Robbie Templeton wasn’t.

He remembered how his heart had stopped a few weeks ago when Lexi announced blithely: “I know why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

Skipping around the kitchen in her favorite neon-pink princess dress, sipping cherry Coke through a swirly straw, she fluttered her eyelashes at Robbie like Mae West.

Four years old, and already she’s better at flirting than I am.

“No you don’t, Lexi.”

“I do.”

Did she? Was it that obvious?

Robbie tried really hard never to look at other boys in public. So hard it sometimes made his eyes ache. Certainly he never did it at school. Not because he was scared of what the other kids might say, but because he was disgusted by his own feelings, consumed with a shame he could neither understand nor express. He couldn’t be gay. He refused to be gay. Besides, if you never did anything about your urges, if you never acted on them, then you weren’t technically gay at all. You were just confused. Weren’t you?

Lexi gazed up at him adoringly.

“It’s because you’re waiting for me to grow up so you can marry me. Right?”

The relief was so overwhelming, Robbie burst out laughing. Scooping his sister up into his arms, he twirled her around till she squealed with delight.

“That’s right, sweetheart. That’s exactly right.”

“I’m your princess.”

“Yes, Lexi. You’re my princess.”

Suddenly a voice yelled, “Open your eyes, moron!”

Robbie glanced up. He’d been so engrossed in his own thoughts he wasn’t looking where he was going. He’d bumped into a businessman on his way to lunch, knocking him clean off his feet.

The man bellowed, “What are you, retarded or something? Freak.”

“Sorry. I didn’t see you.”

Robbie kept walking, head down. Inside his head, the tape kept playing, over and over:

He’s right. I am a freak.

He had no idea where he was going. He knew he’d have to go home eventually, but he couldn’t face it right now. Walking into Grand Central station, he bought a ticket for the first train to anywhere and jumped on board.

FOUR

THE GIRL WAS A REDHEAD. SHE HAD HUGE BREASTS THAT seemed to wriggle like puppies beneath her tight angora sweater. Her black leather miniskirt was so short that Robbie could see the daisy pattern on her white cotton panties.

Her name was Maureen Swanson. She was captain of the cheerleading squad, the most popular girl in school. Every guy at St. Bede’s wanted to fuck her brains out.

Almost every guy.

Maureen Swanson stared at Robbie. “Don’t I know you?”

Robbie looked at his shoes.

“Hey. Rain Man. I’m talking to you. Hellooooo?”

It was just his luck. Of all the hundreds, maybe even thousands, of trains leaving Grand Central that afternoon, he had to pick the one with Maureen the Mammary Monster on board.

“You’re the Blackwell kid, aren’t you?”

Robbie looked around for a means of escape but there was none. The car was packed with commuters. He was hemmed in like a sardine in a tin.

“Bobby, right? Tenth grade?”

“Robbie.”

“I knew it!” Maureen couldn’t have looked more triumphant if she’d just solved the riddle of the Sphinx or discovered the meaning of life. “Robbie Blackwell.”

Hearing the name Blackwell, other passengers turned to look at Robbie. Some of them stared quite openly. Was he really one of them?

“Actually, my name is Templeton. And you don’t know me. We never met.”

Maureen rose to her feet, eliciting admiring glances from the more circumspect businessmen and wolf whistles from the braver ones. The women in the car glared at her.

“Well, Robbie Templeton.” Maureen smiled lasciviously, easing herself down onto Robbie’s lap. “We can soon fix that.”

Robbie felt his insides liquefy. Not with desire. With fear. Why the hell hadn’t he thrown himself onto the tracks when he’d had the chance? Anything would have been better than the death by smothering he was about to endure in the rift-valley of Maureen Swanson’s cleavage.

“Where are you headed?”

It was a good question. Where was he headed? He still had no idea. The train had started to slow down. A disembodied voice informed the passengers that they were approaching Yonkers.

“Yonkers. This is my stop.”

Extricating himself from Maureen’s viselike embrace, he began to elbow his way through the human wall of commuters, only just making it out before the car door closed. He stood on the platform as the train pulled away.

Thank God. She’s gone.

Maureen Swanson’s voice rang out behind him: “What a coincidence. This is my stop, too.”

Robbie’s heart sank.

How had she made it off the train without him noticing? Who was she, Harriet Houdini?

Maureen Swanson was two years older than Robbie Templeton. Maureen Swanson was also a goddess. The type of girl who could have any guy she wanted. Of course, the guys Maureen Swanson wanted were college linebackers built like O. J. Simpson. Robbie was built more like Wallis Simpson. Handsome undoubtedly, but at fifteen still small and slight and looking every inch the tenth grader that he was.

On the other hand, Robbie was also the heir to the Kruger-Brent fortune. For $10 billion, it appeared, Maureen Swanson was prepared to make an exception to her usual dating criteria. Robbie Templeton might not be built like a football player, but he was worth more money than most pros.

Maureen smiled. “I know a guy who lives around here. There’s always a party going on at his place. You wanna check it out?”

Robbie weighed his options. He did not want to check it out. He did not want to go to a party, especially not with Maureen Swanson. He wanted to be left alone so that he could go and kill himself somewhere, quietly, without his last memory being a pair of Dolly Parton breasts or daisy-patterned panties from JCPenney. Was that so much to ask?

And yet…A party meant other people. Noise. Drugs. Distractions for Maureen.

Drugs.

Robbie shrugged. What the hell.

“Sure, why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.”

When Peter Templeton got home that evening, he expected to find his son waiting for him.

“Robert!”

He let the front door slam shut behind him.

“ROBERT!”

Peter Templeton no longer felt guilty about slapping Robert that afternoon. He was against physical violence generally, especially as a form of parental control. But desperate times called for desperate measures. Robert had stood in his office, laughing at him. Actually laughing. After all the trouble he’d caused the family: the expulsions, the run-ins with the police, the shoplifting. After all the money and time that Peter had personally spent trying to help him, all the therapists and vacations and hundred-dollar-an-hour piano lessons, Robert still thought of the situation as one big joke.

Well, the joke was on him this time. Peter Templeton had had enough.

Bounding up the stairs two at a time in the direction of Robbie’s bedroom, Peter ran into the housekeeper, Mrs. Carter. She was standing on the landing. She looked apologetic.

“I’m afraid Master Robert’s not here, sir. We haven’t seen him since he left for school this morning. Is something wrong?”

Peter scowled. “Damn right something’s wrong. He’s gone and gotten himself kicked out of St. Bede’s. I doubt there’s a school left in the state of New York that would take him now. Frankly, I can’t say I blame them.”

“Oh dear.”

Mrs. Carter wrung her hands despairingly. She adored Robbie, but he did seem to be getting himself into an awful lot of scrapes lately.

“Robbie? Is that you?”

Lexi had heard the front door slam and came running out of the nursery in her nightgown, eager to see her brother. As always, Peter’s heart lifted at the sight of her.