Autoboyography

by Christina Lauren

Yes, Mrs. Brother, I can definitely take cookies down to your hot son’s room. My pleasure.

  “Of course.” I gather up my things and follow her into the kitchen.

  “I’m taking Faith to dance soon, so if you two need anything else, just help yourself.”

  A plate with six chocolate-chip cookies sits on the granite countertop. I’m just about to turn toward the stairs when something outside catches my eye, a flash of blue near the swing set. Sebastian had a blue shirt on today. It stretched across the defined expanse of his chest and showcased his biceps. I barely paid attention to anything else. I wonder whether he dresses every morning to torture me.

  The sliding glass door slips silently across the track, and I step outside and onto the patio. I can see him from here, head down as he sits on one of the swings, drawing large swaths of yellow highlighter across lines of text in his book.

  I cross the grass, and he looks up when he sees me. “Hey, you,” he says, eyes dropping to the plate in my hand. “You brought me cookies?”

  “Technically, they’re your mom’s cookies. She just gave them to me.”

  “She likes you,” he says, dragging his feet across the grass. “They all do. I knew they would.”

  I laugh. “I have no idea why.”

  “Come on, everyone likes you. Girls, boys, teachers, parents. My grandma called you the adorable one with the hair.”

  “Your grandmother thinks I’m adorable?”

  He looks up at me, squinting into the sun. “I think you know you’re adorable.” I want him to write those words down so I can read them over and over and over. “Are you going to give me a cookie?”

  I hold his gaze for a moment before handing him one from the plate. They’re still warm. “She told me to take them to your room,” I say with a suggestive lift of my brow. “That’s where she thinks you are, by the way.”

  He looks so much better today—happy—church-activity trauma apparently behind him. His mental and emotional resiliency is some kind of superpower.

  When he grins, my heart does a little hiccup in my chest. “If she thinks I’m inside, I vote we hide out here.”

  “She’s taking Faith to dance.”

  “Still, it’s nice out.” Sebastian picks up his things, and I follow him to the shade of a giant tree. To anyone in the house we’d be invisible, completely hidden by the canopy of new, bright green leaves overhead.

  I take one of the cookies and break it in half. “What are you working on?”

  “Psych.” He flops the book closed and stretches out in the grass. I work to keep my focus on his face, but when he turns to me, I can tell he knows I was just checking out his happy trail. “How was it working in a group with McAsher today?” he asks.

  I love that he seems so above the gossip cloud but totally isn’t. Sebastian sees everything. “She nearly fell out of her chair trying to show off her cleavage.”

  “I caught that.” He laughs, taking a bite of cookie.

  “How was the rest of your day?”

  “Economics quiz.” He takes another bite, chews, and swallows. Watching his jaw work is mesmerizing. “Latin quiz too. Choir practice.”

  “Wish I could have seen that.”

  “Maybe next time you can cut school and watch.” He opens one eye to look at me. “I know how much you like flipping the bird to authority.”

  “That’s me, four-point-oh student and juvenile delinquent.” I lick chocolate from my thumb and catch the way his eyes follow the movement now. A shiver moves down my spine. “Autumn is almost done with her book.”

  He considers this. Maybe he sees the tightness in my eyes. “That’s good, but not necessary. I mean, you still have a month. Some people need more time to revise. Some people need less. You just need a finished draft by the end of term. Not a polished manuscript.”

  I avoid his gaze, and he ducks down, catching my eye. “Are you going to send me chapters?”

  I hate the idea of making him fix my book.

  I also hate the idea of him seeing my fears and neuroses laid out so plainly.

  So, I divert: “When did you finish writing yours?”

  “Um.” He squints up at the branches overhead. “I finished in May—right before the deadline, if I’m remembering correctly—and turned in a draft a week later. I still wasn’t sure it was any good.”

  “But apparently it was.”

  “People like different things. You could read my book and hate it.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “You could. My mom’s probably already promised most of my author copies away, but I’ll snag you one. That way we’ll be even because you’re going to give me your book.” He offers up his most charming smile.

  I tap the bottom of his shoe with the toe of mine. “A fancy New York editor has already read and bought yours. You know it’s not crap.”

  “Your book isn’t crap, Tanner. It isn’t possible. Sure, details need to be changed to protect the innocent, but it isn’t crap. You’re too thoughtful, too sensitive.” He grins. “Yeah, I said ‘sensitive’ . . . despite your outward flippant thing.”

  “My ‘outward’—” I start with a grin, but clap my mouth shut at the sound of voices overhead.

  “What are you doing here?” Sebastian’s mom asks, and we duck lower, as if we’ve been caught doing something wrong. “I wasn’t expecting you home until dinner.”

  When I lean forward, stretching to see, I see an open bathroom window just above our tree. She’s not talking to us.

  Sebastian starts stacking his books. “Let’s go inside,” he whispers. “I don’t want to—”

  “Brett Avery married his boyfriend in California last week.” We both freeze at the sound of his dad’s deep voice, and the tenor of hardened disapproval there.

  Sebastian looks over at me, eyes wide.

  I can only imagine the stricken expression his mom must be wearing, because his dad sighs, saying sadly, “Yeah.”

  “Oh no,” she says. “Oh no, no. I knew he moved away, but I had no idea he was—” She stops short of saying the dreaded G-word, and lowers her voice. “How are his parents?”

  For the briefest moment, Sebastian’s face falls, and I want to reach out and cover his ears, pull him into my car, and take off driving.

  “They’re managing, I suppose,” he tells her. “Apparently Jess took it more calmly than Dave did. Brother Brinkerhoff is praying with them, and added them to the temple roll. I told them I’d stop by, so I just ran home to change.”

  Their voices fade as they move to another room. Sebastian is staring mildly off into the distance, and the thunder of my silence rolls through me as I struggle to think of what to say.

  How are his parents?

  It can’t have escaped Sebastian’s notice that his mom didn’t ask about Brett or whether he was happy; she asked about his parents, almost like having a gay son is something they have to manage, to explain, to deal with.

  He’s gay; he didn’t die. Nobody is wounded. I know Sebastian’s parents are good people, but holy hell, they just inadvertently made their own son feel like there’s something about him that needs to be fixed. So much for acceptance. So much for welcoming.

  “I’m sorry, Sebastian.”

  He looks up from where he’s gathering his highlighters, a tight smile on his face. “What’s that?”

  A few seconds of bewildered silence tick between us.

  “Isn’t it weird to hear them talk like that?”

  “Talk about Brett being gay?” When I nod, he shrugs. “I don’t think anyone is surprised his parents are reacting the way they are.”

  I search his face, wondering why he seems so resigned. “I don’t know. . . . Maybe if enough people get angry, things will change?”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” He leans in, trying to get me to hold on to his gaze. “It’s just the way it is.”

  Just the way it is.

  Is he resigned, or realistic?

  Does he even feel any of this is about
him?

  “It’s just the way it is?” I repeat. “So you’ll go off to wherever and preach the Gospel and tell more people that being gay is wrong?”

  “Being gay isn’t wrong, but it’s not God’s plan, either.” He shakes his head, and I think this moment, right here, is when it really hits me that Sebastian’s identity isn’t queer. It’s not gay. It’s not even soccer player or boyfriend or son.

  It’s Mormon.

  “I know this must not make any sense to you,” he says carefully, and panic squeezes my gut. “I’m sure you have no idea what you’re doing with me or what I’m doing with you, and if you—”

  “No.” I squeeze his fingers, not caring that someone could see. “That’s not what I’m saying. I want you. But I hate to think that your parents would ever look at us and think we are something to be fixed.”

  It’s a long time before he answers, and I can tell he doesn’t entirely like what I’ve said because he pulls his hand away, tucking it between his knees. “I don’t presume to know why Heavenly Father does the things He does, but I know in my heart that He has a plan for each of us. He brought you into my life for a reason, Tanner. I don’t know what that reason is, but I know that there’s a purpose for it. I know that. Being with you isn’t wrong. The way I feel about you isn’t wrong. Somehow it’ll work out.”

  I nod down at the grass.

  “You should come along next weekend,” he says quietly. I hear it in his voice, the way he begs for this to be solved by me joining the church. The way he lifts the corner of the rug and capably sweeps this inconvenient dirt pile underneath. “We have a youth activity, and it should be pretty fun.”

  “You want to bring your boyfriend to a church activity?”

  His brows flicker down at this before he clears his expression. “I want to bring you.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I don’t think Sebastian really expected me to take him up on the offer. Even Autumn stared at me in blank shock when I mentioned I was going to tag along on a church activity. And yet here we are, Sebastian and Tanner, parking beside the soccer field at good ol’ Fort Utah Park.

  We climb out of my car, and I follow him down the small hill to where everyone has gathered in a circle around enormous cardboard boxes, still unopened. For mid-April, it’s gorgeous out. I’m sure it means everyone will get sick when the temperature dips down into the thirties again, but right now it’s in the midsixties, and no one under the age of twenty is wearing long pants. There are pasty white legs peeking out of shorts everywhere.

  But let’s be real: Unlike the teeny ass-baring cutoffs Hailey wears, the shorts on display here are pretty tame. It’s not even weird here how modestly everyone dresses, but it does make me wonder briefly what it’s like for LDS kids living in towns where they aren’t the majority.

  Girls stare and fidget when Sebastian approaches. I can see a few guys, too, gazing at him just a touch longer than normal. Does he notice the effect he has on people? He’s not even leading the event, but it seems like everyone’s been waiting for him to arrive.

  A few people come up, greeting him with handshakes. I’m introduced to a Jake, a Kellan, two McKennas (neither are the McKenna from school) and a Luke before I stop bothering to learn the names and instead greet every smile with my own grin and a hearty handshake. A guy around our age, maybe a bit older, comes out from a cluster of people at the back and introduces himself to me. His name is Christian and he’s thrilled I’m here to join the group. Clearly, he’s leading the exercise.

  With that, we get started.

  “We’re doing some service today,” Christian says, and a hush falls over the small crowd. The six enormous boxes become the focus of everyone’s attention as he walks over and leans against one. “The amenities in this park are getting old, and it seems time to spruce it up a bit.” He pats the box at his side. “This box, my friends, contains everything you need to build a table or a bench.” A grin spreads across his face. “The twist is that there are no directions, no tools.”

  I look around at the group. No one else seems surprised by these rules in the least. No directions, okay, but no tools?

  My mind yells a panicked But—splinters!

  “We’re going to break into six teams.” When Christian says this, I feel Sebastian casually sliding away from me, and I glance over at him, but he shakes his head. “First, we need to move the existing tables and benches over to the parking lot, where they’ll be picked up by Brother Atwell’s crew. Then we build. We’ll have some pizza in a bit. Drink water when you need to. Remember, it isn’t a race. Take your time and do it right. This is how we give back.” He smiles, and something inside me suddenly feels very, very out of place here when he adds, “Now, let’s somebody say a prayer.”

  This part takes me by surprise, and I catch the apologetic look Sebastian gives me just before he lowers his head.

  An older teen across the circle from us steps forward. “Heavenly Father, thank you for bringing us together on this beautiful spring day. Thank you for our many blessings, for the strong bodies we will use today. Bless that we can remember this lesson and apply it in our daily lives, that we remember it is only through you that we can find salvation. Please guide Brother Davis’s aim straight and true that we may not have a repeat of last week’s emergency room visit.” A wave of giggles moves through the group, and the boy tucks his smile away before finishing. “Bless that we travel home safely. We say this in the name of Jesus Christ, amen.”

  When we straighten, Sebastian’s distance quickly makes sense as Christian has us count off, one through six. My boyfriend has just ensured that we’re on the same team, getting the same splinters.

  As threes, we are joined by two giggling thirteen-year-old girls, a freshman named Toby, and a junior named Greg. Toby, Greg, Sebastian, and I join the other male forces hauling away the old picnic tables. The girls stand and watch; mostly they’re watching Sebastian.

  I try to imagine Hailey in this situation. She would lose her goddamn mind if we started doing some sort of manual labor without expecting her to help.

  Having expected the building exercise to be pretty straightforward, I’m surprised when there are about seventy pieces of wood in the box and no clear indication what part goes where. It’s obvious that Sebastian and Greg have been doing this their whole lives. They quickly get to work sorting the pieces by size and shape, while Toby and I act as the muscle, moving the pieces where they direct us.

  Sebastian reels in the girls, Katie and Jennalee. “Can you find every piece this size?” He holds up a wooden pin, approximately four inches long. They’re scattered all over the grass where we overturned the box. “And make sure there are as many dowels as there are holes in the boards, see?” He points to the place where the dowels fit into the boards, and the girls immediately get to work, glad to have a task.

  “Tann,” he says, and the familiarity in his voice makes a shiver break out along my skin. “Come help me line these up.”

  We work side by side, arranging the boards meant to be the table, the boards meant to be the legs. We figure out that we’ll have to use one of the shorter, heavier boards as a mallet to get the pieces in, and then we’ll use Greg’s boot to get that final board in place. The problem-solving is a blast, if I’m being honest, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the thrill of crouching beside Sebastian, feeling his body move next to mine.

  Seriously, if he meant for me to come here and find religion, mission accomplished.

  We are the first group to finish, and we split off, helping other groups that are struggling with the arrangement and how to use the various parts as tools. I’d be exaggerating if I said it was backbreaking work, but it’s not easy, either, and when the pizza arrives, I’m glad to see a huge stack of boxes because I am s-t-a-r-v-i-n-g.

  Sebastian and I collapse against a tree, a bit away from the group. With our legs splayed out in front of us, we devour the food like we haven’t eaten in weeks.

  I love watc
hing him eat—it’s usually so fascinating to realize how well mannered he is—but here he’s all brute construction worker: The pizza gets rolled in half, and he shoves most of it in his mouth in one bite. Still, nothing gets on his chin or shirt. I take one bite and have a smear of pepperoni grease on my T-shirt.

  “Motherfucker,” I hiss.

  “Tann.”

  I look over at him, and he smiles, but then tilts his head, like Language!

  I give him a sheepish “Sorry.”

  “I don’t mind,” he says quietly. “Some of them would.”

  We’re far enough away that I have this sense of privacy, even if it’s not entirely real. “How long have you known everyone here?”

  “Some of them their whole lives,” he says, looking out at the group. “Toby’s family moved here only two years ago. And some of the kids here are more recent converts. I think this is Katie’s first service activity.”

  “I would never have guessed,” I tease.

  “Come on, she’s sweet.”

  “Her being sweet is totally unrelated to the fact that it took her twenty minutes to count forty dowels.”

  He acknowledges this with a quiet laugh. “Sorry about the prayer earlier. I always forget.”

  I wave him off and look around the field of teens with new eyes. “You ever dated anyone here?”

  He lifts his chin, indicating a tall girl on the other side of the soccer field, eating near the goal. “Manda.”

  I know who he means. She graduated with Sebastian’s class, and was in the student council. She’s pretty, and smart, and I never heard a single bit of gossip about her. I’m sure she would be the dream match for Sebastian.

  “How long?” I ask. Wow, that question came out sharp.

  He heard it too. “You jealous?”

  “A little.”

  I can tell he likes this. His cheeks pop with a blush. “About a year. Sophomore year to just before junior.”

  Wow. I want to ask what he did with her, how much they kissed, how close they came . . . but I don’t. Instead, I say, “But you knew, even then . . .”

  He looks up sharply and then around, his features relaxing once he confirms we’re out of earshot. “Yeah, I knew. But I thought, maybe if I tried . . .”