A Different Shade of Blue: Rust Book 2 Read online

  “Heterochromia. It’s genetic, not contacts or any of that shit so don’t even ask,” the boy told him, his mouth still set into that heavy frown. He leaned down again and extended his arm, offering Bryson a hand despite his obvious displeasure. “Are you getting up or not?”

  Up. Yes, up was probably a good idea and so Bryson took the offered hand and dragged himself out of the bush. He busied himself with wiping off pine needles and dirt, his formerly pristine uniform askew and his bag resting on the steps but at least with the contents intact. For an awkward moment he didn’t even say anything, still stunned from his tumble and the shock of it all, but it was the boy who once again shook him out of his head and back to reality.

  “Yeah, well, you’re welcome I guess. Also maybe watch where you’re going next time, because if you want to get technical about it I think you ran into me.”

  “Excuse me?” Bryson asked, looking up from where he was trying to neaten his tie. His first-period teacher, Mr. Porter, had a thing about both tardiness and being slovenly and he wasn’t looking to get called out on the very first day for either. “I was just minding my business and you plowed into me like you’re a linebacker for the Raiders. I think you’re the one who needs to watch where you’re going. Who are you anyway?”

  Woodside Academy wasn’t exactly the most exclusive school in the world, not even in the state of Georgia, but required decent grades to get admitted and the tuition was more than the average working-class family could typically afford. There were a limited number of scholarship students admitted every year though, but nobody new had joined the current senior class since Bryson himself had shown up nearly two years ago. He knew all his classmates and most of the kids younger than himself, so this guy had to be a transfer.

  “My name is Aidan Driscoll, and I will only tell you one more time. Watch where you’re going, and preferably stay out of my way. I’m new here, but I’m not a pushover. I say you ran into me, so you ran into me. Don’t do it again, because I’m not always so forgiving,” Aidan told him, with words biting as he stared Bryson up and down, his thoughts on what he saw unclear based on his flat facial expression.

  Aidan turned and headed on into the school, following the flood of students who were rushing to beat the first bell and leaving Bryson standing alone on the steps. The whole thing had happened so fast that his head was reeling a bit, and it took him a moment to get it together and gather up his bag. He fished out his schedule and plunged into the fray too, shaking it off with a few deep breaths like the therapist had taught him to do.

  “One step at a time,” he muttered to himself as he navigated around his peers, waving to folks who called out to him and stopping once or twice to give a hug or a high five. He finally made it to his locker, the same trusty two-oh-five that he’d had since he’d started at Woodside, testing out the combination even though he had nothing to deposit inside yet. Once the primary inspection was done he continued on to his Latin class, easing into a seat by the window.

  Mr. Porter drifted into the room just as the second bell called out the final warning, the classroom growing hushed as the man took to the dry erase board to outline their upcoming year. Once a physical copy of the syllabus was in hand Bryson checked out a little, letting his gaze drift around the room. He noted which friends from the previous year were sharing the class with him, and who was there that he’d rather avoid. He took in how people had changed over the summer, everyone looking just a little older now. Several people had already turned eighteen during the break, and more of them still would be hitting adulthood over the course of the year. For some the changes had proven to be awkward- Becky Mortell still had her braces on, the poor thing, but for others things were looking up.

  He really couldn’t help but notice Peter Donovan, a boy sitting in the front row closest to the door. When they’d left school last May he had been a mess, still growing into his nose with a face pocked by acne. Something magical had happened over the summer though, because Peter looked almost devastatingly handsome. His skin was smooth and clear, and his face suddenly fit all of his previously exaggerated features. His hazel eyes complimented his copper colored hair nicely, and he seemed to fill out his uniform better. It was a sight to behold, and Bryson couldn’t help but to notice that he wasn’t the only one looking.

  A few of the girls were also staring, whispering back and forth whenever Mr. Porter turned his back to them. Part of him badly wanted to join in on their conversation, but that was a part of him he squashed down and tried to suffocate out. It made him feel ashamed and he could tell that his face was getting hot. He slid down in his desk, like that would somehow make the uncomfortable thoughts disappear, though he knew better than to believe that.

  Bryson really couldn’t have told you the exact moment when he’d realized that he liked to look at other boys the way he was supposed to be looking at girls. He’d always felt that hot breath of shame on his face whenever he allowed his thoughts to lean that way, and he always tried his best to pretend that it wasn’t happening. He could remember grappling with it at a young age, suffering silently with his secret for a lot of years. He hadn’t even told Alec, and sometimes he felt a swift rush of regret mingled with grief. He knew that Alec never would have been ashamed of him, and would never have turned his back on him, and now there wasn’t anyone to tell. Or, at least, not anyone who would really understand him and the situation.

  He could probably have told Colleen, which was the closest thing he had to a best friend here in Atlanta. They had met his first day at Woodside and had hit it off, paired together in science lab. He didn’t think she’d be upset if he told her the truth, but it was sometimes hard to tell about people. That, at least, was something that Rust and Atlanta both had in common. You could never quite judge people well enough to know what they might think about the real you, so it was easier to put up a front and keep that wall between you and the rest of the world. Eventually he’d want to live his life without a safety net, but for now? Well, for now, this was better. He had kept his secret for as many years, what was a few more months? Once graduation was over and he was out on his own it would be an entirely different story, but it was just better to stick with the safer option.

  Latin class eventually ended, and the motions of the day began. There was calculus, which was followed by English. Fourth period for him was a study hall, backed up by lunch, which meant he had a brief stretch of freedom that he found rather enjoyable. It was at lunch when he finally met up with Colleen, her uniform skirt a little too short and her platform army boots not even close to regulation. She was perched on a hardback chair at a round table in the middle of the cafeteria, poised over a lunch she’d brought from home. She was constantly trying new, weird foods and grossing out Bryson with them (which he secretly enjoyed but would never admit to out loud). It was part of their comradery and he wouldn’t have changed it for anything, even if that meant having to see a new bizarre meal every day for the rest of his life.

  Bryson himself had forgotten to pack a lunch that morning, his mother’s talk about Alec throwing him off his routine. So, he settled for buying the hot lunch, drifting through the line to survey the choices. He finally settled on a piece of square pizza, a small salad, and a cup of fruit, vowing to pick up something delicious for dinner that night. Balancing his tray, he made his way to the table, sliding into the free chair across from Colleen. It relieved him to see that she had a simple sandwich in front of her, and nothing gross that he’d have to complain about. He had bigger, better things to bitch about today than her food choices.

  “Have you met the new guy yet?” He asked, taking a small bite of his pizza. The crust was sort of cold and he made a face, putting dressing on the salad in a feeble attempt to add actual flavor and make it edible. “He’s a real piece of work, let me tell you. Like unbelievably rude.”

  Colleen looked up from picking the crusts off her bread, raising one perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “You mean the Driscoll guy from New Jersey? The one with a rap sheet who totally got busted smoking in the quad during second-period study hall? That new guy?”

  Bryson leaned forward a little; eyes wide at all the new information coming to him. “Yeah, him! You met him?”

  “Nope,” Colleen shrugged, finally taking a bite of her tuna on wheat. “No clue who he is.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Bryson asked, mouth hanging open a little. “Colleen! How the hell do you know all of that if you haven’t even seen the guy yet?”

  “People talk, Boo Boo, and I listen,” Colleen told him, a little smirk playing at her lips. “You need to engage people more, Bry. If you did then maybe they’d open up more around you. Do what I do, just ease yourself into the mix. Before you know it everyone is including you and you know all the good gossip. You really have got to work on not being so introverted all the time. I know plenty about your boy Driscoll, without having to ever lay eyes on him. Though now I’m dying to know just how you know him already.”

  Bryson made a face, mostly about being called Boo Boo, and took a bite of the fruit cup. It was the most tolerable food on the plate, though he was already planning a future letter to the school paper about it. Their parents paid entirely too much for tuition to a place that couldn’t even manage to serve them a decent meal. It was a real travesty.

  “I ran into him on the front steps this morning. Or, actually, he ran into me. He knocked me into the bushes and after helping me out basically told me it was my fault and to stay out of his way,” he told her, making a face as he reached for his bottle of water to wash down the fruit with. “I don’t think he’s somebody I’m out to meet again anytime soon, but he certainly makes an impression. A horrible one, but an impression just the same. He has two different colored eyes though, which w
as pretty interesting. Definitely never seen that before.”

  Collen was full-on smirking now, and Bryson squirmed a little under her leveled gaze. “Oh, so you got up close and personal with the new boy. I really gotta catch a glimpse of this guy now! Between what you just told me and all the rumors I’ve heard, I’m sufficiently intrigued.”

  Bryson finished the fruit and shoved his tray aside, pulling out his schedule again to go over his afternoon classes. “Well, we’re bound to see him at some point. I mean we probably won’t go the entire day without having him in one of our classes.”

  That statement of fact turned out to be incredibly untrue, however, because they found out via word of mouth in sixth period that Aidan Driscoll had already had a meeting with the principal and his parents for his smoking in the quad stunt. It was quite a record accomplishment, getting in trouble in the first few hours of a new school year, but he had somehow managed that.

  Bryson was thinking about Aidan as he headed to his robotics team meeting, a few pine needles falling out of his bag as he draped it over his shoulder. This new guy sounded like bad news, and definitely not like somebody he wanted on his radar. He was volatile and apparently had a penchant for finding trouble, two things Bryson didn’t need or want in his life. He had enough on his plate with his parents and his own emotional turmoil, and the last thing in the world he needed or wanted was someone else’s issues on his shoulders.

  Chapter Three

  After his robotics club meeting, Bryson was riding a total high on his way to pick up dinner for his mother and himself. The team had unanimously voted him the captain, and they’d had an amazing brainstorm session that had left them all feeling hopeful for a state championship that coming spring. He was elated as he called to order Thai take out, stopping for a pint of pineapple frozen yogurt to take home before picking up the rest of the food. He was still in good spirits right up until he walked into the house, wiping his shoes on the mat, and sliding his school bag off his shoulder and onto the floor.

  His mother was there, hopping around in the living room on one foot as she struggled to get her second high-heeled shoe on. She saw him staring and cracked a smile at him, looking apologetic but also practically glowing with her excitement.

  “I have a date tonight,” she told him, trying not to sound too enthusiastic but just barely able to hold herself back. “Charles is taking me out to dinner again. You remember Charles, don’t you? The banker who drives the white Corvette?”

  Bryson did remembered Charles, but not for his Corvette. He remembered him more for his obvious hairpiece that was just one shade off from the rest of his hair. He hadn’t pointed that out to his mother, he didn’t want to rain on her parade, but he couldn’t believe she was going out with a guy like that. Not that he found Charles to be particularly sleazy or scummy, just that he was not exactly what Bryson himself had pictured for his mother when and if she decided to date again.

  She had started dating about six months ago and it had honestly been good for her. It got her out of the house, and it pushed her into being more social. Those were things she hadn’t done for a long time, long before the divorce had ever happened, and so Bryson couldn’t complain. Some of the guys were pretty lame, and some of them were a little bit off-putting, overall, she was fairly good at picking out men and she did always value his opinion which he appreciated. It also helped to get her off his case some and gave him a little of that freedom he’d been so desperately craving for himself.

  “Charles was nice,” Bryson told her with a forced smile, clutching the bags in his hands a little tighter. He recalled their morning conversation, his promise to bring them dinner, but he didn’t let himself get worked up. He was grown up now, capable of taking care of himself and not getting worked up over the first day of school. He could tell her about everything later, for now she was trying to live her own life and he understood the need for that greatly. “I picked up dinner, so I can eat and start on homework. You go out and have fun.”

  He saw the moment of doubt in her eyes for a second, that brief flash that told him she was considering canceling her plans to stay home with him. It passed though and she gave him another bright smile, nodding her head. She then laid out the rules, rules that had been nonexistent when they’d lived in Rust and even before that. No friends over because it was a school night, no going out. All his homework had to be finished, and not to make any messes. It made him feel like he was about five years old and three inches tall, but he didn’t argue.

  Instead, he handed her the little beaded clutch she’d picked for the evening and watched her hurry out as Charles with the Corvette pulled up to the curb and honked. It was tacky and made Bryson roll his eyes, but he shrugged it off. His mother was a big girl, and if she was okay with honks at the curb instead of men coming to the door, then that was all on her.

  With his mother gone, the house suddenly became quiet and eerie, the too-big space seeming more and more cavernous by the second. After locking the front door Bryson took the food into the kitchen, stowing the frozen yogurt for later and making himself up a loaded plate of Thai food. He got a can of soda and headed for the living room, dropping onto the sofa and grabbing for the remote. He found some mindless reality television show and settled into eating, losing over an hour of his time at the Jersey shore.

  Jersey…was it true that Aidan Driscoll was from there? How did anybody reach that conclusion? He supposed that Aidan had a bit of an accent, or at least that’s what he’d discerned from their morning run-in, but it hadn’t been telling enough for him to pinpoint a location. If he was from New Jersey, which was entirely possible and maybe not just a rumor, then why Atlanta? What had brought the Driscoll family south and why Woodside Academy? The city was full of schools, some less expensive and some more stand out, so it was a curious choice to make. He just had a lot of questions, probably too many of them, and he ended up switching the channel to reruns of Supernatural since reality television was total garbage anyway.

  After dinner he washed his single dish and went upstairs to his bedroom after collecting his bag off the floor. He dumped his things on his bed and shed his uniform, trading the stiff blazer and button-down shirt for a worn-out t-shirt and sweatpants. He flopped down beside his jumble of papers and pens and took out the first reading assignment for English, trying to settle in and get some studying done early so the rest of his evening would be free.

  Only the house was too big, too quiet, too much for just him alone. He found himself longing for the family dog, a German shepherd named Ronan that his father had taken with him to Savannah. Bryson had tried to protest, had tried to put up a fight, but it had been to no avail. His father had taken the dog, likely just to spite his mother by hurting Bryson, and had whisked him away. It had been just one more dig at them, one more way to cause pain and suffering which was about the only thing that his father was good at.

  The divorce had been a very nasty one, rife with fighting and screaming and accusations. A lot of the screaming had been about Alec, though a fair bit had been about other things as well. His father’s strangle hold on the family finances had come up more than once, as had his mother’s penchant for totally checking out of life altogether. In the days and weeks following his brother’s disappearance his mother had been even more of a space cadet than usual, and after they had found his body it had gotten much worse. There were days when Bryson himself felt like breaking down, wanting to just beg his mother to please come back and be a parent to him. She still had him, right? How bad could it be if one of them was still alive?