THE SPRAIN was bad enough that Peter still couldn’t put weight on his ankle by the time the next Theater Club rehearsal rolled around. He was still in charge of set design and the tech crew, so that meant he’d be there late, and he’d asked me to pick him up afterward. Just to make me feel more like a heel, it coincided with when my extra session with Professor Costner let out, so I was already on campus—picking him up was hardly an imposition.
And yet I still resented him for the “gay” comment. Ellie told me I was being petty, and maybe I was, but it pissed me off so much that I’d been mostly avoiding him for the past few days. As he was largely confined to our building if he didn’t have help getting around, that was an easy enough accomplishment. We mostly only interacted at night, or when I drove him to and from the center of campus.
I pulled up to the curb to wait for him. I must have been early, because usually after rehearsal, there were a bunch of people hanging out behind Burroughs Auditorium. Some students waited for rides, some lit up cigarettes, most just lingered chatting before dispersing to go to their dorms or apartments. But no one was there when I cut the engine to my car. Well, there was one guy standing there, leaning against a banged-up old sedan also parked at the curb.
I got out of my car. It was a damp night, though it wasn’t raining just then. I really wanted a cigarette, but I’d kicked that over the summer, so I didn’t have any on me. This guy didn’t look like he would either.
“Hey,” I said to the guy, an athletic type in a Red Sox cap. “Rehearsal’s not out yet?”
He looked up from his phone. “Oh. No. Running late.”
Wanting the company, I walked over. He looked vaguely familiar. Maybe I’d just seen him around campus or he was also in the music program or something. “I’m picking up my roommate,” I volunteered. “He hurt his foot last week.”
“Is your roommate Peter?”
I realized I knew this guy because I’d seen him hanging out with Peter; he was one of Peter’s jock friends. “Yeah,” I said, feeling on guard now.
The guy looked me up and down in a way I found creepy and disturbing, but then he smirked. “I thought you’d be taller.”
I had no idea what that was supposed to mean, so I turned back toward the building entrance. “Ha-ha, everyone make fun of the small guy.”
“Hey, did I make fun? No. Just… Peter has mentioned you, but in his descriptions, you sound… bigger than you are. Or I was just picturing a taller guy, I don’t know. Forget I said anything. I didn’t mean it.” He looked me over again. “He was right, though. You do have a short fuse.”
“The fuck? You guys talk about me?”
The guy opened his mouth to speak but then shut it again and shrugged. “You’re Logan, right? I’m Dave.”
“All right.”
Dave tilted his head. “Look, don’t get offended. All I meant was that Peter has brought you up in conversation a few times. Not in a bad way. Just, you know, ‘Logan’s a violinist,’ or ‘Logan’s giving me a ride to rehearsal.’ That kind of thing.”
He was clearly trying to disarm me, so I took a deep breath and tried to let my anger go. “Sorry. He’s just… I’m not his biggest fan right at the moment. I just want to pick him up and go back to my room so I can finish studying for the exam I have tomorrow.”
“Why aren’t you his biggest fan? Because Peter’s a pretty great guy.”
I took a turn looking Dave over. He was wearing a faded blue T-shirt and dark jeans, nothing eye-catching, and his brown hair curled out from under his baseball cap. He was cute, actually, but also sort of nondescript. He looked relaxed, like he didn’t give a shit whether anyone noticed him. Probably because he was parked there waiting for his undemanding girlfriend.
“He said something the other day that offended me,” I said, figuring I’d keep it vague.
Dave laughed. “Really? What was it?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Dave grinned. “Try me. Peter’s a sweetheart, but he puts his foot in his mouth sometimes, so I get it.”
What an odd thing to say. Had I missed some weird step in evolution where straight guys referred to each other as sweetheart? “Well, if you must know, he said something kind of homophobic.”
Dave stared at me for a long moment, his eyebrows raised. “Homophobic? Peter? Are we talking about the same guy?”
“You know a lot of other Peters with sprained ankles?”
“No. But… Peter is….”
I waved my hand while he stumbled over what to say to placate me. “Maybe he didn’t mean it to be homophobic, but it was. You’d never understand, though. You straight guys say things all the time without realizing how they might come across to someone who isn’t straight.”
“Ah,” Dave said. “I think I see the problem here.”
I couldn’t wait for this explanation. I crossed my arms. “I’ll bite.”
“Okay, first of all, maybe turn the rage down to, like, a five? No need to have it set to eleven.”
I took a deep breath. I supposed I had sounded kind of hostile. “Fine. Sorry.”
“Great. Second of all, you should know, I’m here to pick up my boyfriend. Noel? He’s playing Will Parker.”
I stared at Dave for a long minute, agog. What Dave was telling me did not compute. This guy was gay? And dating Noel? Pretty boy Noel? After hearing about Noel’s amazing boyfriend all semester, this guy was the last person I imagined Noel with, but I believed him. “Oh. Yeah, I know Noel.”
“Don’t make snap judgments, is what I’m saying. And as for Peter, well, do you want to know how I know him?”
I shrugged. “You had a class together?”
“No. I met him at a Queer Student Union meeting.”
This was all too much. “What the hell was Peter doing—”
“It’s probably not even my place to tell you this, but he’s gay. Like, card-carrying, active in the QSU, seems to have a thing for gothy twinks, out to pretty much everyone gay. Although apparently he never came out to you, if by some chance you didn’t know. But anyway, this is why I seriously doubt he said anything homophobic and meant it. Maybe you misheard, or he was joking and you didn’t realize it. But I can’t imagine Peter saying anything remotely hateful.”
Was that what had happened? I thought back on his comment. He’d been saying that he’d wanted to go to art school but couldn’t because it was too gay. I’d been offended by that, but what was he really saying? That art school was too gay for Peter or too gay for his parents? Given the context of the conversation, in retrospect, he must have meant the latter.
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah,” said Dave.
I was prevented from speaking more because the doors burst open and the Theater Club kids all spilled out.
If I’d had any doubts about Dave’s sexuality, they were quickly assuaged. A huge grin bloomed across his face as Noel barreled toward him. Noel threw himself at Dave and Dave caught him. Then Dave kissed him. And kissed him. And kissed him. I looked away, embarrassed.
When they finished making out, Noel said, “It’s good to see you,” and I turned back.
Dave glanced at me. “Yeah, sorry. I know I’ve been working a lot lately….”
Noel seemed to recognize that he’d interrupted a conversation. He turned toward me and waved. “Hi, Logan. Sorry. You here to pick up Peter?”
“Yeah, I….”
“I see you met my boyfriend.” Noel beamed at Dave again.
I turned and looked back toward the doors, hoping to spontaneously combust. It certainly felt like I was about to catch fire, given how hot my face felt. The man himself emerged then, propelling himself forward on his crutches, a girl walking next to him, carrying his backpack. Not his girlfriend, clearly. Because he was gay. And I was a jerk.
He smiled when he saw me. “Hi. Thanks.”
“Of course.” I took the backpack from the girl.
Peter looked between me and Dave. “I see you’ve all met. Ah, Ashley, this is my roommate-slash-chauffeur, Logan.”
Ashley was vaguely familiar, with a lot of curly hair. She offered her hand for shaking. “Nice to meet you.”
We stood around for a moment. I felt awkward as Peter greeted Dave and made small talk. It became clear pretty quickly, though, that Peter was tired, and the way he kept shifting his weight on the crutches indicated he was uncomfortable. So I intervened on his behalf and even did him a solid by playing the jerk. “Hey, we should get going. I’ve got a lot of homework tonight.”
He shot me a grateful look, his eyebrows slightly raised.
We were both quiet as I drove us back up the hill to our dorm. The magical parking pass meant I could park in the lot closest to our dorm, otherwise reserved for the residential staff, and I found a spot in the little lot a few feet from the back of the building. As I parked, Peter said, “I’m going to the doctor tomorrow to see if I can lose the crutches. Lily’s borrowing her roommate’s car to drive me.”
“Okay.”
“So probably this is the last time you’ll have to drive me around. The foot feels all right. I think the bruises under my arms from the crutches hurt more.”
“Sure.” I’d known this moment was coming—I’d been looking forward to being relieved of this particular obligation—but in light of what I now knew, I was… disappointed. We would no longer have our car rides to talk inside our private bubble. Not that our room wasn’t also a bubble of sorts, but there was something about the two of us in my car that felt special, in retrospect.
On the other hand, I wouldn’t have to drive him around anymore. His injured foot was no longer my problem. Right?
“I mean, thanks,” Pater said. “I really appreciate your going out of your way to help me.”
“You’re welcome.” I turned off the car and just sat for a moment, waiting to see if he’d say something more.
He got out of the car.
I helped him back to the room. He put his stuff away and then tossed the crutches at his desk. He lay on his bed.
So quiet was how we were doing things.
He flipped on the TV and changed the channel to some superhero show before settling into his pillow. Taking my cue, I grabbed a book and sat at my desk, pretending to study while sitting with the information that my smoking hot roommate was gay. I supposed that didn’t make him immune to being homophobic, but as I sat there and reexamined every interaction we’d had all semester, I realized how much I’d misjudged him. Hell, he’d been trying to befriend me for a couple of months, hadn’t he? Instead I’d treated him like he had the plague.
God.
I turned to say something—I wasn’t sure what, an apology of some sorts maybe—and saw he’d passed out on the bed, his mouth slightly ajar. Feeling some strange affection for him, and knowing it would get cold in the room when the heat went off in the wee hours of the morning, I grabbed his extra blanket and covered him with it. He stirred slightly and snorted but settled immediately back into sleep.
And I was left wondering what the hell I was supposed to do now.