If This Gets Out(71)

“Hey,” he says, doing a cute little wave and tilting his head up.

I want to jog up to him, pick him up, and kiss him. I don’t know if there are cameras in this room, so I don’t. It’s tough, though, because Ruben in workout clothes … damn. Just, damn. I don’t know how he keeps getting sexier to me, but he keeps finding a way. Seriously, when did his arms start looking like that? When did he start being able to make me feel like this?

We make eye contact, and his eyes sparkle. I want to press him up against that mirror and feel him run his hands down my back. I want him to whisper my name. I don’t care that anyone could see us, because I know with everything I have that it’d be worth it. Screw the world. Screw everyone but Ruben.

Or, maybe screw Ruben. If he wanted that.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks. He chews his bottom lip, like he knows I’m thinking about screwing.

I scrub the back of my head. Keep it together, man.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh?”

My chest tightens, making it hard to breathe. Does he even know how much him looking at me makes me feel? Does he even know how bad I have it for him?

I catch Angel rolling his eyes. “You two really need to learn the meaning of ‘secret relationship.’”

“Whatever, Angel,” says Ruben. “You wouldn’t know subtle if it hit you in the face.”

“Last I checked I’m not the one keeping a huge-ass secret from … fromage, ah yes, that was the word I was thinking of.”

He changed tack as the door opened. It’s just Val, though. Now her bubblegum-pink hair is loose. She scans the room.

“What’d I miss?”

“Nothing,” says Angel.

She scoffs. “Like I’d believe that for a second. Where’s Jon?”

Good question.

“He was talking to Geoff,” says Angel, who is mid–calf stretch. “He asked for some privacy. I was more than happy to give it to him, of course, because I’m a stand-up guy.”

“Pfft. He better hurry up. The backup dancers get here in half an hour and we’ve got a lot of ground to cover before then.”

The door swings open again, and Jon rushes inside.

“Sorry!” he says, rushing to dump his bag and unzip his hoodie. He’s actually showing the least skin of all of us, in a plain black tee. I wonder if that’s intentional.

I stand next to Ruben, in our usual formation.

“Actually,” says Val. “I was thinking we could switch things up for this video? To keep things fresh. Ruben, can you stand next to Jon?”

“Sure.”

He walks around, so he’s at the other end of the lineup. It feels weird. We never perform like this.

Something is up.

“Great,” she says. “Let’s get started.”



* * *



It’s official.

They’re keeping Ruben and me apart.

I first noticed it on the first night of our shoot. The theme for the video is that we’re futuristic race car drivers, who dance for some reason, and they’ve built us a few massive sets at the studio.

During that first dance rehearsal, Ruben and I were positioned at opposite ends of the lineup. I thought it might be Val just trying something different.

Now though? I’m sure something malicious is happening.

We’ve spent the past two days shooting our solo scenes, each in front of a partially built set backed by a green screen. I posed with a futuristic sky-blue Aventador, and I was put in a custom black-and-blue leather racing jacket that was so tight it was like a second skin. My hair was spiked up and a few of the front strands were temporarily dyed blue by Penny. Each of us has a color motif for the video: Ruben is red, Jon is gold, and Angel is white.

For each chorus, we have a group choreo scene. In the first one, Ruben and I were kept apart, at opposite ends of the band. We’re halfway through filming the second group number now, and it’s happening again. This whole video, we’re as far apart as we can possibly be, when we always used to be side by side.

We go through the number for what’s got to be close to the five-hundred-thousandth time. Erin is on set, watching us carefully, her arms crossed.

“And, cut,” calls the director. “I think we got it.”

“Home time, boys,” says Angel.

The energy in the room quickly changes, as now it seems like all anyone wants to do is get away from here. Lighting guys turn off the dozens of lights pointed at us, sound guys start packing up their equipment, and our director slumps down in her chair.

“Hey, Zach,” says Ruben. “Got a sec?”

I nod, and follow him through the set, to a quiet spot.

“Have you noticed anything weird about this video?” he asks.

“Are you talking about how they’re keeping us apart?”

“I am. Tell me I’m not the only one who thinks that was see-through?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? It could just be a coincidence.”

“You haven’t been dealing with this stuff as long as I have, and trust me, there are never any coincidences when it comes to Chorus.”

“Right.”

“But I dunno, maybe we’re overthinking it.”

That seems unlikely. I trust Ruben’s judgement. If we both noticed it, then chances are high that it is actually a thing. That they actually are keeping us apart to try to keep our relationship a secret.