1.
When Ms. Petersen announces she is assigning partners for the semester project, Martin's stomach drops. He prefers to work alone. He hopes for one of the smart girls, but she's already reading names alphabetically, and his comes right after Owen's.
Owen. A cheeky faced kid with glasses like the O of his name, under a mop of dark curls. Martin must have passed him a thousand times in the halls without really seeing him. Maybe because he usually has his nose in a book. He doesn't think they've ever spoken before.
At least it's not one of the jocks Martin would have to manage or dumb himself down for. He's vaguely aware that Owen is in track and field. He's a distance runner himself, a solitary sport. Owen does something involving throwing heavy metal balls. What an odd sport.
The school library is almost empty during study hall, when Martin arrives ten minutes early. The extra time would give him an edge in navigating the situation. Owen arrives in a drab oversize hoodie and drops his backpack on the table. Three paperbacks spill out, all Star Trek novels. Martin braces himself for something about warp drives and aliens. Instead Owen just opens his notebook and gets to work.
Their second and third sessions are the same. When he talks, it's about the project. When he doesn't need to talk, he doesn't. There's something basic and inoffensive about him. Like... milk. For once Martin doesn't feel the need to hide how easily the work comes to him. Owen doesn't seem to notice, or care.
Martin preferred to move through school unseen, a desire reinforced by the one time he'd inadvertently stepped into the spotlight. One accidental debate performance had earned him unwanted attention he's been managing ever since, blurring the lines between his ability and his desire to go unnoticed.
On the way home Martin stops at a corner store to buy a Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. Walking by the magazine racks he's caught midstep by the face on a cover. It's a man with black ridge of eyebrow over ice-blue eyes, with thick dark lashes, a strong jaw and dense five o'clock shadow.
His masculine beauty puts to shame the boys in school, even the ones he's fantasized and covertly eyed for glimpses of hair on their tummies, or their armpits or even just the sweaty napes of their necks in gym class.
It's a men's fashion magazine. Not something Martin, uniformly in jeans and t-shirts, would ever buy. But the man's stare and the contrast of his eyes to his hair, the composition of his face all make something in him ache. He pays for a copy at the counter, afraid he'll be carded as if it's pornography. It's deeply embarrassing to buy it, but knows if he can't have this image to gaze at, he will surely die.
He squirrels the magazine away at home, in the sanctuary of his bedroom. There he jerks off, and afterwards studies his reflection in the mirror inside his locked door. He has long, reasonably shaped limbs. Slim and long-waisted, with downy chest hair trailing downward.
When the project wraps up Owen asks Martin if he wants to see Star Trek II: Wrath of Khan, and Martin says yes without thinking about it. He doesn't even like Star Trek, but he has nothing else to do but occupy his own time, and he's gotten comfortable having quiet Owen by his side.
In the dark movie theater, there's a tremor in his chest when Spock dies, separated from Kirk by that pane of glass. And later, at the funeral, when Kirk's voice breaks, something in Martin's heart catches. And his balls at the same time. He sneaks a glance at Owen in the dark theater, putting popcorn in his mouth, and wonders if he felt it too.
They start hanging out on weekends, sometimes after school, at Owen's house, never Martin's, with its constant swirl of aunts and uncles and cousins. Owen's family is like something from TV - mom, dad, older sister, a wood-paneled rec room with a foosball table and a home gym, obviously unused. For Martin it's both boring or intoxicating.
Owen's family even has a summer house at the coast where they spend the season. The most mundanely perfect thing Martin could imagine them doing. But when Owen leaves in June, Martin feels a dull ache at his side.
He'd always been comfortable alone, but now his days stretch, impossibly long, even filled with his usual routines -- reading, running, watching movies and jerking off.
He picks up a copy of Dune at the library, to see what Owen sees in it. It's impenetrable at first, but he sticks with it, to see what it's about.
In August, with their last school year together approaching, Owen calls Martin to ask if he'd like to spend a long weekend with him at the coast. His parents and sister will be at a family wedding, so the house would be theirs alone. Martin shrugs and says sure.
2.
When Owen comes to pick him up Martin almost doesn't recognize him. His curls are gone, shorn for the summer like a lamb, leaving just a scalp hugging buzzcut. He's tan too. A sort of tawny color. His whole face seems changed, still full cheeked, but there's a jaw there. A neck.
It surprises Martin that Owen drove all the way from the coast to get him and is ready to drive all the way back. Martin would offer to drive, but he lacks a license. The debt would have to stand.
No big deal, Owen tells him, already loading Martin's bag in the trunk with an easy strength Martin's never noticed before. On the way they talk about what they'd read since school let out for the summer. "Well, not Star Trek," Martin jokes, and immediately regrets it for being a little too barbed. But Owen laughs.
They drive through a series of tiny towns, and stop in one at a little burger place, The Hum-Dinger. Owen says it's his family's usual stop, and has been since he was a little kid. He orders a cheeseburger, and Martin asks for the same, and pays for both. They eat in comfortable silence at a picnic table next to the small parking lot. The burger has a crispy char on it Martin had never noticed on fast food before. Salty grease lines their lips.
After lunch, Martin studies Owen as he drives. He's wearing a t-shirt instead of his usual shapeless hoodie, and Martin realizes he's never actually seen Owen's arms before. They're summer-golden up to the line of his short sleeves. There are muscles that twitch and flex from time to time as he drives. It makes Martin wonder how much those hoodies concealed.
The summer house is perched on a bluff, wooden steps descending almost straight down. At the bottom is a barrier of sun-bleached driftwood, then rounded rocks, sand, crashing waves, and then finally the long dark flat of the ocean. Though only hours from home, he's never seen it before. It stretches endlessly.
The summer house itself is perfectly ordinary, with three bedrooms, a living room and dining room, a full kitchen and even a laundry room. The only unusual aspect to it is that the whole front consists of tall windows, so wherever you are inside you can see the ocean.
It's isolated, surrounded by trees for miles with only a few homes dotting the bluff. There's no phone, no tv reception and only an occasional flicker of a radio signal, and the nearest grocery is an hour away. "I had to drive to Forks to call you," Owen notes.
Other than the constant rolling sound of the ocean in the background, it's the quietest place Martin has ever been.
There's only one home nearby, and they share the steep path down to the waterfront. Unlike the seasonal residents, the Egans live there year-round.
On their way to it, Owen introduces Martin to Pam Egan and her three blond children, two girls and the littlest a boy. She's a conventionally pretty-enough mom who looks like a receptionist.
The father, Mike Egan, is another matter. When Martin first sees him, he's just coming up from a jog on the beach in nothing but shorts and sneakers. His broad shoulders taper to narrow hips, and the lean definition of his legs catches Martin's attention immediately.
Nearer he can see how his torso is covered in swirls of sun bleached hair. Sweat traces the grooves between the solid muscles of his chest and abs.
Closer still, his features are sharp and angular, a hawk-like nose, his eyes an unexpected pale blue that are a stark contrast to his burnished tan. His hair is cut in a military shave, more gray than dark, though he's only in his thirties.
Martin can't help but stare at him, and he knows Mike Egan can see him do it. Mike meets his gaze, holding it too long before shaking Owen's hand. He has a way of jutting his jaw, and when he does, his square block chin mottles.
When he turns to go in and shower, the play of muscles across his back and the fine white hairs on his shoulders are easily seen. He turns to say if Owen wants to use his garage gym again, he's welcome to bring his friend. But the way his eyes linger just a fraction too long left Martin feeling less than welcome.
Martin doesn't understand what passed between them all, but he recognizes a challenges in Mike Egan's gaze, and something inside him stirs.
3.
