Tangled up in Blue

By Marion Castella

Luke Perlith is a closeted black teenager with a gift for piano playing, two things he tries to keep private from the world. When he meets the wealthy swimmer Santos Rodriguez, both of his secrets are at risk of being revealed when Santos hears his music and talks of record deals and concerts. When Luke's father is struck in a car accident, however, Santos is the one who has his own secrets.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marion Castella
• Release date: Jun 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393332725

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

A clash of noise greeted me as I approached my front door. The impulse to turn and walk away tempted me as I wrapped my hand around the cold doorknob. Mom and Dad were arguing, which was their activity of choice over the last month, and the feuds often went on for hours. I could go somewhere else for a few hours--I had done it plenty of times while they were fighting--but I was exhausted after studying since 6AM for my math final. It was the last day of high school.

They fought like dogs over the stupidest squabbles, like shoes discarded in the hall, butter left on the counter, or a bill someone forgot to pay. By the time the two of them were too tired to yell any more, they often forgot what the dilemma was to begin with.

I opened the door, peering down the hall towards the kitchen. All I could make out were snippets of flailing arms, pointed fingers, and the occasional soaring object. Slipping off my sneakers, I quickly tip-toed up the stairs to my room.

Ten years I’ve been putting up with this! Ten! How many more times do I have to repeat myself? How can I make myself heard? cried my mother.

Let’s go with the self-pity! ‘Poor Phaedra.’ I have enough to deal with battling greedy developers, and then I come home to a wife that needles and cajoles me. When is there any peace? responded Dad.

Ohhh, Oh-kay, so your problems are more important than mine now? I bust my ass at that job, and you know it.

My sister Harriet’s door was open. She must have been at cheerleading practice.

Sometimes I’d pity myself, thinking, Why can’t I have a normal family? Can’t they go to counseling again, or attend a retreat on an island in the Puget Sound? If Mom could whack him a few hundred times with a pool noodle, would she feel better?

It tore at my heart the more I thought about it, so I stopped.

I was surrounded by the things that made me feel happy or uplifted in my bedroom. Posters of my favorite musicians spread across the walls: Kendrick Lamar, John Coltrane, Jimi Hendrix, John Legend, and Ice Cube. My computer desk was wedged next to my twin bed, allowing me to lounge while I played video games. There were snack wrappers and discarded soda cans on the desk and around the perimeter of my stuffed trash can. Dad ordered one of those ‘snacks from around the world’ subscriptions since I was 10, and I still loved getting my box of goodies every month. I also had a nice Persian rug that really tied the room together.

My most prized possession was a Yamaha P155 keyboard. I dropped my backpack into a corner, eager to get my hands on the noise canceling headphones. As soon as I slipped the artificial leather over my head, my world became magnificently silent. A clutter of papers were on the stand from the night before--music I printed from the movie La La Land. I smiled as I flipped through them, the notes of music already dancing in my head. Flipping the piano on, I began to play.

Music was a land I could be lost in for hours. Usually this was only expressed in an abstract sense, like in my change of mood. While I played City of Stars, I was lingering with Emma Stone on a crest overlooking Los Angeles, the sky fading to indigo. We’d laugh and dance together, free as young people should be.

When I needed a rest, I sometimes liked to take my headphones off and eavesdrop on what my parents were arguing over. That impulse was fading lately. I was so tired of being a passenger to their pettiness and grand episodes of histrionics.

Worn out by the upbeat tempo of La La Land, I moved on to some pieces by Hans Zimmer. Alone in the dark, and engrossed in feeling sorry for myself, I hadn’t noticed my father opening the door. He put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked up to see the metallic rim of his glasses wink in the light of my lamp. I took my headphones off, irked at being disturbed. The last thing I wanted to do was talk about his relationship problems.

What is it? I asked.

I’m sorry, he said. You should have a peaceful place to come home to. I didn’t notice you walk through the door.

I said nothing.

It’s not too late to go to the movie, if you want. We missed the showing, but I’ll buy another set of tickets.

I’m not feeling it.

I think we should go somewhere, to get away. You want seafood?

I’m tired. I just want to stay home.

He pulled over an ottoman to face me. His casual business attire still looked as pressed as it did that morning, though he needed a haircut. The crescents of ebony under his eyes spoke of hardship and exhaustion. We don’t have to go, but I need to talk to you about something important. Something that should have been said a long time ago.

I swallowed.

He went on: I regret every day what I put you kids through. Your mom, too. Our behavior has been… unacceptable. It hasn’t been easy, though. I love your mother, and she loves me, too. Otherwise we wouldn’t have put up with all this for so long. You’re my only son, you’re precious to me, you know that? You always will be, no matter how old you get. I never want to hurt you.

My lips tightened uncomfortably and my eyes moistened against my will. I was angry at him for another bullshit apology, but also because he was igniting something in me I wanted to keep quietly to myself.

Rubbing his face for a moment, staring at the carpet, he said it: We tried so hard to keep it together, but we agreed now that it’s over. Starting tomorrow, we’re pursuing the avenues to get a divorce.

I felt like a thread inside of me broke away. This is it?

This is it.

I fell back in my chair, not realizing that I’d been squeezing the arm rests. What’s going to happen? Which of you is going to leave? What about Harriet and me?

He lifted a large patient hand. All that is for the future. For now, I need you to know I love you. However this culminates, we’re only doing this because it’s what’s fair to everyone. Your mother and I have become people we don’t want to be, and it’s time for a change. There’s no malice or spite in this decision.

I nodded, hot tears flowing down.

Will you hug me, son?

I needed him. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck the same way I did as a small child after stubbing my toe on a rock. Only, I found that he was leaning on me for support, too.

CHAPTER TWO

Even though contact between my parents was minimal after the divorce, they bickered over every tiny matter. I got along with Mom better than Dad, and considering how much my sister maintained her status as a daddy’s girl, it seemed easier for each of us to choose a parent to live with. I just turned eighteen, anyway--I had control over where I chose to live.

A part of me would miss the house I grew up in. It was one of those red brick homes north of 6th Avenue where people walked their huskies on lazy Sundays. There was a tire swing in the front, a loft, and a brand new ping pong table in the basement. The apartment we moved to was firmly tolerable. We weren’t transitioning to the ghetto, but the apartment was made up of three barren rooms of cheap drywall with white paint slathered on top. Dad encouraged me to come by when the desire struck, but I wasn’t sure I’d care enough to make the trip. I had to start classes at the community college, anyway.

Mom and I spent the entire day moving stuff the two-mile distance across Tacoma. Even though that wasn’t very far, my muscles ached from hoisting and loading. It’s strenuous work lugging around mattresses, tables, and chairs. Mom wasn’t exactly a bodybuilder, but I couldn’t hold that against her after enduring the divorce. At around four in the afternoon, I was ready to open a pizza and lounge into the night. The last thing I wanted to do was open a bunch of boxes and put my knick knacks away. Mom had coffee brewing, and the aroma was pleasantly uplifting, but I wanted a nap.

Luke, you keep wandering around the apartment with that mopey expression on your face, said my mother. Her hair was freshly styled into a bob, though her gray roots showed through the black. She wore a loose flannel shirt she always threw on while gardening or doing household chores.

I rolled my eyes. Mom, I’m putting stuff away. How am I supposed to look?

She shrugged, unwrapping glasses from brown paper. It’s a nice day out. Why don’t you take a break from moving and go enjoy the sun? There’s a park nearby.

It was unusual for my mom to suggest I go somewhere, particularly if that somewhere was outside. Spending years bickering with Dad must have been distracting.

If you want me to leave, I can go, I replied.

Her lips puckered in mild disapproval. The divorce is hurting you, I can tell, even if you’re trying to act tough. I’m sure you also miss your sister. I’m glad you decided to come with me, because I love you, but I realize it’s hard to have a family splinter apart.

I’m really not bothered.

I’m only telling you like I see it. A little sun would do you good. The summer is almost over, and tomorrow you’ll be sitting in classrooms all day. You should peek around the neighborhood and take advantage of the nice weather.

You know, the sun is a very dangerous thing. It causes cancer and can blind you if you stare at it. Studies say it’s safer to stay inside where you can be properly protected.

Oh, for Pete’s sake! she said with a laugh, swatting me with an old rag. You think you’re cute, don’t you? Go on, breathe in a bit of fresh air. Your mother commands it.

Obliging her with a smirk, I left.

I was heavy and cumbersome in my hoodie and jeans as the heat radiated on me. Old trucks and shiny sedans shot past me on the busy road, kicking up dust. Sometimes gangs of kids in the back of a minivan yelled and waved at me, but I remained largely ignored.

A buzzing detonated in my pants. Pulling my phone out, I saw that my dad texted me.

New school, new pad, new life? It was weird how I could hear his voice in my head.

I texted back a simple, Yep

Harriet and I are good, tho we miss you. Don’t you forget about us.

I won’t.

Don’t forget a girlfriend the next time I see u too.

I never told anyone I was gay. At least, I was pretty certain I was gay. Sizing me up, most would assume I was a kid who hung around in his basement watching zombie movies. I often wore black jeans with T-shirts bearing the logos of bands I liked. My afro was long, wild, and unkempt--just the way I liked it. While I wasn’t ugly, I didn’t put a lot of effort into grooming or style. I did have a weakness for fresh sneakers, but most guys my age did. If I ever told my friends I enjoyed playing classical music on the keyboard I spent a year’s savings on, or that I liked eating quiche and watching Project Runway, I’d never hear the end of it.

Reaching the local park, I watched as kids played on slides, monkey bars, and swings. The earthy aroma of bark smelled particularly fragrant as it cooked in the heat of the sun. Moving on, I ventured to the community pool. Payment was required for the main area, but circling the concrete barricade, it was possible to sit on the bleachers and observe the swimmers. I climbed to a pocket of shade, wishing I had a water bottle. Children lifted themselves out along the ledge, and once out, they stampeded toward a crowd of mothers holding out juice boxes. Parents slathered on thick layers of sunblock while they sucked on straws and chattered to each other.

Sitting by yourself? asked an old Asian woman with too much red lipstick. I hadn’t noticed her when I walked up the stands. She wore a visor wider than a satellite dish and cat eye sunglasses.

Not wanting to be rude, I said, Just killing some time before school starts.

She nodded. You should be down there yourself. It’s too nice a day for a young man to be up here with the old grannies.

I scratched my sweaty back. Maybe next time.

She slid over, rubbing elbows with me. My husband passed away a few years ago, but you’re a dead ringer for him when we first met. Ahh… those disco days are long past, but I can remember them like they were yesterday. You’re real cute; lean, with nice dark skin.

I blushed, caught off-guard. Staring straight ahead, I nodded.

She continued: It goes by so fast. Don’t waste your youth. Once it’s gone, it’s gone, and you’ll be a fuddy duddy like me hitting on all the hot young things in town.

I’ll be sure to take your advice.

Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet my grandchildren. They’re counting on me to buy them soft serve after their swim. See you around.

Goodbye.

Once the kids departed, I noticed a group of older teenagers sitting on the grass as they socialized and gulped down Gatorade. My posture shriveled as a swimming team of young men disrobed and dove elegantly into the water. Even when their bodies were obscured by the white peaks of splashes, I found it hard not to notice the finer points of their physiques. They were slim and strong, their shoulders broad from the laps they swam up and down all afternoon. Gazing at them, I realized that I had stumbled upon a secret treasure no one seemed interested in. Around me, only a few bored elementary school kids were scribbling in coloring books and playing on their parents’ smartphones.

While I savored the view, I was uncomfortable.

A portly man in polyester shorts prowled the edge of the pool like a jaguar, shouting encouragement. I envied him, considering a scheme towards becoming a swimming coach myself. Okay, not really.

He seemed solely interested in spouting encouraging words to the swimmers, cheering them on:

Good going, Leon, keep going!

Keep your stance straight, Nikolai!

Paul, solid endurance!

The coach blew the whistle after about a half hour of this, and the boys climbed out. Twelve of them stood there in little black speedos, their moistened bodies gleaming in the sunlight. The last to get out was the most beautiful of them: tall, tanned, and possessing jet black hair, he was blessed with the most stunning turquoise eyes I’d seen in my life. At the right angle, I swore I was observing two glimmering lagoons.

He lined up with the other dreamboats and listened to the coach talk. I didn’t know what was being discussed, but I felt eerily aware of how out in the open I was now that the entire team stood above ground; their eyes could rove beyond more than someone else’s paddling feet. I decided to quickly and quietly make my way down the metal seats and towards the exit. There was a convenience store farther down the road, and I planned on trekking there to get a frozen drink before heading home. As I left, however, I noticed that the boy with the beautiful eyes was watching me. We made eye contact, and he shot me a playful grin. I thought he would do the polite thing by turning his attention back to his coach, but instead he allowed his eyes to linger on me as if I were attractive prey.

His look struck me like lightning.

It wasn’t easy, but I ignored him and dashed around the wall as swiftly as possible. Behind the barrier, I leaned against the cold concrete and stared up at the pine branches. Pink rhododendrons were planted nearby, swaying casually in the afternoon breeze.

I wished that I could dip myself in ice water to make the anxiety wash away. As soon as I thought I had shaken him, his form flashed through my mind again: developed abs, a confident smile, strong thighs, and the way his goggles laid lazily against his chest… After locking eyes, I was under his spell.

I forced myself to walk, hoping the activity would divert blood from my groin to other areas of my body. I focused my attention on the grotesque patrons of the park, frisky puppies, cute old couples, and women of all shapes and sizes. I experienced ease only after deeply contemplating the worst case of acne I’d ever seen three nights before at a Mariners game.

Why did the handsome boy smile at me? Was he being friendly? Did he mistake me for someone else? The idea that he identified as queer was out of the question. Even if he were interested in men, I refused to believe he desired a gawky teenager like me. When I thought of gays, and the guys gays fawned over, I never saw myself as part of that equation. I didn’t wear rainbow bracelets, dress in fashionable clothes, or work out.

I walked into the convenience store, paid for a slushy, and then continued to fantasize about the mystery swimmer as I went home. Mom was putting things away as I walked through the front door, though her eyes were plastered to Wendy Williams.

Enjoy the walk? she asked.

Yeah, I responded, clearing my throat. The weather was nice.

She smiled. See, I knew you would get a lot of good out of appreciating the sunshine.

CHAPTER THREE

Driving through the maze of parking lots at the community college was a nightmare the next morning. Drivers cut me off and sped through straights while the pedestrians walked in the middle of the aisles as casually as sauntering through an English garden. Though I did eventually nab a spot, it was at the back of the furthest lot. I made the long walk in, dodging restless, speeding students. The morning air was pleasant, and there only a few clouds in the sky. In a month or two there would be nothing but gray skies and drizzle, so I reminded myself to cherish the sunshine.

I couldn’t help but daydream about the boy from the pool. There was something about his confident stare that wouldn’t wipe away from my mind. I was supposed to meet up with my friends before my literature class started, but all I wanted to do was lay in a field and stare at boy-shaped clouds.

Hey man where u at? My friend Terrell texted me.

Behind u, I responded.

He turned, jumping when he realized I had been standing to his back. My other two friends, Hayden and Vi, laughed at him.

We’d all been friends since the first grade, amazingly enough, and could have posed for a diversity stock photo. Okay, we weren’t quite wholesome enough for that, because there was a definite grittiness about us. Vi, evidently enough because of his moniker, was Vietnamese. His name was actually Vincent, but nobody called him that. He tried to suggest he didn’t care about his wardrobe, but in truth he obsessed about assembling ‘streetwear’ outfits on his scrawny frame. Hayden was white, fixated on styling his pompadour every two hours. The other black guy in the group was Terrell, the nerdiest out of all of us; he had a thing for ‘the original manga in its artistic perfection,’ K-Pop, and Korean barbecue. Because of all the Koreans around the area, we had a veritable meat feast at least once a month.

You asshole, Terrell said with a chuckle, nervously rubbing his chubby chin. He was constantly mindful of that clump steel wool growing on his face.

We all greeted each other by giving dab, which was promptly followed by complaining about our schedules.

I don’t know what you were thinking taking a literature class at 9:30, bro, said Hayden. I barely manage art at that hour, let alone deal with stuff like reading. I need a double shot as it is.

I shrugged. You have class soon?

Yeah, at 9:45. Accounting. Gag me. I’m only taking it because my old man forced me to.

Terrell lit a cigarette and sucked on the end. Some passing students glared at him while Vi, Hayden, and I eyed him with a mixture of reverence and apprehension. We wouldn’t be caught dead smoking at our high school.

Are you allowed to do that? Vi asked Terrell.

I guess I’ll find out, he responded with a smirk before tapping some ashes to the wind.

A group of pretty girls in mini skirts passed us as we were standing around trying to look tough. They were all in full makeup for their first day of school and their hair was carefully flat ironed or curled. The eyes of my friends simultaneously glazed over.

The inevitable, I’d hit that, emerged from Hayden’s lips.

Yeah, who wouldn’t, said Terrell.

You guys think college girls or high school girls are hotter? asked Vi.

College for sure, stated Hayden right away.

I’d agree, at least for now, said Terrell.

I remained silent. Not passing the chance for a consensus, Vi asked, And you, Luke?

I cleared my throat. I guess they’re both good. Or, I mean, hot.

I never wished I could talk about people I found attractive, because I found the practice bizarre, but I would have appreciated not having to put up a heterosexual facade.

Now that you guys mention it, said Vi, I’ve gotta meet up with Jocelyn. She’s probably just gotten out of her pottery class.

You’re her little purse holder now, huh? mentioned Terrell.

He returned a smile. I’d use another name for it, but ‘designated temporary holder of the purse’ is acceptable.

Well, don’t let her pussy whip you all the time, said Hayden. She’ll knock your balls clear off into her purse.

Hey, you know she’s chill, Vi responded.

She likes occult stuff; voodoo.

Nothin’ wrong with a little black magic, as far as I’m concerned. Anyway, I gotta go. See ya, losers.

Bye, Vi, we all said.

I gotta go, too, I added. I’ve got literature class.

Sure, see ya, Luke. Terrell stubbed out his cigarette.

Despite my general lack of direction in life, I was an honor student in high school. Instead of being required to take the basic English class in college, I earned the right to move on to the more extensive course. I might have taken something less intimidating than Russian Literature, but it was the only course available on the schedule.

The classroom was half full when I walked in, though I arrived early. The professor stood by the door, a middle aged brunette wearing a sunflower dress and a friendly smile. She gave me a neon green syllabus and gestured for me to find a seat. I took a place toward the back, the desks around me vacant. Time passed and more students ambled into the room.

She went to write her name on the board--Dr. Tanya Ninvosky--and then turned to us. Welcome to Russian Literature, everyone! She ventured to close the door, but before she was able to, one last student slipped through the crack. I identified who it was immediately, the breath leaping from my lungs.

The boy from the pool.

His V-neck shirt and skinny jeans were just tight enough to show off his muscular curves and bone structure without being comical. He was taller than I had initially realized, and I noticed I wasn’t the only one who appreciated his beauty. Half the girls in the class straightened themselves up in attention, hoping he would settle near them. I got butterflies in my stomach when he strode through the aisle to my right. A delicate blonde sat in front of me, and I secretly hoped he might sit next to her. He wasn’t looking at me as he traveled, which suggested to me that I probably wasn’t on his radar.

But he passed right by the blonde girl. He swiftly threw his backpack under the desk to my right and sat down. A red-hot moment flashed as my nerves flickered in panic. Why in the world would he bypass the most attractive girl in class for me? My heart pounded with excitement, and I swore the whole class could hear the drum of my attraction.

I was rigid as a brick wall. Staring ahead, I attempted to appear as disinterested as possible.

As I was saying, welcome class! continued Dr. Ninvosky. I’m so glad you all chose Russian lit this semester. I assume that you aren’t intimidated by long, decades-old foreign novels. How many of you have read a book by a Russian author before?

A few in the class hesitantly raised their hands.

"Well, if you have, that really puts you ahead of the class! Because these novels are often so long, I’ll only be able