He wasn’t really sure when being Ricky’s best friend stopped being
enough; maybe it was that night on his patio when he'd found Ricky waiting
for him, his eyes dark and haunted when he'd stepped out of the shadows. Clifford
knew as well as Ricky did that he wasn't there to ask for money, no matter
what he tried to tell himself. He'd gone to Clifford's place that night looking
for some kind of absolution, some shred of hope that he really was worth as
much as Clifford thought he was. And in the end that's exactly what he'd gotten,
even if he hadn't wanted to take it.
Or maybe he'd fallen for Ricky because he'd told Clifford secrets that he'd never told anyone else; he'd trusted Clifford with a lot, and Clifford was doing everything he could to live up to that trust. He hadn't told anyone about Ricky's brother, not even Gramma or his father. He wouldn't tell the kids at school either, not even to convince them that Ricky wasn't as dangerous as some of them still thought he was. In fact, whenever he heard somebody repeating one of the rumors about Ricky he'd just stare them down until they changed the subject, or make a joke about it that usually made that person look stupid for believing it in the first place.
Then again, maybe ‘just friends’ had never been enough, and it had just taken him awhile to realize what he wanted.
Not that he was exactly sure what it was he wanted, but he was starting to get a pretty good idea. It was hard not to when the most casual touch from Ricky made his mind wander to what it would feel like if that touch was more deliberate. Or maybe intimate was a better word, but he couldn’t bring himself to think it without blushing. All he knew was that he wanted more from Ricky, maybe more than his best friend could give him. But every once in awhile he caught Ricky looking at him a certain way and he wasn’t so sure anymore that the other boy would hate the idea of something happening between them.
The question was what he wanted to happen. He’d never had a girlfriend, so the only idea he had of what was supposed to happen between two people was what he’d seen on TV and what he’d overheard his grandmother talking about. And sure, he'd looked at those girls through his telescope, but that was mostly because he knew it was something he was supposed to like. His father seemed to get a charge out of it, anyway, and he’d always figured that eventually his interest in girls would kick in.
There hadn’t been any girls at his last school, so he’d been hoping going to public school would finally kick his teenage hormones into gear. And it had; the only problem was that the object of his affection was over six feet tall and had a deeper voice than his father.
Moody wasn’t the first kid ever to make that dumb joke about his last name. He’d been called a fruit more times than he could count, but it had never really bothered him because he knew who he was. Only now that he was starting to wonder if there was some truth to the joke he couldn’t help worrying that it was going to ruin everything. He knew his father would still love him, even though he probably wouldn’t be very happy about it. His grandmother was cool about everything, so he didn’t worry about what she’d think. But none of that mattered if Ricky wasn’t okay with it; he was the whole reason Clifford was starting to question everything he’d ever thought about himself.
If it was anybody but Ricky he’d be able to ignore it; that’s what he told himself, anyway, although there was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him that this wasn’t going to go away no matter what Ricky said. The point was that it was Ricky, and Clifford knew how easy it would be to scare him off. That was the last thing he wanted, but he couldn’t just ignore the feelings and hope they’d go away. He had to say something, the question was how to say it without making his best friend wish they'd never met.
So he watched Ricky, cataloguing every look and every smile, every shift in his mood or reaction to the people around them. He kept track of the way Ricky leaned into him whenever he lowered his voice to just the right tone, took note of how interested the other boy was in the girls at school and the ones he could see through Clifford’s telescope. He decided to take it as a good sign that Ricky seemed more interested in watching the stars than the women in the windows of the Ambassador West; that had to be a good sign, because most guys their age would have killed for a look at the show going on across the street every night.
He watched the way Ricky smiled when he first saw Clifford in Miss Jump's class every morning, analyzed the way his best friend said his name and paid attention to where Ricky sat whenever Clifford beat him to the table at lunchtime. Mostly, though, he watched Ricky watching him, and after a few days he was almost positive that there was something going on. Whenever he looked at Ricky those eyes were trained on him, the look in them so intense that Clifford could almost feel it on his skin.
After he decided that there was definitely something between them he got a little more brave, testing his theory with occasional touches that could have been explained away as accidental. Ricky had never seemed to mind it when Clifford touched him before, and he didn't seem to notice that the touches got a little more frequent. Mostly he kept it to a hand on Ricky's arm or shoulder to get his attention, and when that wasn't enough he pretended to practice his palm reading skills. Whether Ricky knew what he was up to or if he was just a good sport didn't matter; all that mattered was that any time Clifford announced that his Gramma had taught him some new palm reading trick Ricky held his hand out without question.
He wasn't sure it counted as hand holding, but it was close enough. He knew what Ricky's fingers felt like against his, anyway, and he hadn't failed to notice the way the other boy's hand curled slightly around his before Ricky remembered himself and let his fingers go slack. Every time that happened Clifford was tempted to tighten his grip and entwine their fingers together, but he was afraid if he did that Ricky would pull away and never let him touch again.
Before long he was so obsessed with the idea of them that it didn't even bother him that he'd fallen for a guy. It didn't take him long to get over the initial weirdness of being attracted to his best friend, and after he came to terms with that fact all he could think about was getting Ricky to see what he already knew. He didn't think it would be that hard; they spent all their time together, so all he had to do was find the right time to spring the idea on his friend. As long as he made sure they were alone and Ricky didn't feel cornered everything would go exactly the way he wanted it to.
That was what he told himself one afternoon on the way down the hall after classes let out for the day, and when Ricky looked up from his locker and grinned at Clifford any doubt he had disappeared. This was what they both wanted; he was sure of it, just like he was sure that he was the one that had to make the first move. Ricky would never do it, he didn't have enough confidence in Clifford's loyalty to him. And maybe he'd never completely trust that Clifford was always going to be his friend, but he was usually willing to go along with whatever Clifford suggested, and that meant he trusted the other boy not to steer him wrong.
"Hey," Clifford said when he stopped next to Ricky, tucking his notebook under one arm and nodding in the direction of the doors. "You wanna come over?"
Ricky gave him that same appraising look he always wore, as though he was contemplating whether or not Clifford was serious. It was funny how he could still doubt that Clifford wanted him around, even after all they'd been through together. Clifford knew what his answer would be, though, and he knew that all he had to do was wait long enough and he'd hear exactly what he wanted to.
"Yeah, alright," Ricky finally said, dropping his gaze as soon as the words escaped his lips. And that was another thing Clifford didn't get; Ricky still had a hard time thinking of their friendship as something besides charity. That would all change today, though, at least if Clifford had anything to say about it.
He grinned when Ricky shut his locker and finally turned back to him, falling into step next to the other boy. If anybody thought anything about how close together they walked no one ever said anything, just like nobody was dumb enough to laugh at the difference in their sizes. Even if anyone had Clifford wouldn't have paid any attention; as far as he was concerned they were perfect together, and it didn't matter to him what anyone else thought.
~
No matter how many times Ricky went home with Clifford, he never got used to the fact that his friend lived in a hotel. It didn't seem real, especially compared to his own house in the part of the city even the cops were scared to go near. Every time he walked into the Ambassador East it was like walking into a dream, and he kept waiting for the moment he'd wake up and find out that the past few months were all a figment of his imagination.
He knew it would happen eventually, because there was no way that anything this good could last. The fact that Clifford had to practically bribe him into being friends was beside the point – he didn't let anybody get close to him except his brother. But Clifford wasn't his brother, and he was still steadily working his way under Ricky's skin.
He’d tried to stop it before it started. He’d tried everything he could think of to drive Clifford away, but in the end he hadn’t tried hard enough. In the end he’d given in; given up on trying to convince Clifford that he wasn’t worth knowing. The truth was that he hadn’t wanted Clifford to walk away, because from the first moment their eyes met he’d felt…something.
He wasn’t sure yet what it was exactly, but the feeling had started in his stomach and vibrated all the way to the roots of his hair, and he had a feeling it meant something. So he’d paid attention without making it look like he was interested; he’d watched Clifford getting pushed around by Moody, watched him stand up for himself even though it was obvious the kid was petrified. He’d even been tempted to stand there in the gym that first day and listen to Clifford babble for awhile longer about bodyguards and homework and all the things he could offer Ricky.
Only what Clifford had offered him that day wasn’t friendship; it was a business arrangement, and Ricky had walked away because that wasn’t what he wanted. He’d tried telling himself he didn’t want anything from the kid, that he’d be more trouble than he was worth in the long run. He still believed that sometimes, but he knew he’d never stood a chance against Clifford. And now that he had what he wanted he was still afraid it was going to disappear.
Maybe it was the fact that Clifford lived in a hotel that made the whole thing seem unreal, or maybe it was the way he’d appeared out of nowhere and turned the whole school on its end practically overnight. Either way, nobody had ever been brave enough to strike up a conversation with Ricky before. Maybe the fact that Clifford was the first one to try was just a coincidence, but he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since. Even when they were together the memory was there in the back of his mind, the image of that scrawny kid in his gym clothes making him smile at the strangest times.
Like now, for instance, as he followed Clifford down the hall toward the Ambassador’s front desk. He had no idea what they were doing; it had become sort of a habit to follow wherever Clifford led, and he hadn’t decided yet whether or not that bothered him. He wasn’t used to following blindly, but with Clifford it was almost too easy to trust that wherever he led was exactly where they needed to be. So he followed the other boy to the front desk, leaning against the high marble counter while Clifford went around to the other side.
He kept his eyes trained on his friend the whole time Clifford joked around with his dad, and he watched as the other boy reached for one of the keys hanging up behind the desk and slid it into his pocket. Mr. Peache was too preoccupied with his latest emergency to notice what Clifford was up to, but when Ricky raised his eyebrows at the other boy Clifford pressed his finger to his lips and nodded in the direction of the elevators.
There was nothing for Ricky to do except follow, so he ignored the twinge of that feeling that was starting to get a little too familiar and pushed himself off the counter. He expected Clifford to stop in front of the elevators and press the button that would take them up to the Peaches’ suite, but instead he took a sharp right at the end of the hallway and headed toward the kitchen. And that was another thing Ricky hadn’t gotten over yet – they could just go into the kitchen any time they felt like it and get whatever they wanted, and there was nobody telling them to slow down or that food cost money and they couldn’t drink a whole quart of milk no matter how thirsty they were.
The milk at the hotel didn’t even come in quarts; it came in giant plastic bags that they put into a big stainless steel machine with a lever that dispensed it into glasses. He’d watched them refill it one day before he realized what it was, and once he’d figured it out he’d been a little wary of drinking milk in the hotel. He hadn’t wanted to be rude in front of Clifford’s family, though, so he’d tried it and it had tasted just like regular milk. In fact it tasted a lot better than that stuff that came in the cartons at school, colder and fresher and it always seemed like they filled his glass as quickly as he could empty it.
He knew it was just because Mr. Peache managed the hotel and everybody that worked there was crazy about Clifford, but he wasn’t used to the endless supply of food and sometimes it made him feel like he’d stepped out of New York and into some strange dream world that only existed in books.
Of course he’d never say any of that out loud, especially not to Clifford. He knew how it would sound if he did, and he didn’t want to give Clifford any more reasons to feel sorry for him than he already had. He hadn’t meant to tell his friend any of the things Clifford knew, but somehow he’d managed to confess nearly everything to the other boy. The only secret he had left was how much he needed Clifford’s friendship, and he planned to take that to his grave.
Before he knew what was happening Clifford thrust a tray full of food at him, and he just managed to catch it before the other boy let go and sent the whole thing crashing to the ground. He wasn’t sure why they weren’t just eating in the dining room like they usually did, but Clifford seemed to have some kind of plan and he knew it wouldn’t do any good to question him about it. Whenever Clifford made up his mind about something that was pretty much it, so even if Ricky wanted to try to talk him out of whatever they were doing he knew he wouldn’t be able to. His friend’s relentless determination was the only reason he was standing in the kitchen of the Ambassador East right now, and even though he complained about it that was the thing he liked best about Clifford.
They stopped long enough for Clifford to grab a couple bottles of Coke from one of the stainless steel fridges near the back of the kitchen before they headed back toward the elevators. Neither of them said anything until the doors closed, but when Clifford pushed the button for a floor above his own Ricky finally broke the silence. “What are we doing?”
“Eating. I thought you were hungry.” He was looking at Ricky as though he had no idea what the other boy was getting at, but Ricky had spent enough time around him to know when Clifford was up to something.
Ricky rolled his eyes and nodded in the direction of the elevator controls. “That’s not your floor.”
“I know,” Clifford answered, grinning at the look Ricky shot him. He looked so pleased with himself that it was hard not to smile right back at him, but Ricky was too busy wondering what he was planning to get caught up in Clifford’s enthusiasm. Finally the elevator doors opened again and Ricky followed Clifford down the hall, nearly colliding with the other boy when he stopped in front of a door and fished the key he’d taken from the front desk out of his pocket.
It was the first time they’d ever gone into one of the rooms the hotel reserved for actual guests; in fact, it was the first time Ricky had ever seen the inside of a real hotel room, and for a moment he was too distracted by the room itself to wonder what they were doing there. He followed Clifford inside, glancing over his shoulder when he heard the door click shut behind them. “What are we doing in here?”
“It’s the last place anybody would look for us,” Clifford answered, shrugging as though that should be obvious.
“So?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Clifford went on as though he hadn’t heard Ricky’s question, “Gramma’s great and all. But hearing about who she met in the bar gets a little old sometimes.”
He couldn’t really argue with that, especially considering some of the stuff Clifford’s grandmother had said in front of them. It didn’t seem to bother Clifford, but he was probably used to it by now. Ricky, on the other hand, wasn’t used to people being so up-front about their personal lives, and he’d caught himself blushing more since he met Clifford than he ever had before.
“So we’re hiding from your grandmother?” he asked, his lips curving into an amused grin as he set the tray he’d been carrying down on the table near the window.
Clifford shrugged and sat down, pushing a bottle of soda toward Ricky before he twisted the cap off the other one. “I thought we should talk.”
“About what?” Ricky asked, his eyes narrowing suspiciously as he opened his own soda and lifted it to his mouth.
“Dating.”
“Dating who?” he asked, his mind racing as he tried to come up with a girl Clifford might have shown an interest in. There was Shelly, but as far as he could tell they were just friends. Clifford was nice to everybody, so it was hard to pick one girl he’d paid a lot of attention to recently.
“Each other.” Clifford rolled his eyes as though that should be obvious, setting his soda down on the table and leaning forward. “I mean everybody at school already thinks I'm a fruit anyway, right?”
He had to be kidding. Ricky knew it was a joke, and any second now Clifford would laugh at him for falling for such an obvious line. Only he wasn’t laughing; in fact, he was giving Ricky that wide smile that usually meant that he’d made up his mind and he wasn’t going to quit until he talked Ricky into whatever it was he wanted. But this…he couldn’t possibly be serious about this. They were friends, that was it. Ricky had never even considered…not with Clifford. It was bad enough that he’d let the other boy worm his way into Ricky’s life, they couldn’t make it any more complicated than it already was.
It had to be a joke, though, so he watched Clifford and waited for the punch line. He wasn’t sure how long he waited; it could have been hours, or possibly less than a minute. Time ground to a halt and he wasn’t even sure if he was still breathing; the only sound in the room was the too-loud pounding of his heart, and something about the way Clifford was looking at him made him want to stand up and bolt out of the room as fast as possible. Only he couldn’t move, because his legs refused to listen to what his brain was trying to tell them. He was paralyzed by the weight of the other boy’s stare, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look away.
“We’re not…you're not,” he heard himself say, heat creeping up his neck at the rough sound of his own voice.
“What if I am?” Clifford’s smile never faltered as he leaned forward and brushed his fingers across the knuckles of Ricky’s left hand. Ricky knew he should pull away from the touch, but his hand wasn’t listening any better than his legs were. Instead he found himself holding perfectly still, his eyes locked on Clifford’s fingers as they traced the curve of his hand. “Look, I know you’re probably worried about what people are going to say. That’s why we came up here, so nobody would find out. I won’t tell anybody, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Something about the sound of Clifford’s voice kicked Ricky’s motor functions back into gear, and he pulled his hand away as though the other boy’s touch had burned him. “There’s nothing to find out. You’re not…I don’t know what you are, but I’m not,” he stammered as he pushed his chair back out of Clifford’s reach. His heart was pounding hard against his rib cage now, his stomach spinning in time with his head.
This wasn’t happening to him; it couldn’t be, because he couldn’t afford to lose Clifford. Not now, not after he’d let himself get in as deep as he had. He hadn’t even wanted this friendship, but somehow Clifford had found a way to make him feel like he wasn’t completely worthless, and he wasn’t sure he could live through losing that again. It was too much; Clifford knew too much, about his brother and about the reasons Ricky tried so hard to keep people from getting too close to him.
He glanced unconsciously toward the door, but he knew if he just left that Clifford would follow him. He’d never been able to take a hint, not even when Ricky told him flat-out to go away. Part of him had always thought it was kind of cute that Clifford couldn’t take no for an answer, but sometimes it was just plain annoying. He had no idea where the other boy had gotten the idea that they should date; sure, they spent a lot of time together, but wasn’t that what friends did?
The truth was he didn’t really have anything to compare their relationship to, so he had no idea if the stuff they did together was normal. Most of their time was spent either hanging out in the hotel or riding all over the city on Ricky’s bike, but they’d never done anything that could be called a date. At least he didn’t think they had, although from the confused look Clifford was giving him Ricky had a feeling he must have missed something.
Every moment they'd ever spent together played back in his head as he tried to pinpoint anything that could have counted as romantic. The problem was that he didn't really know what dating entailed; all he knew was that he wanted to be around Clifford all the time, and as far as he knew Clifford felt the same way. They spent all their free time together, anyway, and most of the time it was Clifford making plans for both of them. It didn't count as dating just because Clifford had introduced Ricky to his family and had him over for dinner a few times. Okay, more than a few times, but that didn't mean anything.
Still, he knew how Clifford's hand felt in his, and he wasn't sure if that was normal. He knew they'd both stopped using Clifford's telescope for anything besides actual stargazing after Clifford fought Moody, and he couldn't deny that the way Clifford looked at him set off butterflies in his stomach more often than he liked to think about. He'd been telling himself for awhile that those things were normal, but he was starting to wonder if he had any idea what 'normal' was.
"Come on, Ricky, it's pretty obvious what's going on. You can't tell me you didn't notice."
Clifford's voice made his heart skip a beat, and he looked up to find the other boy studying his features. He could see in Clifford's eyes that he knew exactly what Ricky was thinking; he knew Ricky better than anyone, and he could tell when Ricky was thinking about running. It was the only thing he was any good at, and lately he hadn't even been able to do that right.
He felt his head shaking before he realized he'd moved, and he tried to ignore the disappointed look in Clifford's eyes. The last thing he needed right now was to feel like he'd let his friend down again. Clifford was the first real friend he'd ever had besides his brother, and he knew if he managed to push the other boy away that he wouldn't find anyone else that wanted to take a chance on him. Sure, the other kids at school had stopped turning in the other direction when they saw him coming, but they more or less put up with him for Clifford's sake. None of them were his friends, not the way Clifford was.
What Clifford was asking for could change everything, but if he didn’t give his friend what he wanted there was a chance he’d find someone who would. The thought of Clifford and somebody else made him feel a little sick; he wasn’t sure what that meant, but he didn’t want to give himself a chance to think about it. “You’re crazy. I knew you were nuts.”
“It’s not crazy. You don’t have to decide anything right now, just think about it. Then if you still think I’m crazy we’ll just forget the whole thing.”
Think about it…how was he supposed to think about something as totally insane as this and still look Clifford in the eye? Part of him was still waiting for the punch line, clinging desperately to the hope that any second now his friend would laugh and tell him not to be so gullible. He knew that wasn’t going to happen, though, because he’d felt the way Clifford had touched him. He could still feel those warm fingers against his skin even now, and he found himself glancing down at his hand to make sure Clifford hadn’t reached for him again.
He started to stand up, to put as much distance between himself and this conversation as he could, but Clifford anticipated the move before he even realized he was planning it. Before he knew what was happening the smaller boy was standing in front of him, hands on his shoulders to push him back down into his chair. Ricky could have overpowered him easily, but he was so stunned by the sheer determination in his friend’s eyes that he let Clifford guide him back into his seat.
His skin tingled under his shirt where Clifford’s fingers pressed into his shoulders, those small, fragile hands the only thing keeping him from leaving the room. They might as well have been lead weights as far as Ricky was concerned, because there was no way he could stand up and walk away now. He had no idea what Clifford was going to do, but the part of him that wanted to stay and find out was just a little bit stronger than the part of him that wanted to run.
It was strange to look up at Clifford for once, and it was just distracting enough to make him forget for a moment what they were doing. The hands on his shoulders felt warm and solid, and Clifford’s expression was such a funny mixture of fear and determination that Ricky was tempted to smile. Then the other boy nudged his legs a little further apart and Ricky realized what was happening, but by the time his brain kicked in it was too late to stop any of it.
His hands landed on Clifford’s waist, but whether he meant to push the other boy away or pull him closer he never would have been able to say. All he knew was that as soon as he touched Clifford the smaller boy leaned forward, his mouth colliding with Ricky’s in a clumsy tangle of lips and warmth and something sweet that Ricky wouldn’t have been able to put his finger on even if every last synapse in his brain hadn't fried on impact.
It wasn’t the most graceful kiss in the world; it was obvious that neither of them had ever done this before, but they were both nervous enough that neither of them noticed the awkwardness. It didn’t really matter that Clifford’s aim hadn’t been perfect, because somehow Ricky managed to compensate by turning into the kiss without even thinking about it. He didn’t mean to kiss back, but his body responded while his brain was still trying to work out what was happening, and by the time he realized what he was doing he’d pulled Clifford even closer.
Alarms sounded in his head, telling him that this could get out of hand way too fast. Only it was already out of hand, because he was kissing his only friend and he couldn’t say he hated it. He wanted to hate it; he knew he should, but Clifford’s mouth felt warm and softer than he’d expected, and his hands kneaded Ricky’s shoulders absently as he leaned a little further into the kiss. He wanted to ignore the warnings his brain was trying to send. He would have been content to stay in that moment for as long as possible, because kissing Clifford felt right in a way he’d never expected it to. But there was still that voice in the back of his head telling him that this was a bad idea, that he was going to ruin everything if he let this happen.
When that voice got too loud to ignore his grip on Clifford’s hips tightened and he pushed the other boy backwards with enough force to make him stagger a little. His first instinct was to reach out and steady his friend, but he stopped just short of touching Clifford again and stood up, his eyes wide as he backed toward the door.
“I gotta go,” he murmured, although he wasn’t even sure if he’d said it out loud. He heard Clifford call his name as he pulled the door open and stepped out into the hallway, but he didn’t let himself look back as he headed for the stairs. He took them two at a time, his lungs tight from lack of oxygen when he finally reached the ground floor and let himself out the side door into the alley running alongside the hotel.
He had no idea if Clifford had tried to follow him, but he knew better than to wait around and find out. For such a small guy his friend was surprisingly fast, and Ricky really didn’t want to listen to Clifford tell him what a coward he was for running out this time. He already knew he was a coward; he knew it when he reached into his pocket for his smokes, and he knew it when he leaned against the brick wall in the alley and took a little more time than he needed to shake a cigarette out of the pack.
His hand shook slightly as he raised the cigarette to his lips, and he caught himself running the tip of one callused finger over his swollen mouth before he realized what he was doing and pushed himself angrily off the wall. He ignored the way his hand shook as he lit the cigarette, dropping his lighter back in his jacket pocket and forcing his legs to carry him toward the subway. He wasn’t lingering in the alley hoping that Clifford would follow him, and if he walked a little slower than he needed to it was just because he wasn't really sure where else to go.
FEEDBACK Caroline Crane