When Everything Is Blue(54)

“I need some time,” he says, and I sense that he needs a little space to process as well. I back away, find my phone and keys, while Chris watches me with a stoned expression on his face.

“Can you take me to the DMV tomorrow after school?” I ask him. My mom could do it for me, but I want Chris there, partly because that’s how it was always supposed to be, and also because I want to show him we can be friends, just friends, if that’s what he wants.

“Yeah, of course.” He stands to walk me out. He’s still shirtless, wearing only his briefs, his junk bulging against the thin material. I bite my lip. This isn’t going to be easy, but at least I no longer have to lie to him or hide it.

“See you tomorrow,” he says absently, then grabs for my shirt with one hand and pulls me in close for another kiss. My mouth melts against his like warm chocolate. When we finally break apart, Chris seems reluctant to let me go.

“Take care, Boss,” I tell him.

“Don’t let your mom see that hickey.”

“Heard.”

I gallop down the stairs and out of his house. It’s late now and the streetlights are on, bathing the streets in an oily yellow glow. I grab an old skateboard from my garage and take a tour of the neighborhood, thinking about Chris and all the thoughts that must be swirling around in his head right now. I’m not going to pressure him or make any demands. I’ve made my feelings known, and that’s all I can do. I think of Gloria tucking the napkin into my uncle’s shirt and laying out his food for him in preparation for the feast.

I’ve set the table for Chris and served up the meal. It’s up to him to take the first bite.





Headroom, Something that Sounds Dirty but Isn’t


MONDAY MORNING is my first day back at school postouting. To hide the huge gnarly hickey Chris gave me, I wear one of his old polo shirts and pop the collar, like some of the assholes at school who do it as part of their preppy look. I also bring my cans to school, even though you’re not supposed to wear them in the hallways. I need to drown out the static coming my way. Mostly it’s dudes asking me what’s in my mouth and girls giggling when they think I’m not paying attention. A few guys call me a fag, but it’s pretty halfhearted. No one tries to kick my ass or says anything as nasty as what’s online. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.

Right before lunch I’m at my locker, just trying to keep my head down, when someone taps me on the shoulder. I glance over and Ryanne’s holding up her phone. If it was anyone else, I’d ignore them, but I have a soft spot for Ryanne, who always goes out of her way to say hi to me when we pass by in the hallways. I slide my cans around my neck and say what’s up.

“I have something I want to show you,” she says with a smile on her face.

“I’ve already seen it.” The answer to What’s in Wooten’s mouth, it’s cock.

She shakes her head. “It’s my cousin’s car. He’s moving to New York, and he wants to sell it quickly.” She hands me her phone, and I scroll through the pictures where her cousin posted it on Craigslist. It’s a gunmetal gray Honda Accord sedan, six years old. From the photos, it appears to be in pretty good shape.

“Sixty thousand miles,” I muse. “Not bad.”

“The first owner hardly ever drove it, and Hondas last forever. It looks small, but my cousin’s a tall guy like you. Says he bought it because of the headroom.”

I’m definitely interested. I tell Ryanne I’m going for my driver’s test that afternoon, and I’ll text her to let her know how it goes. She offers me a ride to go see it later in the week.

“Good luck,” she says brightly. “I’ll let my cousin know you’re interested.”

At lunch, Tomás has a Hacky Sack, and I stand around with him and Corbin and a few other guys and bat the ball around. No one says a word about the incident, and I don’t think it’s because Chris is there. I think they’re all a little tongue-tied with me, not wanting to embarrass me any more, which I appreciate. Dave’s not around, and he hasn’t come to his locker either. I’m tempted to ask about him, but my sister informed me that morning the big question has evolved from What’s in Wooten’s mouth to Who’s in Wooten’s mouth, and I don’t want to give the gossip mill any more grist.

At the end of school, there’s a note stuffed in my locker, folded like a paper football with Theo written on the outside of it. I don’t know Dave’s handwriting, but I figure it’s probably from him. I blocked him from my phone and deleted his number, and I haven’t responded to any of his previous appeals. I tuck the note in my pocket. Maybe I’ll light it on fire later.

The DMV still takes forever, but at least Chris is there to keep me company. We sit in a corner of the waiting room, away from everyone else, because Chris has questions of a delicate nature. It’s strange, because I’ve always been the one going to Chris for advice. For now, it seems our roles are reversed. It’s kind of refreshing.

“What’d your mom say about it?” he asks me about coming out.

“She was cool, but I figured she would be.”

“And your dad?”

“I haven’t told him yet.”

“Are you going to?”

“Not if I don’t have to.” Yeah, I’m a wiener, but every time I imagine it, it ends in disaster. In fact, I’d rather imagine an actual disaster than think about coming out to my dad. Maybe I should upload my dad to the Sims and come out to him there to see how it all plays out.