The Brightsiders

by Jen Wilde

  He laughs. “It doesn’t have to be weird. Look at those dorks.” He gestures at our friends, who are laughing and swimming and having tons of fun without us. “But it’s up to you. Like I said, I’m just gonna go to bed.”

  He rests his elbows on the railing, clasping his hands together like he’s praying.

  “I don’t think I want to,” I say, surprising myself. “Also, just to be clear, you are only a tiny factor in that decision. I recently promised myself I’d never do something just because everyone else is doing it. And I think if I went down there, I’d only be doing it so I don’t feel left out.”

  He raises his eyebrow again, but nods. “Ahh, the perils of FOMO. That’s very self-aware of you.”

  I scoff. “It’s about time I get at least a dash of awareness.”

  He nudges my elbow with his. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You’re doing fine. I think we’ve held our own all right, considering how quickly our lives have changed in the last year. We went from being nobodies playing fart noises on my laptop, to having people chase us down the street to get a selfie and playing huge arenas like that.” He snaps his fingers.

  “You say that,” I say with a sigh. “But I don’t see you getting wasted and making yourself look like an asshole or getting into car accidents. You’re just as famous as I am, and yet you’re completely well adjusted.”

  Alfie laughs, but it’s strained. “Not even close, Em.” He shakes his head, looking thoughtfully out over the waves. “Not even close.”

  I turn to face him, leaning on the railing. “What, too many supermodels chasing after you? Not getting enough Burberry gigs to pay for your Beverly Hills area code?” I smirk, thinking I’m so freaking funny. But then I see his face, the hurt flashing in his eyes, and I know I’ve gone too far.

  “Shit,” I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alfie. I didn’t mean any of that. I know you’re going through stuff, too.”

  He shrugs away from me. “It’s fine.”

  “You know,” I say quietly, “you can talk to me about whatever.”

  “I don’t wanna make a big deal of it.”

  “Come on. You’ve heard me whine on and on about a million things. It’s your turn.”

  He chuckles. “That is true.”

  Giggles rise up from the water below. “Hey, Emmy! Alfie!” Kassidy calls. “You coming down or what?”

  “Come on!” Will shouts. “Get your sexy naked butts over here!”

  I ignore them, keeping my gaze on Alfie. “Do you wanna go inside and talk?”

  “We’re on vacation. I don’t want to bring you down,” he says, and it breaks my heart a little.

  “Alfie,” I say, taking his hand. “I just want to listen. That’s all.”

  His shoulders relax visibly, and he nods. I lead him inside and upstairs to the smaller deck with an elegant fire pit. He sits on the couch quietly while I light the fire and think about what he told me before our show the other night.

  I sit next to him, cross my legs, and hug a cushion to my chest. “I’m really sorry,” I say. “About the whole supermodels and Burberry gigs remark. It was stupid. Especially after what you told me about your anxiety.”

  “It’s okay,” he says.

  “That’s not all I’m sorry for,” I say. “I should have known. We spend nearly every day together. How could I not notice something was going on with you?”

  He smirks. “Maybe I’m just a really good actor. I should do what all those other singers eventually do and give Hollywood a shot.”

  I frown. “That makes me so sad. You don’t have to hide things from me. Especially not this.”

  “I wasn’t trying to hide anything,” he says. “I just didn’t know how to bring it up. And I didn’t want anyone to think I was a pussy.”

  “Hey,” I say sternly. “Having anxiety doesn’t make you a pussy. Sidebar: Vaginas are, like, super fucking indestructible, so I say be a pussy. A giant one.”

  That makes him laugh. Not a strained laugh or a small laugh, but a bellowing laugh—the kind that comes from deep in your stomach.

  “True story,” he says. “And I know, I know. I shouldn’t be so worried about looking weak. But I’m not gonna lie, it’s hard. I’ve spent so much time rebelling against everything to do with gender roles, and now I’m also unlearning all the bullshit stigma we’ve been taught about mental illness. It’s like the lies we’ve been fed never fucking end.”

  “I feel you,” I say. “Obviously, I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, but I can relate a little. Things like bi erasure and biphobia and all that shit is why it took me so long to figure out I’m queer, and why it took even longer for me to be ready to come out about it. Fucking society, am I right?”

  “Right,” he says. “My therapist is big on smashing binaries and the patriarchy and stuff, too, so she’s been helping me see a lot of things from a new perspective. Especially when it comes to my mental health.”

  He leans back on his hands, seeming more comfortable with our conversation, so I decide to dig a little deeper. “When did it start?”

  “World tour, second show,” he says. “About forty-five minutes before we went on stage, I started sweating and shaking uncontrollably. My arms felt numb and my chest hurt. I for real thought I was having a heart attack. I called in our doctor, who checked me out and told me it was a panic attack. She wanted to cancel the concert. I said no, threw up a few times, and then went out anyway.”

  “Jesus Christ, Alfie.” I find myself sliding closer to him, reaching out for his hands. I try thinking back to that night, but all I remember are my own nerves and excitement and all the fun we had. All the fun I thought we had.

  He stretches his neck back and lets out a long breath. “I cannot tell you how much of a relief it is just to tell someone.”

  “Wait,” I say. “So no one else knows? What about Ry? Or Sal?”

  He shakes his head. “You know Ry: He can’t be serious for more than three seconds. He doesn’t like talking about this kind of thing, either. Sal would freak, so I’ve been putting off telling her. I wanted to tell you, but then Jessie came along, and she was always causing drama. And with everything going on with your folks, I didn’t want to add to your stress.” He rubs his chin. “And I didn’t want you to think less of me.”

  God, that hurts to hear, but I’m glad he’s opening up to me. “I would never think less of you. Ever. And I’m really sorry if I made you feel like I didn’t have time for you. I always have time. I just didn’t have a clue.”

  I put an arm around his waist and rest my head on his shoulder. “I’m always here if you need me, okay? For anything. If you want to talk or play some music or whatever. Just tell me how to help, and I’ll do it.”

  He pats my hand. “You’re doing it right now.”

  We sit silently for a while, and I become mesmerized by the fire. While I stare into the flames, I replay the last six months in my mind with this new information, wondering how I didn’t see that one of my best friends was in pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Alfie and I lay back on the couch, staring up at the stars. The echoes of our friends’ laughter float up to meet us, making me smile.

  “I’m so tempted to film them skinny-dipping,” I say, giggling.

  “Ha! Imagine the headlines,” Alfie says. He raises his hand to the sky and writes a fake headline. “Brightsiders Caught Having an Orgy in the Ocean.”

  “Ew,” I say, then join in the fun. “Ryan Cho Bares Butt, Causes International Incident.”

  He laughs, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Ugh, do you ever think that our lives are just one out-of-control headline after another?”

  I sit up and point to myself. “Um, have you met me? My entire life is used as clickbait.”

  “You get it so much worse than me and Ryan do,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Ryan parties all the time, but he never gets torn to shreds for it. And I’ve been around, but no one calls me a skank or even com
ments on it. Probably because all people see when they look at me is That Genderqueer Kid.”

  “That’s not true,” I say. “And if it makes you feel better, I can call you a skank.”

  He laughs, shaking his head. “How can you just take that shit? You don’t sleep around. You’ve had, like, two relationships since I’ve known you. And the media would only ever call Jessie your ‘bestie.’ So how did they get this impression that you’re easy?”

  I shrug, but it feels good to know I’m not the only one who’s confused by it. “But even if I did hook up with a lot of people, so what? That’s my business. To be honest, the only real reason I haven’t hooked up a lot is because I’ve never really had the opportunity to do it.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Bullshit.”

  “I’m serious,” I say. “It’s like people are afraid of me. Maybe it’s the whole fame thing, it freaks people out. I know Jessie had a hard time with it at first. But then she became obsessed with it.” I don’t want to think about her, so I make a joke. “Or maybe it’s because I’ve got these big guns.” I flex my arms, showing off the muscles I’ve built up from years of smashing the drums. “I’ve heard queer girls like me find the whole toned-arm thing hot as hell, but guys don’t seem as into it. But fuck them douchebags, right?”

  “Preach, girl,” Alfie says. He holds a hand up, and I slap it with my own. “I definitely find it hot, by the way.”

  He closes his eyes, his chest rising and falling slowly. All I want to do is kiss him again. Just once more. Maybe it’s the stars above us or the glow of the fire, or maybe it’s the way Alfie opened up to me, but I find myself regretting the quick decision to stop making out.

  His shirt is still unbuttoned at the top. I can see the tattoo of a stag—which he is convinced is his Patronus, despite what Pottermore tells him—on his chest. I drag my eyes away from him and sit up. Needing a distraction, I pull my phone out of my pocket and go on Snapchat. I watch my story, replaying all the fun from the lip-synching, giggling quietly to myself. But then the video of Alfie plays, and I can’t stop myself from watching as he sings. To me. He was right when he said he was staring at me. I didn’t notice it at the time because I was too focused on not orgasming in front of everyone, but his eyes are on me the whole time. He mouths the words to “Need You Tonight,” looking at me with fire in his eyes. I close the app and slide my phone across the couch, glaring at it like it betrayed me. I rest my elbows on my knees and clutch my head in my hands, fantasizing about our kiss on the island today.

  Oh my fucking God, Em. Chill out. Stop acting like a fleshy ball of hormones and think about this. Think with your head, not your vagina.

  I start tapping my heel on the floor, trying to get my shit together. I feel Alfie sit up and stretch, and I think about just standing and walking away. At the moment it’s the only way I can think of to stop myself from saying something stupid.

  “You cool, Em?” he asks sweetly.

  I lift my head up, forcing a smile. “Cool. Yeah. Cool. Coolcoolcool.”

  He smirks and says, “Cool.”

  Uh-oh. Our eyes have locked on to each other. Sirens are blaring in my mind. If I don’t abort this, what happens next will reach catastrophic proportions.

  Okay, maybe I’m being a little dramatic. Maybe there’s a way this could work. Like a social experiment. Or a rebound thing, to distract myself from the garbage fire back home. Yeah, that’s it. That’ll work.

  Won’t it?

  “Heyyyy?” I say slowly, running my fingers down my hair.

  “Mm-hmm?” he says, raising his eyebrows expectantly. He’s biting down on his bottom lip, pinching it between his teeth as he stares at me. Then he drops his gaze, shaking his head slowly, as if he’s trying to talk himself out of this like I was a few seconds ago.

  “I was thinking,” I say. “Seeing as we’re here on this yacht this week, in close proximity and whatever, maybe we should just give in to … you know, whatever.”

  His eyes light up, and he leans closer, about to kiss me. I put a hand on his shoulder to hold him back.

  “But,” I say, holding up a finger. “Only while we’re here. This shouldn’t come back with us to LA.”

  He smiles, nods. “Like a vacation fling.”

  “Exactly,” I say. “Maybe we just need to get this—whatever this is—out of our systems. Agreed?” I hold a hand out, and he shakes it.

  “Agreed.” He waits a moment, smirking down at me. “Can I kiss you now?”

  I laugh. “Sure.”

  He tilts my chin up with his thumb, touching his nose to mine. I close my eyes in anticipation, but what comes is only a restrained brush of his lips, and then he leans back. I open my eyes and look up at him, meeting his gaze. He gives me a half smile, like he was waiting for something and finally found it, and then he gives me what I want.

  At first, our kiss starts softly, slowly. It’s different from the other two times we’ve kissed. They were almost accidental, surprising, but this kiss is done with intention, with purpose and expectation and passion. A shiver runs down my neck and my palms sweat against my thighs. I smile against his mouth, because this is what I’ve wanted since our lips parted under the waterfall.

  Alfie kisses like he does everything else in his life: with an intense drive to reach perfection while also letting the moment lead him to new, exciting places.

  When he’s making music, he gets so heavily in the moment that it consumes him like fire. And right now I feel like he’s devoting everything he has to this one kiss, just like he devotes himself to every line in every song, every song on every album, every performance on every tour.

  Tonight, here in the middle of the ocean washed with moonlight, the one thing he’s devoted to is this kiss.

  Matching his heat, I put my whole body into it, like I do when I’m drumming my heart out on stage. Clutching him so tightly that my knuckles whiten. Feeling the moment so intensely that I try to breathe it in, devour every second of it so I don’t miss a beat.

  Then it builds up, like the kisses we shared before this were just a taste, just the opening notes of a song, and now we’re hitting the crescendo. The act of giving ourselves permission to explore each other—however temporarily—has freed us to be as affectionate as we want. And now that there’s nothing holding me back; I just want to get closer and closer to him. My fingers find their way to the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. He runs one hand through my hair, the other down my side and onto the small of my back. I press my chest against his, but I still don’t feel close enough, so I kiss him harder.

  People always talk about how the whole world supposedly disappears when you’re kissing someone. But I’m aware of everything going on around me right now: the sound of the sea lapping against the yacht, the cool breeze tickling my shoulders, the fact that our friends are playing nude Marco Polo in the water below us, completely oblivious to what we’re doing up here.

  I’m aware of everything going on within me, too. And fuck, is it wonderful. I feel everything. Every stroke of his fingers on my back is like flames licking at my skin. The pressure of his lips on mine is like breathing for the first time after being underwater for too long. Feeling the way his back muscles move and clench under my touch is like running my fingers over piano keys until I find the right sound.

  After a while, we come up for air, and Alfie falls back onto the couch, slicking his hair back. “Best. Vacation. Ever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Will, Ryan, and Alfie are already seated around the breakfast table when I emerge from my room the next morning. Alfie’s shaggy hair hangs over his shoulders, his white T-shirt clinging to his body. The body I couldn’t stop thinking about all night. We had to stop making out when everyone came in from the water, wanting to play Guitar Hero in the games room. I was so exhausted that I went to bed, but the moment my head hit the pillow I was wide awake again.

  I suppress a yawn as I sit down next to Alfie and nudge my chair forwar
d, breathing in the smell of pancakes and fruit. Alfie is facing away from me, telling Will some animated story about the time we were chased by fans in Singapore. I figure he hasn’t noticed I’m sitting next to him, and I start pouring maple syrup on my pancakes, my stomach rumbling. But when I rest a hand on my lap, he reaches over to find it under the table. He’s still talking to Will, still facing away from me, but that one simple gesture has me as gooey as the syrup on my plate. I stuff some pancake in my mouth so the others don’t see my giddy grin. It doesn’t work, so I reach over to the fruit platter for a strawberry, dip it in the syrup, and take a bite.

  Will gasps. “Emmy,” he says. Alfie turns to look at me. Will leans over the table, staring at my plate. “Did you just dip your strawberry into maple syrup?”

  I glance from Will to Alfie to Ry. “Yeah? Why? What’s wrong with that?”

  Will scrunches his face up, making his lips disappear under the dark hairs of his beard. “That’s so gross!”

  I swallow the berry. “It is not. It’s amazing.” Just to gross him out even more, I pick up another strawberry, smother it in syrup, and eat it.

  Will looks horrified. “Oh my God, stop.”

  I point my strawberry at him, syrup dripping onto my plate. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it, buddy.”

  “No thanks,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ll stick to my normal-people food.”

  “I’ll try it,” Alfie says, taking a strawberry. He holds it over the glob of syrup on my plate and looks at me. “May I?”

  “Go ahead.”

  He dips it, sniffs it, eats it. And when his eyes light up, I know I’ve won.

  “So good,” he says, munching it down like a kid tasting sugar for the first time.

  Ryan takes a strawberry and pours maple syrup all over it, then eats it. He makes an orgasmic moaning sound. “Yes. Yes!”

  Will’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “You’re all very strange individuals, do you know that?”