Boarding school. Of all the advantages I had growing up, I never saw boarding school as one of them. My dad, one of them, was Zander Stout, a professional pitcher in the MLB. He and my other adopted father, Andrew, had always treated me like their own blood. There was nothing I longed for. There was nothing I had to wait for. If I wanted something, all I had to do was ask. But that was the problem.

  Speaking up never came naturally to me.

  Toys, games, and trips to amusement parks. Sure, my parents weren’t always around, but they tried to make up for it as best they could. Other kids might have thrown tantrums or gotten upset having to come in second to their parents’ careers, but I was happy to have parents at all. I was lucky that, in most cases, my dads could sense when I wanted something. They could always tell when I needed something, even when I couldn’t.

  Of course, it was a surprise when my dads told me I had to go to boarding school. They said it was an opportunity to get the best education. I wouldn’t say I liked the idea of living in an unfamiliar place with a bunch of strangers. Regardless of my feelings, I had to go.

  “So, if you’re Duke Stout, your dad must be Zander Stout, right?” a boy sitting next to me asked.

  I had only been a student at Cook Academy for three days, but already I had detention. It was over something stupid.

  “Makes sense. Only rich kids and famous people go to this school,” the boy continued, despite my staying silent.

  He and I were the only people in that large classroom. We were supposed to spend the next hour and a half in silence, but the teacher overseeing us wasn’t around.

  “You ask a lot of questions,” I finally spoke to the red-haired chatterbox.

  He wore the school’s uniform, but his red tie was undone, his button-down T-shirt had a mustard stain, and his black pants seemed intentionally ripped at the knees like a pair of worn jeans. If no one else, that kid looked like the type to spend his time in detention.

  “Try answering a few,” he remarked.

  “It was porn, ok, I was watching porn in the bathroom,” I answered honestly.

  Every second of every day in that school was planned out. From the time students woke up to the hour they had to sleep, there was a strict schedule for everything. I couldn’t shower without hearing the hour bell. Who could blame me for needing a little alone time to help cope with my parents moving me across the country?

  “That’s all?” He said suggestively.

  The way he asked made my crime seem like a minor offense. I didn’t see the big deal in what I’d done, either. It was a school for teenagers. Did they not expect people to do that kind of stuff? At least someone understood how ridiculous punishing me was. It wasn’t like I had ordered a hooker.

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  “What did you do?” I asked as I turned in my seat and started taking off my tie.

  “I told a teacher to fuck off,” he answered.

  It was a more... abrasive offense than what I’d done, but I tried to avoid judging. I definitely judged him, but not in a harsh, snobbish way.

  “I’m Don, by the way, Don McGuire,” he told me.

  “McGuire?” I said.

  His name was familiar, but I couldn’t remember from where until Don mentioned, “My mom owns Beef Babys, most of it anyway.”

  He said only rich kids and famous people went to that school, but I hadn’t the slightest idea he was one of them until that moment.

  “Your mom is the reason my favorite burger tastes like rabbit food,” I joked.

  “She’s why people stopped passing out after three bites,” he laughed.

  Henry, the teacher who should have been watching us, had been gone for quite a long while. We were 30 minutes in, and he still hadn’t come back from wherever he got off to. I began dozing off while sitting at my desk. Every few seconds, my head nodded until I was out cold.

  I might have stayed that way had something not bumped against my desk. I jumped in my seat, surprised to find Don standing in front of me, going through my bookbag.

  “So, what kind of porn was it?” He asked as I angrily snatched my stuff back and closed it.

  “What!” I said.

  “What kind of porn was it?” He repeated shamelessly, while leaning against the chair in front of my desk.

  “I don’t think we’re supposed to talk,” I said.

  “Henry won’t be back until the end of the hour,” Don explained.

  He didn’t move. His eyes watched me like a TV, and it felt invasive.

  “Soooooooo...?” He said.

  “If I tell you, will you leave me alone?” I asked with a sigh.

  “I’ll think about it,” he answered and sat on the desk beside me rather than the chair under it. What was with that guy?

  “It was a web comic... a sci-fi type of exotic drama,” I said, looking away to swallow my embarrassment. When I looked back, he only blinked, unsatisfied with my answer or perhaps confused by it.

  “So it was gay shit?” He asked, as if I hadn’t already said enough.

  “No, it wasn’t... I mean, technically, it was. But it was more than that,” I said, and the more I tried to save face, the more he laughed.

  Don walked around my desk until he was standing in front of where my eyes were focused. He couldn’t sit still, or maybe he wanted my attention. Perhaps both were true?

  “I wanted to see if it would work. It was like a test, I guess.” I did my best to explain, but it was challenging to keep from blushing or shutting my eyes.

  “Why didn’t you wait until the end of the day? We can do that kind of stuff in our rooms. We’re not supposed to, but we can’t get in trouble that way,” he suggested.

  “My roommate would have been there,” I answered.

  “First time in a boarding school?”

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I said.

  “You’ll get used to it,” Don said.

  Just as I was about to say something else, I heard the classroom door. Mr. Henry was back. Something inside me instinctively took hold of Don and moved him back into his seat before Henry was inside. Instinctively, I protected him from getting into trouble as if I might have gone down as well. The act might have surprised Don, but I surprised myself more. I guess sometimes words weren’t necessary, not if I was scared enough.

  It was the end of my first detention. It was the end of our first detention.