Heartbreak Boys

by Simon James Green

  “What the hell is that?” Nate says.

  “It’s a fan, Nate. It’s very humid in here. It must be all your evaporated tears.”

  Nate narrows his eyes at me. “Or maybe it’s because of all the extra body heat now you’ve come in? Did you know you produce the equivalent of a two-bar electric fire?”

  I flick the fan closed again. “How dare you? At the very least I’m a gas-flame-effect fire, if not a Scandinavian wood-burning stove.” I flick the fan back open and wave it at my face. Genuinely, it is feeling hot in here and my mouth is really dry. “Seriously, what’s the matter?”

  Nate looks up at me briefly, then buries his face in his knees again.

  “Come on, what is it?” I continue more softly.

  He’s unresponsive. I tentatively shuffle a bit closer, good and slow, like you would approach a junkyard dog, and put my arm across his shoulders. He tenses. “Nate?” I murmur.

  “Go away.”

  I sigh, but stay where I am.

  “Seriously, Jack. Just leave me.”

  I remove my arm from his shoulders, reach into my bag, and retrieve two Curly Wurlys. I open one and hand it to him, but I have to hold it there for a good ten seconds before he relents and accepts it from me. I smile, open my own and have a chew. “Your mum told me you liked these,” I say.

  “Yeah, well.”

  “You’ve got so many hidden layers, Nate!”

  He glares me.

  “You’re like an onion!”

  “Jack.”

  “So complex and—”

  “Well, you’re a—”

  “What am I, Nate? Oh, please pick something suggestive! An aubergine?”

  “No—”

  “A banana?” I fake gasp. “Or maybe something exotic? A kiwi fruit? A cantaloupe melon?”

  Nate finally laughs. “You’re a nightmare.”

  “Yes, but you love me.” Our eyes meet, I swallow and I look down. I’ve said the L-word before, jokingly, but now I can feel myself wanting some different response from Nate, and I don’t like it.

  “I always feel like I’m being left behind,” Nate mutters.

  I look back up at him.

  “Everyone else seems to have their lives together; they know what they want, and they’re going out there and they’re getting it,” he continues. “It’s not Tariq and Dylan as such, like... I get it now, they’re in love and Tariq’s dumped me, I get it, and it’s not that. It’s just the fact they’ve each found someone they want to do that with, and me…” He sighs and looks down.

  “It’s not a race, Nate.”

  He’s still looking down. “It’s not just this. It’s everything. It’s me coming out at prom, when…” His voice is barely a whisper. “…when you came out in year nine, and I wanted to as well, Jack, I wanted to, but I was scared—”

  “I know, Nate, you told me that, but—”

  “But it’s more than that! You went ahead, and you were so bold and confident, and I wanted to come with you, but I couldn’t do it, so I was just stuck, sitting in my room, while you were out there, being you, living your life, and I was so envious and so jealous. I wanted that so much, but I…” His head slumps down further with a huge sigh.

  I stare at him. I had no idea. I move closer to him again, put my arms around him and pull him into me. “I didn’t… I’m sorry,” I murmur.

  “It’s not your fault,” he says into my shoulder. “It’s me. I just couldn’t… I wasn’t in the same place as you. And I’m sorry too actually, because I ended up hating you for it. I hated you, Jack, and that’s just another reason I stopped talking to you. It started as fear, but then it grew into something so much more … poisonous. When I saw how much crap you were getting, I was actually glad, because I saw what it could be like, and I thanked god that wasn’t me. Thanked god I’d kept quiet. How horrible is that? That’s what sadness does to you, I reckon. Eats you up; makes you bitter. I should have supported you. Because you were my friend.”

  “You are my friend,” I tell him.

  “Yeah. You are my friend,” he says.

  I gently rub his back with my hand. “You know, I just assumed you didn’t want anything to do with me. I thought you maybe felt betrayed that I hadn’t spoken to you about it first, or that maybe you didn’t want other people to see us hanging out and think you were gay too.”

  “It wasn’t that,” Nate says.

  “That’s why I backed off. I thought that was what you wanted.”

  “And I thought you backed off because you had your new LGBT friends, and they were better and more fun and sparkly than I could ever dare to be, ’cause I was too scared to be myself. But I didn’t hate you, Jack. Not really. I wanted us to be friends. I kept quiet, kept my head down, and didn’t speak to you out of self-preservation – first because of the bullies, and then because I was trying to convince myself I didn’t want it anyway because that was the only way to keep my messed-up head together. But, really, not having you … I was heartbroken.”

  I take a deep, unsteady breath, my throat tight. “Me too. Losing you as a friend broke my heart too.”

  “I understand if you can’t, but could you, maybe … forgive me?” he asks in a small voice.

  “Nate, I forgive you. Like, totally, it’s not even…” I squeeze him closer. “The people I’ll never forgive are the ones who made you feel like you didn’t have a choice, and who robbed us of all these years when we could have been there for each other.” I sigh. “Fuck me, why are we still in a situation where some people have such a goddamn problem with who other people love? It’s frickin’ insane.”

  Nate sniffs, pulls back from me a bit and wipes his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Huh. Maybe this trip was a good thing after all.”

  I smile at him and ruffle his ridiculous bed-head hair. “I promise, I won’t ever leave you behind again, Nate.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t let you!” Nate smiles. “You’re stuck with me now.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  NATE

  It’s late, it’s raining, but Jack, Elliot and me are happy as can be, snuggled in our tent with blankets and hot chocolate. Having Jack back as a friend, and getting all that out in the open, it feels so good. It feels like I don’t even care so much about Tariq now, because I’ve gained something way better. I’ve got Jack back. The Dream Team: reunited.

  While we were queuing for the dairy-free hot chocolates, I bit the bullet. “Elliot,” I said. “I’m sorry I kissed you.”

  Elliot chuckled. “Ahh, man, you don’t have to apologize. I kissed you too!”

  “Now it all comes out!” Jack declared.

  “Jack, hush!” I said. “I know, but what I’m trying to say is—”

  “Nate,” Elliot said. “Here’s the thing, OK? In that moment, you were happy, am I right? It was a nice moment. Nice atmosphere. And you felt what you felt, and what you felt was joy, and I think when you feel joy, I think you should always grab it with both hands and enjoy it. And that’s what you were doing.”

  I mean, I was taken aback for a moment, because Elliot is not normally calm enough to make this much sense. “OK, sure, Elliot,” I said. “But I did kiss you, and maybe I should have hugged you instead?”

  “Why?” said Elliot.

  “Because a kiss is … a romantic thing?”

  Elliot shrugged. “Meh. Sometimes it is. I don’t think it always has to mean you want to totally get with the person you’re kissing though. There are different types of love after all – it’s not all about HUH! AH! HUH! BONKING!” He said that bit way too loudly. People looked. And he was doing this weird thing where he was miming riding a horse, kind of thrusting his hips, with a lasso in his hand. I’m not sure if Elliot’s school did sex education.

  “We’re not with him,” Jack tells some onlookers. “Sorry, who even are you? Can you stop following us, please?”

  Elliot chuckles. “It’s OK, Nate. I’m really not looking for anything like that with anyone right now.�
� He smiles. “I’m just working stuff out really.”

  “Huh. OK. Cool,” I said.

  “Good kiss, though!” He winked at me. “Better than … THE TREE HOUSE KISS-A-THON! WAAAAHH!”

  “Oh my god,” I mutter.

  Jack raised an eyebrow. “Kiss-a-thon? Huh.”

  Thankfully, by this time it was our turn to order, so we all got distracted with options for gelatine-free marshmallows and chocolate flakes.

  I tip my cup up so the last of the rich, velvety goo slides down into my mouth.

  “Boys,” Jack says, “I think today has been a great day, and I think this trip, although it started in a somewhat challenging fashion, has been excellent. And so, partly in the hope that things only get more fabulous and even better, we must give appropriate thanks.”

  “Who to?” I ask.

  “To our rainbow-sparkled, glitter-encrusted Gay Lord, of course,” Jack grins. “Legs together, eyes closed.”

  So we all sit there, eyes closed, while Jack does his thing.

  “Our Gaylord,

  Who art in the nightclub known as Heaven,

  Fabulous be thy name.

  Give us this day

  Our daily skincare regime,

  And forgive us for belting show tunes,

  As we forgive those who don’t appreciate the wonder of just browsing round Whole Foods for the fun of it.

  Lead us not into a Toby Carvery,

  And deliver us from DFS,

  For we can’t abide an unlimited salad cart and we like our furniture bespoke.

  In the name of Madonna, Britney and the Lady Gaga,

  Beyoncé.”

  “Beyoncé,” Elliot and I repeat.

  Now, I am not a religious guy, in fact, none of us are, but at that very moment my phone pings through with a message, and it’s Leila confirming she’s got us on the guest list for the YouTubers party in London. I turn to Jack. “It seems your prayers have been answered!” I grin.

  My mum doesn’t even blink when I ask her about going to the YouTubers party, let alone raise any kind of objection. But that’s not even the weirdest thing. She’s wearing a kaftan. A white, floaty kaftan, she’s barefoot and she’s drinking kombucha without making any sort of the comment about how it’s just “soda for Generation Snowflake”, which is literally what I heard her call it when Dad brought some home once.

  I glance at Jack and Elliot to check I’ve understood correctly. I’ve asked if we can go and my mum has said, “Yeah, that’s cool.” I mean, let’s not even discuss her choice of words.

  “So, just to confirm, Mum,” I say. “It’s a party, in London, with YouTubers.”

  “And you enjoy it, Nate!” she replies, smiling.

  “There … could be alcohol!” I say.

  “Oh, I hope so! What sort of party would it be otherwise?” She laughs. We all sort of join in.

  This feels all wrong and really weird. “OK,” I say. “Mum. I don’t get it.”

  “Nate!” she says, as she packs up the last of the bags and piles them in the back of the camper van. “It’s time I treated you like an adult. You’re sixteen! You need some freedom.”

  I nod. “Right. So I can—”

  “Make your own choices!” she says. “Also, when we’re home, I’m taking the parental lock off the internet.”

  “Huh,” Jack whispers. “Now you can finally wank yourself unconscious.”

  “Shut up!” I hiss back.

  Dad appears with Rose. “Ahh! Hello, lads!” he grins. “I see you’ve met Mum version two point one. Seems her trip to that yoga guru has caused her to have something of an epiphany, Jack!”

  “Oh … good?” Jack says.

  “Well, it is good, Jack, yes,” says Mum. “Because life is short, so we must enjoy it while we can. We must live. Breathe. Love. We must smell the roses and eat the chocolate. We should dance like no one is watching. Love without conditions. We must look at the world with a childlike wonder, seeking adventure!”

  “And the yoga guru said all this, did he?” I ask.

  Mum shrugs. “Well, I worked some of it out for myself. I had a moment of clarity… after the session when we smoked a ‘special cigarette’ together.”

  My eyes widen and I nearly choke on my own tongue.

  “Because, like you said, Jack,” Mum continues, “who wrote the rule book anyway? And who said we have to follow it?”

  “Did you say that?” I ask him.

  Jack shrugs. “I mean, yes? Maybe. It sounds quite eloquent, so there’s a high chance it was me.”

  “It definitely wasn’t me,” Elliot adds.

  Mum strides up to Elliot and grabs fistfuls of his cheeks in her hands. “You’re an adorable little bundle of joy and you have other qualities!” she says.

  Elliot looks terrified.

  “Mum, leave Elliot’s face alone,” I tell her. “I mean, fine. I guess this is all OK. You shouldn’t do drugs, that’s bad, but OK, I guess it’s done now. Just don’t… I have some pamphlets at home that school gave us…”

  Mum guffaws and I frown. Then another horror occurs to me. I’m always seeing documentaries about people my parents’ age having “moments of clarity” and what it boils down to is jacking everything in and living in a rundown cottage on Dartmoor with ten chickens and no hot water. “You’re not quitting your job or anything, are you?”

  Mum looks at Dad, who cocks his head and mouths something at her that I can’t quite make out. This is distressing. I’m all for more freedom, but I don’t want to live a life where we have even less money than we already do. Literally, I’m not even saying I need the latest trainers, I just need trainers. You know, I wouldn’t mind a new PlayStation. That’s not gonna happen if my parents embark on being hippies and start running around the hills wearing chiffon and celebrating weird pagan holidays.

  “We can talk about this more once we get back home,” I say. “Nobody should make any rash decisions now.”

  “Nate—” Dad begins.

  “NOBODY SHOULD MAKE ANY RASH DECISIONS NOW!” I repeat. “OK? OK. Let’s … get on the road, shall we? Places to go, people to see!”

  Mum rolls her eyes. “God. Chill out, will you, Nate? You’re totally killing my vibe.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  JACK

  So, we’re back in the van and we’re heading to our next stop: London. Tariq and Dylan may well have done their oh-so-popular post about their promise rings, but our forthcoming post featuring us at a YouTubers party will get more. The post with Leila Bhatia got a lot of likes and we picked up hundreds and hundreds of new followers. That will definitely have pissed Dylan off. But now with this party, what we’re saying is, We’ve made it, we’ve arrived, we are influencers, we are basically famous, AND WE DON’T NEED RINGS FROM ARGOS TO GET LIKES.

  Mrs Nate’s phone keeps pinging on the journey, and Nate, who is already massively freaked out by his mum’s new persona, eventually just flips and screams,

  “WHAT’S HAPPENING ON YOUR PHONE?”

  To which his mum shakes her head and says, “Aren’t I allowed some privacy, Nate?”

  And Nate replies, “You never get this many notifications!”

  And so his mum reveals that her sister, the infamous Auntie Karen, posted a picture of Jonty holding a rugby ball on the pitch at “Twickers” this morning, to which Mrs Nate replied in the comments with the immortal phrase: Oh fuck right off.

  And since then, it seems all hell has broken loose, family-wise.

  “Oh my god, Mum!” Nate says. “This is serious!”

  “It really isn’t, Nate,” Mrs Nate says. “Karen’s a total bitch and I fucking hate her.” She glances back at Rose. “You didn’t hear Mummy swear, OK?”

  “OK, Mum,” Rose says, without looking up from her iPad. “But just so you know, I agree with you.”

  The hotel is just round the corner from Leicester Square, and as if that location wasn’t exciting enough, this isn’t just any hotel. In fact, it doesn’t even sa
y it’s a hotel outside the building. There’s just a huge neon letter “X” because THAT IS WHAT THE HOTEL IS CALLED! It’s called “X” – oh my god, how London is that? Just by the huge neon “X”, there’s an actual red carpet and some of those red ropes you see at film premieres, with a doorman and queue of beautiful people to the left, waiting to see if they can get in. I start taking all the photos. And some video. I’m going to do a full-on Insta story about this.

  “Pretty long queue,” Nate says. “Should we go to Shake Shack instead?”

  “Should we go to Shake Shack instead? Can you hear yourself?” I shake my head at him in disbelief. I take one final snap, then walk up to the bouncer, who stares at me like I’m actual shit. “We should be on the guest list,” I tell him, attempting a winning smile.

  The big guy takes a deep breath. “Whose list?”

  “Leila Bhatia?”

  The guy runs his finger lazily down his clipboard like he really doesn’t believe me. Then he stops, his finger hovering. “Names?”

  “Jack Parker, Nate Harrison and Elliot Poppet.”

  Elliot winces slightly, like he always does when anyone says his surname, because he’s had a lifetime of people either taking the piss out of it, or declaring it the cutest surname they’ve ever heard.

  The bouncer looks at me again, then gives a small nod.

  What’s that meant to mean? Do we go in? I glance at Nate and mouth, “What’s going on?” Nate just shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets, all awkward.

  The guy eventually unclips one of the ropes, like he’s in no rush whatsoever, and cocks his head for us to walk through.

  “Oh!” I say. “Great! Thank you!”

  But the bouncer is too busy eyeing up a young woman in a short skirt to take any notice of us. Anyway, we’re into the moody, dark lobby, where there’s just a shiny black counter with two glamorous women standing behind it, and a set of lifts to the left. I’m totally expecting, having passed the first quest, that we’ll now be asked a complex riddle, along the lines of, “One of these lifts leads to the party, and the other leads to instant death – you may ask us one question before you make your choice, but you need to know: one of us always lies, and one of us always tells the truth!” I swallow, because this is it. I’m on the cusp of finally being where I’ve always wanted to be. I’m not going to need Dylan to validate my existence when we’re back at school in September. I’ll be in the big time all by myself. As long as we clear this final hurdle. One of the women smiles and says, “What are you looking for?”