Exit Plans for Teenage Freaks

by Nathan Burgoine

  Crashed out in comfy clothes on the big ugly couch in my basement and watching a movie was in my top ten ways to spend an evening. Having Alec beside me nudged it into the top five. Normally, I would lean on him while we watched something fun and upbeat if it was my turn to pick or something cute and sweet when it was his turn. Last year, before it had all gone south with Grayson, we’d made the mistake of deciding to share our movie night tradition with him. He’d picked some sort of violent gory horror thing, and that had been the last time we’d tried to widen our movie night bubble.

  Tonight, though, we were more than half an hour in and still sitting at either end of the couch. And although I loved this movie—Beautiful Thing, which was super old, but damn, it sure did make me want a Ste of my own—I was only half paying attention. I had a few things on my mind. Whether or not these two crazy kids would find a way to make it wasn’t really getting top billing over the whole “Remember how on Monday I started teleporting and can’t seem to make it stop?” thing.

  Also? Malik King’s questions.

  Okay, mostly Malik King’s questions. Malik King was definitely getting higher billing than teleportation and cute gay Ste. I should probably be worried about my prioritizing.

  Alec and I were halfway through the movie when my phone buzzed. He didn’t complain—he couldn’t, given how much he’d been fiddling with his own phone the whole time—and I checked. The number wasn’t in my contacts.

  It had to be Malik.

  Hey.

  Hey, I sent back. I took a second to set a contact for him, waffling for a moment before settling on a name. You okay?

  Yeah. Am I interrupting?

  No. I’m watching Beautiful Thing with Alec. Gay classic. We’ve both seen it a billion times.

  Don’t know it. Then, a second later: Can he see my texts?

  I glanced at Alec, but he was looking at his own phone. Again. Don’t worry. Even if he did I have you listed as Sportsball. I sent him a screenshot to prove it.

  A screenshot came back. He had me in his phone as “Bullet.”

  My eyebrows rose. That is the coolest thing anyone has ever called me. If I didn’t know it was a reference to my journal, I’d figure you were talking to a gangbanger or something.

  I won’t tell if anyone asks.

  “Okay, you keep laughing,” Alec said. “Who are you talking to?”

  “Oh, I’m laughing? You’ve been grinning at your phone since we started the movie.”

  Alec blushed. Actually blushed.

  “Wait,” I said, holding up my hand. “Am I out of the loop? Is there loop? Have you not looped me in?”

  He rolled his eyes. “There’s no loop.”

  “Uh-huh.” My phone buzzed again.

  I just wanted to say thank you.

  It’s cool, I wrote. Any time. I mean it. I hit Send and stared at Alec. He squirmed.

  “Loop,” I said.

  “Well,” he said. “There’s this guy.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Really?”

  Alec nodded. His face was so red, he looked sunburned. “We’ve been chatting a lot. He’s ace, too, and we’re maybe going to be hanging out.”

  “That’s awesome.” I worked hard to make sure it sounded like I meant it. Alec’s smile faded. Apparently, I hadn’t worked hard enough.

  “Really?” he said. “It’s felt like a secret, but I’ve really wanted to tell you and…Really?”

  “Really,” I said. We weren’t saying some stuff here, and I kind of hoped we would keep not saying it, because I’d really hit my limit lately with embarrassing myself in front of people.

  “You’re okay with it?”

  Crap. I was going to have to say things. Sometimes it drove me nuts, but sometimes I really liked how most of my guy friends generally went around not talking about feelings and stuff. That wasn’t going to fly tonight, though.

  I blew out a breath and paused the movie just as the drag queen was about to meet the boys. “What’s his name?” I asked, giving myself time to make words goodly. When I didn’t organize my thoughts and plan a response, I got verbal vomit. This could not be a verbal vomit moment.

  “Ben.”

  My phone buzzed again. I glanced at it. How did your parents react? I bit my lip. Oy.

  “If it’s important,” Alec said, nodding at my phone.

  “It kind of is,” I said, cringing. “I do need to answer. But so are you.”

  He smiled. “Go ahead.”

  I turned back to my phone. They were amazing. I mean, they didn’t downplay it, and I don’t think they were thrilled—I mean, hello, gay kids have extra stuff to worry about, and they were already overprotective, right?—but they weren’t mad. They’re kind of awesome. Also my dad told me he suspected, but he’s basically a mind reader. Are you worried about your parents?

  “Okay,” I said, looking at Alec and shifting mental gears. I’d supported my questioning maybe-bi maybe-new-friend, now I needed to support my awesome lifelong best friend. “Are you guys going to maybe do more than hang out?” When Alec frowned, I shook my head. “I didn’t mean messing around, I meant…You don’t…I know that…” And here came the verbal vomit. Damn it. “You’re a cuddler. That’s what I mean. You cuddle. We cuddle. Dating, I guess, is what I’m spectacularly failing to say. Is he…Are you both on the same page? I mean, you said some aces aren’t into dating at all, right?” Ugh. Could I be any more pathetic? I was totally screwing this up.

  But Alec just gave me a slow smile. “I guess it could sort of be a first date,” he said. “And you’re right. He’s not aro. We’re similar, from what we’ve talked about.”

  “Well, then.” I smiled at him. “I repeat, it sounds like it could be awesome.”

  “Yeah,” Alec said. “You’re okay?”

  My phone buzzed. Of course. I looked down.

  Yes. No. Kind of? Huh. Synchronicity. Maybe I could just hold the phone up to Alec and let Malik answer for me.

  It buzzed again, and Malik sent me a series of emoji, representing pretty much the whole range of emotions and ending with the one I always thought of as overwhelmed: the smiley face with the little teardrop over its head. My uncle’s gay, so I think my mom will be okay. My grandparents? I dunno. I get the impression they didn’t handle it well with my uncle.

  “Yes,” I said, looking back up at Alec. “Though movie night is sacred. I hope Ben knows that already.”

  Alec’s relieved smile made my stomach tighten. We’d been friends since we were kids. He’d been the first person I’d come out to, and I’d bawled like a baby. He’d turned around and come out to me right back. He’d been there for me every time I’d managed to find a guy who might have actually liked me back, and had dealt with the fallout of Louis and Brady when it hadn’t turned out to be true. I was totally going to be here if Ben turned out to be his shot at the same thing. We’d always be friends, we already knew that. Hell, we’d survived Grayson. We could survive anything.

  And I knew being around me wasn’t the same as being around someone who felt the way he did. After the crap with Grayson last year, Alec had pulled away from the rest of us for a while, even me, which had hurt. I didn’t want to lose him. Not even a little.

  I went back to my phone for a second. Nat always says the best way to guess someone’s reaction is to see how they act around other queer people. If your parents are cool with your uncle, that’s a really good sign. I paused. And you know you don’t have to tell them until you want to, right? You get to choose when. I paused. Or if.

  “So when’s the big date?” I asked, hitting Send.

  “Tomorrow night. I’m driving down to meet him.”

  “Where’s he at?”

  “Ottawa. He works at a café part time. We’re going to hang out.”

  I smiled at him. “You’re nervous.”

  “I’m freaking out.”

  “Aww, that’s adorable.”

  Alec rolled his eyes. “I’m not adorable. I’m…” He waved a hand
in front of himself. “Big.”

  Whoa. This wouldn’t do. Confidence boosters engaged. “You’re a hunk.”

  He laughed. “Right.”

  “No, I mean it. You really think Grayson would have chased you like he did if you weren’t?”

  “Grayson would chase anyone with a pulse.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not true. I mean, okay, I get what you’re saying, but it doesn’t mean you’re not a hunk. You’re tall. Your face is a good face. You’ve got killer eyes.” I was tapping off on my fingers. “Also, let’s be clear dude, you have pipes.”

  He was blushing again. “Okay, stop.”

  “Look, if you don’t consider Grayson a good enough example, then how about me? We both know I crushed out on you from day one.”

  He didn’t look away, which was…good? I could feel my own face burning, but I’d be okay. I wasn’t saying anything we didn’t both know, and I was past it. Or, y’know, mostly past it. Like, ninety percent. At least. High nineties. It got all confused in my head sometimes because Alec was my best friend and the guy I went to when I needed to talk about anything. Also, if it wasn’t for Alec, I’m not sure anyone other than my folks would physically touch me on a regular basis, and how depressing was that? Half the time we watched movies, I ended up kind of leaning against him, or he’d have his arm around me.

  Except tonight.

  Come to think of it, I maybe relied on Alec as my teddy bear quite a bit when I was needing some comfort or felt completely awkward and undateable, or whenever I was just off balance or feeling out-there.

  Like, say, this whole damn week of teleporting and fainting and especially the teleporting.

  Which, fair is fair, it had been a lot. Who’d blame me wanting a hug?

  But we hadn’t so much as leaned on each other yet. It struck me this was one of the first times that hadn’t happened. And Beautiful Thing should totally have brought out the cuddler in Alec.

  So what was different?

  “I hope…” Alec said, but he stopped.

  It felt just a little bit like I was losing something. And maybe I was.

  Crap.

  “You’re my best friend,” I said when he didn’t finish his sentence. “You’re stuck with me. You will be suffering through over-the-top rom coms and musicals for the rest of your life. Popcorn not optional.”

  “Even when you move away?” Alec said.

  Well, crap. I was such an idiot.

  “I’m going to Ottawa. It’s not far. I expect you to visit. Standing date for Movie Nights, mister.”

  He relaxed visibly. “Thanks.” Then he lifted his arm and flicked his fingers. I scooted over, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder. It felt a bit different there, though. Like, maybe it fit with me better now I wasn’t putting something on him that wasn’t there.

  “So,” I said, unpausing the movie. “You got a picture of this Ben?”

  “Let me load his Instagram.”

  I checked my phone while he worked, but Malik didn’t reply. I hoped I’d said the right things.

  In both conversations.

  To-Do

  X Bring home calculus textbook

  X Exam prep: calculus, biology

  Exam prep: English (reread?)

  X Exam prep: French (practice exam!)

  X Movie night with Alec this w/e?

  X Make lunch for Tuesday, slacker

  X “What happened?” joke

  X Laundry

  Slap Malik King

  Doors? DOORS! Definitely Doors.

  X Alec at RC on Thursday

  Hungry?

  Calculus: practice derivatives—SERIOUSLY, COLE, YOU ARE NOT GOOD AT THIS

  X Biology: review biochem and metabolic processes

  X Bi/Pan?

  X Check in with Sportsball Star?

  Follow up with Alec re: his date.

  Practice

  Cole the Teenage Freak

  X Concentrate at doors. All the doors. Every time. You got this!

  Locked doors. One way?

  Blood sugar? Hungry?

  CARRY YOUR PHONE.

  Doors. Again. You don’t got this.

  No door required for exit?

  Pull getting stronger. Bad? Good?

  Thirteen

  “Do I talk to you or him?” my dad said, scowling.

  He was scary good as an actor, frankly. We were practicing—Terp practice—something we do on Sunday mornings while my mom sleeps in. He runs me through scenarios more or less based on stuff he’s done as an interpreter. His ability to slip into a character is pretty awesome. Today? He was pretending to be a doctor he’d visited with a client once. He referred to him as “Dr. Dickhead,” and it didn’t take me long to see why.

  “Him,” I said. “I’m just here to interpret.”

  I was here to interpret for someone getting a check-up over some breathing issues. He was pretty sure he had asthma and was seeing Dr. Dickhead for the follow-up.

  The role of the patient was being played by a teddy bear. He didn’t talk much.

  Despite the stuffie in question being pretty adorable, my father didn’t break character. He exhaled and sighed like this was just one more annoyance in his truly overtaxed life of being the most important man in the room. It was a little over-the-top, but it was also fun to see him act like a jerk. I tried not to grin.

  “So, the symptoms, your symptoms, the things you were reporting: dizziness, shortness of breath, that—what did you call it—that stitch in your side,” my father started, rushing through the words, pretending to talk to the teddy. One part of my brain kept up with the words, another sorted them into ASL syntax, and yet another part of my brain drew forth the signs and worked hard to be clear.

  I swear my father only sped up the farther behind I got.

  “It’s not asthma, and the news isn’t good. You’re dying.”

  Whoa.

  Then he said something about “metastatic synovial sarcoma,” and I lost the thread completely. I stuttered to a stop, my hands froze, and my brain went completely blank. How did you even spell synovial?

  “Is there a problem?” he said. “Did they get that?” He barked the words at me. He sounded angry. Dr. Dickhead wasn’t a dickhead, he was a complete raging asshole. He waved his hand in front of my face, and I lowered my hands, defeated.

  “That was…” I felt sick. My face burned. “Are you trying to make me screw up?” He’d never done anything like that before. It felt cruel. My dad wasn’t cruel.

  He leaned forward and gave me patient dad-face. The mask of Dr. Dickhead was gone, just like that. I took a second, and a breath, to try and calm down. Also? I felt like maybe I was about to burst into tears, which was so not good.

  Important you know Interpreting can be brutal. He wasn’t pretending to be a doctor anymore. Every movement of his hands was gentle, and his face had softened. Terping isn’t easy. I make sure communication happens. Responsibility? Huge! He paused and spoke. “I become someone’s voice, must make sure I’m not talking over them, or add wrong information. Most of the time, I get to be a part of leveling the playing field so Deaf people can help themselves.”

  I nodded and opened my mouth to tell him that was the whole reason I wanted to do the same thing, but he held up his hand before I could speak.

  I closed my mouth and waited. He met my gaze for a few seconds before he went on.

  “Sometimes, we must interpret awful things. I interpret for doctors, you know that. I’ve been the person letting them know they’re dying. Or they can’t have kids. Or their husband has Alzheimer’s. Or sitting there with them while they talk to the police. Your son is missing. Your daughter has been assaulted.” He leaned forward. “Sometimes you will be interpreting pain, sorrow, and loss. And you’re not there to make it better or protect Deaf people from bad things. You’re there to make it clear what someone else said, period. Even when what they said is awful, and how they said it is worse.”

  I nodded. I rem
embered days my dad had come home and been distant. And I wasn’t dumb. I’d connected those days with him working at the hospital, or the police, or a funeral home. I mean, I’d seen it. I knew that was part of the job. But right now, looking into my dad’s eyes and seeing the grief there?

  I’d been aware of that part of the job, but I hadn’t really known it.

  I felt a little shaky. When I started to sign again, I knew he’d see it. I couldn’t hide that kind of stuff from my dad. But I couldn’t not ask.

  “Is this your way of saying you don’t think I’m cut out to be an interpreter?”

  His no was definitive. He snapped his fingers shut, sharp, pronounced, and clear.

  My whole body relaxed. My applications for university were already done. I’d clicked all the buttons and paid the processing fees. University started next September, and I intended to be there, front row center, soaking up as much as I could about linguistics, but the end game had always been certification and then this. If I even thought for a second my dad didn’t think I could do it?

  Well, I had no idea what I’d do.

  Okay, I signed.

  You’ve been signing since you were young. You know the culture, and you’re smart. I know you can do, my father signed. I want make sure you know what interpreting is. All of it. Remember: it’s not the only thing in the world.

  “Okay,” I said again, feeling a little less stable. Of course it wasn’t the only job. But it was the only job I’d imagined having.

  He leaned back. Then he grinned. Also remember we interpreted for couple who thought they couldn’t have kids. Surprise! Twins. There are good times, too.

  I smiled. “That sounds awesome.”

  He nodded. True work. He regarded me, his dad-vision reengaged. Ready for more?

  “Yes.” I didn’t want to end on that failure. But I made a mental note to spend some time later finding out what some of the signs were for diseases and illnesses I’d never had a reason to learn.

  Okay, my dad signed. This time, I’ll be the client. Another patient-doctor job. You interpret for the patient. He looked back at his computer, scrolling through his files the way he did to trigger a memory of some random job he’d done, and then stopped at one. He clapped his hands and laughed.