by M. A. Hinkle
Morgan shrugged. “I don’t care for making speeches anyway.”
I about had to pick my jaw up off the floor.
I WAS ALL set to go and throw myself on my bed and bury myself in something else, but a note was tacked on the coat rack: Gareth, come and see me when you get in.
Had I done anything to get myself in trouble? Nothing came to mind. Thanks to the play, I’d been too overstimulated to make mischief. Morgan only shrugged, so he didn’t know either.
Trevor’s office was on the second floor of the house. The room was soundproofed and usually locked. This time, the door was open, but Trevor was studying.
I knocked on the doorframe to get his attention, trying not to act nervous. “Here I thought I’d have to compose a Viking epic to get back in your good graces. Hashtag blessed.”
Trevor’s expression never changed, so I couldn’t tell if I was in for another lecture of my failings or not. “Come and sit down, Gareth. Don’t lurk in the doorway.”
I managed not to roll my eyes as I sat in his horrible antique chair, the only other seat in the room. Maybe someday, Trevor’s eyes would fail him, and I could replace the piece of junk with something that didn’t need wrist shackles. “What’s up?”
Trevor closed his book and leaned across the desk. “I wish to discuss your progress, Gareth. I met some of your new teachers recently at a fundraising event, and they all said they were pleased with you and mentioned how much you contributed to the play. I thought you weren’t interested in classical dance any longer, or I would have kept up the lessons.”
I turned my face away, glaring at the bookshelves. “That was Mom’s thing, and you know it.” I tried to keep my tone neutral, even though conversations about Mom with Trevor ended in shouting. Well. I shouted. He stared at me. I hadn’t bothered mentioning her in years. “I figured it’d be a good way for Morgan to make new friends without choking on his own tongue, and it worked. I’m trying not to mess it up.”
“It never fails to amaze me how you manage to divert the conversation to your brother every time I talk to you,” Trevor said in the same flat tone.
Surprised, I glanced at him. Trevor was frowning down at his desk—delicately, as though a student had asked him a tricky question. Except I’d attended his lectures, and I knew for a fact no one ever asked questions. They’d have to be conscious.
“Believe it or not, I remember being a teenager. What I’m trying to say is I’m pleased you’ve found a positive way to use your talents, Gareth. You are talented, for all you refuse to admit it.”
His statement might not have sounded like a big heartfelt confession, but it was the closest I’ve ever come to having a real conversation with my dad, even if it was a monologue.
I couldn’t even think of anything shitty to say. “Well, don’t get all weepy over me now. I dunno if I’ll do it again.”
Trevor shrugged. “You only have one more year of high school to survive after this, Gareth. I would strongly consider any course which will allow you to keep your nose clean.”
I relaxed. “Oh, good, you weren’t replaced by a life model decoy after all.”
“Gareth, it would be easier for me to have the kind of heartfelt conversations you crave if you didn’t spend the entire time acting as though it were a trial.” His mouth twisted to the side, as though he was giving serious thought to this conversation, not just checking it off a list. “Yes, it’s easier to talk to your brother, because both of us are academics at heart. You are different, Gareth, and I wish to respect your difference, but I’m learning how, the same way you are learning to balance being a student with your desire to have a life outside of academia.”
If we were a normal family, this would be the part where I’d say, Dad, you realize I’m intensely, ridiculously gay, right?
And he would take his glasses off and sigh in his particular way and say, Yes, of course, son, but I didn’t wish to acknowledge it until I was certain you were confident enough in yourself to come to me. I would never betray your trust by discussing anything so personal before you gave me permission. Only with drier professor-speak.
But we weren’t that kind of family, so I shrugged, leaning my head against the back of the chair. “I know. I promise I’m working on it.”
I wasn’t even a dick about it because… I talked shit about Trevor like it was my job, but it’d be nice to have parents who were involved in your life. Who asked you about your friends and your hobbies and your interests. Who didn’t only look you in the eye to tell you you’ve been expelled.
I knew better than to expect it from him, but I knew better about a lot of things.
BACK IN OUR room, Morgan was reading, so I thought he wasn’t going to acknowledge me, but he took off his headphones. “How’d it go?” he asked, trying not to step on any land mines.
I fell backward on my bed. “It was okay, I guess. He said he’s glad I’m doing the play and whatever.”
“He’s trying, Gar,” said Morgan quietly.
I said nothing, because what could I add? I’d been trying, and I’d fucked up, which meant Trevor would too. It was the one way he’d never let me down.
Act Five: Doubt Truth to Be a Liar, But Never Doubt I Love (Now If Only I Could Say That Out Loud)
WE WERE IN the last week of rehearsals. Full costume, full blocking, full dancing. It was…a trip.
For one thing: Felix’s outfit. I straight up had a Disney prince staring at the princess moment when he came out in his dress. They’d given him an evening gown made of shimmering fabric that matched my waistcoat, with a train covered in 3-D flowers and butterflies. For about two steps, he was dignified enough to match the gown. Then he saw Zach pretending to swoon and blushed.
At least nobody saw me staring.
And…I was trying to play it cool, schooling my face back into blankness every time we finished a scene. But I had to admit, standing there in fancy outfits, with painted sets and changing lights to match the mood of each scene, made a huge difference. The big dances looked as good as they had in my head—well, when someone didn’t trip over a piece of scenery or bump into another couple.
I… You know. I felt things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d enjoyed myself this much, especially not at a school-approved activity. And I was already wondering when I’d get to do it again.
Not that I told anyone. I wouldn’t have known how to say it.
One thing saved me. We were running through the play without any stops unless something disastrous happened. Say, when one of the girls caught her heel in the train of her gown and fell through the painted backdrop. But even then, we didn’t pause long. If something broke during the performance, we kept going, disasters or no. It left no time for side conversations, and when we weren’t onstage, we got roped into helping someone change costumes or fix their hair.
FOR SOME REASON, even though we had a Saturday matinee, I had assumed Trevor would not attend the play.
Well, not for some reason. Trevor hated social gatherings, even if he wasn’t required to interact with other people. Sitting around chitchatting made him seasick, unless it was with other academics so he could discuss topics no one cared about. Also, college finals were coming up. Trevor was a terrible lecturer, but he attended his office hours religiously, and he’d spend hours with a single student until their paper was perfect. I’d been stuck waiting for him while he went through round after round of revisions. The only way to fail his class was not showing up.
But no. During one of our weekly family dinners, because somehow it had continued all semester, Trevor said he was giving his students the week off to work on their final drafts before class critique. “Usually, I don’t because they use the time for something else and get behind, but I was pleasantly surprised at the amount my students got done during their other breaks. I’m not sure if it’s a replicable success or if I have a good group this semester, but nevertheless. I am pleased it gives me the chance to spend more time with the both of you.”
“So you’ll be there on opening night, is what you’re saying.” I had to speak up, because Morgan was gaping. Twin telepathy was not a thing, but we knew each other’s shorthand, and the look he gave me told me he hadn’t mentioned the details of our performance.
“Yes, of course,” said Trevor. “Other attendance will depend on how much my class accomplishes, but I’m prioritizing this one.”
I glanced at Morgan again to see what he wanted. He was all but blinking SOS. I had to find a way to stop Trevor. “You do realize there’s cross-dressing?”
Again, this is the part where I’d say, And I have a big fat gay crush on the guy playing Titania, except A) I hadn’t come out for many, many reasons, B) Morgan knew nothing about my feelings for Felix, and C) I had no intention of spending any time with Felix once the play was over. Once I turned down enough invitations, he’d stop asking, and he and Morgan and the rest of the band could get famous while I failed out of college or whatever.
Therefore, I said, “A girl is playing Lysander, and a boy is playing Titania.”
Trevor didn’t bat an eye. “Cross-dressing is well in line with the grand tradition of Shakespeare, as both of you are aware. Anyway, I’m pleased they’re so progressive.”
Well, he threw me. Mom used to host all kinds of benefit parties for AIDS research and stuff, and Trevor still donated money to the same charities. But I’d assumed it was polite lip service, not because he cared.
Maybe I should have come out to him. But whatever. Clearly, now wasn’t the time for loud personal revelations.
Trevor set his fork down. “Which reminds me, I intended to say something to you boys. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how the two of you haven’t spent much time socializing outside of the play. I know you’ve have been hard at work with school and extracurriculars, but you mustn’t neglect your social life.”
Morgan closed his eyes, either at the idea that he ever used to schmooze or that he had any actual friends before we started our new school.
Only it must have been neither, because he said, “What if we wanted to have a party?”
My jaw dropped so hard I might have knocked out some of my teeth and required reconstructive surgery.
Trevor appeared just as surprised. After all, he hadn’t been around to see Morgan blossom, since said blossoming happened at school. As far as he knew, Morgan would rather be chained to a rock and have his liver eaten every day by an eagle than attend a party. “What do you mean?”
“Well—the other kids have been talking about a cast party after the last performance, only they can’t agree on where. We’ve got the space. And…it might be nice. We haven’t in—in a long time.” Morgan’s hesitation had an extra layer to it. My mom loved parties. The house used to be full every weekend. What with Trevor being a social vampire and all, it stopped when she died.
Trevor frowned at Morgan, then at me, trying to make one of us crack. I tried to act innocent, not as though this was the first I’d heard of this plan. “Are you asking because this is Gareth’s idea and you think your proposing it will somehow make it more acceptable?”
“I swear on the ghost of Alan Rickman. This is Morgan’s idea,” I said, raising my hand. “And also we know better than to try it, Trevor. We’re not six anymore. Keep up.”
“I have to admit, this is a change for you, Morgan, but it’s not a bad idea. In fact, it’s good to see this new setting is having a positive effect on both of you. When is the final performance again?”
“Not this Saturday but the Saturday after.” Morgan was still staring at his plate as if he’d never seen it before.
A furrow appeared on Trevor’s brow, but then he shrugged. “I have a conference to attend, so I won’t be home until late. But I hardly see the harm. It isn’t as though you expect to let this go on terribly late.”
“It’ll be a banger,” I muttered, setting my cheek on my hand. “We’ll spend the entire evening working out differential equations. Maybe get real wild and break out the chamber instruments.”
“Your sarcasm is not appreciated, but nevertheless illustrative. I have a hard time picturing a group of teenagers this committed to Shakespeare causing trouble either.”
“Maybe we’ll have a reel in the basement.”
“There’s enough room,” said Trevor, as though it made any kind of sense.
I COULDN’T MANAGE to wait until we were up the stairs to confront Morgan. “You want to have a party?” It came out wrong. I wanted to encourage him, but I was almost shouting. “At what point did we fall into the Mirror Universe? Because I do not look good with a goatee.”
Morgan shrugged. “I figured you’d agree with me.”
“I’ll always back you up. But it’d be nice if you telegraphed your plans. You are allergic to the concept of parties.”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Morgan muttered.
I put my hands on my hips. “Is there something you’re not telling me? I’m okay with not talking about whatever’s going on if you really don’t know, but it’s not cool to keep things from me. We had an entire ‘sharing is caring’ session with the LGBT Whatevers. I’m making a commemorative Care Bear.”
Morgan sat at his desk, not his bed, even though he was done with his homework. “When I figure it out, Gar, you’ll be the first one I tell. You know that.” He took out his braid, letting his hair fall around his face. “I don’t want to be done with this play and then go back to the same old person. I need to change. I know I do. So I need to try something different. I don’t know if this is it, but it’s the only thing I could think of. I feel so…stuck. I don’t want to be who I was before, but I can’t figure out my next step either.”
“I shouldn’t hassle you.” I shoved my hands in my pockets. “It’s not a bad thing. But I almost fainted dead away like a lady in a corset when you mentioned it. You know how delicate my constitution is. I could have hurt myself.”
“You don’t have to rub it in.” But he straightened and brushed the hair away from his face.
He did seem more clear-eyed than I’d ever seen.
I leaned back on my heels. “This is the part where you tell me you expect me to invite everyone to this shindig of yours.”
Morgan rubbed the back of his neck, which was as good as a yes.
“Well. You owe me. I dunno what, but you do.” I slouched across my bed, trying to appear jaded, not overwhelmed with feelings.
“I thought you’d be excited,” said Morgan, without resentment. “You get along with everyone else in the cast. And having a party without Father should make you gleeful.”
“A party with my friends, maybe. You think I was joking about the activities? If I suggest anything wilder than a game of bridge, half the cast will pass out.”
“You don’t give them enough credit,” said Morgan, but mildly. He knew I wasn’t going to argue.
Hey, I never said I wasn’t a pushover. And I wanted Morgan to figure out what was bothering him. To keep liking who he saw in the mirror. If this helped, who was I to argue?
I DIDN’T GET a chance to volunteer our place for the cast party until the first performance. Somehow the teachers roped me into helping the problem students with their dance skills, so if they stumbled, they wouldn’t take their partner down with them.
It gave me a break from dancing with Felix in his goddamn (gorgeous) dress, but still. First, choreographing a school play, and now helping the teacher. At this rate, I’d be volunteering to tutor.
THE FIRST PERFORMANCE was at seven on a Monday. I spent the time after school hiding with Morgan in one of the practice rooms. The LGBT Whatevers were up to undoubtedly hilarious misadventures in the orchestra room, but I did not want to pretend to be nice, and he needed to store up his courage. He was paler than usual, though I hoped he’d feel better once we got on stage. He had the first lines in the play, and…I wanted it to go well. You know. For reasons unrelated to my own personal gain. Somehow, I’d gotten invested in this for my own sake, not Morgan’
s.
When six finally rolled around and we could get dressed, Morgan did relax, so I felt better. Getting myself settled didn’t take long. After all, I could put on my own makeup. Sarah had kindly not teased me because Sarah is not a garbage human being, unlike other people I could mention. When I thought I looked nice, I presented myself to her. I got my jacket yanked so the collar would lay flat and my hair braided for my trouble, but I knew I was getting off easy.
Sarah inspected me one final time, making sure the painting would keep hanging straight, and nodded. “Good enough. Now help Felix with his makeup. Helena’s locked herself in the closet, and I need to see if I can talk her out of it.”
I stiffened. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll draw a dick on his face or something?”
Sarah smiled in a way that could only come from having a black belt in badass. If she killed me, not only would my body never be discovered, but she’d write off the materials on her taxes. “You won’t if you know what’s good for you. Your piece of shit act’s not fooling anyone. Now go and do Felix’s makeup. If it’s not perfect, I will gut you and make pretty bows out of your intestines to put on his dress.”
I snapped her a salute. Sarah didn’t waste time rolling her eyes at me, just marched off to put out the next set of fires.
I waited thirty seconds to step on any bad ideas. No, I couldn’t walk out, nor would going after Sarah and volunteering to be drawn and quartered help.
Felix was already dressed, parked in front of one of the makeup mirrors. “Oh, good, I thought Sarah was going to leave me sitting here until the play started. I mean, I know I’m a klutz, but I have managed to not trip on anything, so I think I’m doing well. Is she coming back?”
I picked up the makeup kit. “She’s not. Helena’s having a nervous breakdown, and Sarah’s going to rescue her, so you need to sit still and let me make you up.”
Felix blinked. “You know how to do makeup?”
