“What should we do first?”
“Let’s try that,” Bryson says. He points at a game stand to our right. It’s big and green and in the shape of a dinosaur, but the dinosaur has different-sized holes cut into its body. The thrower needs to put the balls through those cutouts.
We push our way there and Bryson hands the attendant a ticket for his chance to take aim. Bryson throws, and he misses.
“That was just for practice,” he says.
He throws again, and it’s another miss.
Another one follows soon after.
“Still practicing?” I ask.
Around us the crowd snickers. Even when we’re not at school, eyes seem to follow Bryson wherever he goes. It’s the burden of looking like Bryson Keller does. But it’s more than just his good looks—Bryson exudes a charisma that draws you to him, so attention sticks to him like clothing on a hot summer day.
As I watch Bryson throw his final ball and miss, I know that whatever happens in the future, I don’t regret spending this time with Bryson. Come what may, I’m all in.
“How are you so bad at this?” I ask as we walk away from the crime scene of Bryson’s epic failure.
Bryson laughs. It’s a sound so deep and pure that I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever.
“There’s a reason I play soccer and not baseball,” he says.
“So you’re saying that if you could use your feet you’d win?”
“Yes.” Bryson pumps up his chest. “I have the highest goal count in California, three years in a row.”
“Really?” I smile. I lean closer to him. “My boyfriend’s pretty cool,” I whisper.
Bryson smiles, too. “Smooth, Sheridan. Real smooth.”
“I told you I give as good as I get.”
“I’m glad,” Bryson says. “Come on, let’s go find something I can actually win at. I need to redeem myself.”
It takes us three tries and three more failed attempts until we find something that Bryson is good at. My cheeks hurt from all the laughing, and my heart is so full that it feels like it’s going to burst at the seams. We’re standing in front of the hammer to test how strong you are. Bryson makes a show of preparing. He rubs his hands together and fake spits on them before he picks up the hammer.
Bryson brings it down with as much force as he can muster. We both watch as the points shoot up. When it sets a new record, Bryson drops the hammer and starts jumping in place.
“People watching would think you won the lottery.”
“In life you need to celebrate all victories, big and small.”
“But you didn’t actually win anything,” I point out. All the other games that he played and lost had prizes in the end. This one does not.
“I got to look cool in front of my boyfriend,” Bryson says. “That’s winning.”
The attendant in charge gives us a thumbs-up. He’s big and bald with tattoos running up the length of his arms. He’s scary-looking, but the smile on his face isn’t at all. “You two make a very cute couple.”
“Thank you,” Bryson says. “I also think my boyfriend is the cutest.”
I choke on my own spit and Bryson ends up patting my back.
“You okay?” he asks.
How can I be when he’s said something like that?
“Fine,” I lie.
“Let’s get something to drink.” I follow him as he heads toward a stall, and we buy something to drink and two corn dogs. We walk along the boardwalk and lose ourselves to the sounds of waves breaking and seagulls crying overhead.
“This is fun,” I say. I turn to him and notice a mustard streak at the side of his mouth. Without thinking, I reach for it and wipe it off. We look at each other, and I pull my hand back. It hangs there between us.
Bryson smiles again. “Amazing.”
“What is?” I ask nervously.
“This.” Bryson looks around us. “Being here with you. You meant it when you said you were going to trust me.”
I nod. “Well, yeah.” I shrug awkwardly.
“Thanks.”
“For what?” I don’t look at him as I take the final bite of my corn dog.
“For not running away.” It sounds like he’s talking about something other than me. I think of the little bit Bryson’s told me about his father. I want to ask him about it, to delve deeper into Bryson Keller, but I don’t think it’s the time yet. For now, this is enough. Later, I will explore the layers that make up this boy next to me.
A stall to my right catches my eye. The lady is selling small trinkets. I scan what’s for sale and my eyes land on a bracelet. It calls to me like a siren song.
I buy it and return to Bryson’s side. He’s standing on the pier, looking over the railing at the sea below. I hold out the bracelet to him.
“What’s this?” he asks.
“It’s for luck.”
“Luck?”
“Well, you said I was your lucky charm at the game yesterday, so consider this my proxy for when I can’t be there.”
Bryson holds up his arm, and with shaking fingers I tie the bracelet into place. It’s nothing fancy, a simple deep blue string with a metal anchor that glints in the sun. But the way that Bryson’s looking at it makes it seem like it’s worth so much more.
Bryson smiles. “You keep surprising me, Kai Sheridan.”
“I keep telling people I’m special,” I joke.
He looks from the bracelet at his wrist to my eyes.
“Yes. You are,” Bryson says. And I can tell that he’s serious.
Afternoon bleeds into evening as we wander from stall to stall. I’m eating a candy apple when my eyes catch on a claw machine standing all alone. It lures me toward it with its cartoonish song.
“These things are impossible to win at,” Bryson says. He stands next to me as I fish out one of the last of my tickets. I straighten the ends before feeding it into the machine. It gives me a cheerful hello.
“Watch and learn,” I say. There are few things in this world that I am extremely confident in. Winning at the claw machine is one of them. During freshman year, when Priya was dating her ex-boyfriend, Donny and I would spend countless hours here, and this game became my specialty. I use the joystick to maneuver the claw machine until it hangs over the prize I want—a bear holding a soccer ball.
There’s no real trick to winning at this game. It is all about timing, and having practiced so much, I’m good at judging the exact moment I need to hit the button to release the claw.
I tap the button with more force than is necessary and watch as the claw opens and descends. Bryson’s face is almost pressed against the glass as he watches. The metal claw grips the stuffed animal by the leg. It’s not a perfect grip, but the bear doesn’t fall as the claw pulls it up. We hold our breath as the claw moves to drop the bear into the hole.
Thank God.
Bryson turns to me, eyes ablaze with wonder. “I’m impressed,” he says.
He claps for me and I mock bow. Then I bend to retrieve the stuffed animal. “Here.” I hold it out to him.
“You won it,” Bryson says. “It’s yours.”
“I won it for you, though,” I say. “It has a soccer ball—see.” I shove the bear toward him. He accepts it and smiles, revealing his secret dimple.
“Thank you.” Bryson looks from the prize to me. “Is there anything else you want to do?”
I scan the boardwalk behind us and the photo booth catches my eye. It’s another thing that I’ve fantasized doing with my boyfriend. I’ve seen Priya and Donny do it—couple snapshots in a photo strip. I’ve always been more than a little jealous about it. Sure, we’ve taken pictures as friends, but I’ve always dreamed of doing so with my boyfriend.
“What is it?” Bryson asks. “You just thought of something.”
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“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I just…I’ve always wanted to take pictures in a photo booth.” I don’t look at him as I say the next words. “With my boyfriend.”
“We can if you want,” Bryson says. “Are you sure you’ll be okay having proof of this date?”
“Are you?”
Bryson shrugs. “I’m more worried about you.”
I think of not doing it, of just ignoring that it’s something I’ve always wanted to do. It would be safer for me to do that. But at what point do I start living for me? When do I get to do simple things that are meant to make me happy?
All around me people are living their lives free and happy, and here I am stuck in a dark and cold closet. The constant second-guessing is exhausting. So for now I choose to live in this moment. Today is what matters. Tomorrow will have to take care of itself.
I walk past him and, over my shoulder, call out, “Let’s go.”
Bryson jogs to catch up to me. He cradles the bear under his arm as we walk toward the photo booth. It’s empty so we don’t have to wait our turn. We step into the photo booth and close the curtain behind us. The space is small, forcing us to be pressed together.
Bryson works the machine. “Ready?” he asks. I nod. He hits the button and on the screen the countdown starts.
Three.
Bryson throws his arm over my shoulders.
Two.
He puts two fingers up above my head.
One.
I smile.
The camera flashes, taking the first picture. We alter our poses goofily for each one. With one more left to take, Bryson leans in toward me. I feel his lips on my face just as the camera flashes.
“All done,” he says. He opens the curtain and steps out, leaving me behind to bask in my surprise and happiness. With a big smile on my face, I exit and find Bryson holding the strip of photos. My eyes snag on the last one.
It’s tangible proof that Bryson Keller likes me. My eyes are wide in surprise, and there’s no denying the flush in my cheeks. Bryson’s eyes are closed as he pecks me.
“Perfect,” he says.
I look from the photo to Bryson and realize that yes, he is perfect. I pocket the strip of photos. I’ll hide them so that no one can find them.
Bryson looks at the stalls that surround us. “How about some cotton candy before we leave?”
“Sounds good.” We head toward the stall and join a long line. The boardwalk is getting busier. We’ve timed our exit just right.
We’re standing at the cotton candy stand when I spot two familiar faces. They see me just as I see them. Priya and Donny.
“What are you doing here?” Priya asks.
“I could ask you the same thing.” I look at them. “It’s a Thursday afternoon.”
“It’s a makeup date,” Donny says. “We needed to clear the air.”
“So you guys finally made up,” Bryson says. He looks from me to my friends. “You guys talk.” He points to an empty space by the pier railing. “I’ll stay in line.”
We walk toward the railing. I look over at the crashing waves. We’re silent for a while before Donny speaks.
“Since when are you and Bryson so close?” he asks.
“We’re not,” I lie. I turn and lean against the metal railing.
“Kai, you know you can tell us anything, right?” Priya says. She meets my gaze, and I can see the knowledge there.
My heart starts to race, and I feel my face redden. My panic threatens to overwhelm me because I can tell that she knows.
I can deny it. I can act like I don’t know what she’s talking about, but just like that time with Bryson in the prop room, I find that I don’t want to. This week with Bryson has changed me. It’s made me greedy for the same acceptance that everyone else gets. Besides, I’m simply tired of lying to the people I love.
I exhale. “How long have you known?”
“Known what?” Donny asks. He looks between us. “Oh, that Kai’s gay?”
Priya punches him on his arm, and he groans in pain.
“What?” I ask. “You know that I’m gay, too?”
“We’re your best friends—of course we knew,” Donny says as he rubs at his biceps. “We were just waiting for you to tell us.”
“Yeah. I had hoped to handle this all with a bit more tact, but you know Donald.” Priya looks at her boyfriend. “He’s like an untrained puppy.”
“Totally lovable, right?” Donny blinks his eyes dramatically, which earns him another smack from Priya, but even she can’t hide her smile. Donny has a geeky cuteness about him.
I frown as I remember the conversation in the cafeteria a couple of days ago. “If you knew that I was gay, why did you want to know who Kelly was?” I point out.
“That didn’t mean I thought you were straight.” Donny smiles. “Priya made me promise that we’d act like we didn’t know until you were ready to tell us.”
Priya looks from me to Bryson. We all turn to watch him then. He must feel our eyes on him, because he looks up from his phone and offers us a small wave. He’s smiling, but it’s tight-lipped. It’s the smile he uses when he’s nervous.
“So, what, is this a date?” Donny jokes.
When I don’t answer, both Priya and Donny turn to me.
“Don’t tell me—” Priya says just as Donny says, “Wait! It’s true—” They stop speaking and look at one another. Then they shift their attention to me.
“Seriously?” they ask in perfect unison.
I smile.
“Dude!”
“Tell us everything.”
And for the first time in my life, I do. I talk openly and freely to my best friends. And it feels so good.
It feels just right.
18
My leg won’t stop shaking. It moves up and down without my having any say in the matter. Bryson and I are seated in the back row of the auditorium. We’re waiting for Mrs. Henning to call us to perform. Right now, Isaac is onstage, but I’m too nervous to care.
Bryson places his hand on my knee and I stop moving.
He grips it tightly. “It’s going to be okay,” he says. “Just look at me, only me, and trust me.”
I exhale a nervous breath. We’re one of the last groups waiting to perform.
“I don’t think anyone’s going to believe our performance.”
“Why?”
“I’m Romeo and you’re Benvolio.” I turn to look at him. “How does that make any sense?”
“Why not?” Bryson asks.
I snort. “Because you’re the leading man in almost every sense of the word, and I’m just a supporting character.”
Bryson leans in, closing the distance between us. His next words are just for me, just for my heart. “Don’t ever say that again,” he says. “You’re every bit as much the leading man as anyone else. Never forget that, and remember that I like you just the way you are.”
Before I can say anything or even react, Mrs. Henning calls for us. “Bryson and Kai, you’re next,” she says. Today she’s wearing an ensemble that looks to be Victorian inspired. She even has a cane.
But how can I go anywhere when Bryson Keller just said he is attracted to me? How does moving from this spot make any sense? I should live here now, never moving, never budging. Please forward all mail to this address.
Bryson grabs my hand and pulls me to my feet. He lets go and makes his way toward the stage. I follow, my stomach twisting.
We take our places on the stage. I blink and everyone in the class comes back into focus. Those who have already performed occupy the first two rows of seats. Mrs. Henning sits at the center.
“What have you chosen to perform?”
“We selected a scene from Romeo and Juliet,” Bryson answer
s.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. Henning says. “In my youth, Baz Luhrmann, the famous director of the 1996 movie, considered casting me in it. Of course, at the time of shooting, one of my characters on My Face, Your Life had just returned from being abducted by aliens, so I wasn’t in the right place emotionally to commit to a role in such a film. You know as actors it’s about living your role. I was nominated for an Emmy that season.” Mrs. Henning straightens her black skirt and rests her hands on the top of the cane. “So this movie has always held a special place in my heart. I can’t wait to see your interpretation. Who will you be performing as?”
“I’ll be Benvolio,” Bryson says. “And Kai will be Romeo.”
“Very interesting choices,” Mrs. Henning says. “I look forward to being dazzled.”
I don’t know about being dazzling, but I’m going to try my best. Bryson and I did a run-through last night before he dropped me off at home after our date. And then this morning at Glenda’s, we worked through the scene again. I know that I am as prepared as I possibly can be.
“We can do this,” Bryson mouths. I nod.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Mrs. Henning says. She taps her cane on the floor to silence some of the whispering around her.
I’m so nervous that I’m numb. I try to ignore my racing heart and quickly reddening face as much as I can. Bryson delivers his first line. And I react like I’ve practiced. I turn to look at Bryson and find that he’s looking at me. No, it’s Benvolio looking at Romeo.
Everything fades away. I imagine that we’re performing with no one watching. Bryson embodies the character of Benvolio. At first I’m stilted as Romeo, but soon I get carried away on the wave of Bryson’s performance. The scene unfolds in a blur, and I’m sure that later I won’t be able to remember any of it. Not the words I mess up, or the awkward way I move across the stage.
At the end, Bryson takes my hand in his and we both bow. He squeezes my hand once before letting it go and we stand up straight to await our critique.
“Bryson, please, I beg you to try out for the next production. Your talent should be shared with a wider audience. What I truly love about your performance is your confidence. You aren’t afraid to go for it. Which is a must as an actor. There were many times on my show where my characters did things that I thought were absolutely absurd, but if you act with confidence, that is when real performances are born.”
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