Danny Read online

  It wasn’t that Minos was a man. Ganymede didn’t think it was weird that a guy would want to do another guy. In Troy and Crete and other places in Greece back then, everyone thought that stuff was completely normal. Most of the guys Ganymede knew back home screwed around, even the ones who were married. No one cared. It was just that Ganymede didn’t like Minos very much, didn’t like his clammy skin, his purple fingers, his oiled beard.

  Overhead, an eagle screamed, a high, free sound. Ganymede could yank his hand free and run away. But that would be an unthinkably rude thing to do to a king. Maybe he could pretend he was sick or that he had to go back to the palace to see his brother.

  Minos gave Ganymede a sly brown glance, then delicately extended his pink tongue and licked the tip of Ganymede’s index finger. It was supposed to be sexy, but it only made Ganymede’s stomach turn and he couldn’t help shuddering. Minos seemed to think the shudder meant Ganymede was turned on, and he smiled. His teeth were yellow in his beard.

  “The perfect Greek boy,” Minos murmured. “Run until you’re caught.”

  Realization slapped Ganymede in the face and his skin went cold. When a grown man tried to get it on with a teenager, the teenager was supposed to resist but eventually give in, almost like a game. Without realizing it, Ganymede had made Minos think that Ganymede wanted to play.

  Minos pulled Ganymede closer and put his free hand around the back of Ganymede’s neck. Ganymede’s eyes went wide and his mouth fell open. That was when Minos kissed him. The oily hair of the king’s beard pressed against Ganymede’s face, and his tongue pushed into Ganymede’s mouth like a snake. Ganymede tasted garlic, and he had to swallow hard to keep from hurling. Then Minos broke away.

  “The treasure of Troy,” he said again. “And now it’s mine.”

  “My lord,” Ganymede began, “I’m—”

  “Ganymede!” boomed a new voice. “Ganymede!”

  Ganymede used the distraction to pull away from Minos and turn toward the sound. Rounding the corner of a garden wall came Ilos, Ganymede’s older brother. Like Ganymede, he was blond with green eyes, but he was taller and thinner, his face longer. He was twenty-one, and Ganymede thought he was about the coolest guy around. So did most of Troy. Everyone knew that Ilos would inherit Tros’s throne one day, and King Tros had already handed Ilos some powers and privileges to get him started.

  Ilos wasn’t as good-looking as Ganymede, but he did have one powerful tool—his voice. Ganymede was secretly jealous of his older brother’s deep, thunderous voice. It could shake birds from the trees and make strong men quaver. Right now, it was booming Ganymede’s name, and Ganymede had never been gladder to hear it.

  “Over here, Ilos,” he called back.

  Ilos jogged toward him, then caught sight of Minos for the first time. The king was getting to his feet. Ilos stopped and bowed.

  “Your Majesty,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Minos said, though his smile was filled with yellow regret and a little anger. “Your brother and I were discussing matters of state.”

  “Ah,” Ilos said. “I feel I should say that anything Ganymede says isn’t binding for Troy, your Majesty. As the chief diplomat, I have to—”

  “Yes, yes.” Minos waved a purple-tipped hand. “It’s clear our brother has much to learn about the ways of kings.”

  “Thank you, my lord,” said Ilos. “I hope he didn’t offend you with improper behavior.”

  “Perhaps a bit,” Minos said, his smile widening as he looked at Ganymede. “But it’s easily forgiven.”

  Ganymede stared at Minos in silent outrage. Ilos, reading his brother’s expression, put an arm around Ganymede’s shoulders and squeezed hard. Ganymede stared down at the ground, trying not to fume before the king.

  “I’ll talk to him, my lord,” Ilos said.

  “Do that. A prince needs to learn to anticipate what a king wants and then give it to him. I’ll be glad to teach him, Prince Ilos.”

  With that, Minos strolled away. Ilos stood his ground, holding Ganymede hard against him, until Minos was out of sight and out of earshot.

  “That was total bullshit!” Ganymede protested the moment it was safe. “I didn’t do anything wrong!”

  Ilos let Ganymede go. “I know. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, the way he touches you when he thinks no one can see. Walk with me, and we’ll talk about it.”

  They wandered through the paths that twisted through the garden. They passed fountains that glittered like diamonds in golden sunlight and bushes cut in the shapes of green animals. Flowers scented the heavy air. Above them, cut into the side of an enormous hill, sprawled the palace of Minos. It was made of blocky white stone and painted a riot of colors. The buildings, corridors, and courtyards meandered all over the hill and down its sides. Visitors often got lost and needed help to find their way. People joked it wasn’t really a palace—it was a labyrinth.

  “You know that Troy needs Crete more than Crete needs Troy,” Ilos said as they walked.

  Ganymede nodded. Ilos always knew this stuff. It was why he would make a good king one day. Being a prince came easily to Ilos. He always knew what to say or do in any situation. He gave magnificent speeches and could calm an angry crowd with his voice alone. Whenever Ganymede was supposed to give a speech, his tongue seemed to swell up like a sponge, and he couldn’t say anything without stuttering and stammering. Ganymede never knew what to do as a prince—if he did, he might be able to avoid Minos better. Ilos would never have gotten himself into a situation where Minos could fondle or kiss him, and Ganymede admired Ilos for that.

  “We need the lumber and the wine,” Ilos went on. “And our population is growing faster than our weavers can handle. Without Minoan cloth, our people will freeze come winter. All Minos wants is a better trade route, and if he doesn’t get it, well… he’s already rich beyond anything you or I could imagine. It’s not a big deal to him. We have to give him what he wants so he’ll give us what we need. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah.” Ganymede scratched his nose. “We just have to figure out what he wants, right?”

  Ilos closed his eyes for a moment. “My little brother. What am I going to do with you?”

  “What?” Ganymede heard the note of disappointment in Ilos’s voice and didn’t like it. Ganymede hated to disappoint anyone, especially Ilos.

  “You already know what Minos wants, little brother,” Ilos said with a sigh. “We both know.”

  Ganymede stopped dead. Ilos went another couple of steps before he noticed and turned around. Cold nausea stole over him.

  “You’re saying that I should go to bed with him and then he’ll give us what we need.”

  “That should’ve been obvious,” Ilos said almost sharply. “He’s had a hard-on for you since we got here, and he’s made references to it in every talk we’ve had. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  Ganymede stared down at the ground again. He’d been present during all the talks, but Ilos had handled everything. Ganymede was supposed to watch and learn. It was just that the negotiations were so boring, and Ganymede couldn’t pay attention for more than a few minutes at a time. Tros complained that Ganymede wouldn’t know how to be a prince even if Zeus himself took him under his wing.

  “It’ll hurt,” Ganymede muttered.

  “Nothing worse than you’ve gotten during sword practice.” Ilos faced Ganymede and took him by both shoulders. Their green eyes met. “Look, being a prince doesn’t just mean a life of privilege. It also means that sometimes you have make sacrifices for your people. You do this thing, and the children of your homeland won’t freeze this winter. Just shut your eyes, let him do what he wants for a few minutes, and an entire country benefits. You’ve never gone naked or hungry in your entire life. Now it’s time to pay for that privilege.”

  Ganymede dropped his eyes, feeling both shame and betrayal. Ilos was right, but he was also wrong. It wasn’t fair of him to ask this, to o
ffer up his younger brother for sale like a cow in the market. It also wasn’t fair that his people didn’t have enough cloth, wood, and wine.

  After a long moment, Ganymede whispered, “When?”

  “Probably tomorrow,” Ilos said. “I’ll talk to Minos.” He paused, then said, “Look, I know this is a terrible to thing to make you do. If there was any other way—”

  “Sure,” Ganymede interrupted. “Whatever.”

  Ilos gave him a long hug, and that somehow made it even worse. At last, Ilos walked away. Ganymede’s stomach churned with acid, and this time he let himself throw up.

  BOOK 8

  PART II

  We’ve moved. I’m writing this on Myron’s dock now. It’s newer. Smooth, too. No splinters. Our old dock is all the way across the lake, and I can’t see it from here.

  I’m trying to figure out how I feel about being here. I’ve been acting like I hate it, but it isn’t completely horrible.

  COOL

  1. Myron’s house is bigger and newer.

  2. I still have my own room.

  3. Myron’s entire house is wired and his computer system is awesome! He subscribes to a shitload of on-line games, and he lets me play as much as I want.

  4. Mom drinks less.

  CRAPPY

  1. It’s not our house. It’s Myron’s.

  2. No more swimming naked in the lake.

  3. I don’t know how to deal with Myron. He’s friendly and he’s nice to me, but he isn’t my dad—or even my step-dad. Mom just lives with him. I don’t like it.

  4. Eryx.

  I guess I should explain that last one. Eryx is Myron’s son. He’s sixteen, about two months older than me. He’s blond, has blue eyes, and he’s way better-looking than I am. At least I have an inch of height on him.

  Eryx has this strange way of walking. His feet barely touch the ground, so he whispers around the house on tiptoe, gliding through the rooms as silent as an owl. It’s kind of freaky. You can be sitting in the living room playing video games completely by yourself, and after a while you feel eyes boring through your back. You turn, and there’s Eryx, perched on the edge of the couch behind you.

  The first few times he did this to me, I jumped and yelped. Eryx gave a little smile and slipped out of the room. Now I still jump, but only a little, and I don’t yelp. Eryx still gives that little smile and whispers away.

  It’s not that he doesn’t talk. He does. He argues, too. We argue a lot, in fact. We’re two strange cats dumped into a room together. I honestly try to be nice to him—we have to live together, after all—but he pulls stupid shit on me all the time. Last Saturday morning he came into the kitchen and the left side of his face was white as chalk, as if someone had sucked all the color out of it. One blue eye stared out of the whiteness, a speck of sky in a bank of clouds. Myron, Mom, and me all stared at him. It took a second for us to realize half his face was covered with white powder. The next few minutes came out like a bad play:

  0o0

  MYRON: Jesus Christ! What the hell happened to you?

  ERYX (outraged): Look at me! (Points to his face in case the family hasn’t seen it.) Danny put flour all over my pillow!

  DANNY: What the fuck? I never did that!

  MOM: Watch your damn language!

  ERYX: My whole bed is a mess. Danny’s been doing shit like this ever since he moved in here, but no one listens to me.

  ME: I’ve never done anything to you!

  ERYX: Yes, you have. You hide my homework and mess up my room and now you pull this shit on me. Why don’t you go back to your own white trailer trash house where you belong?

  (Danny lunges for Eryx, who jumps back with a cry of fear. Myron grabs Danny.)

  ERYX: See? He hates me! He’s had it in for me ever since he got here.

  MOM: Danny!

  MYRON (strangely calm): Eryx, go clean up in the bathroom. I’ll come in and help in a second.

  DANNY: Let me go. I’m not going to do anything.

  (Myron lets Danny go. Eryx shoots Danny a small smile as he exits with Myron.)

  MOM (hissing): Danny, I can’t believe you would do something like that! You and Eryx should be best friends.

  DANNY: Mom, I swear I didn’t do anything. If he slept all night like that, wouldn’t it get his whole face? He did it to himself and he’s trying to blame—

  (Mom slaps Danny’s face.)

  MOM: Don’t make up stories. Why would Eryx do such a thing?

  DANNY (hand on his cheek): To make me look bad because he hates me. But you’d rather believe him than your own son.

  (Exit Danny, angry.)

  0o0

  Eryx is always pulling shit like this, and Mom always sides with him. The weird thing? Myron sort of stays out of it, and I kind of respect that. He’s staying back while Eryx and I try to work it out, though I don’t think Eryx is ever going to be anything but a shitheap.

  Myron is actually turning out to be kind of cool, though I wouldn’t ever say that anywhere except here. Three or four times a week Myron takes me someplace. Mom never had the money to play laser tag, but Myron does, and it’s pretty neat when he takes me. He’s also taken me to ride go-carts and skating at the skate park. I was surprised at how good Myron is on a skateboard, though he looks kind of goofy doing it because he’s so old. He actually seems to enjoy doing this shit instead of just putting up with it like most adults would do. It’s like his body got older but his brain stayed a teenager somehow. I know he’s doing it to make friends with me and he’ll probably get tired of it after a while, but I’m gonna have fun while it lasts.

  Myron does ask Eryx to come along when we “go play” (that’s how Myron puts it), but Eryx always turns his back and walks away, stiff and jealous.

  Eryx’s real name is Eric, but Myron says when he was real little, he used to drag around this blanket that had his named embroidered on it. He would hold it up and say “Eric’s!” to anyone who’d listen. It became his nickname. When he got older, he changed the spelling to something really stupid. Eryx is really stupid, both the name and the person.

  Hmmmmm …

  Okay, I lied, and it’s kind of dumb to lie in my journal, since no one but the lake is going to read it. I was kind of hoping Eryx and I would be good friends. I’m not good at making friends, but I figured that Eryx and I would have to be friends because we’re living together. It’s not working out that way, even though I wish it would. I’m better friends with Myron than with Eryx.

  I still miss Uncle Zack. I wake up at night sometimes and feel fossilized tracks of salt water on my face, though I don’t remember crying in any dreams. Other times anger swoops down and carries me away and I have to go hit something or throw rocks into the lake. The hitting and throwing drain all my energy until I can’t do anything but lie flat on the floor, a kite that can’t catch a breeze.

  ZIG-ZACK

  Back and forth

  Water sloshing in a pool.

  I hate you, I miss you.

  Lightning cuts the sky in half.

  I love you, I loathe you.

  Your kind hand on my shoulder

  Leaves a bloody print.

  I’m sitting on a Greyhound bus. The air’s filled with diesel fumes and the smell of stale skin, and a spring is digging into my ass. Eryx is asleep in the seat next to me. He keeps drooping over and leaning on my shoulder. I shrug him upright again, but he just tips back down to my shoulder again, so now I’m just letting him lean. He barely makes a weight against my upper arm, like he’s made of brittle snowflakes and old feathers. I just hope no one thinks we’re faggots or something.

  There are maybe twenty other people on the bus. One of them is this hugely fat man who had to force his way down the aisle and wedge himself into his seat. I always feel sorry for really fat people. I mean, who doesn’t like to eat? It must be shitty to deal with a hundred or two hundred extra pounds every day just because you like food and are stuck with a slow metabolism. The fat guy is sitting close to the
front looking sweaty and miserable. The armrests are digging into his sides.

  I’m pretty fucking miserable myself. I don’t know what the fat guy’s problems are, but I’d probably trade for them in a heartbeat.

  It’s two o’clock in the morning, and it’s dark out. I’m writing because I can’t sleep, even though I’m so tired my eyes feel like sandbags. It’s taken us thirty hours to get this far, or maybe it’s thirty years. I think I’ve been on this bus forever, falling through an endless black pit.

  The route doesn’t go straight south. We’ve gone through Ohio and Kentucky, and into West Virginia. South Carolina’s next. It’s hot and muggy outside. You can get a drink just by inhaling hard. The AC isn’t working very well, so everyone is keeping the windows open. It feels weird—October should be cold and rainy. It’s also weird sitting here with Eryx leaning on my shoulder. He’s snoring just a little bit. I feel like I’m protecting him, and that confuses the hell out of me.

  I still can’t get my head on straight. Just two days ago I thought I was adjusting okay to living at Myron’s house in Lake Trick. Eryx was still trying to make my life difficult, but Myron and Mom were both starting to see what he was doing, so I wasn’t getting into so much trouble over his attitude or his shit.

  Then we had this big fight. Mom was at work and Myron had gone out to a movie or something, and I was playing FlashCar 3000. I needed to win one more race on this bitch-kitty of a course so the game would unlock the G4 engines. I’d been playing for two hours, which meant my thumbs were cramping, but I wasn’t going to give up. The speakers on Myron’s sound system would impress the guys who built the pyramids, and the sound pounded the anger out of my bones. Then I hit The Zone. Everything fell into place. I was cool, I was in control. I could do nothing wrong. I got my car halfway around the final lap and pulled into the lead. Two more turns, and the G4 engines were mine. I hit a burst of speed, tore around the first turn, then the second. The winner’s gate was only a few yards ahead of me.