When Everything Is Blue(32)

“I don’t always know what to say.” Chris turns away to put up the dishes and wipe down the counter—he even tidies up after himself. I get the urge, then, to talk about what happened in Sebastian. To ask him if it was just some weird mood, or if it meant something to him, but I don’t want to ruin this moment we’re having, and I really can’t afford to lose any more allies right now.

“If it was legal, I’d totally marry this grilled cheese sandwich,” I tell Chris in appreciation of his culinary abilities.

“How would you consummate the marriage?” he asks with a leer. I grin and poke a hole through the sandwich with my finger. Chris shakes his head and throws a dishtowel at me, so I wiggle my finger a little more until he cracks up. God, I love his laugh.

“I’ve seen worse matches,” he says, and I grin, excited by it because we’re talking about sex, even if it is with a grilled cheese sandwich. My mother would be so horrified.

I finish eating, and we head upstairs. Chris keeps this trunk of snacks at the end of his bed—I call it his treasure chest. It’s filled with every kind of snack cake, candy bar, and potato chip imaginable. I’m surprised he doesn’t have ants in his room. We gorge ourselves on snacks. Then I convince Chris he’s going to get fat from all the junk food he eats, so he tells me we should go swimming to work it off. It’s stopped raining, so I borrow one of his pairs of board shorts, and we go out back. We goof off in the water, acting like total idiots, horsing around like we haven’t since before he left for summer.

Afterward we lie back on lawn chairs and stare up at the hazy, light-polluted sky. The scent of chlorine is in the air and the faint sweetness of cut grass. Smells like summertime.

“I missed this,” Chris says.

“Yeah, me too.”

“You’ve changed since last year,” he says and rolls over to face me. The shark’s tooth dangles from his neck and the light from the pool plays on his face, making his eyes dance. He’s gorgeous in all lighting.

“How’s that?” I ask.

“You’ve, like, grown up. Started shaving. Got a J-O-B. Mr. Man.”

“Trying to please you, Boss,” I joke, only not really. When I think about the male role models in my life, Chris is who comes to mind. I’d be truly lost without him as my guide. Maybe I can’t tell him how I really feel, but there are other emotions I have for him that have nothing to do with my sexuality and everything to do with the kind of person he is.

“I really admire you, Chris. The way you’ve always stood up for me, and other dweebs like me. The way you keep peace in the jungle at school. And you’re always doing nice things for other people. You’ve been a really good friend.”

“Are we breaking up?”

I chuckle. “No, man, I’m trying to express myself. Isn’t that what you’re always telling me I need to do?”

“Yeah.” He rolls onto his back and clasps his hands over his perfect, ripped abs. I give myself to the count of three—three seconds to stare, and then I look away.

“Anyway, you’ve always been there for me, since that first time. I hope I’m there for you too, when you need me.”

“You are, Theo.” He sighs. “You are.”




WE DON’T end up watching any horror movies. I’m exhausted from all the emoting of the day. I roll out the futon cushion I normally sleep on when I spend the night, and Chris pulls out my favorite old comforter, well-worn and smelling of him. Even stale-smelling Chris is pretty nice.

We each get comfortable in our beds, and Chris shuts off the lights. After a few minutes, he leans over the side of his bed.

“You awake?” he asks.

“No,” I tease.

“Come up here.”

I don’t question it. His bed is a king-sized. I used to share with him before it got weird. I even have my own side. I climb up and lie on my side, facing him in the dark.

“Remember the time we watched It and you made me barricade the bedroom door to keep Pennywise out?” he asks.

“And developed a phobia of clowns?” He grins and I continue the thread. “Remember when we watched Dr. Giggles and you asked me where my dad kept the dead bodies.”

Chris starts cracking up. “And you were taking a shower….” He can’t stop laughing long enough to finish, so I do it for him.

“And you shut off the lights and screamed like your head was being chopped off.” He’s laughing so hard there are tears coming out of his eyes. “And I busted my ass in the shower and almost got a concussion. Your mom was so pissed.”

“You were buck naked,” he says, wheezing. “Tore down the shower curtain and everything.”

Some of the plaster came out of the wall as well. I felt really bad about it. Not to mention the embarrassment when we had to explain it to his parents.

“So not cool,” I say.

“You were so pissed,” he says between gasps.

“Yeah, and I seriously went looking for the dead bodies the next time I was at my dad’s office. The receptionist was all, like, what are you looking for? And I had to be, like, um, an extra toothbrush?”

“I didn’t mean to traumatize you,” he says, looking sad as a pound puppy, but I know he’s not sorry at all.