“That’s gonna cost you ten points.”
Dean frowned in my direction. “You’re assigning point values to my answers?”
“Obviously.”
“How am I doing?”
“Shockingly well,” I said. “I expected you to be negative double digits by now, but you’re still in the black.”
Dean glowed at the compliment, and I did enjoy making that boy smile. “My turn,” he said. “How did you know you were gay?” As soon as he got the question out, he looked like he wished he’d kept it to himself. “You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal.”
“Nah,” I said. “I don’t mind.” Which was true. I didn’t mind. I also didn’t know where to start. “It wasn’t any one thing, I guess. It was this gradual awareness during middle school that I wasn’t like other boys, but not in the obvious ways. I was obviously not like them because I was a little more glam and a little more everything, but people get it wrong when they figure a boy’s gay ’cause they caught him wearing his mom’s high heels or whatever.”
“What do you mean?” Dean asked.
“Dudes can be burly athlete bros and into race cars or whatever and be super gay or they can love bubble baths and manicures and be straight. All that masculine and feminine stuff is bullshit.”
“I get it,” he said. “It’s like how you assumed that, because of who my mom is and that I’m quiet and reserved, I wouldn’t know how to have fun or that I wouldn’t enjoy cutting loose and dancing.”
“If you keep bringing up your dancing skills, I’m gonna have to make you prove it.”
Dean smiled impishly. “Carry on.”
“Mel’s better at explaining how limiting the constructs of masculinity and femininity are than I am, but anyway, it seemed like the other boys had started speaking a language I didn’t understand. I felt shut out and cut off from them without knowing why. And then one day I was watching Glee on Netflix and Kurt was swooning over Blaine, and I was just like, ‘Me too,’ and fanning myself, and I turned to my dad and told him I thought I was gay.”
“Just like that?”
I nodded. “Just like that.”
“How did he react?”
“A little shook,” I said. “But he recovered quickly. Said it was cool and asked if I had any questions. I think he was terrified I was gonna ask about sex, and I think we were both grateful I didn’t.”
“My father’s sex talk was terrible,” Dean said. “He was sweating while he tried to describe the act in clinical terms. It didn’t help that my mother was standing in the doorway listening. She finally couldn’t stand it anymore and marched in and told me that if I got a girl pregnant, I had better be ready to marry her and start a family.”
I laughed in spite of myself. “Accidental pregnancy’s one thing I’m glad I don’t have to worry about. It could’ve been worse. At least you didn’t have to tell them you’re gay.”
“Who says I’m not?”
Did I fall into the water and drown and hallucinate Dean saying he might be gay? That must’ve been what happened because there’s no way it happened in real life. No way, no how. But I heard it. I had to play it cool.
“I thought you were maybe demi?”
“That describes sexual attraction,” Dean said. “Not the type of person I’m attracted to.” He paused. “Sort of. Being demi, I’m only attracted to people I have an emotional connection with, but those people have mostly been men.”
Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God.
Inside, I was totally freaking out. The chances of Dean possibly having the same kind of feelings for me that I had for him had gone from virtually impossible to probably improbable. But there was still a better-than-zero chance. Outside, though, I was doing my best to keep my shit together.
“Interesting,” I said. “Who was your first crush?”
“Neville Longbottom.”
This bark of a laugh burst out of me, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry. Didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” Dean said. “It’s a little silly. But I felt this deep connection to Neville. We were the same. If he were real, I believed he would have understood me in a way no one else seemed able to.”
“So that’s the kind of guy you like?” I asked. “Nerdy and cute?”
“Brave and honest. Kind of like you.”
That was it. Dean had slayed me. I was dead. My bones had turned to jelly, but I was somehow still standing upright. Kind of like me? What about exactly like me? Better yet, what about me? I wouldn’t have described myself as brave or honest, but if Dean thought I was, I wasn’t gonna argue. I had a million questions, but I didn’t want to overwhelm him. I didn’t want to seem too eager—Mel was always telling me I was too eager—so I played it as cool as I could and let the information sit out there between us while we walked.
No one paid us any attention. For all they knew, we were a couple of kids on a date at the Garden, and for all I knew, Dean could’ve thought it was a date. There was something exciting about being in a city on our own. We were free of our parents and the press and all the expectations. It felt like anything could happen.
“I’m happy we did this,” Dean said.
“I was surprised you were up for it.”
“Walking around a pond?”
“Skipping out on Harvard,” I said. “You’re all about perfect attendance and telling the truth. I just didn’t think you had it in you.”
Dean shoved his hands his pockets and stopped, standing to stare out over the water. “Why do you do that?” he asked.
The air between us grew tense, but I didn’t know why. We’d been having fun and now it seemed Dean was pissed at me. “Do what?”
“Act as though there’s something wrong with trying to be a good and thoughtful person who tries to do the right thing. Having fun and following the rules aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Oh. That was why he was pissed. “I was just playing.”
“It didn’t feel that way.”
“I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with following the rules, but you are a little high-strung. It’s like you’re always on, always thinking about who’s watching or listening. I don’t think I’ve ever even heard you cuss. And I get it. It’s like you said about the expectations of being Janice Arnault’s kid. But, I mean, it wouldn’t kill you to loosen up a little sometimes.”
Even as I said it, I worried I was making shit worse.
“I would’ve lost it a long time ago,” I went on. “Shaved my hair into a mohawk or gotten a giant neck tattoo or burned down the governor’s mansion.”
Dean’s expression hadn’t changed, and I couldn’t tell what he was feeling. “Dean?” I nudged him with my elbow, but he wouldn’t look at me.
“You keep acting like I am who I am because my mother made me this way. I can’t deny the influence she’s had on me any more than you can deny the influence your parents have had on who you are, but have you ever considered that I dress the way I do because I feel more comfortable wearing clothes that don’t make people stare at me? That I don’t cuss because I believe words matter, and I prefer to use words that don’t offend others? That I’m quiet not because I’m afraid to speak, but because I’m choosing to listen? I know I’m not fully baked yet, and that I still have a lot to learn about the world and about myself, but I happen to like who I am.”
“I like who you are too,” I said.
Dean snapped around to face me. “Do you? Because I often feel like you don’t. Like you’re tolerating me until you can make me more like you.”
I immediately opened my mouth to tell him he was wrong, but he wasn’t and I knew it. “Most of the time when we’re talking on Promethean or hanging out like this, you’re just Dean, and Dean is awesome. He’s sweet and somehow insecure and confident at the same time, he’s good with people and he’s considerate. But there are times when I think of you as Janice Arnault’s son, and it’s like I can’t separate the two.”
&nbs
p; “Again, you say that like it’s a bad thing. Like it’s a curse.”
“When you talk about her, you’re talking about your mom,” I said. “But all I know about her is that she thinks transgender soldiers don’t belong in the military and that a god I don’t even believe in should have more say over the choices I make than I do.”
“But that’s not who she is,” Dean said.
“Isn’t it, though?” I reached out to Dean, but he pulled away. “Look, I’m not trying to trash your mom, but I can’t act like I don’t think a lot of the things she supports are shitty and cruel.”
“You don’t know anything about her,” he said.
Dean started walking again, and I wasn’t sure whether I should even follow. It seemed our plan to not talk about this stuff was a failure. Us hanging out at all might’ve been a bad idea, but I kept hearing Mel’s voice in my head, and I wasn’t ready to admit defeat just yet. I caught up to him standing by a bronze duck and a trail of bronze ducklings.
“Why haven’t you told your mom you’re queer yet?”
“The campaign—”
I cut him off. “I didn’t ask why you’re not out, I asked why you haven’t told her. You said your parents wouldn’t disown you or anything, so why haven’t you told them?”
Dean glared at me, and it hurt. It felt like a slap, but I held my ground.
“I’m not scared, if that’s what you’re implying.”
“Are you sure?”
Dean
I LEFT DRE standing by the bronze ducks and walked until I found a coffee shop. It was busy but not packed, and I got in line. My thoughts were chaos. Asking Dre to meet me here had been a mistake of epic proportions. For as open-minded as he claimed to be, he was so eager to pick at the scabs of who I was so he could check off a box determining whether I was friend or foe. He didn’t want to know me; he wanted to know how to categorize me. I could be a mama’s boy or I could be like him, but I couldn’t exist in between. I couldn’t love my mother and believe in her but also find some of Dre’s beliefs worthwhile. There was no middle ground with him.
When I’d told Dre that I wasn’t scared to show my mother who I was, I hadn’t been entirely honest. I was scared. Not that my mother would reject me, but that I had begun to doubt my belief that she would accept me without reservation. But where I had always admired my mother’s commitment to her ideals, her steadfastness was beginning to look like obstinacy, and I wasn’t sure she was capable of accepting me for who I was.
Either way, Dre wanted clear-cut answers that I didn’t have yet, and I needed time to sort out my feelings.
When I reached the front of the line, I ordered a hot chocolate.
“And a latte.” I’d been so lost in my head that I hadn’t realized Dre was behind me. He handed the cashier a card over my shoulder.
“Thank you,” I mumbled.
“What’s your name?” the cashier asked.
I started to answer, but Dre said “Gustav” before I could.
We stood off to the side to wait for our drinks. I should have expected Dre would follow me. His return train to Rhode Island wasn’t scheduled to leave until 7:04 p.m., though it wouldn’t have been too difficult to change his ticket to an earlier train.
“Gustav?” I asked.
“You looked like you were about to give them your real name, and we’re trying to make sure no one recognizes us, right?”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Okay,” I said. “But Gustav?”
“It just popped into my brain, so I said it.” Dre was looking at his shoes, orange Converse high-tops. “I say a lot of things that pop into my brain, most of which I should probably keep to myself.”
I wasn’t going to disagree, but I did not want to get into a deep conversation while standing in the middle of a coffee shop waiting for our drinks.
“What do you want to do next?” I asked, though my enthusiasm for the day had waned. “There’s Faneuil Hall and Quincy Market. We could walk the Freedom Trail. The Museum of Science is nearby or we could go tour the USS Constitution. I’ve also got the JFK Presidential Library and Museum and the Boston Tea Party Ships and Museum on my list. It’s up to you.”
Dre shrugged noncommittally. “Whatever is fine.”
“Gustav?” the barista behind the counter called. “I have a latte and a hot chocolate for Gustav?”
Dre smiled at the young, preppy guy behind the counter as he grabbed our drinks.
“You don’t look like a Gustav,” the barista said. “Actually, you know who you look like—”
“Thanks!” He dashed for the door, and I followed after. We stood in front of the café, sipping our drinks. The awkwardness we couldn’t seem to get past huddled between us again.
“Where to, Gustav?”
“I told you I got nothing.”
“Fine,” I said. “I have an idea, then.”
“Let me guess, a museum?” Dre was smiling when he said it, and I knew he was poking fun at me, trying to ease the tension, but I wasn’t in the mood for it.
“Follow me and find out,” I said. “Or don’t. It’s up to you.” I started walking at a leisurely pace, sipping my hot chocolate and taking in the city around me. I’d been to Boston before with the debate team, and we’d managed to fit in a little sightseeing, but this was different. Being on my own was different. Being with Dre was definitely different.
Dre walked alongside me, and I could feel the frustration radiating from him in waves. I wondered if he was wishing he hadn’t gotten on the train this morning. If he was thinking he could be touring the Rhode Island School of Design instead of spending the day fighting with me. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had been.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were attracted to guys?”
I hadn’t expected the question, and it took me a moment to answer. “Because I didn’t think it was important.”
“Not important?!” he said. “You told me you thought you were ace. Why wouldn’t you also tell me you were gay?”
“First,” I said. “Mostly attracted to men doesn’t mean always, so I’m not sure I’d call myself gay. Second, I don’t think it means the same thing to me that it means to you.”
“Back up a second. What’s that supposed to mean?” Having this conversation while dodging the other pedestrians was difficult, but Dre managed to keep up with me.
This was partly why I hadn’t told him. I didn’t know how to explain it in a way that would make sense to him. “Are you a dog or a cat person?”
“Dog, obviously.”
“Me too,” I said. “Except that I’m also allergic to both, so I don’t necessarily think of myself as a dog person.”
Dre shook his head. “That’s a terrible analogy.”
“It’s imperfect, yes—”
“It’s messed up.”
“Fine.” Now I was the one getting frustrated. “Who someone is is more important to me than what’s on the outside. Most of my crushes have been on people who happened to be men, but it’s all about who they are for me, so gender is kind of irrelevant.”
That answer seemed to give Dre pause because he didn’t immediately fire off another question. I kept us walking in the right direction, but I wasn’t in any hurry.
“Don’t you think it could help people to know the truth about you?” Dre asked. “Even if all they know is that you’re questioning? Don’t you think it’s important?”
“There’s a video of your father giving a speech at a church, and you were standing behind him with your mom wearing a shirt that said ‘Conversion therapy is torture.’”
Dre chuckled. “Yeah, Jose was pissed.”
“I remember watching the video and thinking how brave you were to stand up for what you believe in. Being this out and proud gay guy is part of who you are, and I admire that. But I want people to think of me as more. I don’t want them to reduce me to my sexual orientation.”
“Rude,” Dre said, glaring at me. “That’s not even how it is.”
>
I looked at Dre skeptically. “Do you honestly believe that? Can you honestly tell me that people don’t think of you as the gay one and me as mini-Janice?”
“I’m pretty sure they think of me as the brown kid before anything else,” Dre said. “But fine. You might have a point about being pigeonholed. You could still do a lot of good, though.”
“Maybe, but I don’t want to spend my whole life talking about my sexuality. Isn’t that my right?”
Dre was quiet for a few minutes, and I didn’t know if I had upset him. Finally, he said, “Can I tell you a secret?”
I nodded.
“Mel’s the political one. I mean, I believe in stuff and I stand up for it and all, but Mel’s the one who gets really fired up about that shit. I’m kind of ambivalent about politics. I know it’s important, but it just doesn’t do anything for me.”
“You could have fooled me.”
Dre shrugged. “That’s the point. If I’m shouting about queer rights or wearing a controversial slogan on my shirt or showing up to a Teen Vogue photo shoot in rainbow leggings, no one’s really paying attention to me. I mean, I think it’s important for people to see someone like me out there, but they’re not really seeing me. Not all of me anyway.”
Dre’s confession left me unsure how to feel. “Isn’t using your beliefs as a way to shield yourself from scrutiny kind of exploitative?”
“I didn’t ask for my dad to run for president,” he said defensively. “I was happy doing Dreadful Dressup with Mel and having people’s criticisms of me revolve around what a shitty job I’d done with a photo shoot.”
“It sounds to me like we’re both hiding who we really are from the public.”
“But I’m not hiding who I am from my family.”
“Dre—”
Dre pulled me against the brick wall of a building, out of the flow of traffic. “Look, you said your parents wouldn’t kick you out of the house for coming out, and I believe you. But then why not tell them?”
The defensive part of me that had been dreading this question wanted to push Dre out of my way and keep walking. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to.
“I’ve been dodging answering this for a while,” I said. “And until recently it’s been easy to avoid.” I looked up at Dre and caught his eye.
The State of Us Page 14