Then my eyes opened to reality and I looked up at the ceiling, assailed by all the physical feelings running through my chest, my legs, my hips. My body was a maze of electrical impulses, and they were all lit.
Rafe. Jesus. Rafe.
I felt this guilty feeling twisting in my gut as I thought about Hannah, whom I really, really liked. I felt like I’d cheated on her, in a way, even if it was just a dream. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Rafe.
I thought about the first time we kissed, out in Boulder over Thanksgiving, and how Rafe had exploded upon lip contact. And I’d thought in that moment, I can do this. This can happen. Then we slept apart, and as I’d tried to fall asleep, other, more worldly thoughts had entered my brain. About my dad. About what I heard in the hallway when I was twelve, what he said to my uncle, who had come over for the first time in five years.
“Rejected you? You rejected us. We didn’t move to China. You did.”
“I moved there because you and Dad said I was no longer family.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. Only straight bones in this family. You’re the one who’s choosing men instead of women.”
“Men as well as women. And not choosing. This is who I am.”
“Talk normal. You want to be family? Be normal.”
I heard that and I knew what they were talking about but I didn’t. Like, all I really heard was the be normal part, and I made a pact with myself, then and there, to always be normal, no matter what.
Or else I’d lose my family.
So that night in Boulder, I stopped thinking, I can do this. This can happen. Because it couldn’t. And anyway, I still thought about girls when I wanked, so.
I rolled over.
How the hell had that dream happened? Is Rafe a wizard?
The closet was intimate, I guess. It had brought back memories of that night back at Natick, just after Thanksgiving. Stuff I still didn’t really know how to handle.
I had been tossing and turning and writhing in bed. We weren’t talking and I was dying inside and I needed him but I couldn’t have him because pride and fear had created a toxic jelly that floated in my bloodstream, stopping up my jaw, making it impossible to say words, any words, to him. Still, it was like I could taste him, and all I’d ever done was kiss him but now I needed to know what the rest was like.
And then those footsteps. It was the cadence, a touch faster than walking and a step slower than running, like he was yearning to be somewhere else, faster, sooner. If I had to guess, his cadence would be twice mine.
I heard them, and I jumped up. I opened the door.
The kiss happened right away, and it was wet and juicy and unbelievable. Our bodies pressed together felt different than it had felt with my first girlfriend, Cindy. Like hard against hard, with no soft relief, and that felt alien. I explored more because I could, I guess. I pressed my lips against his neck and there it was, Rafe’s skin. I flicked my tongue. He had an aftertaste, like burning wood and chocolate, like the air around a campfire the morning after, where you know there’s been a fire but it’s out now.
I thought when I took him in my mouth that it would make me feel like a girl. It didn’t. Truth be told, that part was less exciting to me than tasting the skin of his neck. I needed—wanted, maybe—to be near his face.
When he used his mouth on me? Well. Describing the way sex feels is like saying how steak tastes. It tastes good. It felt good. Great. But it still didn’t surpass that first moment, the kiss, our heads connecting and neither of us pulling away.
I opened my eyes and looked at the ceiling again. That was then, this was now, and he didn’t belong in my dreams anymore. Hannah was in my dreams, and she belonged there, and we were working toward something great. With Rafe, I was very okay with a close friendship, but beyond that, it got … complicated. And my life did better simple.
At breakfast the next morning, Rafe waved ecstatically from the entrance to the dining hall while I was in the omelet line. I wanted to run away, but our friendship had just come back, and it was tentative, and I didn’t want to ruin that.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Fine, I guess. Not long enough.”
We went through the line. I ordered an omelet with bell peppers. Rafe ordered one with ham, which is weird since he’s Jewish. Then we went to the fixin’s station and I loaded up on ketchup and Rafe walked away.
I didn’t pick up on the vibe until I got to his table.
He didn’t look up at me. “You’re doing it again.”
“I’m not.”
He pursed his lips. “Yeah, but you kinda are. The closet thing last night freaked you out. Sorry. Why do I even?” He shook his head.
“No—not at all. No. I’m just. I’m tired, bud.” I tried to casually punch him in the shoulder to show I was cool with a little contact.
Rafe looked at me and I saw the hurt in his eyes, and I realized I wasn’t the only one out on a ledge.
“Really,” I said, softer. “I’m really okay. I promise.”
This finally got him to smile. “We should have a chaperone.”
I laughed. “Definitely. That would definitely be normal. ‘Excuse me, but we’re going into a gay guy’s closet to scare him. Will you accompany us?’ ”
Things got better and we joked about Donnelly, who apparently came into Albie and Rafe’s room this morning and told them a parable about a ship that arrived at a port late. It was pretty clear this was in reference to a complaint about a missing lab report from Albie’s science teacher, but somewhere in the story, Donnelly got lost in his metaphors.
“The point is—the point is, you gotta ride a lot of boats, Albie,” Donnelly said, and Albie assured him that he would, in fact, take a lot of boat rides.
“What are you up to tonight?” Rafe asked. “We’re thinking about a little scanner pong.” Scanner pong was this absurd game Albie and Toby had made up that involved listening to a police scanner Albie had in his room, and drinking when certain words were said.
“I can’t,” I said. I was going to see Hannah. “Another time.”
“Uh-oh! Big date?” He said it like he was totally okay with it, but there was something so not okay about having this conversation that I couldn’t look at him. I speared a loose piece of bell pepper with my fork. When I didn’t answer right away, I heard him exhale.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t know what the right thing is. I don’t want to lie.”
He violently speared a piece of omelet on his plate, then stuffed it into his mouth. He chewed, slowly, not looking at me. When he finished chewing, he looked down at his plate. “We can’t keep doing this to each other.”
I was so glad we were alone at a table, and that no one was nearby. I lowered my voice. “You brought it up.”
“Well, I shouldn’t have.”
“Yeah, probably not.”
He shook his head. “I just don’t think I can do it anymore,” he said.
I couldn’t look at him. “Wait. Are you breaking up with me as a friend? I really don’t think—”
“Why can’t you love me?” Rafe blurted.
The words settled on the table in front of us, little specks of something toxic, spoiled. I clenched my jaw so hard I was afraid my teeth would crumble.
“We’ve been over this,” I said.
“I know. I just. I get that I brought it up, but. Please don’t talk about Hannah in front of me. I know it’s wrong, but you have to get that you’re magenta and I really, really, really like magenta.”
I blushed, and I felt my body heat up, remembering the dream I’d had. It was all off-limits. And that sucked.
“Use your words,” Rafe said. “Seriously. You cannot not say something here.”
“Eh,” I said, struggling to get the words out. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say anything. Please.”
I closed my eyes. My heart was pulsing. Aware that I couldn’t sit there not spe
aking forever, I finally forced myself to talk.
“Look. I’m magenta and you’re actually—well, you’re lavender, I guess.” I lowered my voice. “And I like lavender.”
Rafe’s eyes widened slightly. My heart sped up.
“Lavender is kinda becoming my best friend again, to mix metaphors even further. So just, I don’t know. I’m sorry. I won’t mention Hannah. I get that it’s messed up, so you will not hear that name again.”
Rafe put his head down and picked up his fork and seemed like he was consciously trying to not react as he ate some of his omelet, but I could see in his face a glimmer that told me that I’d said the right thing.
Classes, baseball, Model Congress, and studying had been enough to keep me occupied most hours of the day, and now there was Hannah, and my renewed friendship with Rafe, and calls home to check in on Mom, who still seemed sad, and Luke, who rarely said anything of note but got pissed if I didn’t call at least three times a week. Everybody wanted something from me, and some days it felt like I was being pulled in thirty different directions, and I wondered how anyone figured out how to be all things to all people without going insane.
The next Friday night, Hannah and I were at Bryce’s favorite diner in Natick, sitting at a table in the back. Hannah had a pumpkin spice decaf latte, and I was working on a cup of green tea, thinking about how most of my teammates were probably knee-deep in beer right now at some shindig or other. Hannah was wearing her hair up and tied in a ponytail, and her skin looked particularly soft and lustrous. I couldn’t look away, and I didn’t want to say anything, but I was definitely thinking about spending a little time in Gretchen with her.
“There’s a girl—person—at Lonna who is thinking about transitioning,” Hannah said, sipping her latte. “Becoming a boy.”
“Wow,” I said.
She cocked her head. “I haven’t quite figured you out in terms of, like, politics yet,” she said.
“Huh? Why does that matter?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Um, it matters,” she said. “I know you’re a nice guy, and I know you’re thoughtful, but are you, like, okay with people of various genders and such?”
I shrugged. “Well, I’m actually doing an argument in Model Congress about how religious freedoms are under attack by gay rights advocates.”
Her mouth was a perfect O.
I waited a couple extra seconds, as long as I could, before I cracked up.
“I’m kidding,” I said, smiling. “Well, not about the argument, but I was assigned that. I don’t believe that kind of thing. Not at all.”
She exaggeratedly wiped her shiny forehead with the back of her hand. “Phew,” she said. “That was scary for a second.”
“So if I were a—transphobe—that would be, like, a deal breaker?”
“It wouldn’t be a good thing,” she said.
“Well, I definitely believe that there are more things under the sun than we understand, and people are just people. Live and let live and all that.”
“Phew,” she said again, smiling.
I sipped my drink, which was getting a little cold, and something occurred to me. It was something she’d said to me, and it was the kind of thing that typically, if someone said it to me, I’d ignore. But this was Hannah. And more and more, I was learning to trust her. And more than that, she was melting me a bit on the inside. My throat always felt jittery when I was around her, because part of me couldn’t believe a girl this beautiful would want anything to do with a huge goober like me.
So I took a huge leap.
“You remember when you said we should be the kind of friends who say things to each other?” I asked.
This got her attention, and she put down her latte. “Sure.”
“So I don’t know if what I’m going to tell you is a deal breaker. But. I will say I hope it isn’t a deal breaker, because. I really like you, Hannah.”
She smiled the sweetest, juiciest smile. Even without lipstick, her lips were so soft and red.
“I really like you too, Ben. Tell me things. What’s up?”
“So, I’ve actually never told anyone this. It’s something that happened last year, and it’s quite a story and I won’t bore you with the whole thing. But. So.”
“Tell me,” she said.
I gulped. “Last semester, I had this thing with my best friend at the time. He’s gay and, well, I’m straight. But, like, I felt, you know, really close to him. We connected on such a deep level, and I just wanted to be with him, which was weird because—I can’t believe I’m telling you this.”
Nothing about her expression made me feel like she was about to judge me, and she nodded as if to say, Go on.
“It was weird because I’m definitely, definitely, like, NOT into boys, and not like one of those guys who lies to themselves and then dreams about Justin Bieber. He’s a person, right?”
She laughed. “I think so.”
“I mean not gay like actually not gay. Other than this one guy, I haven’t ever thought of guys that way. And girls, I do—” I stopped, embarrassed at how forward I could be when I let myself. It was like she was bringing it out in me.
“You’re hilarious,” she said. “I love this you tell me things thing.”
I averted my eyes, well aware that I was way past the point of no return by now. “So we were together once. Twice, I guess, if I’m being completely honest. And I am.”
“Wow. Did you like it?”
I shrugged. I didn’t think this was the time to lie, but it also probably wasn’t the time to go nuts with the whole I fooled around with a guy and I really liked it angle either.
She took a sip of her drink and rolled her shoulders back, like she was worried about her posture. “I actually think it’s awesome that you’re open enough to explore that with a guy. So many guys, you know they think about it, but they act like the thought never crossed their minds.”
“Could you with a girl?”
She seemed to ponder that, and she made a face. “Not with my best friend, but that’s just because she had a boob job. I prefer my ladies au naturel.”
I laughed. “Me too.” How lucky was I? I had this hot, thoughtful girl who was into me. Who was beginning to actually know who I was, and she liked me anyway.
“Just so it’s said and it’s not hanging out there—”
“Yes. I’ve noticed you leave so many things unsaid.”
She stuck her hands out toward me, and I took them in mine.
“Just so it’s said, you doing that is, like, the opposite of a roadblock for me. I think it’s awesome that you have that side of you. I sometimes think I could be pansexual, but I’m probably more pansexual in my brain than in reality, you know?”
I nodded.
“Where are things with the friend now?” she asked.
“We kind of went through a weird thing. Long story, but we’re friends again. Friends with boundaries.”
“Good,” she said. “Because I’m a liberal gal, but I’m not sharing you with a boy.”
We did go back to my car, and I started the engine but didn’t leave the spot. I took her head in my hands and pulled her face toward me. The kiss was breathless and deep, and I could feel myself needing to feel her skin against my skin, and I must have made a noise without meaning to that expressed some of that, because then she made a noise too. I could see people walking by along the streets of downtown Natick, but I was drunk on this girl and I didn’t care.
“I’m ready for more,” she said.
I nodded and nodded. “Yeah,” I said.
The back door to the theater at Lonna Grace had a broken lock, Hannah told me. I was afraid we’d get caught and I’d get in trouble for being there, but she said it was really her ass on the line. That didn’t make me feel all that much less nervous, but just seeing her without a coat at the diner had lit something in my chest, and I had driven all the way to Lonna Grace in what felt like an epic haze.
We crept behind the theater in
silence and anticipation. Hannah pushed the door open and there we were, backstage, black curtains draped everywhere and various wooden cutouts blocking my path in all directions. My heart pulsed like crazy. She turned on the lights, and the buzz of electricity was so loud that she immediately turned them off.
“If we have to hide, it’s easier if it’s dark,” she whispered.
She took my hand and led me around the corner to the front of the stage. On it was a real live car from the fifties, bloodred with lightning strikes painted across the sides.
“Grease,” she said, doing a cute arm dance with both her index fingers pointing outward. “Go greased lightning.”
I chuckled. “Do girls have to play the boy parts?”
“I think our schools used to do shows together, like a couple decades back, but no more, so yeah,” she said.
“You ever do a show?”
“My freshman year I was Dr. Gibbs in Our Town.”
“Ah.” I’d heard of the play but hadn’t ever seen it.
“That’s the main guy’s dad. So yeah, I was very believable in that role. Typecasting, really, seeing as I had such a terrific role model of a father.”
“Of course.”
“Actually, George Gibbs, the main guy, is basically you. A baseball star whose goal is to go to college. Well, agriculture school.”
I winced. “So he’s really like the inverse of me, since I come from a farm, and have no interest in going back to one, ever.”
“Right, I guess,” she said, but I could tell she was distracted.
“What’s up?” I said.
She sat down on the stage and I sat next to her. Her scent was like cold air and wintergreen Tic Tacs.
“Nothing. Just a little nervous.”
“I know. Me too.”
She ran her hand through her hair. “It’s just, you know. There’s always been a barrier between us, and now there’s, like, no barrier.”
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