Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Only Tristan, only Kyle, and this precious moment.
Sounds like noise made into music, and a sad man singing on top of it. Tristan never looked away, not once. You are a very, very interesting person with unexpected tastes, Kyle.
“Uh … th-thank you.”
Will you continue to share more of your music with me?
Kyle swallowed hard, too hard. “Yes, yeah, sure, I guess.”
Tristan smiled.
It would be that smile that fueled Kyle’s thoughts when he sat awake in bed at night, staring at the wall, heart racing. He took off all his clothes and slipped under his bed sheets, naked. It was then he realized no grainy image scraped off the floor of the internet was going to do it. Nor any of the front covers of his dad’s sports magazines. Nothing satisfied.
Nothing except that fierce look in Tristan’s eyes.
And the way he was able to touch Kyle without his hands.
Only through headphones, music from a mix tape, and soft words he uttered about sad men singing over noise.
Kyle slipped his hand under the sheets, closed his eyes, and the room filled with a different noise.
A different music.
It seemed like every day their teacher gave them downtime, Kyle would find himself gravitating toward Tristan’s desk to check out whatever he was drawing. It was always artful and surprisingly innocent, like a tree in a meadow, or the moon in the starry night sky, or a bushy-tailed cat on a windowsill.
Somehow, the new student became Kyle’s center of gravity.
When Kyle was around Tristan, he felt as if he could be anything he wanted, do anything, say anything.
Tristan made him brave. Daring. Reckless.
“Trying something,” said Kyle as his pencil scratched along the paper. The headphones to his Walkman hung around his neck, mix tape forgotten. “Had an idea and wanted to try it.”
It was in their study hall one afternoon. Tristan stared over his shoulder. What’s it supposed to be? A monster?
“You can’t tell?” Kyle bit his lip as he concentrated.
Have you ever drawn anything before?
“I used to. I loved to draw. I have, like, so many notebooks at home, notebooks my mom or dad shoved away into a box in the attic someplace. Gave up drawing when I started football.”
Am I the one who inspired you?
“You can say that. How’s this looking? I’m no good at eyes, they always look crossed.” When Kyle noticed the perplexed look on Tristan’s face, he sighed. “It’s a lion. I like lions.”
Very regal animals. Loyal, protective, cautious … like you.
“I think it would be cool to live where lions live. Out in the open savannah. Or, like, maybe a desert town, right on the edge of nothing, with just the glittering hot sand and the mountains. I could be like a lion myself, braving the world with my pride.”
Lions don’t live in desert towns. They feast on them.
“Lions in my world don’t feast. My pride would unite with the town. We’d live there in peace, everyone happy, even the real lions.” Kyle noticed the look on Tristan’s face and scoffed. “Hey, don’t go ruining my fantasy. Let me have this. I like my imaginary life in the desert.”
Hmm. Too much sun for me.
When Kyle neared completion, he realized his drawing did look more like a monster, deadly fangs for teeth, wild mane like a dozen venomous snakes without faces, eyes manic and feral. “Uh … don’t worry, I’ll get better,” Kyle insisted.
He tried drawing many animals over the week. He found that he loved to draw again, feeling like a piece of his childhood was igniting back to life every time he picked up the pencil.
And each day, instead of a lion, he produced a monster.
You have an issue with proportion, said Tristan one morning before class began, standing over Kyle’s desk. All of your limbs are different sizes. The eyes, too. Can I help?
Kyle froze as Tristan gently took hold of his hand to guide the strokes of his pencil on the paper.
Tristan’s grip was soft and cool to the touch.
Kyle was paralyzed, mouth dry, as Tristan gently drew with Kyle’s hand, guiding every line, curve, flick of the pencil.
You can apply shading, too, said Tristan, as if Kyle could even hope to pay attention. To distinguish the limbs better, to give them life and shape. See how I do it?
Kyle couldn’t follow anything. He was too consumed by the sudden close proximity of Tristan, their bodies together, their hands having become one. Tristan was so cute. So sweet. So gentle, the way he touched, as if Kyle was a soft and cuddly cat Tristan was afraid to harm. “Yeah,” he choked out anyway.
See how I make the lines? How I measure them?
Tingles of pleasure raced up and down Kyle’s neck, up and down his arms. His heart pounded. “Y-Yes … yes, I do.”
Just watch. Watch and feel. I can teach you.