Without Sin

The first time Jacob Smithson notices Avery is at morning mass on the Wednesday that classes start at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Boarding School for Boys. knows, which is one more than Sunday evening, when his dad helped him move into his dorm. Mike laughs too loud and talks too fast, but Jacob can’t figure out if that’s because he’s nervous or just lonely, and he doesn’t much care, either. When Mike whispers something to him about a study group this evening, Jacob leans out into the aisle and pretends to concentrate on the mass. He rolls his eyes. He hasn’t even been to class yet. Up on the altar, the priest holds the communion wafer in his hands, his eyes closed. Between the altar and Jacob’s pew sit the juniors and seniors, who have learned by this stage of the game to keep their heads down and their hands folded in their laps as if in prayer, but Jacob wonders how many of them are really praying and how many can’t wait for the mass to end. He himself is one of the latter—in fact, he can’t wait for this whole school year to finish. He hopes that one year is enough penance to atone for whatever he did to piss his parents off enough to finally make good on their threat of boarding school. He tells himself he doesn’t know what the final straw could have been, but he knows it doesn’t matter. He is just too much trouble. the therapist had told his mom. Beside the priest stands an altar boy roughly Jacob’s own age, dressed in a white cassock that hides his school uniform. He’s cute, with strawberry blond hair that stands up as if a cow licked his forehead, but Jacob thinks that’s the way he styled it. A quick tug of a comb when he stepped out of the shower this morning, probably running late…The thought makes Jacob nervous in a delicious way he can’t quite put into words. It’s the image of the altar boy in the shower that does it for him, and he covers his mouth with his hand to hide a sudden grin. The altar boy stands with a huge book in both hands, holding it open while the priest reads from its pages. Jacob thinks it might be the Bible, but he’s not sure. Earlier there were readings from the book, and they were from the Bible, so it must be a Catholic version. He leans forward and rests his chin on the pew in front of him, watching the altar boy. He likes the way the candlelight catches in those reddish blond spikes, and he wonders what the boy’s name is. He wonders if the boy’s a sophomore, like himself, and why he couldn’t have someone like for a roommate and not Mike, who can’t sit still. Every time he shifts, Jacob hears his song sheet crinkle, and he’s about ready to grab that damn piece of paper from Mike and smack him in the head with it. He doesn’t care if they in a church—Mike is one of those guys who to be hit. Jacob reminds himself, his gaze never leaving the altar boy. He likes the way that cassock pulls against the round butt hidden beneath the white cloth. He used to fight in public school because he has a temper and he can’t keep it in check. The teachers never understand it—he gets good grades but he can’t stop fighting in the halls. His parents think this school will be different. He has his doubts. The priest says something that Jacob misses but around him, students surge to their feet and he lets himself be dragged along like a boat tossed in a storm. He thinks he should sit down again and see if he can start a wave, and the thought makes him giggle, but he doesn’t think that would be a good idea. Not on the first day of classes. Mike takes Jacob’s hand in his and for a moment Jacob shakes free, his brow already darkening with anger. “What the—” he starts, but catches himself in time. A few of the kids in front of him turn around, bemused. “The ,” Mike tells him in a loud stage whisper. He takes Jacob’s hand again, and because everyone else is holding hands, Jacob doesn’t pull away this time. “You hold hands for this part.” “Jesus,” Jacob whispers as he lets Mike push him out into the aisle. The boy across from him is waiting, hand outstretched, and Jacob glares at it before he takes it in his own. He’s all for holding hands with boys, don’t get him wrong, but these dudes just aren’t his type. In front of him the aisle is filled with row after row of students, their hands linked as they begin the prayer. Jacob cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the altar boy, so he’s the only one whose head isn’t bowed. But neither is the altar boy’s. He’s looking around with an expression on his face that reads ‘anywhere but here,’ and Jacob knows that feeling all too well. When the prayer ends and everyone shuffles back to their seats, Jacob stands in the aisle a moment longer, willing the altar boy to notice him. He does. When he looks at Jacob, he raises his eyebrows in a wide-eyed, staring way that makes Jacob grin again. It’s one of those ‘why me?’ looks Jacob can appreciate because, right now, he’s feeling the same way. During communion, Jacob waits his turn in the long line of boys, hands folded beneath his chin. At the altar he takes the wafer in one hand and pops it in his mouth, where it promptly sticks to his tongue. He side-steps away from the priest and makes the sign of the cross because he saw Mike do it. he thinks, his hands following the words. He looks up and sees the altar boy watching him. With a wink, Jacob flashes him his best smile. He knows it’s irresistible. The altar boy smiles back and ducks his head shyly. But on his way back to his seat, Jacob glances over his shoulder and sees he’s still being watched. He likes that. * * * * “Almost blond. Sticks up in the front?” “You and me both.” “My hair’s more brown than blond,” Jacob tells him. “Come on, think. On the altar, damn it.” How could he not remember? Jacob can’t forget. He’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and still thinking about that altar boy at mass. Homework is the last thing on his mind right now. “It was just this morning, Mike. How the hell do you make it through your classes with a memory as bad as yours?” Ignoring that, Mike tells him, “I’ve got a schedule.” He’s an usher sometimes and he has a list of who serves for the month. As he looks through his notebooks for the piece of paper, Jacob asks him what he does as an usher. Jacob continues to stare at the ceiling; it takes him a moment to realize Mike’s waiting for an answer. “That’s an usher,” Mike says. “They tell you where to go when it’s your turn.” “Up to the altar,” Jacob says. Everyone knows Hell, knows it and he’s not even Catholic. But Mike has found the paper and he holds it up as he scans it, looking for today’s date. Dendritch. Oh, I remember now.” He puts the paper away before Jacob can ask to see it. “Why do you want to know?” “You know him?” Jacob sits up, interested. “Is he a sophomore?” “Avery?” Mike laughs. He was at St. Thomas Aquinas last year and acts like he knows everyone. There are only a couple hundred boys in the whole school—Jacob’s freshman class back home was larger than all four classes here combined—so he doesn’t understand why Mike doesn’t know more people, what with his big mouth. He thinks maybe it has to do with the way his roommate came in after dinner and closed the door on the noise in the hall so he could study. Study! Jacob still can’t get over that one. Studying is something he saves for the week before exams and he vows not to do it a moment sooner. “Avery is a senior,” Mike says, turning back to his Geometry. He’s in the choir.” Jacob wonders if he’s as bored there as he looked on the altar. He can picture it, that boy in the choir. Probably has a pretty voice, too. Jacob thinks someone who looks like that would probably sing soprano, and squeal when he comes. And thought does bad things to his stomach. He’s sixteen, but he’s fooled around enough to know that most guys aren’t quiet when they come. He sure isn’t. Jacob tries to keep his voice light, disinterested, but inside, his blood is boiling and his thoughts whirl out in all sorts of crazy directions. He wants to know if Avery is seeing anyone. He wants to know if he likes boys the same way Jacob likes boys, and he wants to know if maybe he’d consider dating a sophomore. Jacob thinks, and because that thought makes him flush, he frowns so Mike won’t see how turned on he is. Avery is cute and Jacob’s seen cute before, but there’s something almost wicked in the way Avery looked so damn disinterested in church this morning, and Jacob likes wicked. He thinks maybe there’s more to that altar boy than people think. He wants to be the one to find out. But he thinks Mike may be the type to get all weird on him if he found out his roommate thought of other boys touching and kissing and loving him, so he keeps his mouth shut. “I don’t really know him,” Mike says with a shrug. “He’s two years older than me. I’ve never talked to him.” Frowning, he glances over at Jacob and asks again, “Why do you want to know all this?” “No reason.” With a laugh, Jacob adds, “You haven’t talked to him? s**t, Mike, you talk fifty-five miles a minute. I can’t believe there’s anyone here you talked to yet.” Mike blushes at that and turns back to his homework. At least he doesn’t mention Avery again.