Jumping down off the last step of the school bus, John had a strange feeling inside. He was happy. Happier than he'd been for a long time. Even the thought of having to go to school again tomorrow didn't depress him as it normally did. This girl, Aureus, she really did seem different. He wasn't sure what it was about her, but he thought she could be trusted.

His shoes scuffed the stones on the street as he walked towards home. Maybe it was because she'd been to so many schools. Maybe she had more—what was it his mom called them? Yeah, people skills. She could have been the unpopular kid at her last school, of course, but somehow he doubted it was the case. She wasn't the unpopular type. She was beautiful and well dressed and smart, too. Doubt began gnawing at his insides. She was too beautiful and too well dressed and too smart to want to be friends with him. But he could still taste the chocolate of her brownie, and for once he ignored the doubt, even squashed it down. Plus, he thought, passing his neighbor's house before turning into his driveway, I have nothing to lose.

He banged the screen door, knowing his mom wouldn't be home from work yet to yell at him for doing so. Today had been his best day for as long as he could remember. Stopping off for a bowl of chips and some juice, he decided to head upstairs and get an early start on his homework. He was halfway up the stairs before he realized he hadn't given a thought to the box, even though this had been a good day. His heart skipped at the thought of what lay under his bed, but no, he told himself sternly, not now. Today was a new beginning. Maybe he could do without a look into it for a while. His palms were sweaty, but he managed to restrain himself, not even looking towards where the box lay as he entered his room.

He was biting his pencil and trying to figure out a pre-calc problem when he heard the screen door bang again and knew it was Devon. Tasting the wet, stringy wood, he wondered why his brother was coming home at such a strange time. Either he should have been out at practice, or he should have been home earlier, grabbing a ride with a senior classmate so he didn't have to take the bus.

"Bro!"

"In here," John shouted back.

Feet stomped up the stairs, and there was rapping at the half-closed door.

"Yeah?"

Devon stuck his head around the door. "Figured I should probably start knocking," he said, winking so John didn't take him too seriously.

John leaned back on his chair, pencil still half in his mouth. "What are you doing home?"

"Got Mike to take me to the mall after school. Needed to pick something up," Devon said, crinkling a plastic bag and throwing it onto the bed. "For you."

"What is it?" John eyed the bag, which seemed to contain some kind of box.

"Er . . . why don't you open it and find out?" Devon came fully into the room as John turned in his seat to get the bag.

"Wow," he said, opening it and drawing out the thin box. "Just wow."

"Eh." Devon shrugged. "It's not an expensive one."

John looked at the tablet in front of him. Expensive or not, this was some gift. He wondered where Devon had got the money for it, until it occurred to him that his brother must have withdrawn cash from his college account.

"Devon, man, I can't take this. Your money's supposed to be for tuition."

His brother grinned and sat on the corner of the bed. "I'm pretty sure I'm getting a full ride to state in the fall. Coach says the scouts have been watching us practice," he said. "So I've got a few bucks to spare. Come on. Let's set it up."

John handed over the package and watched Devon open it and take out the tablet.

"All right," he explained, booting the computer up. "Here's the charger; you can take care of it. And here," he pulled a small envelope out of the bag, "is your SIM card. Pay as you go, I'm afraid. I couldn't spring for a contract. But you can put money on it from your allowance, right?"

John furrowed his brow. "SIM card?"

Devon looked at him and cleared his throat. "Well, okay, now we're getting to the awkward part. See, I thought this could be, like, private, you know? Maybe you wouldn't want to use Mom and Dad's internet connection, be able to look at what you want, not worry about the more, er, well, adult kind of thing."

The pencil fell out of John's mouth as it dawned on him what his brother had done. He could feel his face blushing bright red. "Um, you mean, er . . .?"

His brother nodded, his own cheeks flushing pink. "Yeah, um, I know it's weird to talk about. But I just sort of thought that maybe you needed kind of, I don't know, kind of exposure to things, you know. To figure out what you like."

Despite himself, John started to laugh. Devon was so clearly trying to do the right thing and was so obviously uncomfortable with it that John couldn't help but laugh. "You're giving me the gift of porn," he spluttered.

Devon started to laugh as well, chuckling and nodding. "Yeah, kind of."

"Oh, God." John almost fell out of his chair from laughing so hard.

Devon clicked a few things on the tablet before he handed it over. "I've bookmarked a couple of sites. Um, hope it was okay. And er, well . . ." He bit his lip as he was searching for the right words. "Well, if you've got, like, questions and stuff, you can come ask me. Er, yeah."

He stood up from the bed and started to walk to the door.

John shook his head, still smiling. "Devon, man, wait."

Devon turned.

"Um, thanks," said John. "Yeah, it's weird, but, well, I guess it could help. And, er, yeah. Thanks."

His brother shrugged. "You're welcome. Let's keep this between me and you, though, yeah?"

John nodded. "Probably not the best plan to tell Mom you gave me porn."

Devon grinned. "I'll close the door on my way out."

John turned back to his math book, deliberately ignoring the tablet on the bed for the moment. The numbers on the page swam in front of his eyes. He was unsure about all of this. Devon was trying to help, but he wasn't sure his brother's solution was the answer. John felt uncomfortable about not only porn itself, but also about the fact that Devon would know John was watching it. His pencil went back in his mouth. He was already blushing again.

Sex wasn't something he thought about a lot. He knew about it, certainly. Only it didn't seem to interest him. This, he knew, was weird. Judging from everyone else in his class, sex was about the most interesting thing there was. John found himself slightly disgusted by the whole idea. He debated what to do. On the one hand, he had no desire to look at naked people at all. On the other hand, he knew his lack of interest in sex made him different. Maybe Devon was right; he just needed some exposure. It was science, right? Like an experiment. He could watch some different videos, see if anything appealed to him, and get some conclusive results.

Science. Right. No, today was his new start. This had been a good day so far. Why not? God. He pushed his chair back from his desk, glanced to make sure the door was closed, and turned to the bed. With shaking hands, he picked up the tablet and switched it on, then grabbed some headphones from the bedside drawer. Right, let's do this, he thought, settling himself against the pillows on his bed.

***

An hour later, he was quietly disgusted. As an experiment, this hadn't really worked out as planned. He'd been as thorough as he could be, checking out different styles of video, gay and straight, and had come up (he forgave himself the pun) with nothing. He was so angry with himself, with his body for not responding, that he was ready to throw the damn tablet against the wall in frustration.

Why? Why wasn't this working? Everyone watched porn. He'd heard guys in the locker-room talking about it; he knew enough biology to know what the hell was supposed to happen. But all that had happened to him was he felt vaguely nauseated. He clenched his hands into fists. So much for Devon's stupid plan. All he had now was confirmation showing he was a freak. A weirdo. Exactly like everyone had told him.

He shut the tablet down and shoved it under his pillow, then lay back on his bed and jammed his hands tightly over his eyes, trying to stop the tears from coming and to forget the images he'd seen. He should have known this wouldn't work. Should have known he would never be interested in this kind of stuff. For fuck's sake, he couldn't even look at his own naked body. Why the hell would he get off looking at someone else's?

In this mental state, it was always easy for him to sink lower and lower and to remember all the bad and terrible and shameful things that ever happened to him. He remembered being in elementary school and refusing to use the bathroom in between classes. He always waited. Waited until class was in session and he could ask permission to go. He'd be alone, and no one else would see him.

Why hadn't he wanted anyone to see him? Because he'd known as soon as he went into a stall, the boys would make fun of him, tease him. Because he sat down to pee like a girl. Because he could never use the urinal. Because he couldn't bring himself to touch it. The thing between his legs.

God dammit, he was a fucking freak. All Devon's tablet had done was prove what he'd already known. He wasn't normal. He didn't even warrant the taunts of "faggot" following him around the locker-room. He wasn't a faggot. He wasn't anything. He was a freak.

He took deep, shaking breaths, willing himself to regain calm. He'd have to make an appearance at dinner soon; he had to go back to his hidden self, the one who gave nothing away. He blinked as hard and fast as he could until his eyes dried out. He sucked down breath after breath until he was calmer. He could do this.

Fine. He was a freak. He'd been one his whole life, and he'd made it this far. The answer was to pretend. To lie, if necessary. As long as he was the only one who knew definitively that he was absolutely and completely a freak, then maybe he could deal with this. He slowed his breathing. Could he live the rest of his life as a lie? Yes, yes, of course he could. All he needed to do was to study other people as closely as he could and then pretend to be them. He'd be like those people who went out and studied gorillas and learned how to behave like one to get accepted into the tribe.

He pressed his head back onto the pillow, glaring at the ceiling. Then, in one movement, he swung himself up off the bed and marched purposefully out of his bedroom and into the small bathroom. Gritting his teeth, he carefully locked the door and turned to face himself in the mirror. Deal with this, he told himself. Face it. Do it. You're the freak, and if you're going to be the only one who knows you're a freak, then you should at least be able to look yourself in the eye and tell yourself that you are.

He leaned in until his nose pressed the glass, seeing his fragile bones under his skin, his dark-lashed eyes, until his breath misted over the mirror.

"You're a freak," he whispered. "You're a freak."

Taking a step back, he yanked his shirt over his head, baring his hairless torso. His ribs shone through like xylophone bars, and his arms were thin and without muscles.

"You're a freak," he whispered again.

His hands were shaking as he unbuckled his belt. It took him three tries to get the thing off. He unbuttoned his pants, slid the zipper down, and let them fall to the floor, until he stood, his thin white legs poking out of his blue undershorts.

"You're a freak." It was more matter-of-fact this time. Less an accusation, more a statement.

Finally, he fumbled with the waistband of his shorts, feeling the rough serrations on his skin where the elastic had dug into him. With one violent movement, he tugged them down and forced himself to look at his reflection. Completely naked, penis hanging uselessly, hips narrow, disgusting.

"You. Are. A. Freak."

For long minutes he stood there, trying as hard as he could not to be disgusted with himself, not to feel sick at the sight of himself. Unable to take it anymore, he put his hand down and pushed it between his thighs, pushing his legs close together to hide any sign of his sex.

With a sudden rush of horror, he realized for the first time he was feeling a tingle of excitement.

His entire body erupted into shudders, even his insides feeling like jelly. He didn't take the time to analyze or to think. With hands shaking, he turned away from the mirror and hurriedly began to dress himself, taking minutes to button each button, hours to buckle his belt. Closing his eyes, he turned back and grasped blindly for the faucet, turning on the water as cold as it would go and splashing his face again and again and again until his skin was so frozen he couldn't feel it anymore.

When Devon asked later with a sly grin how his afternoon had been, John grinned back and even managed a wink. He would have to fool them all; it was the only way.

The next morning, for the first time, John found that his shorts were sticky when he woke up. He cried in the shower.

*****