Riding with Brighton

by Haven Francis

  “Sure,” I tell him while Brighton’s telling him no thanks.

  Jones smiles at us and goes to get my beer. “You don’t drink?” I ask Brighton.

  “Nope.”

  “How come?”

  “Don’t feel the need. I get drunk on other things.” He laughs at his corny comment as his gaze travels the length of my body.

  “Is it gonna be a problem if I do?”

  “Please tell me you’re not asking for my permission?”

  “More like your preference,” I tell him with a shrug. My brain is going all haywire, the wires of my straight life are crossing with the wires of my gay life, and everything is short-circuiting—I can already tell.

  “Well, I definitely don’t fuck around with drunk guys. I can’t think of anything more unattractive than a sloppy drunk. And I refuse to take advantage of people.”

  “I’ve never been sloppy drunk.”

  He smirks at me. “I never said you have been.”

  Jones shows up with my beer, and I take it from him but don’t drink it as the three of us stand there talking. Eventually the wires shake hands and agree to be cordial, and I think, this is easy. The three of us are coexisting just fine.

  And then Molly shows up.

  “How’s it going, Jay Hall?” she asks in that annoying tone that she always uses when calling me by my full, goddamn name.

  “Really well, thanks. How are you doing?” A small spark shoots through my head as the straight wire looks at the gay one kind of funny.

  “I’m excellent, thanks for asking. I was just telling my boyyfrieend Shaw, how awesome it is that you and Brighton have become so close all of the sudden.”

  “It is awesome, isn’t it? I totally love hanging out with him.” I sling an arm around Brighton just to prove my point. I know Jones will think I’m just fucking around, and I hate myself for caring. And maybe Brighton does too because he remains stiff with his arms crossed over his chest.

  “So, Jay, are you still with Sadie Newcomb? That cute, girly little cheerleader?”

  “Actually, Molly, since you’re asking, I’m sorry to tell you the two of us broke up.”

  “What?” Jones asks. “Are you serious?”

  That snaps me back to reality. I shouldn’t be discussing this in public. “Yeah. It’s okay, though. I mean, we’re still good. She’s just looking for the guy she’s gonna spend forever with, and I’m not him.”

  “Shit. That sucks.”

  I take my arm off of Brighton and shrug. “It’s okay. We’re still cool, you know. She’s still part of my life. We were both just looking for different things.”

  He chews on the inside of his lip, which means he’s holding back words, and it’s not too hard to guess what those words are. “If you think you can treat her right, go for it,” I tell him.

  He stares at me for a moment, dumbfounded. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah. I think you could make her happy. And I want her to be happy.”

  He shakes his head at me. “That’s messed-up, man. But… thank you?”

  I shrug again. “No problem.”

  “So, what exactly are the other things you’re looking for, Jay Hall?” Molly asks.

  God, she’s relentless. “I don’t know… someone who’s nonjudgmental for starters.”

  “And?”

  God, the wires are totally putting their boxing gloves on. “Someone who’s not like me—maybe someone creative, you know, artistic or musical.”

  “I’m artistic and musical. Am I what you’re looking for?”

  Jesus, what does she want from us? Yes, I’m talking to that gay part of my brain. “I prefer dark hair and green eyes. Maybe someone tall, you know, who I can look up to.”

  She doesn’t say anything, just glares at me. I make a point to smile at her. I also make a point to touch Brighton in all the socially acceptable dude ways. God, this is so stupid. And it’s not like I’m doing it for Brighton because his stiff posture and crossed arms and general lack of attention is making it clear he knows exactly what I’m up to.

  It’s almost a relief when Nico tells them it’s time to start.

  Chapter Ten

  Brighton

  I’VE REALIZED something. I don’t like being with Jay around our peers. Specifically, in a room full of them. And also, I don’t like high school parties—never have. They seem completely pointless. All these kids seem convinced that it’s their last night on planet Earth and nothing they do matters because they’ll be dead tomorrow anyways. The whole thing is just depressing.

  So, yeah, I’ve been in a shit mood ever since I was reminded that, for Shaw and his love for Molly, I promised to fill in as their lead guitarist tonight. I mean, I literally went from my ideal, fantasy night to my worst nightmare within a half hour.

  And now, from my vantage point, I’m forced to stare at my surroundings as Molly leads us through our songs.

  I’m not pissed at Jay. Annoyed, maybe. I wish he’d just act normal, like the Jay I know from history class. But he’s not. He’s not acting like the kid I’ve been falling for all day long either. He’s treating me like a bro. You know—punching my shoulder and rustling my hair, slapping me on the stomach. It’s a lame cop-out. I’d respect him more if he just ignored me. But I suppose that’s impossible to do with Molly hounding his ass.

  Did I really think she’d back off just because I explained that the kid means something to me and he’s having a rough day? I know she’s just worried about me, but she also has some personal vendetta against Jay based solely on the fact that he’s extremely popular, and, so basically, what she’s really doing, is sabotaging us. Thank God she’s up on stage with me and not out there with him. There’s no telling what she’d do if I weren’t there to supervise.

  I’ve been purposely avoiding looking at Jay. I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll give me the devil horns while banging his head with his tongue out. Seriously, that’s how unlike himself he’s been acting since we got here. But I can feel him staring at me. So I look. And thank God, he’s just standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, his head moving the appropriate amount with the rhythm of my guitar. And when I look at him, he gives me his smile. And, yeah, I’m smiling right back at him like a damn fool.

  From here I can just stare at him—appreciate how sexy he really is. He’s more laid-back than the Jay I used to know. It might be that he’s wearing my jeans that aren’t as crisp, clean, and trendy as his own. It could definitely be the fact that he’s wearing my Equality Rocks shirt, which, like all my shirts, is a little too tight on him. He didn’t bother using any of my products after his shower and his hair looks lighter than it usually does, and the messy way pieces of it are hanging in his eyes is damn cute. But mostly it’s the eyes. They’re shining and bluer than ever. The words my blue jay float through my head, but I quickly shake it off. It’s way too early to be calling him my anything, and we’re months away from nicknames.

  Jones and some of his other friends are by his side. When they talk to him, he leans to the side to listen, then yells his response, but his eyes never leave mine. And like this, it’s almost like we’re the only ones in the room. Plus, I’m playing my guitar, which is a natural sedative, so by the time we take our first break I’m feeling chilled out and back to normal.

  I set my guitar in its stand, down my bottle of water, and towel my forehead off, stalling because I don’t want my euphoria to go away when I have to go back to Jay’s doppelganger.

  But then I feel a set of large hands rubbing my shoulders and warm breath on my neck. “You’re sexy when you play your guitar,” he whispers in my ear, and I have to stop myself from turning around, backing him into a wall, and kissing the life out of him.

  I turn around, and his hands drop off me. He shoves them in his back pockets, and I shove mine in my front pockets. “You’re sexy when you watch me play my guitar.”

  “You guys are good. I almost thought about dancing.”

  I laugh. �
�Thanks, but really, I have nothing to do with the band. It’s all Molly and Shaw. Her words, his music….”

  He nods. “I’m sorry about earlier. You were right—I’m letting her get to me, and it’s turning me into a total jackass.”

  “I’m serious—you just have to try and ignore her.”

  “Yeah. I’m starting to get that. You want to go outside, get some air, before you gotta start playing again?”

  “Yeah, let’s do that.”

  As I turn to follow Jay, I feel someone staring at me. I look over and see Mack and his friend Brian eyeing me and Jay. Shit. Jay was just rubbing my shoulders and whispering in my ear, so I expect them to start shit with us immediately, but we manage to make it out the back door without incident.

  I suck in a lungful of the night air and follow Jay up the sloping hill of Jones’s backyard. Eventually he stops when we’re far enough away from the general crowd, and sits down on the grass.

  “Shit, there’s a lot of people here,” Jay says as we stare at the crowded backyard and into the windows of Jones’s walk-out basement.

  “Looks like the whole school turned out,” I agree.

  “I don’t know why I thought these things were fun. I mean, that doesn’t look like fun to me.”

  Everyone already seems hammered, and even from this distance I can see at least a dozen people doing things they’re gonna regret in the morning if they have any conscience at all.

  “I’m guessing you’re usually hammered like everyone else. It probably seems a lot more fun like that.”

  He lets out an unamused laugh and says, “Yeah, you’re right. Just one more thing on the list of the many reasons why my life sucked before you came into it.”

  “I bet you’ve had some good times with those people.”

  “I suppose. I don’t really know. Everything just looks so different now. Like I’m looking back on a life that someone I don’t even know lived. Someone who’s not me.”

  “Must have been the life of Jay Hall,” I say, referencing the asshole Molly thinks he is.

  He laughs at my imitation. “No offense, but God can she be annoying.”

  “I’m not blind. When it’s just us, though, she’s a totally different person. She’s one of the smartest people I know. I could talk to her for hours about pretty much anything.”

  “I could see that. I genuinely wanted to get to know her last year when we had class together, but she made it so damn difficult. Why is that? I never understood that.”

  I shrug. Maybe one day Jay will get to know her and he’ll understand, but it’s not my story to tell. “She’s had a pretty shit life. She generally assumes the worst about people, and I can’t say I blame her. She refuses to let anyone in, outside of her small group of friends.”

  “I wonder how many of those kids down there are just like me and Molly—pretending to be something we’re not in order to cover up something painful.”

  “Probably about 80 percent of them. At least.”

  Jay shakes his head. “It’s kind of fucked-up. People always say high school is the best time of your life and you need to enjoy it before you have to grow up. But I think just about all of us are pretending to be someone we’re not and confused about absolutely everything. Does anyone really enjoy this shit? I mean, besides you?”

  “I don’t enjoy that shit.” I stutter a laugh. “I know I do an excellent job of smiling and schmoozing, but I’m not comfortable in these situations or at school. It still feels like I’m constantly having to defend who I am. I still hear words like fag, queer, cocksucker, and homo every day, and it still hurts.”

  “You’re right.” He grabs ahold of my hand. “You do an excellent job of hiding it. I wouldn’t have ever guessed that. You never appear to be anything but confident and totally comfortable. I’m sorry that people say that shit. I’m sorry that, I’m assuming, most of the people who say that shit are people I considered my friends.”

  “I guess that’s part of the reason Molly hates you too—you know, guilt by association. They get to hear and see all the shit that people still feel the need to hold against me. Honestly, I don’t even know if it really bothers me, personally. I mean, I have enough people in my life who aren’t ignorant and who care about me no matter what. I could easily laugh it all off and feel bad that their lives are so sheltered, knowing that when they leave this small town and head to college, the tables are gonna flip and their ignorant asses are gonna be in the minority. They don’t get that. They can’t see how quickly the world around them is changing. I could easily just feel sorry for them and carry on with my life.

  “But I think about all the other kids I see every day—the ones who are tormented because they’re too fat or too skinny or not pretty enough or, according to some of the more vicious girls, too pretty. Nico gets shit for being Asian. I mean, how fucked-up is that? And Molly is tortured on a daily basis for being weird. And Shaw….” I pause, shaking my head as I think about him. “Poor, too-nice-for-his-own-good Shaw, gets called a fag more than I do because he fits the stereotype and because he’s my friend.

  “In the real world, being gay isn’t something to be ashamed of anymore. But what are all these other kids gonna do with the shit that’s been put on them? I mean, there’s no movement to support overweight kids or kids with acne. The whole thing just makes me depressed. Even the air in that school is oppressive.”

  “Jesus. I can’t believe I was ever willing to be part of that,” Jay says, and I can hear the guilt and sadness in his voice.

  “What are you talking about? I watch you in that place—you’re always nice to everyone, and I’ve seen you stick up for the underdog more than once.”

  “Maybe. But I could have done more. At the very least, I could have told all those guys to fuck off and found new friends.”

  I see Shaw in the backyard searching for something, and I suppose it’s probably me. “Looks like I gotta get back in there,” I reluctantly tell Jay, taking my hand from his and standing, before pulling him up.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jay

  WHEN WE walk back into that party, I feel like I’m watching a movie—specifically, a montage in one of those teen comedies where the camera pans in slo-mo through all the debauchery. A drunk girl flashes her bra to a bunch of horny guys. A group of heavy-lidded kids suck on a water bong. Collette, my ex, holds court over her minions. Someone’s already passed out on the stairs. Shots are being downed at the makeshift bar. The too-fat, too-skinny, too-ugly, too-pretty kids are on the outskirts, trying to go unnoticed yet desperate for someone to talk to them. And Mack. Mack is running his big mouth at Jones.

  By the time we finally reach the front of the room, I realize this whole thing is ridiculous, and I seriously don’t care about any of it anymore. I will gladly receive the fuck-off from all these people and join the ranks of the too kids. Too fucking gay. And yeah, those words have me feeling all proud.

  I focus on Brighton, who’s up on stage now being all sexy with his guitar, and I try to tune the rest of the world out until we can get the hell out of here. But I quickly realize that’s not gonna be possible because the insults Mack is screaming at Jones are loud enough that I can hear them over the music. And the words I’m hearing loud and clear are “that fucking fag.”

  I turn and make my way to the back of the room where the crowd is gathering, anticipating a fight. The guys I hang with have chosen sides, and most of them are on Mack’s, but Jones has a lot of other supporters outside of our group of friends.

  From what I’m getting, Mack is freaking the hell out because “that fag” Brighton is not only here but the paid entertainment. And because Jones was apparently defending him after we left the restaurant. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that Jones suggested Mack might be a closeted gay himself, which I’m guessing is the real source of this testosterone overload he’s displaying right now.

  I’m pissed and feeling my own overdose of testosterone as I get in the middle of them an
d shove Mack hard enough that he stumbles backward into Brian. “What the hell is your problem, man?” I scream at him.

  He sneers at me and lunges, which I’m expecting, and my reflexes are faster since I’m sober and he’s drunk, so when I move out of his way he stumbles into Jones, who easily pushes him off. Mack turns to me again after he’s regained his footing. He shoves a finger at me and says, “My problem is that you’re hanging around a homo, and this queer-loving cocksucker—” He pauses to indicate Jones. “—is defending your faggot ass.”

  “Keep saying that ignorant shit, asshole, and I will beat you into a coma.”

  “You can’t handle the truth, can you, gay boy?”

  “You can’t handle the truth,” I rage, shoving my hands into his chest and stalking after him. “Yeah, I’m fucking gay, but at least I can admit it. What about you, huh? When are you gonna start admitting that you’re nothing but an asshole who’s overcompensating for his secret desires and his small penis by pounding everyone else into the ground because it’s the only way you can convince anyone that you’re anything but a scared, weak, confused little boy?” I stop when I have him backed into the wall and we’re in a face-off. The room has gone silent. The band isn’t even playing anymore.

  I think we’re all waiting to hear if he’s gonna confess all his sins, but then an amused expression takes over his face, and he says, “What did you just say? Did you just say you’re fucking gay?”

  Oh shit, I think, mentally trying to dig through the words I just spewed, and then a fist connects with my temple and all I see are flashes of white before I feel myself going down. Someone grabs me before I hit the ground, and before I have a chance to comprehend what the hell is going on, chaos breaks out around me. “You okay?” Brighton asks. My head clears enough that I can see him.

  “Yeah.”