The evening air is chilly. My breath escapes me in clouds of fog. I study everyone around me. Like me, some wear their official Graces merchandise. The beanie I’m wearing is from their online store, and it has the band’s official logo on it. I’m also wearing a T-shirt with Ezra Grace’s face on it.
With nothing else to do, I pull my phone from my pocket and reply to the three musketeers group chat.
How’s the date going? Priya asks.
I don’t think this is a date. We made these plans before…everything.
As long as you’re with the person you like and they like you, it can be considered a date, Donny says.
Then, by that logic you and Priya have been dating since freshman year.
Touché, Priya texts. Ten points to Gryffindor.
You know I’m a Hufflepuff. Hugs for everyone.
Donny texts a meme with Professor McGonagall as the background, and in large, bold text, it reads: “Ten points to Hufflepuff,” said no Hogwarts professor ever.
Priya sends through a series of crying-from-laughing emojis.
You Ravenclaws are the worst.
You know you love us, Priya says.
I should go. I’m standing in line.
Well, have fun, Donny says.
I close the group chat and head to Instagram. I scroll through my feed. Bryson has uploaded three new posts. The first is of him surrounded by the soccer team he helps coach, the second is of him getting ready for the concert, and the third is of him trying to find a parking spot.
I like them all. And this time I smile at the red heart without second-guessing myself. The flash of a camera causes me to look up from my phone. I startle at the person in front of me. I stifle a groan. It’s Shannon.
She smiles in a way that sets my alarm bells off. “Interesting meeting you here.”
“I could say the same about you.” I look her up and down. “You like the Graces?”
“Of course not,” Shannon says. She barely stops herself from scoffing.
“Then what are you doing here?”
“Research for a story I’m working on. I figured I’ll kill two birds with one stone. I know that this is Bryson’s favorite band, too.” She scans the crowd. “Where is he?”
“You’re kind of obsessed.”
“Dedicated,” Shannon says. She flips her hair from her shoulder. “I know that he wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
“Do you even really know Bryson?”
“Duh. Of course. Everyone knows Bryson Keller.”
I shake my head.
She must not like the look on my face. “What? Do you think you know him?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. And it’s true. This week has been a window into who Bryson actually is. “Bryson’s so much more than what everyone makes him out to be. He’s more than his status. More than a jock. I don’t know, maybe if you looked beyond all that you’d get to know the real him. And maybe then you’d stand a chance with him.” Not that I ever want that to happen.
“Oh, please—” she starts to say, but her words taper out. Shannon looks just over my shoulder and her eyes widen. “Bryson,” she says, softly at first, then louder. “Bryson.”
Startled, I turn and come face-to-face with Bryson. His pale blue eyes send a shiver down my spine. He places a steadying hand on my arm. Seeing the look on my face, Bryson glances over my shoulder and spots Shannon. He quickly removes his hand.
“I finally found parking.”
“You came together?” Shannon asks.
“Yeah,” Bryson says. “We both really love this band. So it made sense just to come together.”
She pushes past me, adding an elbow just for my benefit. “You could have told me.”
“What are you doing here? You like the Graces?”
“Of course,” Shannon lies.
I snort, which earns me a glare from Shannon. The three of us end up standing in line together. With Shannon as our third wheel, we aren’t able to talk freely. So instead, we spend most of the time just stealing looks at each other.
The line moves forward, and soon it’s our turn. Bryson and I hand our tickets to the attendant, and she gives us our bracelets to let us enter. Then Shannon hands over her ticket.
“I’m sorry, but you can’t enter,” the attendant says.
“What do you mean?” Shannon asks.
“This ticket is fake.” The attendant holds the ticket up to the light overhead. “Where’d you buy it?”
“Online,” Shannon says.
“When?”
“This week.”
“I think you’ve been duped,” the attendant says. She hands the ticket back to Shannon. “Next, please.”
“This isn’t fair,” Shannon says. She looks from the attendant to us. But there isn’t anything Bryson or I can do. With no other choice, we wave goodbye and enter the venue.
The Echo is small, so it’s already full of people. My eyes scan the crowd. Ahead of us there is a gay couple. They walk hand in hand proudly. Bryson sees the same thing I do. He looks at me. The Graces fandom is very LGBTQ friendly, and all around us that shows.
“We’re in a city where no one knows us,” Bryson says. “We can be whoever we want to be.” He takes my hand. I see other same-sex couples and smile. Bryson’s right. I turn to smile at him.
“Let’s go.” We meander our way to find a place to stand. No one looks at us; no one says anything. We’re all just here to have fun and watch the Graces. For the first time in my life, I hold another boy’s hand in public. This is what life should be.
Bryson pulls out his phone and takes a picture of the stage. He uploads it to Instagram: Let’s rock.
And when the Graces take the stage, we do.
* * *
• • •
Three hours later, we file out of the Echo. We’re sweating and smiling. My throat feels sore from all the singing out loud. We both carry our jackets and caps now, the high from the concert keeping us warm.
“We should get something to drink. When I was parking, I saw a café that’s open till late.” Bryson points in the direction and we start walking. The café, Stories, reminds me a lot of Off the Wall. It’s a bookstore and coffee shop. We manage to order something just before it closes for the night. We get something cold, and I pay. Bryson doesn’t even bother to argue, because he’ll pay next time. And that I know there will be a next time fills me with joy. Even though it’s Friday night already, I don’t think I have to dread the end of this. With each moment I spend with Bryson, I’m growing more certain.
We leave Stories behind.
“There’s a park not far away from here,” Bryson says. “Want to check it out before we go home?”
“Okay,” I say. We head in that direction. I take a sip of my drink and my throat rejoices. The cool liquid does wonders for my strained vocal cords.
“I think I might lose my voice,” I say.
“You were very loud,” Bryson says. “You surprised me.”
I hold my hand up in the classic rocker symbol. “I had the rock spirit.”
Bryson bumps into me on purpose as we walk. “You’re cute.”
“Stop it. You’re going to make me blush.”
“I know,” Bryson says with a laugh.
We walk so close that our shoulders touch. It’s all I think about in the silence that follows. He’s so close to me.
When we reach Echo Park, we stop walking and turn to study the view. The downtown lights are reflected on the lake before us. This moment is picturesque, it’s perfect. This whole night has been. Bryson clears his throat nervously. He looks around to see that we’re alone before turning his full attention to me.
“There’s something I want to do,” Bryson says. “Something I think I need to confirm for myself. I feel like
it’s the only way that I’ll know for sure.” He doesn’t sound sure about himself at all, though. He’s nervous, and it’s cute. Butterflies spring to life in my stomach.
“What is it?”
His eyes move from mine, down to my lips. He studies them before meeting my gaze again.
“I want to kiss you,” he says. “I’ve wanted to for a while now.” His voice is low, gruff, nothing more than a whisper. “Can I?”
We’re in a city where no one knows us, standing at the cliff, waiting to jump. My eyes move to his lips. Right now there is nothing more that I want in this world than for Bryson Keller to kiss me.
“Yes.”
One word that changes everything. He closes the distance between us. Bryson’s lips meet mine. The kiss is tentative at first. It’s a test, a question seeking an answer. Soon, though, it deepens. His mouth moves against mine.
Bryson pulls back and his eyes open. He looks at me, then smiles. It’s not tight-lipped and nervous. It’s big and genuine. It’s the smile you want to get after kissing someone.
“I just broke all my rules.” He sighs.
“Sorry.” My voice is breathless and not even a little apologetic. My heart hammers in my chest. I’m barely keeping myself standing upright.
“Don’t. Don’t apologize,” Bryson says. “Not for that kiss, never for that kiss.”
“Really?” I feel my face reddening. “This was my first kiss…like, ever.”
“Well, this feels like my first real kiss, too,” Bryson says. “I feel like everything finally makes sense now. You. Me. Us.”
We stare at each other, and I can tell that neither of us is really looking at the other’s eyes. We’re looking at each other’s lips.
“Should we?” Bryson asks.
“Yes,” I say again, this time on a groan.
Bryson leans his head down. It’s slower this time. His lips touch mine once more, and I feel like they belong there. There is no hesitation. Bryson Keller is sure. I feel braver, too. I reach for him. My fingers run through his hair. Bryson pulls me closer, and I moan into his mouth. This is what I’ve been waiting for my whole damn life.
On this Friday night, we are just two boys kissing because we want to, because we like each other.
And there is nothing at all wrong with that.
Because love is love is love.
21
I don’t sleep at all. I have too much going on in my head, too much going on in my heart. I’m thinking too much, feeling too much.
I roll over and bury my head in the pillow. I’m smiling, and I’m pretty sure I have been the whole night. I reach for my phone on the nightstand. I have messages in the group chat, and when I open it, I find a link to a YouTube video that Donny thought was funny. I scroll through my other notifications but find none from Kelly yet. Maybe Bryson’s sleeping.
We got home pretty late last night. Neither one of us had wanted the night to end. Even after he drove me to my house, we spent almost an hour just sitting there and talking. Holding hands with our hearts full, a cloud of giddiness swirling all around us. I decided then that the night was a date, because it was everything I’ve fantasized about—and so much more.
I’m not saying that I’m in love with Bryson. But the idea doesn’t seem all that impossible. It hasn’t even been a full week, but there’s no denying that I like him more and more with each day that passes. And what completely blows my mind is that he likes me, too.
His kissing me is the undeniable proof that my skeptical mind needs.
With his lips, he cleared my doubts and stilled my anxiety about us.
Last night he did it again and again and again.
There’s a knock at my bedroom door. I roll over just as Yazz pops her head in. She’s wearing the wrap that she swirls her hair in to sleep. Dad’s sisters gave Yazz the hair 101 on her last visit. Both of us have super-curly hair. I’m lucky that I keep mine short, but Yazz’s hangs down her back.
“Mom sent me to check if you were alive,” Yazz explains.
I’m not. I’ve moved on from the land of the living. Last night was enough to kill me—the murder weapon: Bryson Keller’s skilled mouth. I smile to myself. I’m sure to Yazz I look like a fool, but I don’t care. I’m too happy to care. Nothing can go wrong today, not when I feel this good.
“What’s with you?” Yazz asks.
“Nothing,” I lie.
For once my secret doesn’t feel like a burden.
“Are you going to see Bryson today?” Yazz asks.
“No, why?” There’s something strange about her question, or rather the way she’s asked it. Maybe if I weren’t love-drunk over Bryson and me making out last night I would press her on it. In the end I don’t. Sometimes willful ignorance is best.
“Just curious.” She closes my door then, leaving me alone with the memory of last night. I am riding a cloud of euphoria. No wonder pop stars are constantly saying love is a drug. It may be cliché, but it also happens to be true.
I climb from my bed and walk to the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later I emerge dressed and ready to take on the day. I run down the stairs and enter the kitchen.
Mom and Dad are seated at the island, both with their laptops out. It seems that today is a Saturday for working at home.
“Good afternoon, sleepyhead,” Dad says. He’s being dramatic—there’s over an hour to go before it’s actually the afternoon.
“Did you have fun last night?” Mom asks.
My heart skips a beat. Just briefly I think she’s asking about Bryson and me, but then I remember the concert. Something I was looking so forward to was completely eclipsed by my kissing Bryson Keller.
I turn to hide my blush and busy myself with pouring a glass of orange juice. “Yeah, the concert was great.” But what happened after was even better. I tell them none of this, though.
“You should invite Bryson over sometime,” Mom says. “We barely got to know him yesterday.”
“You mean you couldn’t interrogate him like you wanted.”
Dad laughs. “I’d love to have someone to talk soccer with. Do you know which team he supports?”
I recall the posters on Bryson’s bedroom wall. “Liverpool.”
Dad sighs. “You must invite him over, then. I need to have a serious talk with him.”
I imagine Bryson coming over and meeting my parents, as my boyfriend this time. I introduce him as such, and Mom simply asks if he’s eaten. True to his word, Dad talks to him about soccer, and we spend the afternoon laughing and joking. There isn’t a third-degree interrogation; there aren’t any tears or disappointment or prayers for their gay son. There isn’t any heartache or pain. Instead, we go about it as if everything is normal.
Because it is.
My having a boyfriend is normal.
I head to the fridge to find a snack. I see my breakfast covered and smile. I love my parents. I warm the food in the microwave and go back to my bedroom.
I pull out my phone. Totally by accident, I end up stalking Bryson’s profile. He hasn’t uploaded anything since yesterday. Actually, he’s been oddly quiet all morning. No texts—nothing. A small part of me worries that last night overwhelmed him.
As I’m scrolling through the many pictures of Bryson, my phone vibrates, not with a text but with a phone call. Only a handful of people bother to call me, and all of them belong to my family.
But it isn’t any of them. Kelly’s name flashes on the screen. Immediately, I swipe to answer and bring the phone to my ear.
“Kai?” Bryson says. He sounds odd. “I’m sorry I’m calling. I know you hate phone calls.”
“Bryson, what’s wrong?”
“I wanted to talk to someone, and you came to mind.”
“Why? Did something happen?”
There’s a few seconds of silence
on the other end of the phone.
“I saw my dad today,” Bryson says. “He’s having a baby.” Another long pause. “He’s having a son with the woman he had an affair with.”
“Where are you?” I ask.
“Melody Beach.” That section of the beach used to be popular before the boardwalk got revamped. Now it’s deserted, with few people going there because it’s a no-swim zone.
“I’m coming,” I say. We hang up. I grab my wallet and go downstairs.
Dad is the first parent I see. “Dad, can I borrow your car?”
“For?”
“I have plans with Bryson today.” My parents have met him now. I don’t need to hide anything. It isn’t weird for two boys to hang out, so why lie?
“Sure,” Dad says. “You know where the keys are.”
“Thanks.” I walk to the foyer. There’s a small table with a glass bowl that we use to keep our keys in. I find the ones for Dad’s car.
I pull on my shoes and exit the house. Dad drives an SUV. Just after I got my license, every time I borrowed this car, the vehicle would come back either scratched or dented. To this day I swear that it was the tree’s fault the first time. And the second time, the fire hydrant jumped out in front of me.
I was banned for a while after those accidents, but I argued that the only way for me to get better was to practice. My parents allowed me to use Mom’s car instead. Now, though, I’m a much more confident driver, so Dad doesn’t have an issue with my driving his car.
Melody Beach is on the outskirts of town, and the fastest way to get there is to cut right through the heart of Fairvale.
Soon the sound of traffic gives way to the sound of the ocean. I turn right, and the tree line breaks to offer me my first view of the glittering sea. I turn into the parking lot at Melody Beach. Bryson’s Jeep is the only car there.
I pull into the space next to the Jeep and climb out. I peer through the window. The car’s empty. I scan my surroundings and spot Bryson sitting in the center of the basketball court.
He doesn’t see me at first. My shadow announces my presence. Bryson twists to look up at me. He smiles, but it’s not the one that I have come to know—the one I’ve come to expect.
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