"Not just any boy." She squeezes my fingers. "A boy like you."

"Like me?" I pull away from her.

"You're perfect, Gabriel. Perfect face, perfect hair, perfect body."

Something inside me snaps, something tethering my sanity pops out of place, releasing the barrage of emotion I've managed to keep at bay for all these years.

"Perfect? You know nothing about me." I'm practically snarling. Treasa's mouth hangs open. "You think I'm perfect because I play piano well, because I'm some A-student and have a black belt in karate. Like any of that f.u.c.king matters."

"Of course it does," she whispers.

"I'm the ant.i.thesis of perfect."

"How can you say that?"

"You want to know why?" I'm shouting, my hands balled into fists. Treasa looks scared. Good. She should be; she should run from me before I do her any more damage. "I've got a brother who couldn't wait to get away from me, a father who can't stand my very existence, and a mother who wouldn't be dead if it weren't for me." I wipe at something wet on my jaw. A tear. Great, now I'm crying in front of her.

"Your mom died in an accident." Treasa wraps her arms around her knees, hugging them to her chest.

"No. That was a lie. Truth is, some b.a.s.t.a.r.d put a bullet through her head for her car keys."

"That's not your fault."

"It is, because I ran off to a party I shouldn't have been at. She wouldn't have been in the car, at that robot, if it wasn't for me."

"Gabriel." Treasa reaches for me, and her touch feels like a brand. I jerk away from her. "Please, it really wasn't your fault. It was just a horrible tragedy. No one blames you."

"They do. JP and my father. They both do, and you know what's so horribly f.u.c.king ironic?" Treasa says nothing, so I continue. "The reason my father doesn't want to listen to me play, the reason he smacks me around and why JP ran off to Maties, is because I look like her. I remind them of her. Isn't life just freaking fantastic?" G.o.d, I need a cigarette. Or maybe just my lighter.

"It doesn't change how I feel."

"Really? You still want to be a boy like me?" I get to my feet and start undoing my fly. "You want this face, and this hair and this body? Look!"

I pull down my shorts and yank up my boxers, revealing my inner thigh. Some of the freshest burns are still weeping, making it look extra gruesome. Treasa gasps and tears fill her eyes.

"If this is the boy you want to be, Treasa, then you are way more f.u.c.ked-up than you thought." I wrench my shorts back up. Adrenaline courses through my veins, and I want to scream. The gla.s.s of c.o.ke is still half-full as I lob it at the ramp with a yell. The smash and splinter is music to my ears.

A second gla.s.s hurtles past my ear as Treasa screams beside me. She twines her fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. I look down at her, at her too-short hair and smudged face. She reaches up and lays her palm flat against my cheek. The last person who ever touched me with such tenderness was Mom, but that was different. Treasa should be repulsed, she should hate me, and yet she voluntarily holds my hand; she chooses to touch me.

"I think I'm in love with you." The words are out before I can haul them back in and swallow them down into the black pit of denial where they belong.

Her lip trembles and fresh tears spill down her face. "I love you, Gabriel."

I lean down to kiss her, because if after knowing everything awful about me she can still love me, then maybe there is hope, and I just want to lose myself in her arms. She brings her elbows up to block my advance.

"I'm sorry." She bites her bottom lip. "I can't do this."

"We already have." Now I'm really confused.

"I know, but don't you get it? I want to be a boy." She takes a shuddering breath and presses up against me. "I want to be a boy, with you."

"I don't understand."

"When I think about being with you, I imagine us being together as two boys."

Her words are an acetylene torch, incinerating every feeling of desire and longing and hope. I extricate myself from her embrace and step away, keeping her at arm's length. Hurt creases her features, turning her face into a horror mask of angular shadows in the artificial light.

"I don't... I'm not gay... I'm...." None of this makes any sense. What the h.e.l.l is she talking about, being a boy with me? She imagines me kissing her as a guy?

"I'm sorry...," she starts, and I hold up my hand to silence her. No words can fix this. Any of this. I can't be here. I can't see her without wanting to explode. My whole life lies in splinters, just like the gla.s.s at the bottom of the ramp. Head throbbing, heart aching, I slip down the concrete, leaving her calling after me as I melt into shadows, wishing I could just disappear for good.

Treasa

HE VANISHES VANISHES into the darkness, and I'm left alone and empty on cold concrete between peeling swearwords and slogans of rebellion. Dirk's band thrashes, the vocalist screaming, the guitars growling. I'm craving silence, for all of it to just stop and go away. into the darkness, and I'm left alone and empty on cold concrete between peeling swearwords and slogans of rebellion. Dirk's band thrashes, the vocalist screaming, the guitars growling. I'm craving silence, for all of it to just stop and go away.

Wrapping my arms around my legs, I draw my knees up to my chin. Mom was right. I shouldn't have come. I shouldn't have manipulated Dad into giving me a lift here. There are a lot of things I shouldn't have done, but I did. It's hard not to feel like the world would be better off without me right now.

I've blown it with Gabriel. Maybe I should've let him kiss me and do whatever else he wanted. Maybe if I'd never said anything, he'd still be sitting beside me. He said he thinks he's in love with me. I do love him, and he deserved to know the truth, although I'm not sure if being with me makes him gay, me straight, or both of us plain weird. Hiding the truth from him would've been worse, right? It would've been dishonest, and he deserves better than that, even if it means we're over before we even really started.

My heart cracks, then fractures, the pain bleeding out through my limbs right into my fingertips. No one will ever love me. Not now. Not like this. Not ever.

Gabriel

I DOUBLE DOUBLE back through the parking lot and slip through a side door into the club area. Treasa's sitting where I left her and doesn't see me sneak inside. The band's going full throttle. Dirk's jumping up and down, slapping his ba.s.s as the lead singer practically has a seizure screaming into the microphone. Karla's bouncing up and down at the front, her hair whipping back and forth in time to the music. back through the parking lot and slip through a side door into the club area. Treasa's sitting where I left her and doesn't see me sneak inside. The band's going full throttle. Dirk's jumping up and down, slapping his ba.s.s as the lead singer practically has a seizure screaming into the microphone. Karla's bouncing up and down at the front, her hair whipping back and forth in time to the music.

Part of me knows this is wrong; a larger part of me doesn't give a s.h.i.t. Alcohol, weed, s.e.x-anything that'll make me feel numb for a while. The last is the easiest to get. I elbow my way through the writhing s.k.a.n.k and grab Karla's hand. She spins around to face me, and her eyes light up. The song ends, and while the others whoop and cheer, I drag her toward the bathrooms.

We start kissing before I lock the bathroom door. She tastes of cherry Halls sweets, her hands already under my shirt. The bathroom stinks. I feel dirty even as I surrender and let this happen. I just don't care anymore. I can't. Caring hurts too much and inevitably leads to disappointment. It's easier not to care, not to feel anything beyond the base instincts of pain and pleasure.

"Didn't think you'd stay away." Karla grins up at me as her fingers open my fly.

IT'S A A long walk home from the skate park through sleeping suburbs ensconced in darkness. Karla stayed for the second set; I needed to escape the noise and crush of bodies. Dirk'll be p.i.s.sed with me for ditching him, but he'll get over it. long walk home from the skate park through sleeping suburbs ensconced in darkness. Karla stayed for the second set; I needed to escape the noise and crush of bodies. Dirk'll be p.i.s.sed with me for ditching him, but he'll get over it.

A dog barks from a distant backyard and sirens wail down the highway. I've never felt so alone. The shadows clinging to the trees and roadside foliage provide ample cover for would-be criminals. I scan the road ahead, almost wishing someone would finally jump out at me with a gun or a knife and end the fear I've had for five years.

AFTER AN AN hour of traipsing along twisting roads, I arrive, unscathed, at my house. I stink of toilet s.e.x and cigarette smoke. All I want is to shower and go to bed. First, I have to get into my house. The lights are on in the kitchen and lounge, so my father's probably still awake. It's not even midnight yet. Stone-cold sober now, I shimmy up the wall using the bars of the gate for leverage. It gets tricky near the top, trying to avoid the razor wire on the wall and the bayonet-sharp points of the gate. With a grunt of effort, I launch myself over the spikes and land with a jarring thud on the driveway. hour of traipsing along twisting roads, I arrive, unscathed, at my house. I stink of toilet s.e.x and cigarette smoke. All I want is to shower and go to bed. First, I have to get into my house. The lights are on in the kitchen and lounge, so my father's probably still awake. It's not even midnight yet. Stone-cold sober now, I shimmy up the wall using the bars of the gate for leverage. It gets tricky near the top, trying to avoid the razor wire on the wall and the bayonet-sharp points of the gate. With a grunt of effort, I launch myself over the spikes and land with a jarring thud on the driveway.

I don't have keys, so I'll have to knock. There's no getting through the burglar bars on my bedroom window.

My father answers as if he's been waiting by the door. We share a long, strained look before he steps back, gesturing for me to come in. s.h.i.t. I have a Mohawk, and I'm wearing not only nail polish, but eyeliner too. I'm surprised he didn't klap me on the spot.

I walk straight to the kitchen. The last thing I need tonight is my father smelling the mampoer on my breath as well. I never make it to the fridge and the palate-cleansing orange juice. My shoe box sits on the kitchen table, the letters I've written to Mom spread out in the open. The photos of her lie exposed as well. I turn to my father. His eyes are red-rimmed and not from booze. He's been crying.

"You went into my room?" I ask.

"I was vacuum cleaning."

"So you just went through my stuff?" Anger simmers in my veins.

"We need to talk," he says, monotone.

"This is private." I start gathering up the letters, shoving them back into the shoe box as my blood reaches boiling point. I feel violated, like I've been turned inside out and stuck under a microscope.

"Leave them." My father places his hand on top of the photos of Mom.

"These are mine. This is personal. You had no right!" My voice kicks up an octave. "These aren't yours. What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?" I'm wound tighter than a piano string, and I don't have the steel reinforcing to stop me from breaking in two.

"Gabriel, please. Stop."

"Stop what? Stop hiding photos of Mom so you can destroy them like the others? Stop wearing nail polish?" I shove my fingers under his nose, goading him. "Stop playing piano? Stop looking like her? Stop breathing? What, Dad?"

For all his flab, my father can still move quickly when he wants to. Before I have time to react, he's got his arms around me. I squirm, trying to free myself before he starts. .h.i.tting me. My hands ball into fists as I brace myself for inevitable impact. My father holds on tighter as I squirm, so I throw the first punch, aiming for his kidneys. He's large, and I can't quite get the angle right. He grunts and absorbs the blows I rain down on his sides. He isn't letting go, and he isn't hurting me-he's just standing there like a giant punching bag. I pause for a moment to catch my breath. My father starts shaking, his entire torso turning into a jiggling vibration as he cries and holds onto me even tighter.

I'm done. Broken. Finished. I lean into my father, the mohawk mashed under his chin. "I'm so sorry," he mumbles on repeat. "It wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault."

I can't breathe, crushed to his chest, and I couldn't care less. It's been five years since he hugged me.

"It's not your fault she's dead, Gabriel," he tells me through his tears, and I wrap my arms around him, hugging him back.

Am I an Alien, Treasa Test #07

HYPOTHESIS: Extraterrestrials can spontaneously regenerate after injury given enough resources, i.e. food and water. Extraterrestrials can spontaneously regenerate after injury given enough resources, i.e. food and water.

GOAL: To prove that I can spontaneously regenerate after injury. To prove that I can spontaneously regenerate after injury.

METHOD:.

Inflict minor injury-paper cut (self-inflicted).

Eat a healthy meal and drink plenty of water.

Observe healing process.

Inflict major injury-broken heart (not exactly self-inflicted).

Eat a healthy meal, chocolate, and drink lots of rooibos tea.

Observe healing process.

RESULTS: Paper cut, while painful, seemed to heal within minutes. Skin showed no perforation two hours after initial injury. Broken heart shows no sign of healing yet despite it being days since initial injury was inflicted. Paper cut, while painful, seemed to heal within minutes. Skin showed no perforation two hours after initial injury. Broken heart shows no sign of healing yet despite it being days since initial injury was inflicted.

CONCLUSION: It is unclear how long a human being takes to heal a paper cut of this exact nature. Healing possibly within realm of human capabilities. Broken heart* may take longer to heal and may require more than Kit Kat and rooibos to fix. It is unclear how long a human being takes to heal a paper cut of this exact nature. Healing possibly within realm of human capabilities. Broken heart* may take longer to heal and may require more than Kit Kat and rooibos to fix.

*How long does it take a broken human heart to heal?

Treasa