He frowned at Reggie. If his best friend noticed, the dark haired kid didn't say anything. Reggie smiled up at me, congratulating me for victory, and it felt like he was handing Simon over to me. Like he was saying: "Well done, James. You're obviously the better choice for best friend. Here's the guy you've been wanting to kiss on a platter."
Then Suzanne Gleason caught Simon and Reggie kissing behind the gym. From popular to plague-ridden, Simon fell right off the popularity chart. People ignored him. Picked last for gym - last of the athletic boys at least, people still wanted to win. Otherwise, a few guys called him names, and his general friend group became distant, but ignoring seemed the punishment for him.
Reggie got it worse. Everyone blamed him for turning Simon gay. They wrote words all over his locker. Spat it in half-whispers in the halls. Snickered and pointed whenever Reggie showed the least bit of discomfort. Girls talked about how ugly he was - how they couldn't possibly see why someone like Simon wanted to be his friend let alone his boyfriend. They turned it around, saying Suzanne said Reggie kissed Simon and not that they were just kissing in general. It was horrible.
The school stepped in on the locker part, but they didn't really see everything else. Two months into this, Reggie broke down crying in the debate team room - to me. Internally, I panicked, but I patted him on the back awkwardly, hoping nobody would see us because if these two months taught me anything, it was that being gay - liking boys like I did - was unacceptable. Especially for dorky guys like Reggie Huberman.
I wasn't a Reggie. I liked to think myself a Simon, but that meant I didn't have friends to support me like Reggie did. The whole debate team - all six of them in a school well over two hundred - supported Reggie. But they couldn't do much beside be there for him, and maybe knowing they were there for him is why he thought that I - a part of the debate team - was also on his side.
"I don't know if I can take it," he had cried, hidden behind the teacher's desk.
Sitting right beside him - happy he'd picked somewhere out of view but nervous that if someone saw us they'd think we were out of view for a different reason, I had leaned my elbows on my knees and shrugged. "They'll forget about it after summer vacation. That's like a month and a half away. Six weeks, right? You can survive until then."
"But what if they don't? What if it gets worse?"
I couldn't imagine it getting worse. Back then, I had no idea how naive I was, but Reggie wasn't, so when I said, "How can it get worse?" like an utter tool, Reggie had told me just exactly how.
And he'd ended a whirlwind speech which gave me nightmares and a desperate desire to never ever let anyone know I was gay - for fear of death and dismemberment - with: "Simon and I aren't even dating anyway!"
My brain had come up short. "What?"
His dark eyes - bright with tears - focused on me as he repeated, "Simon and I aren't even dating. We were. But I-I wanted to break up with him, and I told him that the night before, but he dragged me behind the gym and then - then..."
Reggie cried so much I thought he would drown himself, but I could only robotically pat him on the back and let him soak my shoulder as my brain stumbled over what I had just heard. Simon and Reggie weren't dating. They weren't even dating, and Reggie got put through all this.
"Why didn't you tell everyone?"
"I did!" Reggie exclaimed then ducked down, burying his face in his own arms. "I told them we weren't dating, but Simon just - he just wouldn't say anything. Just confirmed we were kissing. Told everybody we kissed a lot - that he liked me and that was it. Nobody cared what I thought. And I couldn't say I wasn't gay."
"You could've," I had contested.
It was true. He could've lied, and it would have saved him a lot of trouble, but Reggie wasn't a liar. If anything, he was too honest, which was why it was strange nobody believed him when he had spent the first week denying they were dating despite not denying they had been kissing and everything else, which made me an utter idiot.
A week later, I showed up early for the next debate team meeting as well. Reggie huddled behind the desk again, waiting for the rest to come. Everybody knew where the debate team held their meetings, so it made no sense why he was hiding if he wasn't crying this time - until I realized the bag and soda sitting on one of the desks were not Reggie's. Simon strolled into the room just as I set my bag down and headed to see how Reggie was. His bright eyes half-lidded. When I offered him an awkward smile and opened my mouth to say hello, he glared. Even when he was being ignored and sneered at, he never glared at those guys, but he looked at me like he wanted to punch my throat.
"Hey," I ended up saying then pushed on toward Reggie, but the second I sat down with a: "Hey, Reggie, how's things?" Simon sat down on the teacher's desk, letting his feet fall right between Reggie and me.
I inched back, but after over two months, Reggie reached his limit. He jumped up, clenching his fists at his sides as he glowered at Simon like he wanted to set him on fire. Honestly, after everything he had gone through - maybe he really did.
"What is your problem?" Reggie cried.
Leaning back, Simon tilted up his chin. "What? Can't I be part of the conversation?"
"No! No, you can't. You gave up any right to be part of any conversation when you screwed me over," Reggie railed, and Simon's face remained blank - almost holier-than-thou. I had never seen such an ugly expression.
"Funny. When we were screwing, you said that was because we were boyfriends," Simon retorted. My brain completely shutdown.
Growling, Reggie spat, "We aren't dating! We aren't anything!"
And that had gotten Simon pissed. He slid off the desk, using every inch he had on Reggie though there were only two. "And why is that? I love you! If you're going to dump somebody, you should give them a reason." In his rage, Reggie sputtered, but Simon plowed right on, "It's cause you like James, isn't it? Well?" His glare shifted to me. "Well?" he demanded again. "What about you, huh?"
And holding up my hands, I waved the whole affair off with a pointed, "Hey, we're just friends. I'm not gay."
Even though he looked like he was going to cry again, Reggie had pointed at me as he stared Simon down. "See? You stupid, jealous asshole - friends. This is why I didn't want to be with you."
Reggie made it to the end of the year, but he hadn't come back for the next. He had moved to live with his aunt out in California. Simon could've started dating girls if he had wanted to get back to where he'd been, but he just ignored everybody - quit debate, quit soccer for a year. Practically went silent in our junior year - then came back determined in our senior year. Some college in California ended up recruiting him for their soccer team. I didn’t keep track of him after that. Maybe he went there because they offered. California seemed more open about guys like us, but knowing Simon, he probably went there because he still hadn’t completely given up on Reggie. I always hoped he never found him. Reggie deserved better.
That year had cemented two facts: 1) nobody could know I was gay, and 2) people who say they love you can (and will) betray you. And somehow, though I started with a crush on Simon, it was Reggie - dark and pale and clever - who set the mold for every guy I'd like after. Wherever he ended up, I always hoped he was happier, but some part of me will always wonder if he had actually liked me.
Wondering never helped. For all I yearned to know if Reggie had made it out completely or if California wasn't the golden land of acceptance I once dreamed it to be, I made my choices. I could have gone there. Applied to a school out west - Berkley even, but I hadn't dared. My father's sneering words, joking that we'd all be better if they'd just fall off the map, haunted me. No matter how good the school, the east coast remained safest. Ivy League gentled my sports abandonment. Intelligence only mattered in my house if it was a death blow at the water cooler. Scholarships to a lesser school withered when my dad could lean and talk about my full ride to Harvard. First in my family to attend college. A doctor in the making. Not that he'd tell anyone my major wa
s psychology. Psychologists and dentists - the lesser doctors.
"Man, come on!" Tom threw his pillow across the room.
Hitting me square in the face, I left it where it fell. Gray rejected me. Must mean I hated myself. Rejection of self and the possibility of romantic fulfillment, right?
Chad huffed. Why he even came to our room, I would never know. Maybe to hide from his group project admirer. "What's his problem?" he demanded.
A sigh came from Tom. "Beats me. Been weird since he almost overdosed."
"I didn't almost overdose. I didn't take anything," I grumbled.
Lifting the pillow, Tom cocked a brow - or at least tried to. His forehead muscles jerked on one side, but the eyebrow stayed pretty level with the other. "You woke up in a cold sweat, vomited repeatedly, and couldn't handle us turning on the lights."
Chad furrowed his brows. Arms across his chest, he leaned over me. "Migraines can do that too."
And what could I say? Nightmare caused it. I rejected myself completely and wrecked even my ability to verbalize and consider a future where I was anything but so deep in the closet Marie Kondo couldn't find me? Even if she did, what would she say? Does this bring you joy? Fuck no. This useless sack of human flesh brought nothing but misery, existential panic, and lies. Couldn't even donate it.
"He still looks like shit," Chad said. "Maybe we should take him to emergency care?"
"It's been two days. I'm fine. I'm just depressed. Repressed memories. Lucid dreaming can bring them up, and I had a particularly unpleasant experience," I informed them, sitting up and swinging my legs over the side of the mattress. "Give me ten. I smell like shit."
Even if I wanted to spend my days in half-purposeful starvation, Tom wouldn't let me. I knew I shouldn't have made friends with my roommate. Rookie mistake. He clapped me on the back. "That's the spirit!"
As I mulled about the room, grabbing a change of clothes and my bathroom kit, Chad leaned closer to Tom. If Chad intended to whisper, he failed when he said, "Is he always this much work?"
Tom - bless his heart - shrugged. "Nah. My stupid’s outweighed his moody so far."
I didn't deserve Tom. Sure, I helped him with assignments in our shared classes, but he wasn't stupid. When I screwed up on an assignment, I suffered from laziness. He had ADD and dyslexia. Stuff took him longer, but he still had high Bs in everything. Hardworking, loyal - I'd only drag him down.
"Keep it moving!" Tom pushed me toward the showers.
***
Cleaned up, I looked better than I felt when Tom and Chad finally dragged me to the dining hall. Food only made me nauseous. My stomach churned, and an ache - bone deep - haunted my body. Not a new feeling. Muscles and skin - I had hurt those time and again, but bone deep without the other two, the kind of in the chest want-to-cry-but-can't sort of hurt was one I tried to push down more often than I cared to think. Eventually, pushed down long enough, the pain would go away or add another layer to the self-loathing suffocating at my core.
Reggie leaving - the accusations and everything unsaid - that still hurt. The moment they argued in front of me - probably the moment I realized what was going on between them - I knew it would be the lasting sort of pain. Gray felt like that. I rejected myself consciously more often than I liked, but to have it so literally spelled out for me? Nobody's going to love you - the ache whispered. Especially not yourself.
"Hey!" Tom bumped his shoulder into mine. "Grab a seat. I'll get you a plate."
Chad glanced between us. His nose wrinkled, but he held his tongue. Probably holding back another comment about how much more Tom put into our relationship than I did.
"I can get my own plate," I argued, but he shoved me toward a table.
"And then we won't get a table because your lazy butt couldn't get up in time." Tom didn't wait for me to agree. He marched off. A man on a mission. It would be so easy to like a guy like him. Smarter than most but ridiculously nice and self-deprecating. Sincerely self-deprecating. If he were -
No. Not a chance. Tom had Sydney - his high school sweetheart, and monogamous could’ve been his middle name. As long as they dated, nobody else registered for him.
I slouched down at the nearest free table, glaring at anyone who dared approach until Chad returned with two plates. One was a salad - piled high. The other was a mix of roast chicken, some kind of beef casserole, and hamburgers with those soggy fries everybody says they hate, but they all still ate.
"What's your deal?" he demanded, shoving both in my direction. "Tom's worried."
"Just having an off day."
"You depressed?"
I shrugged. "Probably just need to go for a run or something. Get my endorphins back up."
"That'd be the healthiest way. But I'm pretty sure Tom's grabbing every dessert he can find, so sugar could help too. Not like you couldn't use the freshman fifteen," Chad informed me, which was dumb. I had worked out in high school. Under my loose shirt, there was muscle. Chad - well, sparklers had more muscle than him. "Eat."
"Where’s your food?" I deflected.
Rolling his eyes, he scoffed. "You're gonna wait until Tom's back, so you can eat the least amount possible to get him off your back."
"If you knew that, why'd you bother asking?"
"Because I sometimes forget how useless most people are. Eat," he demanded, shoving the plates into my elbows until I slid them off the table.
"I'm not Alexander. I don't need you to tell me when to eat."
I definitely didn't need the smarmy look on his face. Crossed arms, cocky smirk - Chad leaned back in his chair. "If you think I'm the one reminding him to eat, you're dumber than I thought."
"Seriously? I'm having a shit couple days. I just want to be left alone, and I get Tom needs everyone around him to be peppy, but I thought you'd appreciate the value of a little sulking."
Sometimes, I amazed myself with how much cruelty I kept buried inside. Tearing him apart would be so easy. Instead of telling him just how co-dependent the two of them were and beating down his hypocritical ass verbally, I grabbed one of the burgers and stuffed my mouth. Couldn't be a dick through half-chewed food. For once, all the rapped knuckles at the dining table had a point.
Tom came around, shoving a plate of desserts my way before settling with a salad and burger. He picked off a few fries from the plate Chad had shoved my way before glancing between us.
"What'd I miss?"
"Drinks," Chad retorted.
Popping right up, Tom rushed off with a quick: "Crap!"
Rolling his eyes, Chad shook his head. "Idiots. All of you." Another bite of hamburger - shovel the vitriol back with too much ketchup and an almost sweaty bun. "So you got dumped?"
Only my etiquette training kept me from spewing bits of hamburger across the table. "I'm not dating anyone."
"Sorry. Right." He waited until I had another bite like a dick. "So you got rejected then?"
"I'm not some one-dimensional human. I can be upset about more than a girl."
"Never said girl," he pointed out. "Just asked if you got rejected. You're moping. Top three reasons to mope: rejected, screwed up, jealous." He counted them out on his fingers, holding them up to my face. "I know your friends. You aren't dating. Jealousy doesn't fit." One finger dropped. "While you and Tom argued, I looked through your desk."
"What the hell, man? You don’t just - "
But Chad plowed right on. "No failed grades. You aren't in any clubs or teams, so screwing up doesn't make sense either unless it was a personal screw-up, which you'd talk about unless you were embarrassed."
"Or maybe we're just not that close," I retorted, but he snorted and lowered a second finger.
"Leaves one thing. You got rejected."
Focusing on my food, I ignored him. No matter what I said, he'd think what he wanted, and I didn't have the energy to talk about it anymore. If he pushed when Tom got back, I'd just say it was the nightmare and talk about that time my uncle brought over a deer and left its skinless corps
e draining in our garage. Neither Chad nor Tom were hunters. They didn't come from families who did that, and based on their political leanings, the idea of a defenseless animal's corpse being somebody's first memories would be horrifying enough. I never had to tell them how the next memory I had involved discovering how delicious it was.
Chapter Six
"I'm not angry," Cheyenne informed us in our final group meeting. "Just disappointed."
"Good. You should be disappointed in yourself," Marie retorted.
Chad sat rigid in his chair. Pulled up close beside him, Alexander had one arm wrapped around the back of his chair while resting his face in the other with his elbow on his own desk. Thank god he had his own problems. Tom, I could run in circles. Chad, when sober and not hung over, had the best chance of finding me out of anyone in our group. Which made the upcoming end of this project all the sweeter.
"Powerpoint looks good. Our runtime is smooth as long as Cheyenne goes last, so the teacher can cut her off...I think we're set," I said, grinning at Marie when Cheyenne scoffed.
"Perfect. Presentations Wednesday." And without anything else, she packed up and left.
Cheyenne clicked her nails against her desk. "I can't believe you people."
"Go complain to your psychic. I'm out," Chad announced, but he remained where he was, glaring at Alexander for a good ten seconds before his roommate blinked owlishly at him.
"Oh...I gotta move, right?" But he didn't.
"Five bucks?" Tom whispered.
The muscles in Chad's jaw tensed. In a flash, he punched Alexander right below his ribs. "Move, dumbass."
Shoving his chair back, Alexander let Chad go as Tom leaned over and repeated, "Five bucks?"
Rolling my eyes, I stood. "I'm not betting on somebody's sexuality."
"Me or Chad?" Alexander asked. Like a puppy, he perked up almost immediately even as Chad flinched before storming out the door even faster, making his getaway while he still could. It wasn't often he left without Alexander right behind, but then again, they shared a room. It wasn't like he could avoid him forever. "Or both?"
All That We Say or Seem Page 3
