I inhale a protein bar on the way to AP English. I’ve got to keep my energy levels up before the big game tonight. The room’s empty when I get there, nobody but me in a hurry to discuss ancient Greek poetry. Gives me a quiet moment to skim back through the assigned passages from The Odyssey, and I focus on the section we’re reading today, about Tiresias in the underworld.
“Know why I like you?” Susan says.
I blink and look up from my book to find her leaning over me. She smiles, flips her hair, and sits on my desk. I focus on my beautiful girlfriend and all the details of her I’m still learning, like the pattern of the freckles on her shoulders, and can’t think of much to say. My family might be coming apart at the seams and Morgan might be turning into someone I barely recognize, but at least this part of my life is still here, uncomplicated and good.
Susan’s finger tips up my chin.
“Why’s that?” I say.
“Are you a jock? Are you a nerd? Are you a hipster?” She shrugs. “It’s the layers.”
“I try,” I say.
“So I wanted to talk to you about your birthday present…” She leans in for a kiss as the rest of the class files in. Sometimes I kind of suspect Susan likes me more for what I am than who I am, like it’s important for her to be seen with me. But I genuinely like being around her, so I move my lips against hers and let the thought fly away.
“Save it for the backseat,” my English teacher, Mrs. Brown, says. A few of the students give a scandalized, “Ohhhhhhhh.” Susan’s face turns red, but when she drops into her own seat I notice she’s smiling.
Class proceeds. As interested as I am, it is the golden hour after lunch, so it’s hard not to drift off.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I flinch in surprise. The students around me quietly laugh. Susan hisses and I pull my phone out, opening a text from her. I glance at it, and immediately feel my cheeks turn hot.
I think I’m ready, it reads. Tonight? A line of hearts and suggestive smiley faces line the bottom of the message. We’ve talked about it before, but I didn’t want to push. I grin to myself and send back a smiley face. If Susan is ready then I’m ready too.
We could probably go to my house, as long as my parents aren’t whisper-fighting in their room—which is pretty much the norm these days. With both Isaac and Peyton permanently moved out now, maybe it feels like they have less to hide, or maybe things have just gotten that bad. Isaac’s all the way in Seattle, drafted by the Seahawks, and nobody’s heard anything from Peyton in forever—I can’t believe it, but I miss him. It would be nice to have someone at home to distract from Mom and Dad’s constant sniping.
My brain fast-forwards to after tonight’s game, to how it will all go down, when I stop in my tracks, remembering that it would mean bailing on the college party and Morgan and my birthday plans—loose as they are. Barring the third grade chicken pox fiasco, our birthday streak still stands, and it seems like a shame to break it. But, I mean, I can’t tell Susan that. What guy refuses to lose their virginity so he can hang with his friend?
I’d be lying if I said a small part of me doesn’t want to prove, to myself if nobody else, that I really am straight. The kiss doesn’t haunt me as much now that Morgan’s gone full diesel—not a glimmer of attraction since he shaved his head and started putting on muscle—so I figure it really was just how feminine he used to be, but it’s still hard not to shake sometimes that my first kiss was with a boy. I don’t know. It’s nice not dealing with the confusion as much, but sometimes I miss the way things were, confusion and all. But I tell myself that Morgan doesn’t seem to want to go back. He’s happy now, right? All I want is for Morgan to be happy.
That afternoon, I try to find Morgan to explain. His afternoon history class is in the room next to the chemistry lab. I wait by the door, but when the last student files out with no sign of him, I frown. Where the hell is he? I can’t text him in the halls without having my phone taken away, so I sigh and make my way to German II, my last class of the day, resigning myself to being late as the second bell rings. I’m practically running when I pass by the back loading bay, near the cafeteria, hear a door creak, and look up to find Morgan slipping in through the doors.
“There you are,” I say. “What were you doing?”
Morgan blinks slowly as if he just woke up from a nap. He shoves his hands in his pockets and shrugs.
“I was tired from the weight room,” he says. His voice is distant. “Needed some air.”
Something sharp hits my nose and I realize it’s the smell of vodka. Most of the guys on the team drink on weekends. It’s a lot of stress to have a whole town putting their hopes on you every week, especially in a town like this, where athletic scholarships are the only way out for a lot of us.
More and more, though, I’ve noticed Morgan doesn’t just drink on the weekends. At first he would show up to parties with a bottle of rum and mix it with soda, and that was all right. Then he started leaving the liquor at home and showing up to parties with his eyes already glassy and distant. Now, if I’m being honest, that’s how he looks a lot.
“Okay,” I say. “Anyway. I have to cancel our plans tonight.”
“That’s fine,” Morgan says, not even a lick of curiosity in his voice.
“You’re sure?” I’d rehearsed this in my head and it’s not going the way I expected. Like it’s our birthday and it stings that he truly doesn’t care, but I guess I’m the one canceling.
“It is?”
“Yeah, it’s cool.”
“’Cause Susan said she’s ready to—” I start to say, but he just sucks something out of his teeth.
“Yeah,” he says. We reach his destination and he turns for the door. “Do your thing.”
“We can reschedule.”
“If you want,” he says. “I’ll see you at the game.” He gives me a perfunctory wave and slips into his class.
I stand in the empty hallway, clenching and unclenching my fists, not completely sure what just happened.