by Jason June
That sounded so not sexy, while my night with Tony had been all sexy all the time. Pure, hot, sweaty sexiness. “I wouldn’t say it’s exactly like that,” I said, “but sure. That’s the general idea.”
Max got up from the couch. “I bet after all that you’ve worked up quite the appetite. Come on, Jules and Dad made panca— WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?”
Max screamed so loudly I sprang to my feet. His parents, Jules and Joseph, ran into the living room.
“What?” Joseph yelled. He was too worried to notice the glob of pancake batter oozing through his beard. “What is it?”
Jules rushed to inspect Max’s arms, hands, face. “Are you hurt?”
Max didn’t say a word. He simply pointed to the TV with a shaking finger.
We all turned. There, on the screen, was Reese. Reese taking an order from an All-American family eating at Red Robin, Home of the Gourmet Burger.
“Is that Reese?” Jules asked.
Max didn’t move. He stared at the TV as a single tear fell down his cheek.
“Yeah,” I said for him.
“He’s in a commercial.” Jules was very observant. “Good for him.”
Max glared at her, and I swear the temperature in the room went up. Fortunately, Max’s dad noticed and changed the subject before anyone got incinerated.
“Hey, Jay,” Joseph said. He chuckled while scratching at the batter in his beard. “Ha! That rhymed.”
Max rolled his eyes and snatched my hand when I moved to shake Joseph’s.
“Bye,” Max said flatly. He yanked me behind him and stomped up the stairs.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” Jules called after us.
Max slammed his bedroom door. I guess that meant we weren’t going to join them for pancakes.
“I’ll never be able to eat at Red Robin again,” Max said. “I’ll never be able to eat again, period!” He made a path in his carpet as he paced back and forth. “I want to hear more about your night with Tony, I really do, but I need to vent. Can I? Just for a second? If I don’t, I won’t be able to focus.”
“Totally.” Max had shut off all his emotions to Damon and Cami and everyone in the QSA, and he shut down our convos pretty quickly when I ventured into talking about his breakup. I didn’t want him to keep this bottled up anymore.
“Reese breaks up with me and now is booking national commercials?” Max threw his hands in the air, the angry whip of his robe punctuating his words. “That’s a serious career move. Yet more proof that I was the one bringing him down, while Spencer is boosting him up. I want him to succeed, I do, but . . .” He looked lost, devastated, torn apart. “Why couldn’t he succeed with me?”
“Oh, Max, I—”
But he wasn’t looking for input. Not yet.
“I just know it’s all we’re going to be hearing about in Fashion Design this week.” Max put on a fake British accent. “Did you see my commercial? Yes, yes, I was selected out of thousands who auditioned. It’s running across the country, you know.” I’m not exactly sure why Max chose an English accent since Reese isn’t British, but it really didn’t feel like the right time to nitpick.
“We have to make Reese eat it at the costume contest,” Max continued. He rushed forward and shook my shoulders. “We have to. I want to wipe that smug, self-satisfied smirk right off his face, and let Spencer know I’ve still got one up on him.”
I was more invigorated than ever to pay Max back. He was responsible for kicking off the chain of events that led to items seven and eight flying off the Gay Agenda.
“Honestly, there’s no way Reese can beat me,” I said. “I’m on a three-year costume-contest winning streak, remember?” Images of Lu and me dressing up together flashed through my mind. Some of that determined fire in my belly turned to guilt bubbles over ditching her and the hoedown.
Max dove through his bed curtains and plopped next to me. “All right, then, so let’s finally pick a costume once and for all.”
With so many items on my Homecoming in Hindsight list, I’d thought this part would be easy. But when we’d talked about them during our free periods, Max turned all my costume ideas down. According to him, Thor and Hulk encouraged too many tired tropes about what heroic men should look like; Jack and Rose on a waterlogged door together was funny, but lugging around a door for a dance would get old; and Bert and Ernie ventured too close to furry territory for his liking.
It was back to the drawing board.
“Okay,” I said, “so Homecoming in Hindsight is the theme, right?”
Max gave me some serious side-eye. “Yeah, duh, you came up with it.” He immediately grimaced and smacked himself with his robe sash. “Lord and Taylor, Max. Chill,” he whispered, then turned back to me. “Sorry about that. Reese has put me in a mood. Your theme is totally brilliant.”
“It’s okay. I get it.” And fortunately, this really was my jam. I was a bottomless well of couples ideas. “What about Abe Lincoln and the guy he was supposed to be shacking up with in that log cabin?”
Max stuck his finger down his throat. “Pass. I do not want to wear a massive beard that’s going to be getting caught in my mouth all night. I don’t like my own facial hair as it is. Besides, if you can’t name the guy who was President Abe’s one true love, then nobody will get it.”
I nodded, my mind going down a White House rabbit hole. “Maybe we’re thinking too romantically. You can have hindsight about all kinds of people. Like presidents. After all that time with You-Know-Who in office, I think we’d agree he was the wrong choice. What if we go as Hillary Clinton and Tim Kaine? In hindsight, she totally should have been Madame President.”
“Hmmm.” Max pursed his lips. “I see where you’re going with that one, but who’s Tim Kaine?”
“Her running mate!” I shouted. “The guy she put up for vice president.”
“I don’t know,” Max said. “You might be the only person who still remembers what her VP’s name was. People will get Hillary, but will they get Tim?”
“I could wear a Clinton-Kaine shirt,” I said. “We have tons of them. Mom still sleeps in one every night. The grocery store union she’s a part of was a big supporter of the Clinton-Kaine ticket.”
Max sighed and flipped on his back. “This is a pretty liberal city. Politics are always on people’s minds. I bet someone else is already planning on going as Hil and Timmy. We need something unique. What if we played off that saying, ‘Hindsight is 20/20’? I could go as Barbara Walters! She used to host a show called 20/20.”
It was my turn to give some serious side-eye. “Barbara who?”
“Barbara Walters!” Max whacked me with a lilac quilted pillow. “Journalist extraordinaire, first woman to co-anchor a national evening news program, creator of The View.”
“Yeah, if you’re worried about people no one at school knows about, Barbara’s definitely that,” I said, although I bet Lu knew who she was. “So presidents and obscure news anchors are out. Maybe we’re thinking too literally. We don’t have to be people. Most outfits will consist of humans, so if we do something abstract, we’ll stand out.”
“Okay,” Max said. “How can we fit the theme and not be people?”
I got up from the bed, following Max’s lead and pacing in front of Naomi Campbell and Cara Delevingne. “Two years ago, the hoedown theme was Perfect Pairs. Lu and I went as Netflix and Chill.” More guilt bubbled in my gut. “I was a Netflix homepage.”
“So, like, go as a pair of glasses or something?” Max suggested. He threw on a pair of gold butterfly sunglasses from his nightstand. “Because we’re talking about sight?”
I snapped my fingers. “Yes, you’re on the right track.” I paced some more, repeating, “Hindsight, hindsight, hindsight.” The word was too close to “behind,” which of course made me think of seeing Tony’s perfect ass the night before. Then it hit me. “Behindsight.”
Max coughed. “Come again?”
“Behindsight is 20/20. Homecoming in Behindsight.” I co
uldn’t believe the words that were about to come out of my mouth. “We dress as a giant butt in glasses. We each go as one cheek.” I face-palmed. I couldn’t help it. It sounded so stupid saying it out loud.
Max whipped off his sunglasses, a look of total bewilderment on his face. “That’s ridiculous,” he mumbled.
“I know, I know, but they say to just blurt out any idea that enters your head when brainstorming.”
“No.” Max was wild-eyed. “It’s so ridiculous, it’s genius. No one is going to dress like a giant butt. Behindsight is 20/20. It’s brilliant! And if the state of American entertainment these days has taught me anything, it’s that people love fart jokes.” He looked consolingly at his wall of runway models. “Sorry, ladies.”
To be honest, I was surprised Max was embracing the butt. He’d seemed so particular when we were coming up with outfit ideas for the Lambda Chi party, and with all other ideas I’d thrown his way for the dance, so I hadn’t thought he’d sign up for this. But he leaped from the bed and grabbed me in a hug, solidifying our costume decision. “This is so good, Jay. Like, totally stupid, but that’s the beauty of it. Nobody at CHHS is going to think that fashion star Max would ever dress as a butt.” He laughed, his giggles getting louder and louder. “This is so ironic!”
“What is?” I asked.
Max wiped at the tears that started pouring down his face. “That I’d have to dress like an ass to get back at that ass, Reese.”
I laughed, but nothing compared to how hard Max cackled. He clearly needed to let off some steam. “You’re ass-cracking up,” I said. Which, of course, only made us laugh harder.
We brainstormed ideas for how to pull the outfit off, and I peppered the conversation with details about Tony’s glorious body. The costume was going to be epic. And I had Tony’s beautiful butt to thank for the idea. Hooking up with him clearly gave me great inspiration. If I had to keep hooking up with him to figure out the best way to implement our plan, so be it.
21.
Have the Best of Both Worlds
There really wasn’t a word to describe the feeling that came over me when I opened my phone after the QSA meeting the next day. There, in glorious iPhone HD, was a picture of Tony, his real-life eggplant emoji front and center.
Round 2?
I couldn’t stop my grin or my boner.
How about toni
“What’s got you so happy this afternoon?”
I looked up and nearly collapsed against Ms. Okeke’s bookshelf of Nigerian literature. “Albert, hi!” I fumbled with my phone and shoved it in my pocket. My heart fluttered on overdrive. One, because Albert was in front of me and he always made me twitterpated, and two, because I didn’t think he’d feel so great with me looking at a picture of some other guy’s junk. “It was just some stupid cat meme.” I let loose a very awkward laugh. “What’s up?”
“I had an idea for something we could do tonight,” he said. “If you’re free, that is.”
He leaned forward and gave me the most gentle kiss. It was nothing at all like the kisses Tony scratched against my face with scruff, but it made me flush just as much. Any thoughts of Tony’s eggplant emoji were instantly deleted. “What did you have in mind?” I asked.
“I remember you saying that you liked drag,” Albert said. “There’s this drag queen photo exhibit that just opened here on the Hill. I thought you might like it.”
“I’d love that.”
Albert’s date sounded a million times better than watching that stupid red balloon drift around. Honestly, I’d totally picked the best person to pursue as my first boyfriend. Even if Tony was the current wiener—I mean winner—in the sex department. One guy had my heart, the other guy had my . . . well, you know.
“Great,” Albert said. “I’ve got to meet Shruti and Regina quick for a Digimals battle, but I’ll pick you up at seven.” He leaned forward and kissed me goodbye. As his teeth grazed my bottom lip, I wondered how long it would be until we did more than just kiss. After this weekend, I’d added a perpetual item to the Gay Agenda that would never be crossed off: More penis.
But in the meantime—with those soul-sharing kisses and elbow Morse code and mesmerizing Digihips—Albert was totally worth the wait.
Dad walked into the bathroom while I put on a finishing spray of cologne.
“So,” Dad said. “It’s Monday Night Football, and I thought I’d order Thai for dinner.”
My phone pinged with a text from Albert.
Here
“Sorry, Dad, can’t. I’ve got a date tonight.”
I moved past Dad to grab my jacket from my bedroom.
“Whoa, big man over here. Another date. Who’s it with this time? Tony, Albert, or some other fella?”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m not a big man. I’m just actually getting to date for the first time ever after you and Mom decided to keep me in gay purgatory all my life.”
“Just don’t go being a heartbreaker or anything,” Dad said. “You’re excited, and that’s great, but don’t crush any suitor’s dreams by being in a rush.”
“Nobody says suitor, Dad. And don’t worry, I got this covered.” I’d put everything exactly in its place: Tony and I were just hooking up, and Albert and I were headed on the path to boyfriend-dom.
Dad walked into the living room and grabbed the remote as I moved toward the front door. He turned on the TV, football players running across the screen. They made me think of Damon and Max icing him and Cami out. Maybe if we won homecoming royalty, Max would finally be over his no-talking-about-Reese rule and speak to his former friends again.
“Well, me and the guys are here waiting for you if your plans end early,” Dad said.
“Great, thanks!” I called. “See you later.” I flung the door open. Albert stood there, a Mario umbrella open above his head. The character’s big eyes and mustached nose stared down at me.
“So it’s just going to be the three of us,” I said, pointing to the umbrella.
Albert guffawed, his laugh reverberating through my heart. “It was the only one I could find. It’s my little brother’s.”
“I think it’s adorable.” I stepped under Mario, and Albert leaned forward to give me a soft kiss. It was like my mouth was being caressed by his, and there was more emotion behind his slightly parted lips than Tony ever had. I felt like if he stayed there with his lips against mine long enough, we’d become one person and share our souls and thoughts forever. It made me light-headed as blood rushed to my chest, my heart beating with something entirely different from lust.
Albert pulled away. “I missed you,” he breathed. He had that smolder to his eyes again, which were beautifully framed by his glasses.
“It’s only been three hours.”
Albert nodded. “I know. But that’s three hours too long. Don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “I do.”
Albert locked the fingers of his free hand with mine. They fit as perfectly together as his lips had against my mouth. He smiled and said, “Glad we’re agreed.”
“Ohmigawd, these queens are stunning. And their names are epic: Sissy Spankit, Nita Razor, Tampa Bae. Have you ever thought about what your drag name would be?”
Albert just smiled and shook his head. He’d been so great at letting me geek out over the exhibit. If Lu had been there, she would have been dying. Her appreciation for drag was just as strong as mine. The photo series showed the queens glamming themselves up from man to woman. Some of the images were super blurry, so you couldn’t always tell what stage of the process they were in. A description on the gallery wall said it was to show that there’s really not much difference between men and women, highlighting the arbitrary nature of gender rules. Max would have loved it here, too.
Once we’d spent an hour among the queens, I pulled Albert toward the exit. “Want to get out of here?” I asked. “We could grab something to eat.” As much as I loved getting to take in all these gorgeous ladies, the proximity of other exhibit
attendees was making it way too difficult to try to make out.
Albert nodded just as two men looked our way, pointing at us in front of a massive portrait of Sissy Spankit. “Oh, that’s so cute!” one of them said. “Little gays in love. They’re so itty!”
The other one waved. “You two probably don’t even know if you’re tops or bottoms yet,” he said. “Remember those days, Markus?” He put his arm over Markus’s shoulders. Meanwhile, I face-palmed and Albert’s cheeks bypassed pink and went straight to cherry red.
With the loudest awkward laugh ever, I rushed to the door and pulled Albert behind me. I didn’t want to be asked any more questions about our sex lives. The farther I was from a conversation where I might let slip I’d just had sex, the better.
We stepped out into the rain, and Albert opened his Mario umbrella with way more force than necessary. “Why do gay guys have to be like that all the time?” he asked. “It seems like we always have to talk about sex. Why should they get to know whether I’m a”—he looked over his shoulder—“a top or a bottom?”
“You’re right,” I said. “It’s nobody’s business.”
Although I did have to admit, it was a question that had crossed my mind too. After being with Tony, my body wanted more nakey-time fun. And if Albert could make me feel so special and bonded with a kiss, what would it be like when we had sex? But that was for us to figure out together, not for some random strangers to force upon us before we were ready.
“I just feel like it’s everywhere in gay culture,” Albert said. He pointed back at the photo gallery, glittery drag queens staring at us from the window display. “I have a hard time getting into all the sex jokes and dick references in drag. Less is more sometimes, right?”
“It’s not all bad,” I said. “It’s also about bending the arbitrary rules society puts on gender and showing how it’s all just an act. Like, why do guys have to only wear pants, but girls get pants and skirts and dresses and jumpsuits and makeup? Not that I want to wear any of that personally, but what’s the big deal about a guy wearing a dress? I mean, look at Max. He always looks so great: skirts, leggings, jeans, blouses, whatever.”