If This Gets Out(77)
Those weren’t heart eyes, they were the over-dilated eyes of someone high, panicky, and paranoid. An easy mistake to make by all measures.
Next is a photo of Zach, out to lunch with—
“That’s my cousin,” he cries, aghast. “What the fuck?”
“Cousin, ‘mystery girl,’ potato, potahto, I guess,” I say, curling my lip.
“Which ‘sources’ say they saw us on a whirlwind date on a horse-drawn carriage?” Zach demands. “We caught up for lunch so she could show me her ultrasound photos. Because she’s pregnant. With her boyfriend’s baby.”
I’m too busy scrolling down to my section to reply, a brick sitting in the pit of my stomach. Yup, I’d thought as much—me and all my “girlfriends.” There’s a photo of Amaya, the girl who played Mimi alongside me as Roger in Rent a year before Saturday was formed. Me and Molly, a girl I’d been friends with at Camp Hollow Rock, who I’ve more or less fallen out of touch with. Me getting my hair “lovingly pushed back” by goddamn Penny, Penny, because apparently whoever wrote this article either didn’t bother to research who our hair and makeup artist is, or they simply didn’t care.
Angel rejoins us, buzzing with renewed energy. He has a bounce to his step and he’s running his tongue over his teeth. His eyeliner is already smudged. “Whatcha doin’ over here?” he asks, sitting on the back of my seat and reaching for Jon’s phone.
“Just reading an article about every girl we’ve ever been in the same room with and why that means we’re dating them,” I say.
Angel flicks through the article. “Oh man. Oh man. I—well, you know what, at least they’re fucking acknowledging I’m fuckable,” he says loudly. Then he throws his arms back to address the room. “Breaking news! Chorus realizes it’s actually possible for someone to find Angel attractive! Call the press, this changes everything!”
A few of our team members, including Erin, glance our way, but no one replies or approaches us.
Zach hums. “So, you think the source is David, too, huh? I wondered if it was just me.”
Angel laughs at top-volume, and for several beats too long. It sounds more like a villain’s cackle. “No, Zachy, not just you. If this isn’t David’s doing I’ll jump off the stage and surf the fucking crowd tonight. This is real obvious. Zach and Ruben are super super no-homo, just super straight, everyone.”
“And I’m probably available, with just enough of a question in there to make me seem more appealing,” Jon says dully.
“And I’m also definitely straight, but not the one the fans should be dreaming of,” Angel adds, a vicious edge to his tone.
“So, there’s no reason to even think about shipping anyone with anyone,” I finish, and Angel claps me on the shoulder in approval.
“David sent in a photo of me with my pregnant cousin,” Zach says, indignant, and Angel howls with laughter until he falls right off the chair.
Jon helps Angel to his feet, and I stand to meet him. “Hey, you okay?” I ask.
Angel claps his hands. “Absotively fantastic. I am so, so ready. Let’s fucking go, let’s get onstage, I’m pumped!”
He’s jumping on the spot now.
Not one member of our team seems to mind. They’ve got to have noticed; it’s impossible for them to have missed it. But if they don’t mind, what can be done? It’s not like Angel listens to us.
I hand Angel a bottle of water and force a smile. “Okay. Well. As long as you’re okay, I guess.”
His face clouds and he rips the lid off the bottle with his teeth. “I’m fine, Ruben. Don’t ruin it.”
I glance at Zach and Jon. They’re wearing matching concerned expressions. But their eyes tell me I’m right. There’s nothing we can do that we haven’t already tried. And frankly, between our schedule, and the weirdness over me and Zach coming out, and Zach’s worry about his mom, and my mom texting me with critiques every second of the day, I don’t have the capacity to deal with this. It’s all too big for me to know where to begin.
So, when Erin calls us to head to the stage, I do the only thing I can. I tell myself that Angel’s fine, and it isn’t the end of the world if he has some extra energy onstage, and I push him to the back of my mind, and I get on with the show.
Because I don’t know what else I can do.
EIGHTEEN
ZACH
It’s time.
I need to tell Mom about what’s been happening with Ruben.
I’ve got everything set up for our scheduled FaceTime. I’ve done my hair, pushing it down instead of up, and I’m wearing a shirt I’ve only been wearing lately as PJs: a long-sleeved Falling for Alice one. I guess I’ve done all this to show Mom that even though she’s about to find out something super personal about me, I’m still me. I’m still her weird kid who loves pop punk bands with everything he has. Nothing about me has changed, and I want to show that. I glance at the fan’s embroidery with the ‘Fight Back’ lyrics on them, the one thing I kept from the meet and greet.
My phone starts ringing.
Oh crap.
Oh freaking crap.
I’m frozen. As soon as I answer the phone, I’ll have to have the conversation. And right now, my stomach feels completely twisted. I’m wrung out, honestly. Coming out to her should be fine; Mom is extremely, I mean extremely, liberal. And after coming out a few times now, I’ve learnt how good it feels.