Three imaginary boys, p.1
Three Imaginary Boys, page 1
THREE IMAGINARY BOYS
J.T. HOLDEN
A KURO BOOK
Text copyright © 2015 by J.T. Holden
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a retrieval system, without prior written permission from the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
First Digital Edition
To Baumer & Hasney
for inspiring the story
To Marilyn
for inspiring the storyteller
Deep inside
The empty feeling
All the night time leaves me
Three imaginary boys
— The Cure
CONTENTS
ACT ONE
IN THE BEDROOM
ACT TWO
UNDER THE MOON
ACT THREE
THROUGH THE WINDOW
ACT ONE
IN THE BEDROOM
At first it was dark and quiet.
Then Logan said, “Hit that light, would you?”
Drew flipped the switch by the door and looked around. It was a fairly large bedroom, neatly organized and spotlessly clean. He looked at Logan, who was at the window, closing the blinds. “So, what are we doing? Do you have a script?”
Logan shook his head. “Nah. We’re just gonna ad lib it.”
“What’s the scene about?”
“Just two guys in a room. One guy invites the other guy over to his house after school to help him out with a drama class project, and we’ll just take it from there.”
“So it’s just two guys in a room doing a scene about two guys in a room?”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’re our names?”
“You’ll be Drew, and I’ll be Logan.” Noting the look in Drew’s eyes, he elaborated: “It’s simpler to use our own names, and it’ll make it feel more natural.”
Drew nodded, though he still looked a little dubious. “So, what? We’re just playing ourselves?”
“Basically, yeah. We’re two guys who’ve seen each other at school. We’ve never hung out or anything, just nodded to each other in the halls, maybe said hello a few times. But other than that, we don’t really know each other. Then my character gets this assignment to do a scene for his drama class—only he’s one warm body short, and there aren’t many prospects. Then he sees you outside after the final bell and figures, ‘What the hell—he’s breathing, right?’”
Drew’s jaw flexed, and his cheeks burned, but Logan didn’t seem to notice. He was busy adjusting focus on the video camera that stood on a tripod next to the bed.
“And so,” Logan continued, “he comes up to you and asks if you’d help him out with his scene for drama class . . . which is a bit odd because other than an occasional ‘Hi’ in the hall or ‘What’s up?’ in the cafeteria, he doesn’t even know you exist.” Logan offered a small apologetic smile, though his eyes seemed to convey a different sentiment. “No offense.”
Drew didn’t look offended this time; he just nodded like it was all good and said, “So, in a way, the scene already started before we got here.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“So we’re actually still doing the scene right now.”
“Yep.”
Drew took a measured breath and said, “So, what’s the camera for?”
Logan looked up from the camera’s viewfinder with a shrewd eye and said, “We have to document the scene.”
“What about before, when you came up to me after school?”
“What about it?”
“You said the scene had already started before we even got here, right?”
Logan nodded, but he seemed more concerned with the camera than Drew’s question.
“So, why didn’t you document our conversation back at school?”
A moment of silence passed.
Then Logan raised an arched brow and said, “What makes you so sure I didn’t?”
There was no hint of guile in Logan’s calm gaze, no teasing smile playing at the corners of his mouth, but Drew sensed bravado and rolled his eyes.
While Logan continued to adjust the camera’s settings, Drew’s turned his attention to the collection of karate trophies that lined the shelves across the room. The row of shelves was flanked by two glossy wooden wall racks. One held an assortment of bo staffs while the other displayed a collection of swords, including a katana whose deadly blade gleamed under the dim light.
Still eying the display of weapons, Drew said, “So everything we’re saying here is just part of the scene . . . which is interesting, at least from my perspective, because I’ve never done anything like this before . . . and I’m not trying to slam your idea or anything like that, but do you think an audience would really find this interesting? Or that they’d just get bored? Not at your idea,” he hastened to add, “I’m not saying that—it’s actually a pretty cool idea—but more at me, because maybe I’m not really that interesting, you know?”
He was fishing, but Logan wasn’t biting, and so he changed tack.
“I mean, most people are looking for something more interesting than just two guys in a room talking, you know?”
“Maybe,” Logan said, as he continued to adjust the camera’s focus. “But if you have a contrast between the two guys it can be very interesting. That’s why I picked you. Granted, it’s not really all that original, but it’s a good starting point for conflict: brain versus brawn, intellect versus instinct, academic versus athlete, whatever labels you prefer.”
Drew smiled wryly. “So, I take it you’re the brain.”
Logan shrugged, pulling focus in careful increments as he continued to watch Drew through the viewfinder. “One of us has to be the smart guy.”
Drew nodded, but his tone was petulant. “So, I’m the dumb jock.”
“I didn’t say you were dumb.”
“No, but wouldn’t it be implied since you’re obviously the academic smart guy?”
Logan looked up from the camera and said calmly yet pointedly, “Well, I did get you to come here.”
The flicker of doubt in Drew’s eyes was more than enough for Logan to feed on, and he stood up straight and spoke with a bluntness that was almost too convincing.
“Let’s at least be honest here. All I had to do was tell you what a good actor I thought you’d be, compliment your build, tell you that you’re the best looking guy in school and that all the girls are dreaming about you, and you were following me home like a lost puppy. That’s what makes you so right for this scene. Everybody at school thinks you have a huge ego—and, let’s face it, you do—but the thing they don’t know is just how insecure you are. They don’t know the depth of your desire for reassurance and approval. That’s why I picked you. You’re a natural. Your strength is in your weakness. You are a dumb jock . . . but you’re not stupid.”
Drew shook his head. “Yeah, whatever.”
Logan said, “Are your feelings hurt?”
“Nope.”
“You sure about that?”
Drew’s cheeks flushed again, and his nostrils flared sharply. He looked at the wall of trophies and said, “So what do you want me to do?”
“You’re already doing it,” Logan replied simply.
“Right.”
It was quiet for a moment.
Then Logan broke the silence. “Are you pissed?”
“No,” Drew said instantly; then just as quickly, though twice as sharply, he snapped, “NO!”
Logan was unaffected by the outburst. Drew released a slow calming sigh, but his cheeks still burned and the muscles in his jaw were tense.
The tone of Logan’s voice remained infuriatingly reasonable. “It just seems like you’re a little pissed.”
“Is that where you want this scene to go, with me getting pissed?”
Logan shrugged. “Wherever it goes it goes.”
Drew shook his head, looked around the room again, and said, “So, do you want me to do some push-ups, flex my muscles, dumb jock-like things?”
Logan pondered for a brief moment. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea . . . ”
Drew’s eyes narrowed.
Logan elaborated. “It would certainly give you a more plausible incentive to have come here in the first place.”
Drew gave a short laugh. “What, to do push-ups and flex?”
Logan shook his head. “No. To model. We’ll say my character is an artist who needed a model for his art class project, and so, obviously, he chose you.”
Drew’s eyes narrowed again. “I thought it was a drama class project.”
“It still is,” Logan said with a smile. But Drew’s gaze remained wary.
“What about all the stuff we’ve already done? The scene about the two guys doing a scene for drama class? This is like a whole new scene . . . so what, are we starting from scratch now?”
“Nah,” Logan said, “it’s the same scene. It’s just taking a slight turn. It starts out with me asking you to come over to my house after school to help me out with this drama class project, which, once we get here, you discover is a scene about two guys doing a scene for a drama class project . . . then after the setup, it shifts. Your chara
“I didn’t say I was gonna take my shirt off.”
Their eyes locked, but Logan had the advantage.
“I think it would be implied,” he said shrewdly, “that within the context of your offer to pump and flex, you’d be taking off your shirt, don’t you?”
Drew remained silent. Logan pressed on.
“Now, within the scene about the two guys doing a scene for drama class, my character gets a new idea and wants the scene to be about a guy who’s an artist who gets this dumb jock guy to come over to his house so he can take pictures and draw sketches of him for his art class . . . it makes more sense when you think about it, considering he’d have a much easier time convincing the dumb jock to come over and model for him than he would to have him help out with an acting class project, don’t you think?”
Drew’s cheeks flared crimson, and there was no disguising the sarcasm in his response. “Yeah, ’cause the dumb jock probably wouldn’t be able to remember all the dialogue for a scene anyway.”
“Pages of expository dialogue, with a twist that even I couldn’t see coming,” Logan nearly cried with a chuckle of delight. “Fuckin A, brother. It’s like art imitating life imitating art. That’s why the scene was set up to be ad-libbed in the first place. But when my character realizes that your character doesn’t even have enough brain power to handle something as rudimentary as that, he shifts the project to this modeling-art class thing . . . ”
Drew’s cheeks flushed deeper, and the edges of his nostrils flared nearly white. Logan’s cool grey eyes shimmered as the ghost of a taunting smile played at one corner of his mouth.
“ . . . which works right into the whole scene perfectly, because now Abercrombie Boy really is getting pissed because Genius Boy is hurting his feelings.”
“You’re not hurting my feelings.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive,” Drew said, but the muscles in his jaw continued to flex. “It’s not like we’re friends.”
“Exactly,” Logan said, pointedly. “So why are you here?”
“You asked me.”
“And who am I to you?”
Drew’s eyes iced over. Logan waited patiently for his response.
“Nobody,” Drew said pointedly.
“That’s right,” Logan said, taking a step closer to Drew, challenging him with his gaze. “I’m nobody. I’m nothing to you. But I don’t remember you hesitating for a single second when I asked you to come over and help me with this thing. I thought you’d puss out, but you didn’t. Now, why do you suppose that was?”
Drew shrugged, but his jaw remained tight. “Didn’t have anything better to do.”
“Wrong, Jethro. The reason you came over here is the same reason you’re not heading for the door right now. Do you know what that is?”
“Do you want me to go?”
“Do you want to go?”
Drew’s nostrils flared again, but he averted his gaze when he spoke. “Can we just do the scene?”
Logan said, “We are doing the scene.”
Drew shot a glance at Logan then turned his gaze back to the trophies, debating his next move. After a measured moment, Drew spoke without taking his gaze off the trophies. “Do you want me to take my shirt off?”
When no response came, Drew peeled off his T-shirt and tossed it aside. Then he took a deep breath and turned to face Logan. There was a brief flicker in Logan’s eyes, just enough to let Drew know that Logan was impressed.
Drew knew that he had an impressive physique, and he certainly wasn’t blind to the glances he received from his peers, both male and female, on a daily basis. There was this one kid, a skinny freshman named Matt Saesan, who liked to take secret pictures of Drew with his phone when he thought Drew wasn’t looking. The kid had even taken a few shots of Drew in the locker room after gym class, which, to Drew’s surprise, hadn’t really bothered him. He knew what Matt Saesan was going to do with the pictures, but instead of being grossed out by the thought of the kid rubbing one out over a picture of him fresh from the shower, Drew was actually flattered.
But even more flattering—and infinitely more satisfying—was that flicker in Logan Kōtarō’s eyes. Despite the fact that this was only a scene for a drama class, and that Logan had warned him in advance that he was going to say and do things to put him on edge, Drew couldn’t suppress the sliver of satisfaction that rose within him. Somehow knowing that his body had impressed this smug prick with his shelves of trophies and his perfect GPA was like a victory for Drew . . . one that ended abruptly the moment Logan opened his mouth.
“Do you have to wear that thing all the time?”
Logan nodded at the pad that looked like a circular bandage on the lower left side of Drew’s stomach. A thin, clear tube ran from under the pad to the little black box clipped to Drew’s belt. Drew looked down at the circular pad affixed to his stomach and fell instantly back into character.
“Do you want me to take it off?”
Logan shook his head. “I was just wondering if you had to have it on all the time.”
“No. It’s just convenient.”
“What do you do, just push it once after you eat?”
“It depends on what I’m eating.”
“What if you push it on accident?”
Drew shook his head. “Nothing.” A short beep sounded as he pushed the button on the box. “It’s just a little dose each time.”
Logan’s gaze became thoughtful. “Did you ever O.D. on it?”
“Not to the point where it was really gonna hurt me,” Drew said. “I think I hit it a couple too many times at work once, and I had to eat a candy bar to counteract it.”
“What’d it feel like?”
“I got a little woozy.”
“Did you faint?”
“Nope.” Drew sighed. “So, is this gonna be a scene about two guys talking about diabetes now . . . that could create some real tension . . . or are we sticking with the modeling thing? ’Cause if we are, I should probably take this off. I don’t think the guy would be modeling with a tube coming out of his stomach.”
Logan was still looking at the pad when a sly grin began to curl. “I kind of like it,” he said. “It makes you seem less . . . invulnerable.”
Drew smirked. “So, I’m invulnerable now. What am I, Superman?”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Captain America . . . but Superman did have his Kryptonite.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “I think we’re getting off the track here.”
“I think we’re dead on the money.”
Drew gave a curt nod. “It’s your scene.”
“It’s our scene,” Logan corrected.
Drew looked around the room, chewing thoughtfully at the corner of his mouth. “So, do you have a sketchbook?”
“What for?”
“The ‘art class’ project that you asked me over here to help you with. I think it would be implied, within the context of the scene, that you would have a sketchbook.”
“Yes, it would . . . if in fact I had invited you over here to help me out with a project for art class—which I didn’t. Within the context of the scene, as you put it, my character shifted the project from drama class to art class. But in fact we’re still in the middle of the original scene, which is still two guys doing a scene for drama class.”
“Which makes no sense at all.”
“It got you to take your shirt off.”
“Which ties into the scene how?”
“By revealing your Achilles heel,” Logan said with a wink and a nod at the insulin box clipped to Drew’s belt.
“Which makes no sense either,” Drew said, with a labored sigh.
“Which makes perfect sense if I didn’t invite you over here to do a scene at all.”
Drew froze. Logan’s eyes appeared to teem with sparks.
“What if,” Logan said, carefully, “‘within the context of the scene,’ Smart Guy invites Jock Boy over to his house to help him out with a drama class project, which he then shifts to an art class project, which he only does to get your guy to take his shirt off and reveal . . . his little box of concentrated Kryptonite . . . ”
“Which still doesn’t make any sense,” Drew said flatly. But his voice faltered, and Logan could see the uncertainty in his eyes, the seed of apprehension blooming within.
