Mrs. Henning looks down at her notes briefly before turning her attention to me. “Kai, this is probably the best you’ve performed in this class. You and Bryson work well together. The chemistry between your two characters felt real. I believed them, and that’s what I want to see as an audience member.” Mrs. Henning applauds in that special way of hers, where she taps only the tips of her fingers together. “This was a successful performance. Bravo!”
The rest of the class claps politely as we leave the stage to take our seats.
“You did great,” Bryson says. He smiles and all I can offer him in return is a sigh of relief. It is over. Finally. My knees feel weak, and my face is hot to the touch. For the rest of the period, I try to fan my blush away.
When the bell rings, I finally feel like myself. We both stand, but then I remember something. “I need to give my sample to Henning,” I tell Bryson. “I’ll see you in English.”
I pull out my reimagining of Romeo and Juliet—a gay love story. Last night when I returned from our date, I felt inspired, so I sat down to write, and everything poured out of me. I started from scratch, so it’s rushed and not perfect, but it’s something. I’m confident in the potential. Even if I don’t get selected this round, I’m happy that I at least tried. This week with Bryson has changed me. It may be a small act of bravery, writing a story like this, but it didn’t even cross my mind last week.
Mrs. Henning is talking to Michael Donnelly, so I wait my turn.
“What can I do for you, Kai?” she asks when she’s done.
I hold out my sample. “I’d like to enter this.”
“I’m glad to have it,” Mrs. Henning says.
“Thank you for extending the deadline.” I smile. “Romeo and Juliet was tough for me to try to reimagine. I’m not sure if it works, but I’m glad I got the chance to submit this.”
“That’s the attitude you need to have to make it as a creative. Whether it’s acting or writing, you have to always try. Nos will often come, but it takes only one yes.” Mrs. Henning smiles at me. “I believe in you, Kai. As does Mr. Keller.”
“Bryson?” I ask.
“Yes. He paid me a visit to ask for an extension. His passionate plea played a small part in convincing me to extend the deadline.” Mrs. Henning chuckles. “He’s a great friend to have.”
I remain silent. Stunned that even before Bryson and I became what we are now, he had done this for me. Bryson Keller is so much more than a friend to me—and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
“Before you’re late, you should hurry along to your next class,” Mrs. Henning says.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
I race from drama to English and make it there just as the bell is ringing. Mr. Weber shoots me a look, and I offer an apologetic bow of the head as I slide into my seat.
English and math pass without much happening, and soon I’m sitting at the three musketeers table. I realize that this is the first time that the real me is having lunch with my best friends. I feared coming out to them, and I am so relieved to know that my fear was in vain.
I lucked out when Priya and Donny became my friends.
“What?” Priya asks when she catches me staring at her. “Do I have something on my face?”
“Just beauty,” Donny says before I can respond.
“You’re ridiculous,” Priya says.
I laugh. Everything is absolutely normal, as it should be. My being out doesn’t make me any different from the Kai they have always known. I’m the same. We’re the same. The only thing that’s different is how I feel inside. It’s like a knot that I’ve been carrying around has finally untied. I’ve waited my whole life for this.
Now with Donny and Priya, every breath, smile, and laugh belongs to the real me.
This is Kai Sheridan.
19
I’m staring at the clock when the final bell rings on Friday afternoon, and with it my fake relationship with Bryson Keller ends. It’s officially over. At least those were the rules, but I’m hoping they don’t apply anymore. Even with the memory of yesterday fresh in my mind, I still feel a flash of anxiety.
My phone buzzes with a text from Kelly.
You sure you’re going home with Donny?
Yes. I’ll see you later though.
Of course. I’ll pick you up at six.
Please ignore any and all embarrassing things that my parents will say.
I am ready. Bryson texts a series of grinning emojis. See you tonight.
Bryson is coaching the team at Yazz’s school, so I’m standing at the Quackmobile, waiting for Donny and Priya.
“Sorry,” Donny says as they rush over. “I had a math club meeting.”
“Why is my boyfriend such a dorkus?” Priya asks.
“Math is cool. Math is fun,” Donny starts to chant. He pumps his hands in the air like a cheerleader. “Math is cool. Math is fun. Math is for everyone.”
“I think we should walk,” I suggest.
“Agreed,” Priya says.
Our comments only make Donny chant louder. He unlocks the car and walks over to the driver’s side.
“Math is cool. Math is fun. Math is for everyone!”
We climb into the Quackmobile and Donny pulls out of the parking lot.
“Should we go somewhere?” Priya asks.
“We can,” I say. “I just need to be home by five so I can get ready for the concert.”
“What time are you leaving?”
“Bryson said he’d pick me up at six.” Almost as if it were planned, both Priya and Donny say “Ooh-la-la” at the exact same time.
“You know, now that you have a boyfriend, we can totally double-date,” Priya says.
“So is Bryson officially your boyfriend?” Donny asks.
“Well, I mean the dare ended today.” I shrug. “We haven’t really discussed it further than that.”
“You need to define the relationship,” Priya says. “Knowing you, if you don’t, you’ll be an anxious mess about it.”
“Yeah, ask him what’s up,” Donny says. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m very surprised that you, Kai Sheridan, asked Bryson out for the dare.” Priya laughs. “When I think about it, I can’t believe that we were all at the party when the dare started.”
“Weren’t you the one who said Bryson had to be asked out first? And he had to agree to whomever it was?” Donny asks.
“Yes. That was me,” Priya says. She looks at me. “I’m like your very own fairy godmother. Cinderella who?”
“It’s funny the Friday afternoon school bell is meant to be my clock striking midnight.”
“Wait a minute. Does that make me a mouse?” Donny asks. “I don’t think I like this.”
“In some lights you do kind of look like a mouse,” I say.
“Ooh, burn,” Priya says.
“Hey, I’m your boyfriend. You should be defending me.”
I laugh.
“Squeak, squeak, where are we going?” Donny asks.
“I’m hungry. Let’s go eat,” Priya says.
“Aye, aye, captain.”
“How about…”
“Pizza,” we all say at the same time. Donny drives toward the boardwalk, where Angelo’s Pizza Emporium awaits. We find parking and climb from the Quackmobile. As soon as we enter Angelo’s, we are assaulted by the smell of all things good and pure in this world.
“God, that smells great!” I say.
“If they bottled this scent, I’d probably wear it.”
“No thank you,” Priya says. “No matter how much I love it, I do not want my boyfriend smelling like pizza.”
Angelo’s has a few booths that line the walls, as well as freestanding tables. We slide into one of the empty booths.
A server approaches us and ha
nds out menus. They are green, white, and red—the colors of the Italian flag. The same colors are everywhere at Angelo’s: white walls, red chair cushions, green-patterned tiles.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“I’ll have a banana milkshake,” I say.
“That’s kinda gross,” Priya says. “But you do you, Kai. I’ll have a Coke, please.”
“Make that two,” Donny says.
By the time the server returns with our drinks, we’re in a heated argument over toppings.
“We do this all the time,” Priya says. “But I am telling you pineapple does not belong on a pizza. This is my hill and I am willing to die on it.”
“But it’s so good,” Donny whines. “Kai, please, for once back me up.”
“You know where I stand on this.” But I smile at Donny and say to the server, “We’ll have a half and half, please. Half Hawaiian and half Margherita.”
Priya gasps and Donny looks up, surprised.
“What?”
“Traitor,” Priya says.
“You know you love me,” I say with a wink.
“Debatable.”
Donny holds up his hand for a high five.
It doesn’t take long for our pizza to come. Priya makes sure to keep away from the side with pineapple, and so do I. The only reason I ordered it was because of Donny. I just feel really thankful and grateful to them both for treating me like they did last week before they knew.
I love my best friends.
* * *
• • •
By the time I get home, my cheeks hurt from smiling.
“Oh, you’re back,” Mom says as she heads toward the family room. I trail in after her to find the rest of my family sprawled in front of the television.
“Yeah,” I say. “But why is everyone else here so early?”
“We got called to Yazz’s school.”
“Again?” I look at my sister. She’s lying on the carpet, a sketch pad open before her.
“What did you do this time?”
Yazz sits up. “It really wasn’t my fault,” she says. “I kept telling Monica not to touch my hair, but she kept insisting on it. I don’t need to hear how surprised she is to find that it’s soft, and so I told her as much.” Yazz shakes her head. “I’m about this close to making a large sign to wear to school to tell people not to touch my hair.”
“Did you hit her?”
“No.”
“Then why were you called to the school?” I ask Mom and Dad.
“Because Monica started to cry,” Yazz answers instead. “I know my words can feel like a beatdown, but I was very patient with her. I didn’t want it to be this whole thing, but she had the nerve to cry.”
“Good job,” I say. “You have to nip these things in the bud.”
“Yes, well done, Yazz,” Dad says.
“Did you have fun, Kai? What did you do?” Mom asks me.
“We just hung out,” I say.
“With Bryson?” Yazz asks. She’s back to lounging on the floor.
“No. I was with Priya and Donny.” I study her. “Why’d you ask?”
“Oh, Bryson posted a picture on Instagram, and the comment section is blowing up. Everyone wants to know who bought him the bracelet,” Yazz says. She looks up at me. “It’s a mystery.”
Yazz is smart—sometimes too smart for her own good. But it’s impossible that she’s figured it out, right? No one in this room knows what’s happening between Bryson and me.
“Bryson is who you’re going to the concert with, right?” Mom asks. She’s flipping through channels. I watch as she settles on the Food Network. Someone needs to change it before Mom gets inspired again. These are dangerous times.
“It’s truly hard to believe that Kai is friends with Bryson Keller now,” Yazz says. “The world as we know it is upside down.”
“Is he popular?” Dad asks.
“Very,” Yazz explains. “He’s the ‘it’ boy of Fairvale Academy.”
“Then, what’s he doing with Kai?”
“Hey!” I say. “I have my charms.”
“That may be true, honey, but you’re also incredibly awkward,” Mom says. Her words are matter-of-fact.
“So awkward,” Dad chimes in.
“It’s embarrassing just how awkward,” Yazz adds.
“Well, there goes my self-esteem,” I mutter. “Thank you very much.” I turn to leave my family behind. They laugh in my wake.
“You know we love you, Kai,” Mom calls out as I climb the stairs to my bedroom.
What picture is Yazz talking about? Behind closed doors, I pull out my phone and open Instagram. It’s a selfie of Bryson, and he’s showing off the bracelet that I bought. Call me lucky 24/7, the caption reads. I smile at how cheesy it is.
I open a text to Bryson and type: Nice pic, Mr. Cheese.
He responds a while later: That’s Mr. Grilled Cheese to you, sir.
I laugh and put my phone on charge. I walk to the bathroom and shower. It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I settle on black jeans, a band T-shirt, and my leather jacket with a black beanie. Soon it’s ten to six. I head downstairs and find Mom putting on lipstick.
“Where are you off to?” I ask.
“Choir practice, Kai,” Mom says.
“Oh, right.”
“I have a solo this Sunday.” She looks at me expectantly. “Will I see you there?”
I groan. “I don’t know.”
Mom sighs. “How did I end up with a son who hates church?”
Before I can respond, the doorbell rings. I use that as my excuse and go open the door. Bryson is standing there. He’s wearing black jeans with rips at the knees, boots, and a bomber jacket. There’s a backward cap on his head, too. Effortlessly hot.
Bryson must catch me checking him out because he smiles. I blush and stand aside to let him in.
“Cute,” Bryson whispers as he passes me by the door. He stops to take off his shoes, and I lead him to meet my parents and Yazz.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Bryson says to my parents. He offers Yazz a wave and a smile that shows his hidden dimple.
“So this is Bryson Keller?” Dad asks.
“Wow. He’s handsome,” Mom muses.
“You do know he can hear you, right?” I ask my parents, even though I can’t help but agree with Mom’s comment, at least silently.
“Our parents can be somewhat embarrassing,” Yazz says. She pushes her glasses up. “Forgive them.”
Bryson laughs.
“We should head out,” I say. They’ve seen him, they’ve met him. It’s time to escape before Sherlock and Watson take over.
“You have your phone, right?” Mom asks.
“Yes, Mom,” I say.
“Is it fully charged?” Dad asks.
“Yes, Dad.” I pull it from my pocket and show them. The battery’s at 98 percent. They both nod.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Mom says.
“Or reckless,” Dad adds.
“I won’t. I promise.”
“No drinking or smoking.”
“You can trust me,” I say, holding in my exasperation.
“It’s not you we don’t trust. It’s everyone else.” Mom follows us to the door. “I love you. Call me if anything happens.”
“Nothing will. But I promise.”
“Drive safe, Bryson,” Dad says.
“I will, Mr. Sheridan.” Bryson smiles at my parents, his dimple on full show. He’s genuinely enjoying this…meeting my family. “It was great to meet you both.”
My secret boyfriend and my parents having just met is almost too much to wrap my head around.
Kai Sheridan, what has your life become?
20
As w
e drive out of Fairvale, Bryson tells me about the game he coached after school today.
“So did you win?”
“No, but we improved by a lot. So I’m happy.”
I reach for the bracelet on his wrist. “I guess this didn’t bring you that much luck.”
He holds up his arm. “Well, I feel lucky wearing it, so that’s enough.”
Bryson turns onto the freeway. It’s a straight road now all the way to LA.
“You’ve made it very famous,” I say. “Everyone on Instagram is talking about it.”
Bryson shakes his head. “People need to get lives. Who I date or like shouldn’t matter.”
“If only the world agreed with you.”
Bryson looks at me and starts to sing one of the Graces’ ballads. “ ‘It’s the closed-minded views on the way things should be. On what is right or wrong. On what is normal and what isn’t. But who are you to tell me how to live? Who are you to tell me how to live?’ ”
“ ‘We all just want to be loved…,’ ” I sing.
“ ‘Loved, loved, loved,’ ” we sing together.
“Wow, you’d better stick to being a writer,” Bryson says.
“Excuse me, at least I can hold a tune. You do know you were off-key, right?”
Bryson laughs and switches on the radio. By chance the song we were just singing starts to play. Laughing and joking and singing make the trip pass by quickly. Soon we’re in downtown LA and driving toward Echo Park.
“I’m glad we left on time,” Bryson says.
“I like punctuality.”
“Me too.”
Bryson pulls up to the curb. Sunset Boulevard is busy. “Save our place in line and I’ll find a place to park,” Bryson says.
The show won’t start for another hour, but judging by how many people are already lined up outside the Echo, we’re in for a wait. I unbuckle my seat belt and climb out the door. I pull my leather jacket into place and fix my beanie. I lean down and smile.
“See you in a bit.”
I close the door and watch as he pulls off into traffic.
Date Me, Bryson Keller Page 14
