Stepping Up to the Plate

Chapter 3-2

When he asked Lamar the same thing, he got a more definite answer. “Hell no,” his roommate said, scowling. He didn’t even want to look at the brochure. “How the f**k are you gonna pay your half of things if you’re in school all day long?” Lamar wanted to know.

It was late when Stacy told him and he sat at the breakfast bar, wolfing down a sandwich after a hard evening at the shop. From the bar he could see the tv in the living room, playing a rerun of Martin. When Stacy had tried to change the channel, Lamar told him to leave it the f**k alone, which said all he needed to know about his friend’s current mood. Foul. Stacy wished he’d realized that before mentioning the school program. Without looking up from the tv, Lamar asked, “Where’d you get the money for this crap in the first place?”

“My mom.” Stacy folded the brochure back into the envelope and thought maybe it had been a bad idea to ask Lamar’s opinion. With only a few days left before he had to go down to the high school to register, anything said now wouldn’t dissuade him. The money was paid and, to be honest, Stacy was beginning to look forward to going, if only for a change of pace. Mac already said he could work the late shift, weekends too, so he wouldn’t notice much of a change in his pay.

“She paying your rent, too?” Lamar sneered.

There was a derisive smirk in his voice that Stacy hated with a passion. Tonight he’d sleep on the couch, he was sure of it already. “No,” he countered, pissed. “It’s none of your damn business where I get money for my rent. My half of the rent.” He crossed the living room, walking right through Lamar’s line of sight to block the tv, and flopped down on the couch. “Worry about your own self. I’m not the one spending half his check on weed and beer every week.”

That struck a nerve. From the corner of his eye Stacy watched Lamar’s face darken like the sky before a storm. Thunderclouds rolled in, his brow furrowed, his cheeks turned the deep brown-red color of cherry wood. “That’s none of your damn business,” he muttered. Savagely he torn into his sandwich and glared at the tv. “Why don’t you just drop out again? They’ll give you a refund. How much did it cost?”

“It’s my mom’s money,” Stacy told him.

“She spent it on you,” Lamar pointed out. “Get it back and spend it on something else. What do you need to go to school again for anyway?”

Stacy snapped, “To get a better job.” Lamar snorted and didn’t bother to answer that. “Move the f**k out of here,” Stacy added, “so I don’t have to put up with your bullshit. You’re worse than Cal.”

“Listen, boyfriend—” Lamar started.

Pushing himself up off the couch, Stacy yelled, “That’s just it, Lamar. I ain’t your boyfriend, got it? We’re just pals, that’s it.” Lamar stared at him, his expression hard to read. Anger? Surprise? Contempt? “We f**k sometimes, but that doesn’t mean we’re married or nothing. I sure as hell ain’t your b***h. I f**k Ange, too.”

His friend’s lips pursed together, his jaw bunched, his nostrils flared. Anger then, definitely anger. Hatred glared out at him from Lamar’s dark eyes and Stacy was glad for the breakfast bar between them, keeping them apart. “I told you I’m sick of you talking about him all the damn time. So that’s what you two do here when I’m at work? You bring him home and screw him? In my bed?”

Stacy rolled his eyes. “Oh please. Don’t get all righteous with me now. You f**k Colin too. We all get a piece of the action, Lamar, that’s the way it’s always been.”

“That’s my bed,” Lamar told him. As if this fact might have somehow slipped by Stacy unnoticed.

Mine too, Stacy thought. He paid for half of it every month, didn’t he? He slept in it too. “I’m not fighting about this,” he declared. Scooping the envelope from the school off the coffee table, he stormed out of the living room. When Lamar called after him, he hollered, “Just leave me the f**k alone.”

“Stacy!” Lamar shouted. “Don’t you walk away from me when I’m talking to you!”

In the darkness of the hallway, Stacy slammed the door shut to the bedroom they shared and muttered under his breath, “Who the hell do you think you are?” He’d bring Ange in here if he wanted—he paid his share of the rent. Throwing himself on the bed, he listened to the distant sound of the tv and Lamar’s muffled voice. Cussing him out, no doubt. This is why I’m going back to school, Stacy thought. To get the f**k away from you.