and I know the look I shot my fourteen-year-old sisters, particularly Suzie, was hurt and incredulous. Like many siblings, especially those in blended homes where the present male parent spoiled his

own

children and not the one he didn't spawn, we didn't always get along. But this was a new low even for them.

"I asked you a question, young man." My mother wasn't known for her patience.

Okay, you know where I said above that I can get all the pussy I want? I can also get dick. I'm bisexual and a damn good equal opportunity player. Owen is this studly, gay Sacred Heart classmate, now graduated and a college freshman, whom I've hooked up with on occasion over the last nine months. He was getting ready to go back to Ohio State after winter break, and I was giving him his going away present... until his mother interrupted us. I barely had time to get redressed before finding myself kicked out of their house. I could hear her shouting at him from a block away.

Not that I'd said anything to my parents about Owen... or the other half-dozen guys I've fucked. I certainly didn't want them to find out this way. It was none of my sisters' damn business, and right after I got done listening to Mom scolding and threatening me with a near-certain two weeks of being grounded my hands were going to find themselves wrapped around Roxie and Suzie's necks.

I sighed. "It's true, Mom. I have been trying to find a way for the past year and a half to tell you..."

My acknowledgment was interrupt by his mother's horrified scream, and then her face twisted into something ugly as she rushed at me. "Gay? You're gay? You can't be. I won't tolerate it."

I edged around the wall towards the arched doorway into the living room to stay away from her hands that now looked like they wanted to wrap themselves around

my

neck.

"No, Mom, I'm not gay. I'm bisexual."

Wrong answer. If I hadn't been afraid she was going to hit me I might have found the situation funny. In truth, this was the reason I had kept my thoughts to myself. My mom and stepdad are really big in our local church diocese and of course, anything other than straight vanilla heterosexuality is a mortal sin. Deep down, I knew my mother would go to pieces like this once she found out.

We kept circling each other while I waited for her to calm down so I could get a word in edgewise. On the other hand, maybe not saying anything else would work out better, just as long as she didn't catch up with me. Mom went on and on over how God hated me and I was a freak, and even my sisters blanched at the words she used against her only son, until the final dictum.

"Get out," Mom said with the quiet determination that I had often feared growing up. If the screaming was scary, this was like the voice of doom. "Get the hell out of my house and don't come back."

All I could do was stand there gasping with my mouth hanging open and staring at her as if her eyes were spitting fire. She can't kick me out, I thought, I'm her son. She's supposed to love me.

"Go pack your stuff. I will contact your father, and you better hope to god that he takes your miserable slutty ass in. Whether he does or not, you have twenty-four hours to be out of here."

"Mom," I began. "I only have one more semester of school. I can't leave now. Everything I've worked for, all my friends..."

"I don't give a shit!" she screamed. "I won't have a goddamned moral degenerate living in my house, bringing shame down on this family and being a bad influence on your sisters. Get the hell out of my house."

I started to retort that making me leave was against the law until I realized the power was all in her hands. I was already eighteen, an adult. Legally, she didn't have to give me squat. I turned on my heel and walked to my bedroom to find a way to crowd everything I owned and a lifetime of memories into a few bags and boxes.

Just so you know how crazy this all sounds, I hadn't seen my father for almost five years. He has visitation rights that he's rarely used, and I don't know whether he didn't feel it was worth the effort to haggle over weekends and holidays with Mom or something else was afoot. What mattered most to me was that I was moving away from the place I'd called home almost my whole life and going to live with a stranger.

My disgruntled father flew down from Calberia, a small town near Santa Barbara, the next day so I could drive both of us back to live with him. Ever heard of Calberia? I'm not surprised. That's because the place Dad calls home is a village on the coast of around twenty-nine hundred people. To do the math, that's about three-quarters as many people that attended my old

high

school, and we're talking about men, women and children here. It was the rural burg with one main street, a Pizza Hut for fast food and a really tiny high school with a few lame-ass sports teams that don't do nothing spectacularly. I'm sure you can tell just how thrilled I was to move there. I hated Calberia with a passion before I ever stepped foot in it.

Four days later I was enrolled in Calberia Junior and Senior High School, a set of squat, ugly, yellow-stuccoed buildings in a rectangular campus that was forty years old and desperately needed to be demolished. Yeah, this stupid little postage stamp of a town isn't even big enough to provide a separate school for its sixth, seventh and eighth graders. I was so looking forward to having immature twelve-year-olds on campus. Not!

I contemplated my future bleakly. There's a lot that goes into applying for a university, especially when you're a jock and hope to play college ball. For sure, Mom and Whit weren't going to give me money for tuition, and my father couldn't afford it. Any scholarships I was being offered were most likely secure seeing as the season was over and my grades were good. However, I was counting on advanced studies in English, Government and Math which they didn't have here. That would suck if my only ticket out of California was in jeopardy too.

There was no wrestling squad, and I doubted track was a big attraction since their football program is 8-man ball. Thank God I was graduating in five months. I was a new student in the middle of my senior year, and the way people stared at me, you would've thought I was Medusa with a head full of snakes for hair instead of my long blonde locks. It was sobering to go from Mr. Popular to zero on the social scale in one fell swoop.

But then I was crossing the quad after 2nd period on, I hate to admit it, a pretty winter day, wondering what the term

MLbB

on my new schedule meant. I heard laughter, looked up and saw a trio of students my age. Two boys and a girl were ten yards in front of me, talking loudly and caroming off each other hard like they wanted to knock their opponents down. One of them was the most beautiful person in the world. Raven hair, a wavy black so dark it had streaks of blue in it under the sunny sky and fluttering neck-length around his ears like little wings.

He had a triangular face, wide in the forehead with a long, straight nose and pointed chin. Very pretty but not in a feminine way, and the confidant way he moved was definitely not girlish. His lips were perfectly formed over straight, white teeth you see in those dentist's ads in the telephone book. His pale, golden eyes were unusual, like shiny marbles with long dark lashes, and they glowed next to his olive skin. He was dressed in a t-shirt from my favorite band, The Offspring, which definitely gave him points in my book and Levis skinny jeans that draped his legs as if they went on forever. All this was set into a slim, lithe frame reminding me of a dancer in the cultural programs my mom enjoyed watching on television.

Oh yeah, did I say this person was male?

He most definitely was. Gorgeously, strikingly male. Totally hot and so cute. Sparks danced around me, a warm breeze blew through my mind, and if anyone had been staring at me, I'm pretty sure they would have seen me drooling.

I was smitten. It's on old-fashioned word, but that was the best description I could come up with.

I was all set to go up and ask this beautiful stranger what MLbB meant when some teacher walked by, correctly assuming I was new- duh, the whole school had less than seven hundred students in it, so a new student might as well wear a sign that says

kick me, I don't belong here

. She asked if I needed directions and pointed me in the direction of Math Lab B... down the sidewalk to the four hundred wing and turn left. By the time I looked up Totally Hot Cutie was gone.

Fifth period after lunch—at least they have decent food in this crappy institution of education—and it was time for English with Mrs. Coates. Not Ms, Mrs. I was stopped by the teacher outside before I walked in, showed her my schedule, and she told me which desk in the classroom was free- the row closest to the door, next-to-last seat. I dumped my backpack on the floor, getting a few quizzical looks from the girl in front of me, and took in my surroundings. That's when I saw my dream boy again. Totally Hot Cutie was perched on the other side of the room, holding court with five or six other class members, all of them talking loudly.

With less distance between us now, I could see that he was definitely only an inch or two shorter than me and very slender, but with the way he'd been jumping around earlier he probably had a really high metabolism and burned off calories fast. I had never seen hair so black as his; he didn't give the impression of a Hispanic heritage, but maybe there was some Mediterranean blood running through his veins with that lovely olive complexion. His pretty eyes were a sparkling tawny shade, too dark to be called hazel and too light for plain old brown. They were lit as if by some inner fire that made his face come alive, or at least half of it. Totally Hot Cutie's smile did the rest.

That smile went straight to my head. Then it went to my cock, and I was glad I was sitting where I could pull my t-shirt down and hide it. The grin was happy, like he was secure in himself and his surroundings, exactly where he wanted to be without a care in the world. I envied him, to tell the truth. I couldn't stop staring; his grin was infectious and so brilliant it could power a small city.

His voice was deep and warm, like a soothing cup of dark hot chocolate on a cold day and the way he spoke was crisp. On some it might seem affected but it sounded natural coming out of his mouth. There were at least three conversations going on around him, and he seemed to be in the middle of all of them, effortlessly keeping track of what each participant said and responding to questions posed to him. Not only that, but he didn't act like the students clustered around his desk were a nuisance even though a few crowded him.

I willed Totally Hot Cutie to look up and see me. I didn't have the balls to bounce over there and introduce myself to him—hey, I knew nothing about him and sure as hell wasn't willing to put myself out there until I did, but I've been told my smile is playful and inviting. I figured all I needed to do was turn on the old Shane Elliott charm. I've turned more than one straight boy bisexual in my past.

The bell rang, and a short, rather pudgy Asian kid came bounding through the door yelling, "Hey, Jesse, I found your music," and waving a folder around. The one formerly known as Totally Hot Cutie and now Jesse gave him a big thumbs up and reached out to take it from him. The teacher sent a scowl in their direction.

"Kwan Park, find your seat now," Mrs. Coates told him firmly, insisting on order that didn't seem wise to ignore.

"Students, this is Shane Elliott," she called out in an imposing voice, indicating me. "Do your best to make him welcome." I received a lot of stares as attention was riveted on me, but Jesse didn't even look up.

They were studying John Keats, the young English romantic poet from the early nineteenth century that I did a term paper on for my other school earlier in the year. I knew a lot about him and idly hoped an essay would be assigned so I could use it again but I didn't raise my hand and volunteer information when Mrs. Coates asked for it. Best not to over-shine the first day just in case.

Various students in the class turned to me in silent examination, probably judging me by my looks and I kept my focus on the front. When the bell rang ending class I was immediately besieged by three girls who sat nearby. Katie, Jasmine and Raven introduced themselves, flirting with me, and wanted to talk my ear off about how awesome Calberia was and wasn't it grand that I was in their high school? I didn't offer my real opinion, and by the time I extricated myself, Jesse was gone.

School ended after 6th period, and I drove to my dad's house. It's a three bedroom, two bath ranch built in the mid-1980s, and just over fourteen hundred square feet, about the size of my mom and Whit's bedroom suite. Ken, my father, is an accountant in a small business in Santa Barbara, and he and mom divorced when I was four. To listen to her, Dad was laziest SOB on the planet. He calls her a money hungry skank who wanted the finer things in life but was unwilling to lower herself and get a job and help work for them. All I know is that she latched on to Whit, and Dad is still slaving way in Calberia.

It was only three o'clock so, naturally, Dad wasn't home yet. Hey, it could have been eight and he wouldn't be here. My father isn't really big on time schedules, and I guess he doesn't think I need anyone hanging around keeping tabs on me either. If he isn't at the office, he's at this bar called Leroy's in the city where he stops every night after work. Or he's playing poker with five friends of his, including my Uncle Carl.

Or he's with his girlfriend, Jillian Gallegos. I met her the day after I arrived and she's nice. She's this tiny women with a short cap of light brown hair and green eyes, but I could feel the strength radiating from her in trying to keep my father in line. She welcomed me to the area, but she made it pretty clear that she never expected to have to parent Dad's son. Not that I want her to.

It's kind of a weird situation to be eighteen and suddenly thrust into a world where I wasn't wanted. I'm not saying my dad doesn't love me, but it was obvious that his arm was severely twisted when Mom kicked me out. I think the only thing he likes about me living with him is that he doesn't have to pay child support to her anymore. He gave me a dirty look when he found out why I was being shipped off to his house and told me that he wouldn't put up with me fagging around any more than she did.

I spent half an hour unpacking the rest of my stuff and trying out different arrangements of my bedroom furniture. I finished the homework packet for Trigonometry and a Government assignment that wasn't due for three days. There was nothing on the boob tube. I was so bored.

I made a fast dinner of boxed macaroni and cheese, canned peaches and leftover broccoli from last night's meal. After eating, I cleaned up my mess which was one of the few rules my dad had set when I moved in and then flopped down on my bed. It was only seven and, feeling homesick, I decided to call some of my old friends from Rancho Martinez, starting with my best friend, Gordie.

"Hey dude," he yelled when he answered his cell. "How's jail?"

Gordie was the first person I'd phoned after finding out I would have to move to my dad's and we had commiserated for over an hour. Not that I gave him the whole picture... my bi side was something I only shared on a need-to-know basis, like with the guys I planned to fuck. Definitely not with the general population at Sacred Hills High... a man needs some mystery, right?

I merely told him my mother was pissed off because I couldn't get along with Suzie and Roxie and sent me to live with Dad. However, not one of my friends, not even Gordie who I've known since first grade, offered me so much as a couch to sleep on temporarily so I wouldn't have to move.

"Dull as fuck," I huffed angrily. "It sucks, man. The itty-bitty school up here is totally hick. Nobody wrestles, and their track team is probably lame-ass too. I am so screwed!"