You People And Your Magic Gay Fish

You're all crazy, you know that? I invent some weird #magicgayfish hashtag and you all LIKE it. And I ask which book you want to see a teaser from, and you're like I LOVE MYSTICAL HOMOSEXUAL SEA CREATURES. You guys are sick. Sick and wrong.

Also my video this week is funny, and you should watch it.

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The fishboy is pulling me down as hard as he can, and he's going to kill me, fuck, my parents are going to actually fall apart, but I manage to kick him in the ribs and free myself for a breath. My foot brushes his tail. It's rough like sandpaper.

“Get off me!” I push myself away from him, panting. I grab onto the edge of the dock and pull myself up, into the air. Safe. I'm huddling against the wood like it's my mother. I don't know if I'm strong enough to haul myself back onto the dock, so maybe I'll just stay here forever. This is my new home.

He's panting too. Probably from the kick in the ribs. He was already pretty bruised.

I say, “You're not a fish, you're a fucking maniac.”

He laughs, hard, his face up to the sky. I see all his teeth, must be a hundred of them, as thin as pine needles. He has a loud, piercing laugh. Like a whistle.

I know that voice. He's the screams at night. He's the screaming and the crying that my parents told me is the wind.

He spends hours screaming. Goddamn. Either he really is a maniac, or he's got to be the saddest fishboy in the world.

Then he grabs me by the front of my shirt. “I don't want to see you killing any more fish, you got that?”

I pull away from him. “My brother needs them.”

I really didn't think this would concern him, but he lets go and looks at me. He keeps his eyes narrowed. “What's wrong with your brother?”

“You're a shitty spy.”

“What's wrong with your brother?”

“He's sick. Cystic Fibrosis.”

“Cystic whatever.” But he doesn't say it cruelly, but like he's trying to figure out what I meant. ”Whatever fibrosis.” He tilts his head like it will help the words roll around in his brain.

“Yeah. The fish are making him well.”

He keeps looking at me for a long minute. “They're working?”

“Yeah.” Slowly.

“Well. Good, I guess.” There's this pause, then he goes, “The little one, right? Who was with your...you know.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah.”

“That's the one.”

The fishboy rubs the back of his head. “My hair used to be really long. It was awesome. Fisherman cut it off, said I looked like a girl.”

“Oh.”

“Your brother's cute. How old is he?”

“Five.”

I can tell he doesn't like this answer, for some reason. “Oh. He looks younger.”

The way we're balanced in the water right now, I feel like he's a lot shorter than I am. And his frown makes him look suddenly younger.

“Good luck with that, then, I guess,” he says.

I say, “Thanks.”

“But stay the fuck away from my fish.”

Wait. “I...”

Fishboy mumbles, “Sorry about your brother,” then he pushes off from me and swims away. He's faster than I could ever be, but he doesn't get out very far before he has to stop and pant while he treads water. His silver-spotted chest is heaving. I should have kicked him somewhere besides his chest.

Then he dives back under the water and he's gone. And I wait a few minutes until I can pull myself back on the dock. I walk home shivering and trying to think of what story I'm going to tell my parents about why I'm all wet, but when I get there, Dylan's coughing so hard that they don't even notice me come in.

Tail End of Tuesday

I have a real post coming at you tomorrow, but today is Tuesday, so have a teaser and a video. This video won't make much sense to you unless you saw Monday's (which is right here!) but you might enjoy it anyway. If you're into that.

From FISHBOY. Rudy is doing his homework. Teeth interrupts.

--


I'm only lying there for a few minutes before he bobs out of the water. “Hey.”

I try not to look surprised. It's been a few days since the rescue with not a lot of signs of him, and I guess I didn't think he'd be the one seeking me out. Maybe I didn't really think I was going to see him again unless he needed more saving.

I'm getting used to the look of him, at least, with his flaky scales and his millions of bruises. “Hey,” I say.

“Aren't you cold?”

I shrug. What else am I supposed to say, yeah, but I was hoping you'd swim up?

“What are you working on?

“Math.”

“I can do addition.”

I look at him.

“I'm very smart,” he says.

Still, I don't know where a guy like him learns addition, or where he even learns the word addition. And he speaks English really naturally, not in a way I'd expect from someone who's only ever eavesdropped and never spoken himself.

He leans his elbows onto the dock and watches me work. Then he sinks under the water, and I think he's gone for good for today, but a few seconds later he pops up behind me on the other side of the dock.

“What are you doing?” I ask him. He's back beside me again, this time with his elbow right next to mine. But now I can only see him out of the corner of my eye. He smells like a fish, I'll give him that.

“Watching.”

He touches the numbers as I write them, then he turns his attention to the lines at the top of the page. He traces the date, then puts his finger on the word next to it. He writes the letters with one finger, trying and failing to curl up the rest of his hand. The webs between his fingers stretch so thin.

I stop working and watch his finger. He's left-handed.

After a minute, he says, “Rrrr.”

“Hmm?”

He's staring at the top of the page. “Rrr. Ruh.”

Oh.

“Ruhd,” he says, after another minute. He's frowning hard, the skin wrinkling between his eyes.

“Rudy,” I say, kind of gently, I hope.

He's quiet for a minute. Then, “Oh.”

“Where the fuck did you learn how to read?”

“I can't read. You just saw me not reading.”

“Someone obviously taught you something.”

“Go away,” he says, in this small angry voice, the exact same one Dylan uses when he wants me to think I'm mad at him but he really isn't. It doesn't work any better when Teeth uses it.

I say, “You know, if you want? I can teach you to read.”

He studies me for just a second before he frowns hard and dives back into the water. He's really gone this time. He splashed my page, and now I can't read the math problems. The ink is all smudged.

It's Still Tuesday

Despite the fact that I would like to keep my fabulous cover front and center on the blog forever, I have Tuesday duties to fulfill!

Teaser and Rebels video. Today's teaser is from the book I'm editing right now, ALL TOGETHER WITH FEELING!

--

“Personally,” he says. “I think you are faking acceptance of your stepmother in order to convince yourself.”

Sometimes he makes pronouncements like these, as if he thinks he is the only one who has figured these things out.

So I say, “Now now, Mr. Malik, you are being wildly inappropriate. Attributing motivations to my actions. I don’t believe that is characteristic of a good director.”

“My God, you’re pretentious.”

I grin and take a sip of my coffee. I offer it to him, and he makes a face and shakes his head.

“All right,” he says, “Than what about on the personal side? How are things with…what was his name, Zachary?”

Zachary is on the tennis team. The closest to a jock I've ever come. Once I caught him looking at me in the locker room; that was the extent of our relationship.

“Zachary is straight.”

“That didn’t seem to deter you originally.”

“It ruled out the possibility of a real relationship. I have a different target in mind now.”

“Anyone I know?”

I look down. “I don’t believe this is appropriate.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to push you.”

“That isn't quite what I meant.” I raise my eyes.

He is quiet for some time. At one point, he glances at his watch exactly when I look up at the clock. I have the feeling we are checking them for different reasons. But I do not know for sure. I never know.

And this is all I get. A few seconds of touching, Identical smiles, and some of the best eye contact a seventeen-year-old homosexual ever gets. Maybe it is over for today.

He says, “I enjoy your company, Oliver. I enjoy that I can talk to you. I enjoy finding an adult in my life.”

“Mmm. I suppose I am an adult.” But it isn't as if he ever tells me anything about his life.

“More adult than I am, certainly.”

“You’re only about five years older than me.”

“Well, seven, but I understand your point. You’ve probably slept with men older than I am.” He closes his eyes. “I should not have said that. I’m sorry. I’m exhausted.”

I start laughing.

He says, “Well, don’t make fun…”

“I am a virgin, Samir. I am such a virgin. I have preyed on men older than you, but I’ve never slept with one. I’m a virgin.”

He looks at me.

I roll my eyes and smile. “Just. Like. You.”

He blushes and looks down. “All right. That’s enough.”

That is enough; this time he's right. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes I want more. Well, I always want more, but some days I want it specifically from him.
It will burn in my stomach a bit as I swallow a shared lunch, and I want to share dinners with him, dressed in tails and top hats and smiles, and breakfasts, dressed in bathrobes and bedhead and sleepy smiles. I should leave, go somewhere where I can catch my breath under the pretense of checking my makeup. I can tell that I am beginning to drown again in this. Winter break was too long. I have forgotten how to keep myself afloat above it all.

It comes in waves, like a bad trip, or the stomachaches after my mother died. It is not all the time, but it comes in distinct, peaked waves. Usually I can predict them before they hit their apex, and I can do something, something to control myself.
This one might have crested too quickly, or maybe I am still in the midst and it will get worse. It comes in waves, and I never know how big they will be. I hate not knowing.

I promise I won't do this every week...

But it's my first YA Rebels vid, and I want you guys to see!

Vlog!

I did a vlog post for YA rebels this week. Check it out!

Bad News Bears

Because the electronic world just hates me, my laptop is ker-fucked. At least my netbook is back in working order--hence I'm talking to you lovelies right now.

However, netbook has no webcam, so there will sadly be no vlogging in the considerable future.

Sooooo I'm going to do a regular post (boooo) for the rest of your questions. I'm disappointed, but vlogging was fucking awesome and I will definitely do it again in the near future.

I'm going to try to answer all your questions, tonight. If you want to sneak some more questions into that post down there titled "ASK ME ANYTHING," I promise not to tell anyone.

Hope everything is awesome for everyone. Send me some good vibes this week, kay?

Vlog!!

Answering the first half of your questions:

Isn't this freeze-frame attractive? THANKS BLOGGER.