I have to hand it to Paul: he’s gone from homophobia enabler to gay-love coach in about half an hour. At first I think it’s some kind of weird joke when he tells me that we should drive into the city and confront John, but he sounds sincere, and I can’t think of any reason not to believe him.
After mulling it over for, like, ten seconds, I begin to see the romantic potential in the whole scenario. Maybe John will be so excited to see me that we’ll make out right there in the middle of the street in front of his house, and then his parents will stand in the doorway and be so touched by our love that they’ll give our relationship their full blessing, and then Paul will drive us back to town and we’ll kidnap Ryan Penner and duct-tape his fat bigoted ass to a telephone pole, and then Candace will spray-paint something hilarious all over him, and then we’ll skid triumphantly to a stop in front of the school and everyone at the prom will come streaming outside to see what the commotion is, and then we’ll have a huge flash-mob dance-o-rama in the parking lot.
At the very least, I’ll get to meet the guy in person for the first time.
Paul looks like he’s going to poop his pants when Dad hands him the keys to the Audi. We sit in the garage for a minute as he caresses the steering wheel. Then he turns the key, revs the engine and pulls out into the street. Before we know it, we’re flying down the highway and into the city.
“You sure you know where he lives?” asks Andrea.
“Thirty-two Weldon Street,” I say without hesitating. “I’ve Google-Street-Viewed the shit out of that place.”
“All right,” says Paul. “Here goes nothing.”
Candace knows the area, so she directs Paul to a residential neighborhood. We turn onto John’s street and all of a sudden we’re there, sitting in front of his house.
“What now?” I ask.
“What do you mean, what now?” says Andrea. “Go up and ring the doorbell. Ask for John. Tell him what you think.”
“I don’t know what I think,” I say. It’s true. Now that we’re here, and I’m going to see the first guy I almost dated, I don’t know what I think about it. Maybe Andrea was right earlier. Maybe I don’t really know anything about this guy.
Candace leans in from the backseat. “Roemi, this is no time to be a chickenshit.”
“Sorry,” I say. “I am a chickenshit. I can’t do it. One of you has to go up and see if he’s home.”
“I’ll go,” says Andrea. “I don’t mind talking to him. I’ll get him to meet you around the corner or something.”
She jumps out of the car, and we watch her run up and ring the doorbell. After a minute, a man I assume is John’s dad opens the front door. Andrea talks to him briefly, and then he closes the door and she runs back to the car.
“He’s not home,” she says.
“Where is he?” I ask.
“His dad doesn’t know. Out with friends somewhere.”
I feel kind of relieved and totally crushed at the same time.
“Well, that’s that, I guess,” I say.
“What are we going to do now?” asks Paul. He looks at me. “You get to choose, man. Whatever you want.”
I think for a second.
“Do they have a Bizzby’s here?”
“You have got to be kidding me,” says Candace, but she’s laughing.
It amazes me how everything looks much the same whether you’re in a suburb or a small town or a city. There’s always a stretch of street with a Starbucks and a Walmart and a bunch of fast-food places. Bizzby’s diners are popping up everywhere, like mushrooms. We cruise down a street lined with shops and restaurants; if you squinted, you’d swear you were driving along the strip in Granite Ridge. Or San Francisco, or Winnipeg. Stick some onion domes on top of those suckers and you could be in Moscow.
Andrea points out a Bizzby’s, and we pull into the parking lot. Just as we’re about to get out of the car, I say, “Stop.”
“What’s the deal?” asks Paul.
“That’s him,” I say, staring through Bizzby’s big plateglass window. “That’s John.”
He’s in a booth with two girls. They’re all laughing about something, and it looks like I’m the last thing on his mind. My heart sinks. What else did I expect? The guy stood me up.
“Oh, he’s just doing a great job of pretending to be straight,” I say. “They’re probably sharing a banana split and talking about Glee.” I try to sound like I don’t care, but my heart is pounding and my mouth is dry. I wonder if he knows how excited I was about tonight. I stare at him through the window, trying to make out what he’s saying. He looks happy, which pisses me off. I’m aware of Paul and Candace and Andrea looking at me, waiting for me to make a move.
“Let’s go,” I say finally.
“What? No way, man,” says Paul. He reaches over, grabs me by the shoulder and shakes me. “We found him, Roemi! We can’t just turn around and leave.”
“What good is it going to do?” I ask. “What’s the point? He’s obviously happier hanging out with his stupid friends here at Bizzby’s—which, I should add, is my favorite place in the world, not his!”
“Roemi,” says Andrea, “calm down. I’m going to get him out here.”
“No, don’t!” I say. “None of his friends know he’s gay! I’m pissed at the guy, but I don’t want to out him!”
“Don’t worry,” she says. “I won’t out anyone.”
I watch helplessly as she walks up to the door and goes into the restaurant. Through the window, I see her walk right up to John’s booth. He and his friends look up as she speaks. My heart starts to pound again as he gets up and follows her outside. Then he’s beside the Audi, and Andrea is opening the back door.
He bends down to look past her into the car, the curious look on his face turning quickly to confusion when he sees me.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
I can’t think of anything to say. He looks totally freaked out, although he doesn’t move.
“Hey,” says Candace, sticking out her hand to him. “I’m Candace, and this is Paul. You obviously know Roemi. Why don’t you get in?”
He hesitates, then quickly turns to look back through the restaurant window. His friends are busy talking, not paying any attention to us. He hesitates again, then climbs into the backseat. Andrea follows and closes the door behind them. Crammed between Candace and Andrea, John looks like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth.
“Okay, what’s happening?” he asks, looking right at me. “What are you doing here?”
Now that we’re face to face, I can’t think of what to say. This seemed like such a good idea when Paul suggested it, but it’s just really awful and awkward. All the scathingly witty things that I’ve been working out in my mind evaporate. The car fills with a dense, uncomfortable silence. Then Paul speaks up, turning around to look John in the eye.
“We’re Roemi’s friends, and we wanted to help him find out why you ditched him tonight.”
“This is really weird,” says John. “I—this is—how am I supposed to talk to you with a bunch of people here?”
“I think there’s a park around the corner,” says Candace. “Why don’t you guys go over there for some privacy?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think this is a good idea,” he says.
Finally, I find my voice. “Good idea?” I say. “Here’s a bad idea for you. How about standing me up on the biggest night of my life? Do you see this tux? This cost a lot of money to rent. I had everything planned!”
“Fine,” he says, sighing. “Let’s go.”
We get out of the car and walk around the corner and into a little park with a playground. I follow him to a swing set and take a seat. Neither of us says anything for a minute. We just sit there, floating above the sand. Kicking our feet.
“What do you want to ask me?” he finally says.
“Why did you do this?” I ask him. “Why did you lead me on and then just drop me like that?”
“Okay, wait a minute,” he says. “I didn’t lead you on. You dragged me along, and then I freaked out at the last minute. I didn’t know how to tell you how I felt, and every time I tried, you brushed me off and hijacked the conversation with prom talk.”
“But you sounded like you wanted to come!” I say.
“I did,” he says. “Or at least, I thought I did. The idea of it sounded kind of fun. You made being gay sound so easy, and I started to think I could do it—I mean, I liked thinking that I could just be myself.”
“You can be yourself!” I say. “Look at me!”
“You don’t get it, Roemi,” he says. “My parents are super religious. When my sister got a tattoo, they freaked out. Grounded her for weeks. I can’t risk them finding out about me—not now, not while I’m still living with them. It’s easy for you, and I admire that, but it isn’t easy for me.”
“You think it’s easy for me?” I say. “You think I just roll through life without any hassle? I’m the only out gay kid at my school. Tonight I had garbage thrown at me from a moving car, and I was called names by at least two people. You think that’s easy?”
He looks at me sadly. “Don’t you understand? That’s why I’m so afraid.”
“Well, it’s better to be yourself and be afraid than to hide and be afraid,” I snap.
“Maybe,” he says.
“You really hurt my feelings,” I say after a minute. My voice cracks a little bit, and I think I might start crying. I don’t care. I want him to feel bad.
“I know,” he says. “I should have said something to you. I’m really sorry. I really do like talking to you online. I was starting to build up the nerve to actually meet you, go for coffee or something, and then you sprang this prom thing on me. I’m not ready for that, Roemi.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“Don’t apologize,” he says. “I’m the one who should be sorry for ruining your night.” He gets off the swing. “I should get back,” he says. “Are we cool?”
This isn’t what I expected. I thought we were going to have a big romantic moment, but instead I’m getting ditched for the second time in one night.
“We’re cool,” I say finally. But I can’t look at him. I can feel him staring at me. Then he walks away.
I dangle in the swing for a few more minutes before I get off and walk back to the car.