“Are you alright?”
I blink. Chels is staring at me the way my sister used to.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my throat is sore, and my voice is hollow, and nothing about me sounds convincing.
The rest of the lunch table hasn’t seemed to notice my lack of exuberance today, but I’ll chalk that up to Shay entertaining them with a story about Principal Pierce’s latest pantsuit/camel toe sighting.
“Are you gonna make it through rehearsal today?”
“I said I’m fine,” I snap then cringe as guilt swells in my chest. “Sorry. Just not really feeling like myself today.”
“I’ll say.” Chels stabs a chicken nugget, dangling it in front of me. “You’re probably just hangry. I know how you get.”
“I’m not hungry,” I mumble, swatting her fork away. My stomach betrays me with a gurgling sound, but I cough to cover it.
I’m in total control. I just have to keep telling myself that.
Lock has settled onto the bench across the table, white bandaged arm propped beside his tray. Shay pokes it with the end of her spoon.
“What happened to your arm?”
“Just an accident,” Lock answers quietly with a horrendously fake chuckle. “They really shouldn’t let me near a kitchen.”
Shay laughs then falls right back into her story about the old lady’s va-jay-jay.
I’m feeling extra shitty now because Lock is here and I know it’s all my fault he’s hurt, and the dark circles under his eyes are probably from not sleeping in his own bed which is—again—my fault.
Everything is my fault.
“Hi.”
Lock looks right at me, which is strange because he doesn’t usually look you in the eye.
“Hey.” I have no clue why he’s talking to me. I single-handedly ruined his life. God, why am I such a piece of shit?
“Are you free this afternoon?”
“Oh. Um… I kinda have rehearsal.”
“That’s right.” Lock nods to himself, gaze dropping to the table as he mumbles something I can’t hear. “Sorry,” he says louder before chewing on his bottom lip.
Ugh. Why does he have to be so damn cute?
“No, it’s—We can hang out after if you want,” I offer. “We should be done at like, five-ish? You can come watch rehearsal, and we can grab some pizza afterward.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.” Lock fidgets.
“You can always help with the set,” Chels chimes in, confirming that she’s been eavesdropping this entire time. “They’re always looking for guys who can help lift shit. They’ll just eat you up.”
“Perfect.” I force a smile. “You’ll actually be doing us a favor. What do you say?”
He looks back up, dark eyes finding mine. “Do I get to paint anything?”
Chels laughs. “Buddy, you can paint the whole damn thing.”
Painting is soothing. Covering old with new, changing the way people see things. It’s a type of rebirth. I find it poetic. Plus, the brushwork keeps my hands busy, so I don’t feel the need to fidget. There’s still counting going on in my head, but it’s the fun kind, not the obligatory kind.
Thirty-six. Thirty-seven. Thirty-eight.
The sound of my brush is intensely satisfying as it smooths the glossy white paint over graffiti-like markings on the plywood wall. I’m up on a ladder, but for some reason, today, I’m not plagued by my fear of heights.
“We used these last year for Mr. Routon’s ‘reimagining’ of Westside Story,” Chels explains, dipping my brush in the paint bucket before handing it back. The sun is starting to sink toward the horizon, and she wraps her sweater (I use that term loosely) tighter as a chilly breeze blows by. “Imagine that, another version of Romeo and Juliet. The man is beyond obsessed.”
“Shouldn’t you be running lines with the rest of the cast?” I ask her, dabbing at a particularly bright gang sign. It will take several coats to cover, but I’m up for the challenge.
“Don’t have to.” She leans on the unpainted half of the wall, pulling out her phone. “Apparently our esteemed director had an epiphany overnight and now my character only communicates through interpretive dance.”
I laugh, but Chels just gives me a sour look.
“I’m sorry.” I hand back the brush. “I assumed that was a joke. I’m not the best with subtlety.”
“I don’t blame you.” She twirls the brush in her free hand, in no hurry to reload it. “I laughed myself before I realized he wasn’t kidding. Now, I have to figure out how I’m going to perform a soliloquy with my hips. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
Does she really want me to answer that? I’d imagine the task would be incredibly difficult. Eventually, she hands me back the brush and I continue my work.
Forty-five. Forty-six. Forty-seven.
“So, did West take your virginity?”
My foot slips on a wrung, and the brush falls from my hand as I cling to the ladder.
“Hey! Watch it! That almost got on my shoes!”
The ladder wobbles but remains upright as I hold onto it with a death-grip. My heart is racing, but whether from the adrenaline of nearly falling or the panic of her question, I’m not sure. Prying my hands loose, I right myself on the third wrung.
“Are you going to answer my question?”
I look down at Chels, her warm brown eyes watching me and a mischievous smile playing on her face. Would she have felt bad if I fell?
“W-What was your question again?”
Chels lets out a sigh. “Did you cash in your V-card when you and West decided to bump uglies in my bed?”
My cheeks are on fire as I look down at the ground. I want to paint over them so they can’t give away my thoughts.
“I don’t see why that matters.”
“So, that’s a yes then.”
I keep my mouth shut.
“Shit.” Chels bends down to retrieve the fallen paintbrush. “That means I lost a bet. Thanks a lot, Lock.”
Another bet? I’m starting to think my fellow classmates have a gambling problem.
“What bet?”
“It’s nothing.” Chels hands up the brush. “Just a little friendly wager between me and that bitch, Tiffany. You know, the one with the overbite and lazy eye?”
It doesn’t ring a bell. Then again, I don’t really pay close attention to the rotation of classmates who cycle through our lunch table. But that doesn’t matter right now. I need to know why people are talking about my personal business.
“How did you know about that?”
“About what? The sex? Oh, honey. West and I tell each other everything. That’s our agreement. No gory detail is spared.” She gives me a wink and adds, “Don’t worry, he had nothing but good things to say about you and your not-so-little friend.”
I want to die. Instead, I just keep dragging the brush across the same spot of plywood, trying to talk myself out of diving head first off this ladder. The whole experience was embarrassing enough without the thought of other people knowing.
“I could always lie,” Chels says, pulling me out of my head. She spoke so quietly, I almost didn’t catch it.
“Huh?”
“I just hate it when Tiffany is right.” She looks up to me. “And you kinda look like you’re about to toss your cookies, so maybe I can just say you two didn’t get past second base.”
That’s a lie. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t lie. Not even about this, the most sensitive of subjects.
My family was destroyed by lies. I don’t want to be responsible for adding to the mess.
“It’s fine,” I tell her, stepping down off the ladder. “Pay Tiffany what you owe her.”
Chels just rolls her eyes. “You’re such a buzzkill sometimes, Lock.”
“Sorry.”
“Ugh, but you’re also kinda incredibly sweet.” She sighs, straining on tip-toes to pat the top of my head. “So, it’s impossible to be mad at you.” After her grin fades somewhat, she t
urns back to the wall. “You know, I think we’ve made excellent progress.”
We both admire our work for a moment, the silence between us teetering towards comfortable.
“Chels?”
She looks back to me, brow raised.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Duh. What’s up, buttercup?”
“If you…” I swallow the intangible lump in my throat. “If you had to lie about yourself for a chance at keeping your family together, would you?”
The playful smile has fully faded now, Chels adapting a rare serious tone. “Why do you ask? What’s going on, honey?”
“It’s nothing. Sorry, just forget I said anything.”
“Okay, sure,” Chels agrees, a smile that doesn’t touch her eyes returning. Then she places a hand on my shoulder and I can’t help but flinch. “But in case you’re curious, my answer would be no. I don’t think I would. I mean, I love my family but think about it. Are you really a part of the family if you can’t be authentic? A family that’s real would never ask you to hide or change something that makes you who you are. And if they do, maybe you’re better off without them.”
Things just got a little too real for my taste, but I nod a thanks. My family may not be a family anymore, but isn’t a fake one better than none at all? That’s the question I keep asking myself.
“Did I miss something?”
West is walking down the sidewalk, backpack half-hanging off a shoulder.
“Nothing too exciting,” Chels answers, wrapping her arm around mine. “Just me and Lock becoming besties. Sorry, West, but I’ll no longer be requiring your services. You’ve officially been replaced.”
“About fucking time,” West retorts. “I was getting tired of your bitching.”
“I do not bitch!” Chels pulls away from me to lay into West’s shoulder.
“Ow! Jesus, woman. I’m kidding.”
I count the number of times Chels slaps him.
Seven. Eight. Nine.
“Enough! I’m about to report spousal abuse over here.”
“They’d never believe you.” Chels lands one final blow. “You’re not that good an actor.”
“I’ll have you know I can pass for straight just as often as I want to.”
“Right. And I can pass for Demi Lovato.”
“You do have her eyes.” West catches her hand, sweeping her up in his arms and dipping her in a grand gesture. “I’ve always thought that.”
“Fuck you.” Chels laughs, struggling to escape his clutches.
West sets her upright. “Will my fake wife be joining us for pizza?”
“Nah.” She glances back at me. “I’ve got to go settle a debt.”
West gives her a strange look but shrugs it off.
“See you losers later. Lock, can I count on your height and freakishly good painting skills tomorrow?”
“Um… Yes?”
“Good.” She flashes those perfect teeth. “It’s a date.”
With that, Chels hurries away, leaving behind a lingering smile and the smell of cherry lip balm.
“I think she’s taking a shine to you,” West says, jabbing an elbow into my ribs.
“Lucky me.”
My slice is staring at me, two of the pepperoni perfectly spaced into eyes. I can’t believe my dumb ass suggested to do this, but then again, Lock asked, and I’ve already done enough to the poor kid. If he wants an afternoon out eating pizza, then goddammit I’m going to give it to him.
“Is there something wrong with it?”
I tear myself away from the tantalizing cheesiness. “Huh?”
“You haven’t touched your slice.”
“Well, neither have you.” I point at the whole piece sitting on Lock’s brightly colored plate.
“This is my third.”
Oh, right. Shit. How long have I been drooling over this stupid, crispy, gooey…delicious looking triangle of sin?
“Yeah,” I answer, finally lifting the pizza and folding it down the middle. “Sorry, I was uh…praying.”
“I didn’t know you were religious.” Lock sips his Coke through a Krazy straw. The thing is ridiculous, just neon loops and twists and completely unnecessary. Where did that come from? Did he bring it from home?
“I’m not really. Just never hurts to try it out, you know?”
“My family hasn’t been to church in a while. Not since we moved.”
I’ve been holding this pizza for an awkwardly long time, so I take the tiniest bite. A string of cheese makes me look like an ass as I try to lasso it into my mouth. Lock is distracted by his phone, so I subtly dispose of the bite into the napkin in my lap. The last thing I need right now is ammunition in my self-destructive cannon.
“So…did you want to talk about something?” I ask him, picking off my crust, bit by bit.
Lock shifts in his seat, stowing the phone. To say he looks uncomfortable would be dumb because he kinda always looks that way. But it’s especially true tonight, his fidgety behavior sorely evident. He’s chewing on his words, so I just give him time to get it together while I figure out what to do about this fucking pizza.
Maybe I can stuff it in my backpack?
“Do you ever feel awkward?”
“Um…” My pizza plans are halted by Lock’s random question. “I guess? Then again, I kinda stopped caring what most people think of me a while ago. Awkwardness dies when you don’t give a fuck.”
“I mean, around me,” Lock clarifies, eyes locked on the shaker of pepper flakes between us. “Since we…you know. Doesn’t that make this awkward?”
“Oooh.” Now, it’s starting to make sense. “Well, now that you mention it… No, not really. I mean, we were both super wasted, but it was consensual. Why would I feel awkward? Oh god, I didn’t call you ‘daddy,’ did I? I swear, that’s not a normal thing for me.”
He shakes his head, the warm brown color of his cheeks darkening in what I imagine is a deep blush. “I guess it’s just me.”
He sure is acting weird. I mean, it’s like he’s never had sex—
Oh, wait. Shit.
“Oh, sweet fuck. It’s true, isn’t it?”
Lock squirms in his seat, and suddenly, it’s all so clear.
“Dude. I mean, I knew there was a good chance of this but…was that your first time?”
He doesn’t look up, just nods, hands clinched together.
“Wow,” I say because there’s nothing else that really sums up what I’m feeling right now. “I mean…wow.”
I try to sort through the hazy details of that night, but there wasn’t a single red flag that would have made me think I was sailing into virgin territory. He was everything I’d needed.
“Sorry,” Lock says finally then continues to stammer. “I-I didn’t mean to let things get so out of hand. I really appreciate you being so understanding. I’m sure it wasn’t good, and I didn’t really know what I was doing, and there were certain times I’m pretty sure I said some really embarrassing things. At least, I think I said them. I do this thing where I think I say something but really I just thought it, so people look at me weird as if—”
And I’m laughing now which shuts him up quick. I don’t mean to let it keep going, but the more I think about it, the funnier it gets and the louder I laugh.
“S-Stop,” I say between fits of hysteria. “Stop, stop, stop.”
He actually covers his mouth, like he wouldn’t be able to keep himself from rambling otherwise.
“I’m sorry,” I say, catching my breath. “I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that you’re adorably naïve. And so sweet. And have nothing to worry about, trust me. The parts I can remember were really, really good. Like, really good. Know what I mean?”
He’s blushing even more now, lips forming soundless words.
“For the record, it totally wasn’t my intention that night either. I just wanted to thank you for giving enough of a shit to tutor my dumb ass. So, please, don’t feel awkward. Or at least, not so a
wkward you don’t want to be around me. Because that would suck.”
“I’ll do my best,” Lock mutters, scratching the back of his neck.
“But seriously.” I slide my desecrated pizza out of the way, leaning my elbows on the table. “How is it a handsome, sweet, charmingly quiet, gay—Oh, wait. That’s probably it, right? You said before it was complicated.”
“Um…” He leans back into the booth almost like he’s afraid of me. “Maybe it wasn’t as complicated as I first thought. I came out to my aunt.”
“What?” I make a big deal out of it because it’s something that should be made into a big deal. “That’s so awesome, Lock! Look here, another foot soldier to help carry out the homosexual agenda!”
“Y-Yeah.” His smile is timid but present. He throws a glance over his shoulder. “It went really well.”
“Dude, that’s awesome. So proud. I want to get you a cake!”
“Thanks.”
“Who would you tell next?” I ask him. “Your mom?”
He recoils like I’ve struck him. “N-No. Definitely not.”
“Gotcha.” I try to recover. “Say no more. I know how hard it can be.” Except I don’t, at least, not first hand. My parents barely gave enough fucks to bat an eyelash when I came out. They were more interested in finding out which Ivy League school’s LGBT social justice committee I’d chair. I can be queer as long as I’m also successful.
“I think Jill is enough right now.” He looks up at me. “She’s all I have at the moment.”
Way to go, West. Just dig up all the fucking painful memories tonight. Could you chill for like, a second and stop trying to drive the boy to an emotional breakdown?
“Well, I’m always here,” I tell him, cringing at my own cheese-factor. “You know, if you need someone to talk to. Not that your aunt isn’t cool or whatever. It’s fine.”
“Thank you, West. I really appreciate it.” He smiles at me, and my stomach is fluttering but not from the pizza.
“Of course.” I shrug, wanting to shake this feeling. “Anytime.”
Lock sinks his teeth into a third slice while I get back to plotting a disappearing act for my own.
I haven’t seen Mom in almost a week. My heart skips a beat when I see her face pop up on my phone, signaling her call.
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