Date Me, Bryson Keller

by Kevin van Whye

  I stare at his outstretched hand. “What’s this for?”

  “I thought you might be hungry.”

  I hesitate, deciding whether I should accept the sandwich, but the loud growl from my stomach makes the decision for me. I reach for it with a mumbled thanks.

  I sit with my back against the wall and take a bite of the sandwich—it’s chicken and mayo. Did he know that’s one of my favorites, or is it just a coincidence? Bryson sits down directly opposite me. He crosses his long legs and starts eating, too.

  “So are you thinking of auditioning for the next play?” He points at the props around us.

  “No. I hoped to write it,” I say. “I’m not an actor.”

  Which is sort of a lie, considering I put on a performance every day. I’ve lied about crushes that I’ve never had, kisses with girls who don’t exist. I’ve acted out my own dramas. But I don’t say any of this. We seem to be talking about everything but the elephant in the room. And I’m okay with that.

  “Hoped? Past tense?”

  “The deadline for the play is the end of lunch. I still need to finish it, but I’m here instead.”

  “What happened?” Bryson asks. “Why were you late?”

  “You happened,” I say. The anger from before is mostly gone, though. The fear of what might happen between Bryson and me is demanding the spotlight now.

  “Me? What do you mean?” He studies me, eyes narrowing.

  I shake my head. “Louise Keaton was racing to ask you out and she bumped into me while I was drinking a soda.” I motion at the state of my uniform. Even though it’s dry now, it still carries the stain of the cola. “Which made me late for assembly. So I got busted for that and ended up late for drama, and, well, here we are.”

  “Oh,” Bryson says. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. “Your morning sounds worse than mine. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry Henning punished you.”

  I shrug. “She’s still my favorite teacher. So I can’t be mad at her too much.”

  “Don’t be too mad at me, either, okay?” Bryson offers me a smile. “Henning’s my favorite, too. You know, I spent an entire afternoon once just watching clips from that show she was on.”

  My eyes widen. “Really? I did that, too.” I laugh. “It was an experience.”

  “That’s one way of describing it,” Bryson says with a shake of his head.

  “What about you?” I ask. “Do you plan on auditioning for the play?”

  “Maybe, if soccer allows it. I like acting. It’s fun.”

  “Hollywood aspirations, huh?” Living within driving distance of the City of Angels means that there have been a number of Fairvale Academy alumni who have moved to LA with big dreams. Those who have been successful have been invited back to guest lecture by Mrs. Henning. I can’t deny that Bryson Keller is hot enough to be a leading man.

  “Not really. It’s not my dream.” Bryson stands. He crinkles the sandwich wrapper and places it in his pocket to throw away later. I smile—somehow, Bryson Keller not littering makes sense. “We should get this done before Henning has us repeating this all week.”

  I stand, too, relieved now that there’s some distance between us. I busy myself with sifting through the bevy of foam props in all shapes and sizes. The silence deepens, and I try to ignore the growing awkwardness of this moment. Does Bryson feel the same way?

  “So, you’re gay?”

  I still. I know that I can lie. By saying no, I can change my story. But I find that I don’t want to. Kai Sheridan is gay. Why should I deny it? I am who I am. Honestly, I’m tired of holding this secret so close to my chest. It’s like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, and right now I want to watch the clock run out. See what happens.

  “Yes.”

  Three letters that change everything. Now there really isn’t any going back. Oddly, I don’t feel the sheer panic that I thought I would whenever I imagined this happening. Maybe I’m numb, and this is me preparing for the judgment that’s surely coming—if my ex–best friend couldn’t accept me, why will Bryson Keller?

  “Cool.”

  That one word has me sagging in relief. Even so, I find myself searching for the signs that my heart remembers. Bryson is standing next to a costume rack. He’s stopped what he was doing, and all his attention is on me. I look up from the box I’m rifling through and our eyes meet.

  I wait for him to turn gay into an accusation—an insult. I wait for him to stop seeing me as Kai and to see me just as gay. I wait for all this while reminding myself that being gay is never a choice. If it were, why would so many of us choose to be shunned and spoken about behind our backs? The answer is simple: it isn’t a choice.

  It’s all so unfair: because you’re so-called different, you need to stand up and say that you’re so-called different. What makes everyone else normal? Who gets to decide that?

  Whoever it is can suck it.

  “I take it you’re not out.” Bryson is leaning against the rack now. He’s still looking at me, in a way that makes me feel like I’m the only one who matters. It isn’t a question, but I answer anyway.

  “Yeah. You’re actually the first person at Fairvale Academy to know.” I glance away.

  “Really? Wow. I’m strangely honored,” he says. “So not even Donny knows? Or Priyanka?”

  “Nope. Not a soul.” I shake my head in disbelief. Coming out was not on my agenda for today.

  “What is it?” Bryson asks.

  “Nothing. It’s just…weird.” In my best aged-theater-actor voice, I say, “Revealing one’s soul should come with more grandeur, shouldn’t it?”

  A smile tugs at Bryson’s lips. “I don’t know about that, but I do know it’s brave.” He puts down the box he’s holding and dusts his hands. “I’m sorry for laughing.” Bryson chews on his lip. “I wasn’t laughing at you being gay. I think I was just startled by you asking me out.”

  “I’m sure there are others who have thought about it.” I recall Donny and Priya’s conversation about Eric. “I think I just beat them to the punch.”

  “What made you do it?”

  “Would you believe me if I said I don’t actually know? It was spur-of-the-moment. And then when you laughed, I realized that I didn’t want you to think I was joking. But I think I’ve used up all my courage for right now. Maybe a few lifetimes’ worth.” I turn to him. “So you can’t tell anyone about me.”

  “I won’t,” Bryson promises. And he has a look in his eyes that makes me feel like he won’t. “You’ll come out when you’re ready. This will be our secret.”

  “ ‘This’?” Somehow it sounds like he’s talking about more than just right now.

  “Our relationship for this week.” The silence stretches between us, and Bryson races to fill it. “I mean, that is, if you want to fake date me for the next five days.” He rubs at the back of his head. “It’s up to you. No pressure.”

  “You’ll really date me for the next five days? I mean, you sound so cool about it…that we’re ‘dating’ for the week. Two boys?”

  “When you first asked me out, I really did think you were joking, but when you said you weren’t, I was kind of shocked. A guy has never asked me out before. And I guess I’ve never really said that they couldn’t.” Bryson busies himself, starting to sort through a tangle of fairy lights. They were the makeshift stars that our Ophelia stared up at while reading the love letter from Hamlet.

  “You were there when I was dared,” Bryson says. “Everyone just assumed that this was limited to girls. It was simply ‘the first person.’ I’ve been thinking about the reason this wouldn’t be allowed. And that reason is kind of shitty. You asked me out, and I’m saying yes, just like I promised I would. That’s the dare. I…I really do believe love is love. And if I believe that, then I have to say yes…you know?” He stops workin
g and looks at me. “Of course, it’s all up to you. Let me know what you decide.”

  “And what happens if Shannon asks you out? She sounds very…determined.”

  “You noticed that, too?” Bryson asks, and I nod. “Well, I’ll tell her that someone beat her to it.” Bryson shrugs. “It’s fair. It’s how this game works.”

  I remember that Priya once said Bryson had refused to have his starting spot on the soccer team handed back to him after an injury. He’d torn a ligament and his replacement had been doing well, so he insisted that he ride the bench a few games while he won it back fair and square in practice. It’s why he was unanimously voted captain this year. Bryson clearly believes in fairness.

  “Thanks,” I say, and I mean it.

  The very idea of Bryson dating me for the next five days seems like some barely lucid fantasy. It doesn’t make sense that the most popular boy at Fairvale Academy has agreed to date me—even if it is a fake relationship. Things like this just don’t happen to boys like me.

  We work in silence. My mind buzzes as I sift through a collection of handmade masks from the masquerade scene in our Hamlet retelling. I find the jester mask that I made.

  It somehow seems fitting that I have these masks in my hands right now, seeing as how I just removed my own for the first time. My mask has been so tightly fastened on my face—it’s been that way ever since I first realized I liked boys. I was thirteen years old and I had a crush on Colby Matthews—our class president.

  It was so sudden. One day I found myself staring at him. I liked the way he scrunched his nose to lift his glasses up. When he smiled at me, my heart would race. And talking to him left me a sweaty, blushing mess. It was then I figured out that I was gay. I remember feeling sad and upset about the realization because it was almost three years after society had taught me that being gay is not okay.

  At ten I had heard the pastor of our church condemn homosexuality. At the time I hadn’t realized his sermon would affect me. Now I know that the pastor was saying I would be spending eternity in hell for something I had no control over.

  The bell rings and our current punishment ends.

  “Meet me in the parking lot after school?” Bryson asks as he picks up his backpack. My heart skips a beat. Those are the famous words that preface a fight, and for a moment I picture Bryson and me facing off. The one and only time I’ve hit someone was in kindergarten, when the kid next to me ate my blue crayon. But other than that, my record is spotless. And I hoped to keep it that way.

  “What?” My voice comes out a squeak, and I clear my throat too late. “Why?”

  Bryson neatens his tie and tucks in his shirt. I watch every movement, unblinking. He stops when he registers my panic. “We made plans to get together for our assignment, remember?”

  I didn’t. With so much happening between us, this morning seems so far away.

  “Right,” I say. I exhale my relief. Why was I so quick to think he was threatening me? “I’ll meet you after school, then.”

  Before he leaves, Bryson turns to me. “I meant it when I said your secret is safe with me,” he says. “You can trust me, Kai. I promise.”

  Bryson exits the prop room and I am left staring at where he once was. Staring after a boy who is willing to be my boyfriend for one school week.

  If I play this game…will I win or lose?

  5

  The day ends without ceremony. I have spent the last few hours replaying my conversation with Bryson in the prop room.

  “Earth to Kai? We’re going to go, then,” Donny says. We’re standing just outside the doors that open onto the student parking lot. The afternoon sunlight has me squinting against the glare. “You sure you don’t need a ride?”

  Usually the three musketeers would head home together. Or, when Priya has soccer practice, it’s just Donny and me. Often I spend the afternoon at his house and Mom picks me up after work.

  “Yeah, it’s best for me and Bryson to figure out now what we’re going to perform on Friday. You know how I am with these types of things.”

  Priya pats me on the shoulder. “This is why I will never understand why you forced yourself to do drama.”

  “I’ve never heard of a person dying from blushing before, so Kai will be fine.”

  “Gee, thanks, Donny.”

  “You’ve got this, buddy.” He pats me on the arm.

  “See you.” Priya offers me a wave.

  “Later.” I watch as they head off. Donny and Priya walk hand in hand toward the Quackmobile. Students mill about, some waiting for extracurricular activities to start, others talking to their friends. I spot Shannon and Natalie, and I can’t help but wonder if Shannon asked Bryson out. I’m too far away to hear them, though.

  I scan the space and spot Bryson’s car. The snow-white Jeep is almost as popular as he is. It’s become synonymous with its owner. It was a gift from his parents for passing his driver’s license test. At the time, it was the most expensive car that a student at Fairvale owned. That is, until Donny and his fire-engine-red Mustang.

  I don’t see Bryson anywhere. I pull my phone out and look at my social media. There’s nothing much to go through, so I close my eyes and try to calm my racing heartbeat.

  “What are you doing?”

  Startled, I trip over my own feet and Bryson reaches out to catch me.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. He lets me go just as fast as he grabbed me.

  “Yes.” I step to the side to create some room between us. “Sorry,” I mumble as the heat assaults my face.

  Bryson studies me. He holds up his crimson-and-white school tie next to my face.

  “Yup, it’s a match,” Bryson says. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who blushes as much as you. It’s fun.” I can tell that he’s teasing me…I think. He drops the tie. “Sorry I’m late. I needed to see Henning about something. Are you ready to go?”

  I nod. Bryson starts to walk, and I follow him. No one stops to look at us because this is normal. We’re just two guys hanging out together. The fact that Bryson and I actually have a reason to spend time together this week would be the perfect cover for our relationship.

  Should I agree to it?

  The Jeep unlocks with a loud chirp and Bryson opens the back door to throw his blazer and bag onto the seat. He pauses. “Do you want to put your bag here or keep it with you?”

  “Uh, I’ll keep it.”

  Bryson nods and bangs the door shut. He climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the car. The sound of the engine roaring to life snaps me from my stupor. I open the passenger door and climb into the den of the lion…or rather, the Cougar. His gym bag is on the back seat. It’s open, and pieces of his crimson-and-white soccer gear lie scattered about.

  I place my bag at my feet and drape my messed-up blazer across my lap.

  “Seat belt, please,” Bryson says as he clicks his own into place. Just then his phone rings. That it’s not on silent or vibrate surprises me. My own phone has been that way since the day my parents bought it for my birthday—two years ago. It was a much-needed upgrade from my previous one.

  “Hello, Mom.” Bryson smiles and it is dazzling. Up close, I get to see the dimple that’s usually hidden. I didn’t know about it until right now. It only lasts a second before it disappears. “Dad called you?” He sighs. “If he wanted to give me a ride to school, then he should have been on time.” I can’t hear his mother’s response. “I waited for as long as I could. I was even late today.” Bryson taps his hand against the rim of the steering wheel. “Saturday? Why’s he talking through you?” He casts me a look. “You know what, never mind. I’ll talk to you when I get home. I’ll be home for dinner. I just need to work on an assignment with a friend.” The conversation continues for two more minutes before Bryson says goodbye. He places his phone in the cup holder between our seats. “Ready?�
�� he asks.

  I nod. Bryson effortlessly pulls out of the parking lot. When he joins the main road, he switches on the radio. I instantly recognize the song: “Art of War” by the Graces.

  “Oh, I love them.” There are few things in this world that can make me talk excitedly to strangers. My love for this band is one of them. The Graces is an indie rock band that has been growing more and more popular each year. Some die-hard stans have started to question whether their rising popularity has made them mainstream. I don’t care much for the politics of it, even though I’ve been their fan since the beginning.

  The Graces are fronted by Ezra Grace. He’s openly gay and, more than that, he’s mixed race, just like me. To see someone who looks like me, who loves like me, living his life on his own terms has made this band special to me. They also make really great music.

  “Really? Me too,” Bryson says. “Their songs are the most played on my Anytime, Anywhere playlist.” He sounds just as excited as I do. Almost as if my declaration has given him permission, he ups the volume. The vocals of the lead singer swirl all around us. Soon we are both humming and singing along to the chorus. The music makes me forget just where I am—and who I am with.

  “I can’t wait to see them this Friday,” I say as the piano echoes out. “It’s about time they come back to LA.” The Graces are an East Coast band, with New York City as their base. They’ve performed here and there, and the last time they came to LA, my parents deemed me too young to attend. Finally I’m old enough, and finally I will get to see my idol in person.

  Bryson smiles. “I hear they’re amazing live.” When we come to a stop at a red light, he plugs in his phone and clicks on his playlist. “Who are you going with? Donny and Priyanka?” Bryson asks as he hits play.

  “No, alone,” I admit. “Donny and Priya have date night on Fridays, so I didn’t want to bother them. Plus, they don’t really like the Graces.”

  “Oh, I’m in the same boat,” Bryson says. “None of my friends like them, either. So I bought my own ticket.” Bryson studies his phone, adjusts the volume. “We could go together? If you wanted? I can give you a ride?”