“You were up at all hours, talking to a boy?” he asks. I’ve never seen him at school with his students, but I imagine he’s a lot like this. “I was beginning to think that you weren’t interested in boys.”
“Um, that’s wrong.” I frown. “I like boys, Pops.”
“I didn’t say there was anything wrong with it.”
“Lydia likes boys, too, you know,” I say, bending my fingers back. “I’m not the only one who likes boys. It’s a totally normal thing.”
My tone is defensive, but I can’t help it. I don’t know how I’ll ever get to the point where I’m comfortable enough to talk about this. Sarah used to say that bi girls are just straight girls with a need for attention. I don’t want Pops to think the same about me.
“You’re right,” he says, pausing.
“Pops?” I raise a brow. He never talks about before Dad, not really. I know he doesn’t talk about his family because they’re homophobic. It makes me feel worse about the whole I might be bi thing. If Pops goes out with Dad, people know he’s queer. If Claudia goes out with Emma, people know she’s queer. If you’re bi, like Lydia, you can go out with a boyfriend and strangers will assume you’re straight. It doesn’t seem fair.
“You shouldn’t be on the phone that long.” Pops puts down his cup, startling me from my thoughts. “It’s inappropriate.”
“It wasn’t a school day,” I offer, swirling my spoon around in my coffee. “So at least there’s that.”
He looks like he’s going to say something else, but my buzzing phone interrupts him. I start, like a deer in front of a car, but I don’t move to answer it. Miles still doesn’t have a contact name in my phone, so it’s just a random number on the home screen. But judging by the look on Pops’s face, he knows what’s up. He stares at me, but I just blink.
The buzzing stops. Then a second later, starts again.
“You should probably answer that,” Pops says, sounding…Is he amused? “It’s rude to ignore people.”
My cheeks flush. Talking to Miles in front of Pops is probably the worst punishment of all time.
“It’s too early for a phone call,” I say, giving Pops a smile. “Especially not when I’m spending time with you. Everyone else can wait.”
“How kind,” he says. “But it’s almost six. You’re up at this time for school. Come on, why don’t you put it on speaker? I want to hear about the kid who has you up all night.”
“Ew, Pops.”
With a sigh, I accept the call and turn on speakerphone.
“Hey,” I say, casting a side-glance at my father. “Before you say anything, you need to know that you’re on speaker and one of my dads is in the room.”
“One?”
“I have two,” I say. “They’re gays who want to repopulate the Earth with more of their kind. I think Pops is pissed that I ended up straight.”
I almost expect him to hang up after that. I think anyone else would, since it’s my stupid idea of a joke. But Miles just laughs. It’s not very loud, I guess because he might be half-asleep. The sun is barely up, so he must be.
“I thought you were exploring?” Pops asks. “Was that a lie?”
“Pops,” I hiss. “Really?”
I haven’t even told my friends about my exploring. Miles doesn’t need to hear about it, especially not from my father.
“Hi, uh, Mr. Hampton? Or Mr. Garcia?”
“Hampton. Garcia is a doctor,” Pops says, using his teacher voice. I shoot him a look. He never talks like that around my friends, and Miles is one of them now. “What’s up? Is that what you kids say these days?”
I facepalm.
“You work in a school,” I say, rubbing my forehead. “You know how we speak. God, I’m sorry, Miles. He’s—a big goof. It’s really embarrassing.”
“This is what happens when you call someone before the sun is fully up,” Pops says, leaning close to me. “Miilless.”
“Oh G—”
“Gosh?” Pops chides. He’s too close to my side. I need my space.
“Hey, Miles,” I say, sliding away from my father. “Maybe you can just text me?”
“I mean, I already have you now, so it’s fine,” he says. He doesn’t even sound bothered, which is definitely different. I’m more bothered by the man, and I live with him. “I just want to know if you’re doing anything later.”
My stomach drops like I’m at the top of a roller coaster. Pops raises his eyebrows at me, but I try to ignore him. He’s worse than Claudia and Lydia combined.
“Uh, I don’t think so,” I say. “But I probably can’t hang out. I think I have a family thing to do. Or something.”
I stick my lower lip out at Pops. He understands everything; he should be able to understand this. I’m getting too close to Miles—first it was kissing, then watching musicals, and now dates? After dates comes more kissing, which leads to sex. I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. I’m not ready for this to shift from something light and fun to something that could possibly make me feel like shit.
“Actually, that family thing isn’t until much later,” Pops says, nudging me. “Much, much later. You two have been talking all night, after all. Go have some fun.”
“But—” I rack my brain for another excuse. “Homework. I always do homework on Sundays.”
I try the widest puppy eyes ever attempted. Please help me out here.
Pops smiles. “You can do it later.”
“Okay,” Miles says. “So I’m going to take a shower, and then I’ll call you back and we can figure out where to go, okay?”
“I guess so.”
I glare at Pops as I hang up the phone.
“You’re the worst,” I say. “I never ask you for anything.”
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard in my life,” he says, picking up his cup. “But I suppose you’ve learned your lesson. My work here is done.”
I groan. I can’t trust him at all.
CHAPTER 11
Miles suggested I pick a place to meet, so I chose the park. Everyone is so caught up on Golden Gate Park, but Dolores Park is my favorite. It has all the normal park things, like tennis courts and a soccer field. It’s big enough that I’ve never run into anyone from school, but close enough to feel like it’s part of my neighborhood.
Sometimes, when we don’t have anything to do, the girls and I come to watch dogs run around. The south half of the park is the best, because you can see everything—downtown, Mission District, and the East Bay. It’s not a bad place to meet the boy I like. Too bad the trolley takes forever to come and I end up being fifteen minutes late.
I speed walk through the park entrance, but I don’t see him right away. My hands dart up to my hair. When I get nervous like this, I wish I still had braids. I’d unbraid and rebraid them over and over so that my fingers would have something to do. Ever since I did the Big Chop before starting school in September, I can’t do much with it. Even though I go to bed with tiny twists, my hair never comes out in the tight, crisp curls I see other women walking around with. Then there’s the whole fog issue—it deflates my hair in mere seconds. I should’ve brought a hat.
“So what’s the big deal with the school play?”
I blink. Miles is standing in front of me, wearing a blue-and-white hooded sweatshirt. I was pretty sure people only wore school colors as some sort of joke, but I guess not. He has a vanilla ice cream cone, but instead of licking it like a normal person, he’s sucking it like a Popsicle. The dark pink of his lips is flecked with white. His tongue darts out to wipe it away.
“What do you mean? It’s Rent. You know that,” I say. We sit on a bench, his body is warm next to mine. “So it’s about a bunch of people who live in New York and have to deal with AIDS and relationships and stuff, but they sing.”
“I know,” he says, th
e corners of his mouth turning up. “I’ve read the script.”
“Okay. So you know the ‘big deal.’ ”
“Not really. I don’t understand why Ms. Klein is always freaking out.”
I glance up at him. Now that I’m close, I can see the barest hint of a mustache over his lips. Sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I can see the hint of freckles along my cheeks, but Miles doesn’t have any of those. His skin is consistent, no blemishes, just smooth darkness.
“Because it’s the first time she’s directing something and all those parents were freaking out about the show, so she wants to prove herself.”
“Wait,” he says. “What happened with that? People were freaking out?”
“It was this whole thing at the beginning of the year,” I sigh. “Tons of people in the PTA Facebook group were talking about how they objected to the show’s ‘portrayal of prostitution’ or the characters’ drug use or something.”
“Seriously?”
“Why are you so surprised?” I say. “The PTA is wild. You know Mike Davidson’s mom?”
Miles nods. “She’s the president. She does all the fund-raising stuff.”
“Right, so she came to rehearsal once and actually lectured Palumbo about it.” It’s hard to keep the heat out of my voice. “She spent, like, twenty minutes talking about how inappropriate it was and that it wasn’t setting the right example for high school kids.”
“But we aren’t even doing the real version,” Miles says. “There are—Jesse was talking about how all the lines were changed.”
“Yeah, we’re not even getting the full Rent experience, and it’s still not good enough for Mrs. Davidson,” I say, shrugging. “Anyway, I think that’s why Ms. Klein wants us to win at the High School Theater Awards. It’ll make her look good or something. And it’s not like we’re doing an easy musical. Rent is a modern classic. She’s probably nervous about pulling it off.”
“You know a ton about musical classics,” he says, nudging my shoulder. He taps a finger against my forehead. “Do you have a library of musicals up there?”
“Yep.” I smile. “Needed to fill all that space up somehow.”
He snickers, the finger tracing my cheek. It feels like my skin is about to catch fire.
“When was the first time you watched Sweeney Todd?”
“Bro, I didn’t watch the movie,” I say, raising my eyebrows. “I saw the musical on Broadway.”
“Of course.” He laughs. “I forgot who I was talking to. You probably saw the original cast and everything.”
“I’m not that bad,” I say, leaning against the bench. “My pops took me when I was ten or eleven. I think my dad was kind of nervous about all the violence, but it wasn’t that scary. I mean, the murderer has to stop every few minutes to break into song.”
“Wait, wait,” Miles says, moving his ice cream away from his mouth. “Which one wanted to talk to me earlier?”
“Oh, my pops. Dude, he’s so messy,” I say, heart fluttering as he laughs. “He doesn’t like to punish me, I guess, so he does these weird life lessons. I think it’s because he’s an English teacher. He always wants to find teachable moments.”
“Your parents don’t punish you? Are you even black?”
I shove him, and he moves his ice cream cone to the other hand.
“Punishments aren’t part of black culture,” I say. “Some things are, like getting your hair done, maybe, but not punishments.”
“Whatever you say. At least my parents don’t care if I talk on the phone.”
“That’s because you fell asleep,” I say, a teasing lilt to my voice. “It doesn’t count as talking when you’re out cold.”
“You fell asleep, too!”
“Not first,” I say, even though I can’t remember. “That was totally you. I bet you don’t even have a curfew, because your parents know you’ll be in bed by seven-thirty.”
“Oh, shut up.” He tosses an arm around my shoulder. “When I still had lacrosse practice, I didn’t go to bed until eleven a lot of nights.”
“Eleven?” I gasp dramatically. “How did you function?”
He tries to frown, but the corners of his mouth keep turning up.
“What made you pick lacrosse, anyway? It’s so violent.” I shudder. “Might as well choose football.”
“Nope. No. Football and lacrosse are completely different.” He shakes his head. “That’s insulting.”
“What’s the difference?” To me, all sports that don’t involve Serena Williams are the same. “They both involve guys running around a field, throwing a ball, and shoving each other.”
“Lacrosse is actually fun,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “And my best friends are on the team. We’ve been doing it since third grade, you know? It feels like the only thing I’m good at.”
My eyes roam over his face. He said I look different when I talk about musicals, and I’m trying to figure out if it’s the same with him and lacrosse. Do his eyes light up? Can I actually see his love of the game? But then I realize that Miles always looks excited like that. His mouth turns up and he moves his body forward and grabs hold of your attention.
And sure, maybe I don’t get the love of lacrosse, but I’d still listen to Miles talk about anything. He could read from my physics textbook and I’m sure it’d be interesting. I guess the difference between the two of us is that he seems like he’s into everything and I don’t care unless there’s singing.
“I suck at sports,” I finally say, running a hand through my hair. My fingers snag, so I yank them out, trying to hide my wince. “I think I’d get hit in the face every time I got on the field.”
He laughs, licking his ice cream. It’s dribbling onto his hand now.
“Everyone gets hit at some point. It’s part of the fun, Simone.”
I love the way he says my name. It’s like he’s never heard anything like it before. God, if he’s never heard Nina Simone, I don’t know how this is going to continue.
“I’d rather stick to my musicals, thanks.”
“How many classics are there?”
I lean back. A woman with blue weights in her hands runs past. It occurs to me that this could be considered a date. It’s surreal that I’m on an actual date with Miles. It’s not a super-dramatic, grown-up one, with candles and flowers and fancy dinners. But we’re together at a place other than school. A breath hitches in my chest. I’ve spent a lot of time with Miles since the note, at school and now outside of it. Could the note be an empty threat? As much as I hope it is, I have no way of telling.
The easiest thing would be to leave. I could tell him that I don’t feel well, maybe ignore his calls until school on Monday. But I like Miles. I like watching him smile and eat ice cream like a weirdo. It feels right. If I don’t have to give him up, I’m not going to.
“Well, Hamilton is probably going to be a classic, but I think the rule is that you have to wait a few years,” I say, folding my hands together. “There’s The Phantom of the Opera, which is the first musical everyone sees on Broadway. Oh God, West Side Story, definitely. It came out in 1957 and really had a big influence on the way musicals were choreographed and staged and everything. And definitely Les Mis. They revive it so much that everyone can see it, really, but it’s completely epic. And Guys and Dolls! It’s pretty funny. Oh, and A Chorus Line. It’s about a bunch of dancers getting ready for an audition, and it won like a ton of Tony Awards before Hamilton did. It was revolutionary.”
He’s staring at me, eyebrows raised.
“What?” I bite my lip. “You don’t have anything to say?”
He gives himself some time to be obnoxious with the ice cream cone again. He knows what he’s doing—I can see the smile in his eyes. It makes me think about all the other things he could be doing with his mouth.
; “Well,” he finally says, “I’m trying to figure out how many of those are Webber productions.”
“Oh my God, Miles.”
He snickers, and I can’t help but laugh with him. It’s starting to feel like summer, with the sun hitting my face as I talk to this guy about musicals. Even my parents would’ve cut me off by now. I never thought I’d be able to do something like this with a boy like Miles.
The ice cream makes it worse. It’s hard to ignore him licking ice cream off his hand.
“You need a napkin?”
“I’m fine.”
“Isn’t it a little early for ice cream?”
“It’s never too early for fun.”
I don’t know if I’m uncomfortable or…Well, it would be pretty inappropriate to be horny in the middle of a park. But this is most definitely something I’ll think about in my room.
Miles purses his lips, like he’s considering something. He holds the hand with the ice cream all the way out to the side, far away from me. I open my mouth, but I don’t get to say anything, because he kisses me.
His lips taste like vanilla and they’re soft, so soft. If I thought we just got lucky on the first few kisses, I was wrong. I grip his hand in mine but forget the stupid cone. It crushes in my fist, and sticky ice cream squelches between my fingers. I pull back, staring down in disgust. He doesn’t have any napkins, because of course not.
“Well,” he says, staring at my hand. “Maybe it is too early for ice cream.”
I resist the urge to snort.
“God, Miles,” I say, reaching for my jacket. “Everyone knows how to eat an ice cream cone normally. You’re basically an adult.”
I start to wipe off my hands with my jacket. He reaches into his pocket, pulling out napkins. My eyes narrow.
“You had those the whole time?”
He doesn’t answer, just grabs my hand. His laughter is loud as he gently wipes off the ice cream.
“I wouldn’t have to do that if you weren’t oblivious,” he says. He won’t look at me. “I’ve been totally fucking obvious.”
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