Freaks and Revelations by Davida Wills Hurwin Page B

Tommy.” He holds out his hand. “Pleased to meetcha.”
    I take the hand he holds out to me, but don’t know what to say.
    “Want some coffee?” he asks. I follow him to the donut shop. We slide in a booth with two other boys.
    “Nick. Adam. Jason,” Tommy says, pointing at each of us. “Two coffees, Tony? And a jelly roll if you have it.”
    Nick’s telling Adam about a date he had with a fat guy. They don’t pay much attention to me, but I sure do like the company, and the stories of what they do on the street.
    “You work?” Adam asks, out of the blue. I blush, everybody’s staring at me.
    “No.”
    “Why not?” Adam wants to know. “You think you’re too good? You think you’re better than us?”
    I shrug and mumble “no.”
    “Leave him alone, Adam,” Tommy says.
    “He’s staring,” Adam says. He reminds me of Davy.
    Nick laughs. “You’re so paranoid.”
    “Stop staring,” Adam says, pouting.
    Knowing people helps. I start hanging out at the donut shop every once in awhile. I hear how Tommy’s from L.A. and got here three years ago. I learn stuff about surviving—about how you can stay under benches in Golden Gate Park when it rains. The avenue side. Or if you have change, you get on the green bus. You mind your business and curl up in the corner in the very back. If nobody complains, they usually let you ride all night. Sometimes I go for days without thinking about my family.
    {4}
    “Waiting for someone?”
    I’m startled. I’ve just snatched a piece of pizza left on a plate in front of the café. I stop, mid-bite. I didn’t see the guy coming. “Excuse me?”
    “I wonder if I might treat you to dinner? If you’re not otherwise occupied.”
    “Sorry. I’m not a working boy.”
    He smiles, glances at the pizza in my hand. “I thought perhaps you were hungry.”
    His name is Nigel. We walk to a Chinese restaurant down the street. Inside is painted red and gold, with a huge dragon that takes up one whole wall. Its eyes follow me. I think of Jesus. Nigel gets a booth at the back. He orders tons of stuff I don’t recognize and then tries to show me how to do chopsticks. I almost get it, but then drop my moo goo whatever on the tablecloth. He laughs and gets me a fork. I try everything he orders.
    “Dessert at my place?” Nigel says just after the waiter sets down the fortune cookies. “I’m just around the corner.”
    I’ve heard all about sugar daddies from Nick and Adam. How they’re usually older. How they give you a place to sleep and take good care of you, and all you have to do is be nice. Is this it? Have I met mine?
    Nigel lives in a light blue apartment building just off Castro, a converted Victorian I’ve walked past a billion times. He unlocks the iron gate and we go through a tiny garden of miniature trees, with a small statue of a boy peeing into a pond. I giggle and Nigel smiles. He leads me up a spiral staircase and into his apartment. It’s like nothing I’ve seen before. It’s perfect. The colors, the shape of the furniture, the stuff hanging on the walls—all of it fits.
    “Do make yourself at home,” Nigel says. “I’ll be out in a jiffy.” I hear him turn on the shower.
    I sit on the sofa, bounce on the cushy loveseat. Two tall bar stools whirl all the way around, I spin a couple of times on each of them. I can’t stop smiling. I wander into the kitchen, which is arranged exactly how I would want mine, if I had one. I peek into the bedroom—the bed looks fluffy and has tons of pillows.
    Nigel comes out in a pair of lounge pants and a dressing jacket. His hair’s wet, combed back, and he smells delicious. He looks younger. He asks if I’d like to smoke some weed, which seems so weird I start to giggle again. He smiles.
    “Haven’t you ever been high?”
    “Yeah, sure, lots of times, with my brother,” I say, thinking of Paul, and how Davy and I sneaked it with him sometimes at the old house. “It just seems strange that you do