Are you nervous?

Oskar followed Eli down to the playground. When he walked up to the slide Eli jumped off and walked toward the trees. 

His face was bruised—not a black eye or split lip that Oskar was familiar with, from fighting, but a bloody, egg-shaped bump on his forehead. It looked like he had banged his head against the floor again.

Oskar wanted to make Eli feel better, so he cornered him beneath a tree.

“Let’s play a game,” he said, leaning on the frost-bitten tree trunk.

Eli rolled his eyes. The bump was impossible not to look at, shiny with stretched skin and turning at least five different colors that Oskar could see. Oskar had tried banging his head, secretly, in the dark, with his closed fist, to see why Eli did it. To feel what Eli felt. He didn’t think it worked for him. It just hurt the same as a bully’s fist.

“I don’t want to play,” Eli said.

“It’s fun.” Oskar waited a moment. Eli didn’t run away or hit him, so Oskar sat down on the snow next to him. “It’s called...” He thought hard for a moment. “Smile.”

“Sounds boring.”

“It’s not.”

Eli dug his fingers in the snow until he raked up tiny piles of dirt. “What’s the rules?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Oskar didn’t know how to explain what he wanted to do in terms of a game. He was sure if he did, Eli would say no. “I can show you.”

“No way.”

“Then it’ll be your turn,” Oskar said.

“It’s gonna be a kissing game,” Eli accused.

Oskar’s heartbeat kicked faster. “It’s not a kissing game.”

Eli dug his nails into the dirt, scoring four deep lines. “Promise?”

Oskar nodded solemnly.

Eli sighed. “Fine.”

Oskar held out his hand. Eli looked at it, then up at him.

“What’s that?” Eli asked.

“Hold my hand.”

For a second Oskar didn’t think Eli would do it. But Eli put his hand in Oskar’s. It was smaller than his. Oskar closed his fingers around Eli’s and held on lightly. These were the fingers Eli used to hold his plate, to brush his teeth, to comb his hair. Oskar trembled.

“Are you nervous?” Oskar asked.

Eli scoffed and yanked his hand away.

Oskar closed his hand into a fist. Some of the sweat on his palm must have been from Eli’s hand, some particles of skin or dust from him, now crushed between his own fingers.

“Now it’s your turn. You touch me somewhere, and whoever gets nervous first loses.”

Eli shook out his hand as if Oskar had hurt it. “Why’s it called Smile?”

“Because you don’t smile if you’re nervous.”

“Hm.” Eli had a glint in his eye now, and suddenly Oskar’s stomach turned over. “Close your eyes.”

It was Oskar’s turn to say, “What?”

“Close. Your. Eyes.”

Oskar did. He could feel Eli moving around him, standing up, circling. Two small hands came down on Oskar’s shoulders and a voice spoke into his ear.

“Are you nervous?”

“No.” Oskar smiled. When Eli tried to move from behind him, Oskar held both his hands down by the wrists and stopped him. “My turn.”

With his eyes still closed, he trailed his hands up Eli’s arms, over his knobby elbows. Oskar stopped there, heart racing.

“Not nervous,” Eli chirped before Oskar could ask. “Let go of me, I need my hands.”

Oskar let go and waited. Eli’s hands came to his chin and tipped his head back. If he opened his eyes, he could look straight into Eli’s face, but he kept them tightly closed.

It was a surprise when Eli stuck his hand into Oskar’s mouth. His eyebrows came together and he shoved his tongue towards his hard palate, instinctively protecting his throat. Eli’s fingers easily shoved the muscle down and delved further into his mouth.

Finally Oskar blinked his eyes open. Eli’s face swam into view above him, upside down.

“Nervous yet?”

Oskar twitched his head, almost a no. Eli’s pale eyes were focused but far away, almost blank. His fingers were cold and tasted like dirt. The fleshy part between his index finger and thumb pressed down hard on Oskar’s bottom teeth, and he started to realize that Eli was aiming for something that his fingers were too short to reach.

Then Eli’s other hand yanked his hair and his hand jerked forward, hitting the very back of Oskar’s throat. Oskar wretched hard.

It was like there was a button there that made Oskar gag and Eli had found it. He didn’t stop pressing it. Oskar gagged and coughed and Eli had to shout in his thin, girl-voice: “Are you nervous?”

Oskar couldn’t answer. He tried to yank his head out of Eli’s grasp, and to his surprise, it worked. Eli let go of him.

Oskar fell on his hands and knees and spat a thick, disgusting wad of saliva onto the snow between his fingers. Had that been inside him? And Eli brought it out?

“So?” Eli prodded.

Oskar looked up. Eli didn’t look triumphant or unhappy or scared or anything. He was just blank, waiting.

“You won,” Oskar said.

“Yeah.” Eli looked up. Oskar followed his gaze up to the apartment building, to the window with a light on and a shadow behind it. Eli’s apartment.

Eli said, “I have to go.” He wiped his hand on the inside hem of his shirt and left Oskar there.