Awkwardly Ever After

by Marni Bates

  Everyone—the students, the handful of faculty members and parents who were acting as chaperones—all of them stared at me in shock. It would have been funny to see that many well-dressed people with their mouths hanging open if I hadn’t been spitting mad and nowhere near finished.

  “Congratulations, Alex Thompson. Your rampant homophobia pushed you over the edge in the very competitive category of Smith High School’s biggest bully.”

  I could see Principal Taylor desperately trying to signal for someone to cut my mic, so I spoke even faster.

  “Ashley McGrady and Steffani Larson have tied for the female equivalent of that award. It really was impossible to choose between you two ladies.”

  The shock was starting to wear off and I could see more than one adult begin pushing their way through the crowd to reach me.

  “The honor of Smith High School’s Worst Person Award goes to our very own Patrick Bradford. Congratulations, Patrick; you showed a complete lack of basic human decency when you deliberately tried to humiliate Mackenzie Wellesley with a YouTube video. She’s a million times better on her worst days than you’ll ever be on your best. And here to escort me to the door is the man who decided I couldn’t attend prom with my date because of my sexual orientation. Let’s hear it for Principal Taylor!”

  “He’s really coming up here, Corey!” Tim grabbed my hand and pulled me across the stage in an attempt to put space between one seriously pissed off school principal and his boyfriend. “Let’s go!”

  I paused only to drop the mic.

  Then I maneuvered my way through the crowd with Tim two steps ahead of me.

  I’m not sure who started the slow-clap, but the room went from a heavily weighted silence to a resounding beat. It didn’t take long for the other ReadySet boys to get in on the action. Nick pounded away on the drum set and Chris began chanting, “Cor-ey! Cor-ey!” into my abandoned microphone.

  The amazing part was how quickly the students who had silently watched Alex Thompson push me and my friends around in the cafeteria joined in.

  All it took was hearing we had the support of a rock band and suddenly they were all fervently anti-bully.

  Go figure.

  I wasn’t really going to complain, though; especially since they sprang aside so that Tim and I could make a clean getaway. Maybe that was because they didn’t want to risk upsetting the scowling Darryl, who was trailing right behind us. Darryl definitely would have been incentive enough for me to scurry away. Still, Tim and I were both breathing a little roughly by the time we reached the enormous doors that kept the reporters at bay. There was no time to strategize the next leg of our daring escape.

  So for once we didn’t even try.

  Tim yanked open the door and forged onward toward the parking lot. But I twisted at the last second so that I could snag one last glance at the chaos I was leaving in my wake. I had a feeling that someday I would describe to my grandchildren the way the hundreds of red and silver balloons caught the glare from the paparazzi’s flash photography. The twinkle lights wrapped around the support beams that glowed in cheery contrast to the absolutely livid expression of the school administrator who was still in full pursuit . . .

  Then I left it all behind me as I followed Tim into the heart of the press.

  “What’s the rush, Timothy?”

  “Are you being chased because you’re gay?”

  “How was your night?”

  “Over here, Timothy!”

  Tim never slowed down, even when we reached his sports car. He pulled his key fob from his pocket, unlocked it with a beep, and barely waited for me to climb in before he revved the motor as a warning to all the tabloid vultures to keep their distance. He didn’t waste any time telling me to get in, or buckle up, or hold on, or any of those other clichés that get tossed around in every Hollywood car chase sequence. Instead, Tim focused his attention on putting as many miles as possible between us and everyone else in the world.

  As we sped out of the parking lot and onto one of Portland’s many one-way streets, I released a victorious war cry that had been hiding in some dark corner of my chest.

  “Did you see that?” I lowered the car window so that the wind could whip through my hair. So that the very air could share in my exhilaration. “That felt . . . amazing!”

  Tim nodded, but he kept his gaze locked firmly on the road ahead of us. “It was definitely something.”

  “Something awesome,” I amended. “I wish I had done that years ago.”

  “Did you really have to do it tonight? At prom?” Tim’s voice was calm and steady, but I heard the reproof in it. “You couldn’t have waited to go public with all of that?”

  I couldn’t believe he even needed to ask. “When would you have done it, Tim? A school assembly? During an interview with Ellen? When do you think the timing would be right to publicly call out the bullies who have made my life a living hell?”

  He considered that for a moment before speaking. “I’m not trying to judge you, Corey. I know what you did took a lot of courage. But I wish we could have enjoyed prom without a confrontation.”

  I twisted in the plush leather seat so that I could get a good look at Tim. “I don’t get why you care so much about this one stupid dance. It’s high school, okay? You can dress it up however you want; it’s still going to be a disappointment. Because for most of us, that sums up the whole high school experience.”

  “I guess I wanted more for us.” Tim’s voice was stiff, and the exhilaration I’d practically been swimming in only moments before evaporated like water on the sidewalk during a heat wave in Los Angeles.

  “Could you pull over? Or drive to a hotel where we can really talk? There are . . .” I nearly lost my nerve, but I forced myself to spit out the rest of the words. “There are some things we need to discuss.”

  If you can’t handle the rock star lifestyle . . . it doesn’t mean that you don’t love him.

  The only way to move forward was to clear the air. I briefly wished I was back at prom, facing down a crowd that couldn’t quite decide whether they wanted to treat me like a hero or lynch me on the spot.

  Telling the truth in front of everyone hadn’t been easy.

  But it was nothing compared to the conversation I was about to have with my boyfriend.

  Chapter 12

  Looks like Lisa Anne Montgomery was right again: Smith High School students will be whispering about that prom for years to come....

  —from “Prom and Prejudice,”

  by Jane Smith

  Published by The Smithsonian Online Edition

  Tim and I didn’t speak during the rest of the drive, even when he pulled up to a nearby hotel.

  I was too afraid to say anything in case whatever came out would be the dead last thing I wanted to share. I couldn’t risk screwing up the conversation before it had even begun.

  So I stood there mutely as he handed over his credit card at the front desk and then signed a few quick autographs for the employees before he was able to claim his room key. The longer we waited to break the silence, the more crucial it felt that the first statement be something really powerful. Something that would set the right tone for everything that followed it.

  And I had absolutely no idea how to salvage what was left of the night . . . or the relationship between us that was plummeting at roughly the same speed the elevator was raising us to our hideaway.

  Tim unlocked the room with a quick flick of the plastic key card, turned on the light, and didn’t slow his purposeful stride until he sank down on the bed. “So, what do you want to discuss, Corey?”

  “I love you,” I blurted out, feeling a surge of relief when Tim’s shoulders slowly began to relax.

  “Okay . . .”

  “But you can’t move to Portland.”

  Tim crossed his arms. “Excuse me, are you the Portland police?”

  I knew he meant it as a joke, but I didn’t want to laugh off this conversation. It was too important to take
the coward’s way out and hide between a smile and a Sure, sweetie. Everything is just fiiiine response.

  “You can’t move out here for me.” I sat on the edge of the bed and twisted slightly so that I met his steady gaze. It was supposed to make it easier for me to read his emotions, but I felt swamped by the hazel depths of his eyes. “I love you, Tim, but you can’t base these huge life decisions on me. I can’t handle that kind of pressure.”

  “So you’d rather we keep this long distance?” Tim raked a hand through his hair in frustration. “Aren’t you sick of comparing schedules and texting and pretending that it’s enough?”

  “Of course I am! But if you move here and we break up . . . then what? I’m the guy who interrupted every aspect of your life for nothing!”

  Tim went deadly quiet. “It sounds like you’ve already decided you want out.”

  “No! I want to be with you, Tim. I want to find a way to make this work, but that doesn’t mean I want to screw up your career and become your Yoko Ono.”

  “You know Lennon’s marriage to Yoko Ono was not the way most people picture it.”

  I threw my arms up in the air. “I don’t want to discuss the history of The Beatles! I just . . . I want to keep this thing between us private! Is that really too much to ask?”

  “So let me get this straight: You love me. You want to be with me. But you don’t want me to move to Oregon, and you never want us to be caught together in public. Why did you even bother coming out if you wanted to keep your life tucked away in the closet?”

  I felt like I’d been sucker punched. “There’s a difference,” I said quietly, “between being comfortable with who I am and seeing our relationship in the tabloids.”

  “I can’t control that!” Tim jumped off the bed and began pacing the room like an imprisoned animal. “I can’t wave a magic wand and make the press back off. Why do you think I avoided going public in the first place?!”

  “Because you were afraid being gay would damage your career. You thought I would only drag you down. And you were right.” I couldn’t keep going past the lump that had formed in my throat. I felt shredded, eviscerated—as those few words finally gave voice to the dark, twisted fears I’d never been able to shake.

  Tim pulled up short, but all I could see was the broad expanse of his back. He didn’t turn around and I found myself grateful for the distance. The only thing worse than seeing a misery in his eyes that matched my own, would be seeing he was devoid of all emotion. For Tim to be completely unaffected.

  Either way, it would just lead to pain.

  “I’m sorry, Corey,” Tim said slowly, his voice hoarser than I’d ever heard it before. “I shouldn’t have said . . . I didn’t . . .” He scrubbed his face with one of his palms and then tried again. “I hope you find someone who can give you what you need.”

  My heart crumpled. It collapsed like a soufflé that had been trying so hard to keep its shape and lost the inevitable war with gravity.

  He didn’t want me.

  Not enough.

  It was over.

  I fought back the rush of tears that threatened to trickle their way down my jaw and onto the suit I had worn for him. There was no way I wanted him to see me crying over him. Not when he was probably already dismissing me as a foolish mistake—as a fanboy who couldn’t handle the life of a rock star without the rose-colored glasses firmly in place at all times.

  Rising to my feet seemed impossible, but I did it because that’s what you do when you run out of other options.

  “I, uh . . .” I cleared my throat roughly. “I know you probably don’t believe this anymore, but I do love you, Tim. Just . . . take care of yourself, okay?”

  He flinched.

  And I lost the fight against my tear glands and swiped away the salty streaks with the back of my hand as I walked toward the door.

  I hesitated with one hand on the handle, desperately hoping he would call out behind me that he didn’t want this to be good-bye. That he thought what we had was worth fighting to preserve. That he loved me too much to quit.

  But he didn’t.

  The deafening silence between us propelled me to step out into the hallway. I couldn’t linger in that room with my broken heart seeping into the cream-colored carpeting beneath his feet. I couldn’t do it anymore.

  My legs gave out beneath me as I heard the door snick shut and watched the keycard slot flash red, just in case I wasn’t clear on the whole you are not wanted here message.

  I leaned against the wallpapered hallway as I struggled to breathe through the pain that ripped into me. Nobody passed me on their way to the elevators, but at that moment I didn’t care if every student at Smith High School marched down the hallway so they could all laugh at the gay boy who had been stupid enough to believe that out of everyone in the world, Timothy Goff would pick him. Fight for him.

  Love him.

  Every painful moment flooded through me then. I hugged my knees and began shivering uncontrollably as I replayed every shove in the cafeteria, every pointed glare in the boys’ locker room, every homophobic joke I’d been forced to endure with gritted teeth, because if I spoke up I’d be told to get a sense of humor. Every time someone referred to me as Mackenzie’s gay best friend, because they assumed that label summed up everything they needed to know about me, and yet those same people would never consider dismissing Jane as her straight best friend.

  The shame and fear and guilt and rage flooded me, but none of it could drown out the layer of pain that throbbed underneath.

  Tim was finished with me.

  I pushed myself off the wall and then focused my full attention on the one physical barrier that separated me from the only boy who made me feel like I could be myself and that was more than enough.

  And I began pounding on it with all my strength.

  Bam. Bam. Bam.

  “Open the door, Tim!” I yelled. “I’m not finished with you!”

  A head poked out of a nearby room. “It’s past ten o’clock, kid. Shut up!”

  “Not until my boyfriend talks to me.” I pitched my voice louder. “You hear that, Tim? I’m not going anywhere until you talk to me. So open the door!”

  “Pipe down!”

  “This is ridiculous. I’m not paying for some crazy kid to keep me up all night. Honey, call the desk downstairs!”

  I did my best to ignore the voices as I continued pounding away. “If you don’t open the door, I’m going to be arrested for disturbing the peace. Do you really want that to happen, Tim? For me to spend my prom night in jail?”

  That did the trick.

  Tim yanked it open and glared at me through red-rimmed eyes. “That was a low blow.”

  “Absolutely.” I shoved him back and let the door close behind me. “Ask me if I care.”

  “Do you care?”

  “About making a scene and fighting dirty? Not a bit. About you?” I dug my hands into his hair and slammed him into a full-bodied kiss that contained everything I had. Every bit of passion and hunger and love and fear, it was all in there. And when he gripped me tightly, as if to reassure himself that I was really there, I felt the last of my fear slip away.

  “I. Love. You.” I punctuated every word with a deep kiss, before I forced myself to pull back a little. “And I know you love me back.”

  Tim looked adorably confused. “Of course I do.”

  “Good. Well, I’m going to need you to remind me of that fact every now and then. America doesn’t know what you see in me, and sometimes I don’t either.”

  This time it was Tim who dove in for a kiss, and as the slight scruff on his jaw abraded my chin, I didn’t care too much if we postponed the conversation for a few hours . . . or days . . .

  “I love that you stood up there on stage and spoke your mind,” Tim said fiercely when we finally came up for air. “I love your courage, and your snark, and your great, big—”

  He kissed his way over to my left ear as I laughed like, well, a high school kid
in love.

  “Heart,” Tim finished as we sank down onto the bed.

  “Sometimes I have trouble seeing myself that way.”

  “I can remind you.”

  “And sometimes the media attention is going to freak me out. I’m still not entirely sure how we’re going to deal with that one.”

  The pad of Tim’s thumb rubbed slow, lazy circles behind my ear. “We’ll take it one day at a time.”

  I rested my hand on his, halting the movement, which was turning my brain to mush. “Promise?”

  “Promise.” He abandoned the gentle massage and instead slid his hand into mine . . . and he held it. I could feel a foolish grin spreading across my face as he gave it a quick squeeze.

  I was holding my boyfriend’s hand, just like every one of those couples I had envied at the dance.

  Suddenly I wished that we had posed for prom photos together, because I wanted to remember this night forever. This was the moment I wanted to think of first when my parents inevitably asked if I’d enjoyed the dance, even though I intended to keep that little fact to myself.

  I nearly burst out laughing when it hit me that we didn’t need the photobooth—the paparazzi had taken care of that for us. Action movie style.

  “Whether or not I move to Portland, there will be times when I won’t leave the studio for days at a time. Sleep will become a distant memory, and if I do manage to text, they will probably be pretty generic messages. And you’re going to have to keep loving me anyway.”

  I nodded calmly. “I can do that. But afterward I’m going to want to hole up in a hotel with you for three days.”

  Tim’s laughter died abruptly when he got a good look at my face. “You’re serious.”

  “Absolutely. I’m going to fight for you, Tim. And that means I’m going to help you spend a whole bunch of vacation days. But right now . . . let’s just focus on tonight, okay?”