You Know Me Well(15)

“That’s kind of fucked up. Thanks, Mom. Thanks so much.”

“Well. Desperate measures, I guess.”

“So what now?” he asks, and right then his phone lights up.

“The photographer?”

He nods.

“He’s at a friend’s party in Russian Hill.” He turns to me and swallows, a grin spreading across his face. “He gave me the address.”





MONDAY





5





MARK


It takes a day for it to hit. I guess people are tired or something.

But when it hits, it hits.

By Monday morning, it feels like everyone in school has seen. Or at least the people who care about such things. Which includes Ryan.

The blog—the gossip one that everyone reads—calls me an It Boy. The life of the party.

This is open to interpretation. Some of the interpretations include:

I never realized how hot he is.

I heard he’s on drugs.

He must be dating that photographer.

He must be sleeping with that photographer. After all, they’re both gay.

You’d never guess that such a quiet guy parties so hard.

It’s too bad he isn’t straight—I’d date THAT in a second.

Even I can acknowledge that the photo’s amazing. I can say this objectively because I can’t really believe it’s me.

Everybody wants to know the details about what happened or what didn’t happen to It Boy and Rising Art Star.

I don’t know if Ryan finds the link on his own or if someone forwards it to him early Monday morning, knowing we’re friends. I do know, however, exactly when Ryan first sees it, because a few seconds later I get a text from him:

WTF? I think there are some things you have to tell me.

As if he’s told me anything about his weekend. As if I heard from him at all on Sunday.

I’ll see you at school, I text back.

But at school it’s not Ryan I’m looking for—it’s Katie. It’s so strange to think that she’s been here the whole time, walking the same linoleum halls, without me ever really knowing her. I wonder if she’s a member of the GSA, or if there are invisible pockets of lesbians who meet in empty classrooms throughout the school, under the radar of gay boys who are too caught up in their own drama to notice. I myself have never been to a GSA meeting, partly because it wasn’t something I could do with Ryan and partly because I usually had practice at the same time.

I guess Katie and I have formed our own rainbow alliance. It feels like she’s something I’ve always wanted but didn’t know I wanted until I got it: a partner in crime.

In all the craziness of Saturday night, I didn’t think to get her number and put it in my phone. I don’t even know where her locker is. But when Sara Smith comes up to me and says, “You two. Wow, you two,” I know she isn’t talking about me and Ryan. I ask her if she’s seen Katie, and she points vaguely over her left shoulder, which is enough to guide me.

Katie looks to be at the same level of surprise I am—something short of shocked but far past surreal.

“This is insane,” I tell her. “I mean, the plan was to get to Ryan and Violet. But now everyone else is a part of it. Sort of.”

“Have you heard from him?”

“Sort of. Have you heard from her?”

“No. Just Lehna. Who’s livid. She actually called me ungrateful.”

“Did she ask you what really happened?”

Katie shakes her head. We swore that we would only tell them what really happened if they thought to ask.

We’re betting on the fact that they won’t. And living on the hope that they will.

“May I make a confession?” I ask, even though I would never say such a thing if I didn’t already know the answer was yes.

“Please,” Katie says.

“I would just like to state for the record that I wish you could stay at my side all day, so we could go through this together. Whatever this ends up being.”

Katie looks at me with what I think is amusement.

“What?” I ask.

“It’s just that you’re such a softie. I never would have called that.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re on the baseball team? Because we’ve never said three words to each other until this past weekend? Because, in general, I’ve gotten a bro vibe from you whenever I’ve seen you in the halls.”

“You’ve seen me in the halls?”

“You see, that was more the kind of comment I would have expected you to make. A small masterpiece of handcrafted obliviousness, delivered with sincerity.”

She’s saying this, but she’s not saying it critically. I think.

She looks at my expression and chuckles. Then she pats me on the arm.

“Don’t worry. I’d love for you to ride shotgun with me, too. But I’d also like to graduate, and that makes class attendance mandatory. I’ll see you in Calc, though. Think you can fend off the paparazzi ’til then?”

“I guess I’ll have to get used to having my picture taken.”

She gives me another brief pat on the arm, then heads off to first period. I feel a little more alone without her, which is strange.