elrhiarhodan

Title: The Chaos of Our Lives (When Tomorrow Comes) – Part One of Two



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“You have no idea how grateful I am that this isn’t black-tie.” Peter grumbled.

Neal, dressed except for his shoes, lounged on the bed. He watched as Peter fussed with his tie, a blue and silver affair that he’d had bought for him as a “just because” present. Just because Peter had terrible taste in ties.

“Why? You know you look splendid in a tuxedo.” He admired his husband’s backside. Peter was wearing perfectly tailored trousers, part of the custom-made suit Neal had commissioned for him a few years ago. But then, Peter looked splendid in anything. Or nothing at all.

Peter grimaced. “Just seems silly. Getting dressed up as if we’re going to the prom.”

“We never went to the prom, remember.” Neal caught Peter’s eyes in the mirror and gave him a rueful smile.

“No, we didn’t.” Peter smiled back. “Does your life feel incomplete because you didn’t get the chance to do The Safety Dance in a rented powder blue tuxedo?”

“I would never have worn a rented tux, let alone a powder blue one.” Neal pretended to shudder dramatically. But he turned serious. “I would have loved to have slow-danced with you back then. In front of everyone.”

Peter turned to him, love in his eyes. “I would have, too – but 1983 was such a different world. Remember, Diana Berrigan came out and they wouldn’t let her even attend the prom. We probably would have gotten thrown out of the place if we tried.”

“Probably.” It was so long ago, and yet it felt like yesterday. “It’s hard to imagine being so terrified that people would find out about us.”

Peter dropped onto the bed next to him. “Remember that guy, Matthew Keller? The one who tried to blackmail me with those pictures?”

Of course Neal did. “Jesus – I haven’t thought of him in years. Strange, but I think we have to be grateful to him. If he hadn’t, we might never have gotten together when we did.”

“You were my hero.” Peter leaned over and kissed him. “You still are.”

Neal grabbed Peter’s tie, holding him close, letting him deepen the kiss, devouring him like a conqueror. He loved Peter, uncontrollably, unreservedly and it amazed him that even after thirty years, the man could still turn him on like a light.

They might have ended up ditching the party, except for an untimely knock on the door. The knock was followed by a question, “Hey, Neal – you decent?”

“Give me a sec, Moz.” Peter groaned and rolled off him, but not before Neal leaned up, kissed him, and whispered “Sorry.”

He straightened his shirt and tie, tugged on his cuffs and smoothed back his hair. All of that was kind of pointless, since the bulge in his pants undid any semblance of composure. Peter laughed and Neal gave him a look before slipping on his jacket. Moz knocked again.

“Keep your shirt on,” Neal grumbled before opening the door.

“You ready?” Moz was, resplendent in a gray silk Nehru style jacket and his ever-present black framed glasses. He gave Neal a head-to-toe look, shook his head and answered his own question. “No, I guess not.”

“Hey there, Moz.” Peter called from the bed. He’d made no effort to get up or disguise what they’d been doing.

Moz shook his head, disgusted. “You’d think you were newlyweds, the way you go at it.”

“We are newlyweds, Moz.” Neal held up his right hand, displaying the ring Peter had put on his finger last October. “Marriage is a wonderful thing. You might want to try it one of these days.”

“Yeah, right. As if.” Moz gave him the stink-eye. “Look, you and lover boy can finish up later – the party’s about to start. Don’t want to be late.”

“Is El ready?” Neal didn’t see his old friend’s better half.

“No – she’s still fussing with her hair.” Moz rubbed at his highly polished pate. “Me, I don’t need anything more than a good buffing with a soft cloth. Told her I’d get you and then go back for her.”

“Then tell you what – why don’t we all meet in the bar in about ten minutes?”

“Ten minutes? That’s all you need?” Moz was now smirking at them. “I seem to remember a certain trip to Florida when you two went at it for hours. Days, even.”

Neal just raised an eyebrow, but Peter laughed and called out from the bed. “We still do.”

“Feh – that’s too much information, Suit. But I’ll see you downstairs.”

Moz headed off and Neal shut the door and pulled off his tie. “Ten minutes, eh? There’s a lot we can do in ten minutes.”

Peter just smiled.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Christie was surprised at how nervous Diana was. She’d been restless and fidgety for the whole trip. Normally, her wife – and God, how she loved even thinking that – was the very definition of calm, cool and collected. She’d made her mark in the State Department, not as part of the glittering diplomatic circles like her father, but as a fixer, someone with a reputation for getting impossible things done under the most difficult conditions. You needed nerves of steel when you were posted in some of the most dangerous places in the world, and Diana Berrigan had nerves not just of steel, but purest titanium.

After postings in the Middle East and Africa, there should have been no reason why Diana would get nervous about her high school reunion, but it was obvious that she was.

“Can you zip me up?” Diana came out of the bathroom, holding up a strapless corset-like top against her breasts. She moved to the mirror and Christie stood behind her, slowly raising the zipper before pressing a hot kiss on her wife’s exceedingly well-toned shoulder, and then another on the tattoo on her upper arm.

“You smell delicious and taste better.”

Diana leaned back against her. “We can still ditch this, you know.”

“I thought you wanted to attend. Having second thoughts?”

“I do and I don’t.” Diana shrugged. “It’s weird. I’ve faced down rioting hordes chanting ‘Death to America’ without a twinge, but for some stupid reason, I’ve got butterflies about seeing my old classmates.”

Christie didn’t think that was the answer, or not the entire answer. “You were out in high school, right?” She wrapped her arms around Diana’s waist and rested her cheek on her shoulder. She knew the whole story, but it didn’t hurt to ask, to give Di a chance to ground herself in her memories.

“Just for a few months. I came out during the last semester before graduation. I decided I didn’t want to live a lie anymore. “

“You told me you didn’t get a lot of flak.”

“Nope, I didn’t. You know my mother; she’s a force of nature. She went right to the school board and told them that there’d be hell to pay if I was treated badly. She must have put the fear of God into them because there were really no repercussions. Or none as long as I didn’t hold hands with my girlfriend in public or try to go to the prom. It was only going to be for a few months, so I ‘behaved’ and no one made a big deal out of it.”

“So why are you nervous now?”

“Don’t know, and it doesn’t make sense. It’s not like I haven’t kept in touch with a bunch of people - so we’ll have people to talk to.”

“The FBI agents, right? Peter and Neal?” Christie remembered a couple of guys from their wedding, and one of them had charmingly apologized for trying to feel Diana up, back in eleventh grade.

“Yeah, them.”

Their eyes met in the mirror and Christie wondered what else was going on. “Well, if you don’t want to go, we can just stay here, order room service and watch dirty movies.” Christie blushed. For some unfathomable reason, they both got off watching fake lesbians having bad sex.

Diana laughed and shook her head. “We can save that treat for later.” She turned around and kissed her. “Let’s go.”

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Sipping his gin and tonic, Moz enjoyed mentally dissecting his former classmates. Normally, he loathed schadenfreude, but he couldn’t help feeling a deep sense of joy that the guy who tormented him in ninth grade gym glass – a former varsity football player – was sporting a comb-over that would shame a weaver bird and a belly that would do Buddha proud. And he was certain that the overly-botoxed bleached blond who just ordered a Cosmo was the cheerleader who called him subhuman pond scum when he asked her for a date back in tenth grade. Time hadn’t been kind to her, either. Nor had gravity.

No one seemed to recognize him, and that was just fine. It made the people-watching all the more interesting.

“Moz, is that you?”

The voice was vaguely familiar, but the broad smile and the masses of red hair were instantly recognizable, even after thirty years. “Sara?” They’d dated on and off through most of the last two years in high school. He might not have made time with Cheerleader Barbie or Brenda or Betsy or whatever her name was, but he and Sara had been the oddest of couples.

“Got it in one, short stuff.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Moz tried not to cough as he was enveloped in a cloud of Chanel.

“Is it still Ellis? Or something else?”

“It was something else for a while, and then another something else for another while, but now it’s back to Ellis and I think it shall remain that way forever more.” She waved to get the bartender’s attention and asked for a glass of Merlot. “You?”

“Oh, it’s still Winters.”

Sara smacked him playfully. “That’s not what I mean. You married?”

Moz took a deep breath. This was a question he had encountered many times over the years. “My partner and I don’t ascribe to such bourgeoisie notions and middle class expectations.”

“Ah, so you live in a state where you can’t get married?”

Moz had to chuckle at that. “Remember what Mrs. Leahy used to say?”

Sara looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Mrs. Leahy – the American Studies teacher?”

Moz nodded.

“Give me a break. It’s been over thirty years.”

“Never assume, because when you do – “

“You make an ass out of you and me.” Sara winced. “Sorry – I did assume, when you said ‘partner’.”

Moz shrugged. “That’s okay. I sort of wanted you to draw that conclusion.”

“Oh, you and your word games.” Sara took a sip of her wine. “I guess I’m not surprised that you’d buck the system. You always seemed like you should have been born in the fifties, not the sixties. You were, well –” She bit her lip, apparently embarrassed at where her tongue was leading her.

“Odd?” Moz shrugged. “I know – and I still am.” He lifted his chin and smiled. No one was ever going to make him conform. Not unless he wanted to.

“What have you been doing with yourself?”

“A little of this, a little of that. And a whole lot of other stuff.”

“I forgot just how paranoid you were, Moz.”

“What he’s not telling you is that he’s a senior research fellow in the Chemistry Department at MIT.” Elizabeth came out of nowhere, kissed him, plucked his gin and tonic out of his hand and finished it. “It’s Sara Ellis, right?”

Moz watched with interest as El introduced herself. Back in high school, while he’d loved her from a distance for years, he hadn’t played the pure-hearted lovesick swain. He had not only dated Sara, but quite a few other girls, too. El knew this, of course, and knew that there was no reason to be jealous.

“I remember you – Ellie Mitchell, right?”

“It’s El these days, but yeah.”

“Wait, didn’t you go to the prom together? We all thought that was kind of strange – you’d been going steady with Peter Burke for years, and then you showed up with Moz.” Sara shook her head in amazement. “I want to hear this story. When did you meet up again?”

El laughed. “Oh, we never parted. At least, not permanently.”

Sara goggled at them. “Wow! You’ve been together since high school?”

El answered for them. “Pretty much. Moz was at Berkeley, and I went to Stanford. We were good friends with better benefits for a while.”

Moz had to point out, “Until she asked me for an exclusive contract during Spring Break in our junior year. An offer I didn’t hesitate to accept or ever regret.”

Sara shook her head again. “That’s really incredible – you’ve been together all this time. I can’t imagine staying together with any of my high school boyfriends.” She laughed and leaned in, “And I think one of them just lumbered by.”

“You know, we’re not the only ones who are still together.” Moz felt kind of smug, sharing that information.

“Really? Who?”

“You’ll never, ever guess.”

Sara ran through a bunch of names – the prom king and queen, of course, as well as a few couples who had spent their senior year like they were living something from a Billy Joel song. He and El took great delight in shooting each answer down.

“Aw, guys, come on – can’t you give me a hint?”

El looked at him, clearly wanting to know if she should share. Moz shook his head. “They’re here and we’re sitting with them, so you’ll find out soon enough.”

“You’re being very mean.” Sara pouted good-naturedly.

El touched Sara’s hand. “If you want, you can sit with us and we can gossip about everyone.”

“I’d like that. It’s kind of strange being here by myself. I almost didn’t come.”

Elizabeth, his loving and gallant partner, spoke for both of them. “We’re glad that you did.”

Sara smiled, grateful for the kindness. “I’m going to mingle for a bit, see who’s around. I met Diana Berrigan and her wife before, when I was checking in – I want to catch up with her. We were at grad school in Georgetown together, but I haven’t seen her in years.”

Moz felt Elizabeth stiffen. For thirty years, they never talked about what had happened. Maybe it was time.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Peter made sure he had their hotel room key in his pocket and waited patiently for Neal. They had taken more than the ten minutes they’d promised Moz – or rather Neal had. Not that Peter minded.

“You ready?” Neal emerged from the bathroom, as perfectly put together as he always was. There was no sign that Peter had threaded his fingers through Neal’s curls as Neal gave him a long and exquisitely slow blow job. There was no sign that Neal’s lips had been stretched around his cock, his mouth filled with hard, hot flesh as he sucked and licked and hummed his pleasure.

Well, no sign other than a slightly deeper pink tinge to his lips, a hint of deepness in his voice. And considering that it had been thirty years since he and Neal had seen most of the people at the reunion, it was likely that no one else would notice.

“Should I apologize for ruining your tie?”

Neal didn’t answer the question. He just licked his lips and gave him a sly smile before opening the door. “After you.”

Their room was at the end of a hallway, and there were other people coming and going – people with faces that Peter vaguely recognized. Neal looked at him again, one eyebrow raised in question. Peter tucked his arm through the crook in Neal’s elbow and they walked to the elevator.

It was almost half a lifetime since they came out to the FBI and there were few people in the Manhattan field office that didn’t know who they were to each other, but they rarely made any public displays of coupledom. Peter could count the number of times they touched each other with affection in the office on one hand, at least in front of their colleagues. He chuckled to himself.

Neal asked, of course, “What’s so funny?”

“Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“This.” Peter lifted their linked arms. “We never get to do this at the office.”

Neal seemed to read his mind. “But we do other things.”

“Yeah. Remember that time, in the storeroom on the thirty-second floor…”

“When we almost flashed the forensic analysts who were working late?” Neal seemed particularly pleased by that memory. “And then there was the other time…” Neal smiled, a grin of pure wickedness. “In the conference room, at three AM.”

“There were plenty of other times.” Peter shook his head. “Who’d think that we have such a risk kink?”

“I could go down on you in the elevator, if you want.” Neal was only half kidding.

“Here?”

“Or at the apartment?”

“What, not at the office?” Peter asked, laughter in his voice.

“I think that’s a little too risky, even for us.”

He had to agree, but he was more than a little aroused at the idea of having sex in such a publicly accessible space. Not that they’d actually do it, but it would be fodder for a more private time.

The elevator was empty, but it stopped a few times before reaching the ballroom level. Peter didn’t recognize any of the people who got on, although they looked like they were heading for the reunion too. He gave them a polite smile, the one he used just before sitting down to interview a witness. It served its purpose as the others in the elevator nodded in reply and ignored him. Peter could feel Neal shaking with suppressed laughter.

The elevator stopped and Peter let go of Neal as they got out. Before he could capture Neal’s hand again, Peter was tackled by someone. “Burke! It is you!”

Whoever it was, and Peter couldn’t break free long enough to see the guy’s face. What he got was an impression of beer and fat and stale sweat. Instinct made him want to break the man’s hold, flip him over, and plant a foot on his chest. He resisted.

Finally, the guy let go and Peter stepped back to get a good look. He had no clue who this man was. “Sorry, I don’t – “

“It’s me, Phil! Phil Kramer, don’cha remember me?”

Peter grimaced. He remembered Phil all right, especially that whiny, nasal voice. They had been friends of sorts through the early years of elementary school, until Peter had punched him in the face after Phil had played a dirty trick in a game of dodge ball.

He looked over to Neal, who was intensely studying the wallpaper pattern.

“I’m – “

Phil started talking, words spilling out like crumbs. “Whatchabeendoing? Areyoumarried? Iseeyou’vegotaringon. Isyourwifehere? Isshehot?”

Neal looked up from his perusal of the decor and held out his hand to Peter, who caught it and hauled him close. “Phil, I don’t know if you remember Neal Caffrey – he’s my husband. And as you can see, he’s very hot.” Peter gave him a very showy, very provocative kiss.

That shut Kramer up. He turned bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. “Ah – oh. Ah.” He licked his lips and started looking around the room, as if he was planning his escape.

Neal, devil that he was, held out his hand and when Kramer didn’t take it, he picked it up and gave it a double squeeze. “So good to see you, Philip – how’s life been treating you? You’re looking prosperous. How about we head over to a booth and you tell me all about the wild life of Philip Kramer” Neal ended that extraordinary offer with a sly wink.

Peter knew just what Neal was doing and for once, enjoyed someone’s homophobic reaction. Kramer went a brighter shade of red, yanked his hand from Neal’s and wiped it on his pants before excusing himself with a mumble.

Neal grinned at the man’s retreating back, hands in his pockets. “That was … satisfying.”

Peter draped an arm around his husband’s shoulder and pulled him close, whispering, “I love it when you’re evil.” He bit Neal’s earlobe for good measure. The sense of reckless freedom was almost intoxicating and when he felt Neal’s hum of pleasure, he wanted to find a not-so-dark corner and spend the evening making out with him like a pair of teenagers.

Those plans were cut short when someone else called out his name. And Neal’s.

At least this time, he recognized the voice and it was one he was happy to hear. “Diana! How are you?”

“Good.” She hugged him first, then Neal. “You remember my wife, Christie.”

Of course he did. They’d met at her wedding to Diana last autumn. The four of them made small talk for a few minutes, when Diana noticed the rings on their fingers. “You tied the knot, too!”

“Yeah, around Columbus Day. It was a small ceremony, just a few local friends and my dad.” Peter felt embarrassed that he and Neal hadn’t reciprocated with an invitation.

Christie stepped in and covered the awkwardness. “No need to apologize. Our wedding was more of a well-managed political event than a ceremony celebrating the union of two people in love. I think that, given the choice, we would have eloped. Seven hundred wedding guests was probably six hundred and seventy-five too many.”

Peter laughed. At the time, Neal had commented at the reception that they probably had only been invited to make sure that Diana had her fair share of the guest list. They’d kept in touch with Diana over the years, but they weren’t close, not like they were with Moz and Elizabeth. Which reminded him, El and Moz were probably waiting.

“Shall we go in?” Peter resisted offering either woman his arm. Neither Diana nor Christie would appreciate the display of gender-based courtesy. Instead, he grabbed Neal’s hand and they headed over to the bar.

But passage wasn’t smooth, or without delay. They stopped and said hello to dozens of familiar faces before pausing to watch the display of old yearbook photos flashing on a wall.

“God, we were all so young.” An image of Peter in his varsity baseball uniform appeared. It was soon replaced by a shot of Moz and Neal standing around a chessboard. A few other club and team photos following, including one of the girls’ swim team – with their state championship medals around their necks. Peter thought he recognized a few of the girls, including Diana, but before he could ask, another picture appeared - Diana was holding a small trophy, and the caption said that she and Elizabeth Mitchell had won first and second prize at the Northeast Regional French language contest.

“Look at you! You were so cute with all that hair.” Christie actually cooed. “Who’s that standing next to you?”

Unlike everyone else, Diana wasn’t smiling and Peter was surprised at how reluctant her answer was. “That’s Elizabeth Mitchell.” The two girls had their arms wrapped around each other’s waists. Their teacher was standing behind them

“She’s pretty, but not as pretty as you.”

Neal added, “You and Elizabeth were good friends in high school. Best friends, right?”

“We were.” Diana’s answer was surprisingly unadorned.

Christie commented, “You’ve never mentioned her. I guess you didn’t you stay in touch.”

Diana shook her head. “No, we lost track of each other. She went to school in California and I went to Oxford. We haven’t seen each other since graduation.”

Peter had forgotten about Diana and Elizabeth. They’d been inseparable for most of their junior and senior years. He’d forgotten how proud he’d been that Elizabeth had stood by Diana when she came out, that she had been very public in her friendship when everyone else had treated Diana like she had a disease.

“Well, you’ll see her tonight. She and Moz are waiting for us. We can sit together at dinner.”

Diana seemed hesitant. “I saw Sara Ellis when we were checking in, I thought we’d sit with her.”

Peter smiled. “I always liked Sara. It will be good to see her – is she here with anyone?”

Diana shook her head. “No. She mentioned that she ditched husband number two and was enjoying life without a plus-one.”

“Then she can sit with us.”

Neal chuckled. “That will make for a very interesting table.”

Christie asked “What do mean?”

“Well, let’s see … Moz and Sara dated on and off throughout their junior and senior years. Peter and El – Elizabeth – were an item through those years, too. Peter broke it off with Elizabeth when we got together. Moz was a hero and asked Elizabeth to the prom. Apparently, he’d been in love with her for years and was just waiting for the chance.”

“And of course, let’s not forget that Peter had once tried to put the moves on my wife.” Christie added.

“And got slugged in the balls for the effort,” Peter had to add.

“I don’t like bulges.” Diana said in repressive tones. Everyone laughed, but Peter couldn’t help but wonder at the odd tension coming from Diana. He caught Neal’s eye and from his husband’s expression, he felt it too.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Christie wasn’t oblivious to the odd undercurrents swirling around their table. It wasn’t the old romantic connections between Peter and Elizabeth and Moz and Sara, but the discomfort that seemed to center on Diana and Elizabeth. The woman seemed nice, devoted to her partner, smart and funny, too. Christie could easily see her and Diana as friends. Except that the two of them could barely look in each other’s direction.

People – old friends and acquaintances – stopped by. Neal seemed particularly popular with a certain group of woman, and he took great delight in introducing Peter as his husband. The women’s reactions were almost universally shocked.

Christie had to ask. “So, you weren’t out in high school?”

“Hell, no. Diana was the brave one. Peter and I, we – well … “

Neal’s voice trailed off and he gave his husband a rueful look. There was a story there, but Christie had a feeling that she shouldn’t pry. But she wanted to keep the conversation going and away from any minefields.

“You said that you and Mozzie – “ Christie turned to the short, bald man sitting next to her “I can call you Mozzie, right?”

“Sweet lady, you can call me anything, except late to dinner.” Everyone groaned at the old saw.

“You and Mozzie were friends since elementary school, right?”

Neal answered, “Yeah – actually, almost all of us have known each other since elementary school. Except for Sara.”

Sara gave a self-deprecating shrug. “I was born in Seattle and didn’t move here until I was fourteen. So, thirty-three years later, I’m still the New Girl.”

Moz picked up the thread of the conversation. “Neal and I go back the longest – we’ve been friends since first grade.”

Christie took a sip of her wine and choked when Neal piped up, “We bonded over titties.”

Moz laughed, but he took off his glasses and wiped them. “Actually, there was a lot more to it than that… ”

Brookville Falls Public Library – November, 1971

There were few safe places in Teddy Winter’s world.

School wasn’t one of them – everyone was bigger than he was. Stupider maybe, but bigger. They shoved him in the hallway, tormented him during recess, and the teachers never seemed to notice, or maybe they didn’t care. Teddy expected it was a combination of both.

He was small, pale and wore glasses. He didn’t have a winning personality either. One of the side effects of being a too self-aware seven year old. He wasn’t interested in the things the other kids liked and he didn’t know how to pretend that he did.

His mother, when she woke from a drunken stupor, looked at him like she didn’t recognize that he was her son. If he didn’t move fast enough with a fresh bottle, she’d slap him and call him a useless turd that she should have aborted.

Teddy didn’t know what she meant by that until he looked up the word in the biggest dictionary he could find. He wondered if that might have been a better choice that this existence.

His father, when he bothered to come home, was worse. Where Teddy’s mother kept her hand open when she hit him, his father preferred his fists. Teddy learned to keep out of the way when the man was in the house, which meant staying away from the house as much as possible. His father wasn’t the out of sight – out of mind kind of idiot. He’d go hunting for him, looking in closets and in the crawl spaces and dragging him out by the ankles if he found him to punish him for some imagined infraction.

At least his father was away most of the time, selling who knew what to God knew who.

He was coming home today, he was always home on the second Friday of the month. Teddy didn’t know why, but he recognized the pattern. A few weeks ago, at the beginning of the school year, he had forged a note from his mother. It that said that it was okay for the bus driver to let him off at the public library whenever he wanted to. The bus driver wasn’t happy about it – Teddy was only seven, but a note was a note and she always made sure that he actually went into the library before pulling away.

To Teddy, the library was a palace, a place of wonder and miracles and joy. For a few hours, he could be anyone he wanted, he could pretend that he was a superhero or a scientist or a great adventurer. Most of the librarians didn’t even notice him, but there was one who did. She had a nice smile and would let him listen to records from the adult section.

Yesterday, she told him that she had a special treat – there was a brand new version of Mozart’s most famous work. She called it “A Little Night Music” even though the cover of the phonograph album said something else – Eine kleine Nachtmusik

“You’re the first person to listen to it.”

Teddy actually had held his breath as she fitted the child-sized headphones over his ears and carefully dropped the needle on the turntable. The music was a wonder, happy and exciting and thrilling. As he listened, Teddy wondered if this was what it was like to ride in a rocket ship.

Miss Jeffries had introduced him to all kinds of music. Some he didn’t like – like jazz, but others he did. He liked Beethoven and Bach and Brahms, but Mozart was always his favorite. He loved that composer so much that Miss Jeffries called him her little Mozart. Or sometimes just “Moz.”

Today wasn’t going to be spent listening to music. Miss Jeffries didn’t work on Fridays and none of the other librarians would let him listen to the adult records. They said he could play the records from the children’s section. Teddy didn’t like those records. They were stupid.

So he made his way to the back of the library, a special corner that he found over the summer. It was near his favorite section – the oversized art books. Some of the books were almost as big as he was, but that didn’t matter. He’d always manage to get the ones he wanted off the shelf by himself. He’d learned not to ask any of the librarians or aides for help, they thought he was too young to be looking at these books. He didn’t understand why. Books were good things. Unlike people, books couldn’t hurt you.

Unless they fell on you, of course.

Teddy was looking forward to settling into his safe place, but was utterly dismayed to find it already occupied. By another kid.

He knew the boy. They were in the same first grade class, but they might have been on different planets. This kid was popular. The teacher, Mrs. Abrams, liked him (she never yelled at him and always picked him when he raised his hand). All of the other kids liked him, too. He was the king of the playground, always organizing games and stuff like that. Teddy wanted to despise him, but the other boy was smart. As smart as he was, and Teddy had to respect that.

His name was Neal.

Neal was sitting in his favorite corner, looking at his favorite book and Teddy wanted to cry. It wasn’t fair. Everyone liked Neal and Neal always got picked first and now Neal had taken his best place and his best book.

He was going to find another spot except that he tripped and crashed into one of the stepstools and Neal looked up. “You okay.”

He was, except for a bruise on his knee. Which would probably match the bruise on his stomach. “Yeah, fine.”

“You’re Teddy, right? Teddy Winters? We’re in Mrs. Abrams class.”

“Of course we are, dork, you sit two rows across from me.” Teddy bit his lip. That came out too loud and he didn’t want to get thrown out of the library.

Neal didn’t seem to take offense. “Yeah. And we’re in the same reading group.”

Teddy stood there, not knowing what to do or what to say.

Neal did, though. “You like the story we read today?”

He made a face. “Not really – seemed kind of stupid to me.”

“Me, too. Puss in Boots – that’s a story for babies. I like this better.” Neal struggled to lift the oversized art book off his lap.

Teddy bit his lip. “That’s my favorite book.”

Neal smiled and he felt himself smiling, too.

“Want to look at it together? There are pictures of naked ladies in it.” Neal whispered those words.

“I know.”

Neal scooted over and made just enough room for him to squeeze in and settle the book across both their laps. They took turns and flipped the pages slowly, like each new picture was something to be savored.

“Someday I’m going to be a great artist and I’ll draw all of these pictures so we can have our own books.” Neal looked at him, he was biting his lip like he said something he shouldn’t have.

“You’re a really good artist.” Neal was. His pictures were always up on the bulletin board and the art teacher, Mrs. Jacobs, said that Neal had the most talent of any first grader she’d ever seen.

“Thanks.” Neal’s reply was shy.

They turned a few more pages, coming to a picture of a statute. “That’s the Venus de Milo.” Teddy pointed to the words underneath the picture.

Neal asked, “Why doesn’t she have any arms?”

“Dunno.” A terrible thought occurred to him and the words left his lips before he could stop them. “Maybe her father broke them off.”

Neal looked at him with wide blue eyes. He whispered, “Why?”

“Maybe she was bad. Or her father was angry at her for something.”

“Daddies don’t do that.”

Teddy said, “That’s what you think,” and bit his lip, knowing that he just revealed way too much.

Neal just looked at him like he was about to cry. “My daddy’s a police officer. He carries a gun. Maybe he can shoot your daddy if he hits you again.”

Teddy sniffed. “It’s okay. My dad’s not around that much. I stay out of his way. He’s home tonight, but I’ll be okay.”

Neal didn’t say anything. He turned the page, the next picture was a lady standing on a shell with lots of bright red hair. Teddy traced the figure with his finger. “She’s pretty.”

They looked at the picture and Neal told him it was his turn to turn the page. The next picture was boring – lots of strange people doing weird things. He turned the page again.

“Hey, sport! There you are.” Teddy looked up. There was a man and he was smiling.

“Daddy!” Neal got up in a rush, dumping the book. Teddy tried not to cry out when it banged against his bruised stomach.

He tried not to be envious of Neal as the man picked him up and swung him around before hugging him. He tried not to wish he had a daddy who’d do that, not caring that this was a library and everyone was supposed to be quiet. He tried, but failed.

“Put me down.” Neal demanded and his father did, carefully setting him on his feet before ruffling his hair. “Um, Daddy?” Neal picked up his father’s hand.

“Yeah, sport?”

“This is Teddy – he’s in my class. His –” Neal paused and looked at him before looking back at his father. “His mom and dad have to go out tonight and he doesn’t have anyone at home. Can he come stay with me and you and Mommy tonight?”

Neal’s daddy got down on one knee and put his hands on Teddy’s shoulders. “Is that true, son?”

Teddy didn’t know how to answer. He didn’t want to lie and he didn’t want to get Neal in trouble for lying, but he didn’t want to go home, either. Or spend the night in the shed in the backyard, hiding. So he didn’t say anything.

Neal tugged at his dad’s sleeve and pulled him away. Teddy couldn’t hear what he was saying but he could imagine. He wanted to run away.

But he didn’t get a chance. Neal’s dad came back and gave him a smile. Teddy didn’t understand that smile, it wasn’t real, but it wasn’t mean, either.

“Teddy, do you like meatloaf?”

He said yes. Not that he liked meatloaf, at least not the meatloaf they served in the cafeteria on Thursdays. But it seemed polite and Neal was nodding like his head was going to fall off.

“Okay, then.” Neal’s dad held out his hand and Teddy took it. Neal took his father’s other hand and they left the library. Teddy felt so happy it was hard to breathe, like he did when he listened to Mozart. Only better.



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