The bell rang. The next class was journalism. Ben found himself eager to revisit the scene of the crime, to discover what had happened. Mrs. Jones was standing outside the door, surrounded by a half moon of students.

“No one may enter,” she announced. “There has been an incident. We’ll be using room 2E6 in the meantime.”

Ben waited nervously for her to acknowledge him. Her eyes met his momentarily as she mentally counted to see if all of her students were present. There was no moment of recognition or even suspicion. She had no idea! The weight left his chest so suddenly that he almost laughed out loud. He had gotten away with it!

Once situated in the replacement classroom, Mrs. Jones emotionally described what had happened. A few of the students seemed upset at the news that their work was ruined, while others snickered. Ben put on his best concerned look as Mrs. Jones repeated the same information over and over, which basically boiled down to her knowing nothing.

“When will we be able to use the darkroom again?” asked a girl who was particularly keen on photography.

“Tomorrow maybe, or the next day. The police don’t want anything disturbed until they can dust for prints.”

The weight returned, knocking the smugness out of Ben like the oxygen from his lungs. Tim grabbing the desk drawers and yanking them out replayed itself in his mind. There would be prints on those stainless steel handles, he was sure. His own would be on the fire extinguisher. But did it really matter? It’s not like either of them had a criminal history. The police wouldn’t have his prints on record, would they?

A vague childhood memory came rushing back. His mom had taken him to the public library, where his prints and a mug shot had been taken. He remembered playing cops and robbers with Karen afterwards. This had been for a missing child database, a surefire way a child could be identified under dire circumstances. His fingerprints had been much smaller then, but Ben knew their pattern never changed.

Tim’s prints might be on file for a similar reason. They hadn’t gotten away with it at all. They just hadn’t been caught yet! In the next half hour Ben thought long and hard about what to do. Short of burning the school down and destroying all the evidence, he felt there was only one option left to him.

“I did it,” he croaked, interrupting Mrs. Jones as she tried to dole out an assignment.

“What did you say?” prompted a guy next to him, not believing what he had heard.

“I did it,” Ben said louder, attracting the attention of the entire class. “There’s no sense in wasting the time of the police because it was me who trashed your room.”

He looked up to see a condescending look on Mrs. Jones’s face, one that scolded him for making a tasteless joke. She didn’t believe him!

“I’m not fucking kidding!” he swore.

Now he had her attention. He was out in the hall in seconds, an explanation being demanded of him.

“You shouldn’t have changed my poem,” he said extra loud in the hopes that the other students would hear. He wanted the whole school to know why he had done it.

A crow’s talons fastened around his arm as Mrs. Jones escorted him to the principal’s office, yammering the whole way, her disbelief sliding into anger. He tuned her out, focusing instead on his plan. It was very important that he never slip up, never make any mention of Tim or another person. He was only turning himself in to protect Tim and didn’t want to make any mistakes.

His parents were called. Ben was interrogated by both the principal and Mrs. Jones until they arrived. By the time they did, his story was flawless in his mind. He parroted the details to them, not expressing any remorse. The police were sent for and he gave a statement, repeating the story for a third time, making sure this time to emphasize that he felt discriminated against. The principle looked only slightly concerned at this new twist. Had it been a matter of race or religion, it might have been taken more seriously.

Ben was suspended for three days, which made him laugh. How was taking three days off a punishment? There were the damages to be paid for, too. Ben vowed on the car ride home that he would handle it and not a dime would come out of his parents’ pockets. This did little to calm them. They lectured him repeatedly, telling him what he already knew: He should have fought with words, used his mind instead of violence.

Ben knew it was true, and he might have felt ashamed had he done it alone. Instead he cherished the Bonnie and Clyde moment that he and Tim had shared together. He enjoyed playing the martyr, too. He had made a sacrifice, taken a bullet for his lover. In his mind it was the perfect expression of how he felt about Tim.

__________

Chapter 14

“I owe you.”

Tim’s voice rumbled into the ear that Ben had pressed against his chest, startling him just as he was dozing off.

“Hm?”

“I owe you,” Tim repeated, shifting so Ben was forced to raise his head and look up at him. “Big time. I’ll pay for the damages, how does that sound?”

Ben yawned and propped himself up on an elbow. “There is something I’ve been thinking of,” he said.

“Name it. My parents would have killed me if we’d been caught. Whatever you want, it’s yours.”

“It’s your parents I had in mind,” Ben said hesitantly. “I want to meet them.”

Tim snorted, but the amused expression left his face when Ben failed to smile. “No way.”

“Fine, your car then.” Ben slumped over onto his back. “Sign it over to me. Or dinner with your parents, you decide.”

“Why would you even want to meet them?” Tim asked. “They’re just as old and boring as anyone else’s parents.”

“They’re a part of your life, that’s why.”

“No they aren’t.”

“They are!” Ben insisted. “You may not always see eye to eye with them, but they raised you, and they know you better than anyone else in the world.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. My parents aren’t the same as yours.”

“How many times do I sneak over a week?” Ben asked, changing his tactic.

“I don’t know. Three times?”

“It’s inevitable that one night I am going to run into your mom checking to make sure the door is locked, or your dad getting a glass of water. It would be nice if they recognized me so they don’t shoot me on sight.”

Tim was silent and Ben let him think. “Okay,” he said eventually. “Come over this weekend. You can say ‘hi’ to them before we head out to Splashtown.”

“Dinner,” Ben persisted.

“How am I supposed to manage that?”

Ben smiled, enjoying his victory. “You’ll think of something.”

* * * * *

Weeks went by before the dinner took place. Tim complained that parents usually insisted on meeting friends, and that reversing the request was weird. Eventually, Mrs. Wyman cooked something large enough that Tim hurriedly called Ben so he could show up “unexpectedly.” Everything went according to plan. Tim answered the door and then asked his parents, as casually as possible, if Ben could join them. His parents agreed, even though they didn’t look particularly pleased with the idea.

Ben, dressed as snazzy as possible without appearing too formal, took his seat across from Tim at the narrow dining room table. His feet accidentally brushed against Tim’s leg, which recoiled defensively. Ben gave him the most positive and reassuring look possible, before turning his attention to Tim’s parents. Mrs. Wyman was even more beautiful than he remembered. She was spry and energetic as she busied herself about the table, attending to her role as hostess with great seriousness.

Mr. Wyman sat rigid in his chair as he watched his wife work. Much of Tim’s handsomeness came from him, but the stoic demeanor was thankfully not something he had inherited. With his grey hair and stillness, Tim’s father could have been made of stone.