On the way up the sidewalk from the church parking lot, Matt trudges alongside me, his hands in his pockets. I’m confused. I thought he was just going to drop me off, but here he is walking in with me. But he can’t. I don’t know that I can hide a lot from God, regardless, but bringing Matt to church is pretty much a neon sign screaming out my impure thoughts. God would have to be oblivious not to notice my heart pounding, the flushes of heat that his every look sends over me. I might well be struck dead if I walk across the threshold with my actual crush in tow. I can’t do that to my parents right now.
A few steps shy of the door, somehow I lose the ability to put one foot in front of the other. “I don’t want to go in there.”
Matt stops. “So, we skip it,” he says. “Tragedies happen. Maybe they don’t get to enjoy the salad this year, without Sheila.”
Hearing her name in someone else’s words again feels strange. Good and bad all at once.
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe we toss the salad onto the table real quick and bounce. Laser tag is still an option.”
It’s not an option. Not for me. Not tonight.
“I don’t think I’m up for laser tag,” I say. Making the salad and getting my ass over here pretty much took it out of me.
“That’s cool,” Matt says. “Anyway, I can tell this is important to you, so let’s go in.”
“Yeah.” And yet my feet aren’t moving. We’re inches from the door. It could open at any moment. Someone else could come up behind us and need to pass. I’ll have to introduce Matt to everyone. The handful of kids from church who go to my school are going to know right away who Matt is. And what Matt is. He’s famous.
Anxiety quickens my breath. We can’t walk in there. But how can I tell him without ruining everything?
“Or, maybe you need something to distract your mind,” Matt says. “A game.”
“What kind of game?”
Matt moves closer. Close enough to make my heart skip. Close enough to make me glance around to see who else might be arriving. “We’re gonna walk in there and people are gonna say all kinds of inane shit, right?”
I nod. No way out of it now.
“Right, and we’re going to respond. Calmly and politely.”
I nod. Maybe the worst they’ll think is that I’ve recruited the gay kid to come to youth group. Maybe it’s good for my poster-child image.
“Except, everything we say has to have a double meaning,” he says.
“What?” That’s an unexpected twist, to say the least. “That’s not possible.”
Matt makes his voice husky. “Sure it is; we can do it all night.” He winks. “See?”
“But, I can’t—”
“Come on, put your back into it.”
No. “That’s so…”
“Queer?” Matt’s eyes sparkle. At least one of us is having fun.
“I wasn’t going to say … that word.”
“It’s not such a bad word.” Matt glances up at the cross above the door. “In most places, anyway.”
That’s the rub, I think, accidentally playing his game. Uh-oh.
He stacks his hands beneath his chin and gazes upon me sweetly. “So … are you gonna do it with me?” He bats his eyelashes.
I groan. “Oh God.”
Matt slugs my shoulder. “See, now you’re getting some … er, getting it.”
We laugh. Our breath fogs in the cold twilight, two mingling whitish clouds. It’s reckless, goofy, and far too queer for comfort, but in the warmth of Matt’s presence, something loosens in me. We’re over the threshold before I know it.
The lobby is quiet, but music pulses from the fellowship hall beyond.
Matt throws his arm across my shoulders, real casual. “Hold up. Do we need a safe word?”
“A what?” I use the question as an excuse to slide out from under. Not here. Not here.
Matt takes the hint. “A safe word. If it’s too much, and you want to bail, just say … arugula.”
“Arugula?”
“Yeah, but not like a question.”
“Arugula.”
“Exactly.”
“Arugula.”
“And not until after we drop off the salad.” He pats my back and opens the fellowship hall door for me.