Date Me, Bryson Keller(7)

    “Kai, please explain the assignment to Bryson,” Mrs. Henning continues.

Not at all happy with these turns of events, I nod and stand. Grabbing my belongings, I head down the steps and off the stage. I sit on one of the fold-down seats and place my things next to me. Bryson’s stealing glances at his phone.

Annoyed, I say, “Here.” I hold out a copy of the assignment. “We need to choose a scene from a Shakespeare movie adaptation and perform it on Friday.”

Bryson accepts the paper from my hand. “You okay?”

“Great. Just great.”

Bryson picks up on my sarcasm, because he looks up. His blue eyes have a habit of looking through you. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” I lie. “Let’s just get this over with. We should make some time to get together. Let me know when works for you?” The sooner we make plans, the sooner I can try to convince Mrs. Henning to let me out of detention. I need to finish my script. This is my last shot. And I think an extension is out of the question.

“I have soccer practice tomorrow and Thursday, and I have a game Wednesday night.” Before he can say anything else, his phone rings. I recognize the ringtone. It’s a lesser-known song from my favorite indie band—the Graces. I’m surprised that Bryson Keller of all people knows such a deep cut. Bryson stares at the screen and I see the caller ID—Dad. He swipes his thumb across the severely cracked screen and ignores the call.

    Bryson sighs. He picks up my blazer before taking the seat next to me. He rests his arm on the armrest and we end up touching.

“You free this afternoon?”

I look up from our arms. Our eyes meet and it’s totally unnerving. This is the closest I’ve ever been to Bryson Keller. I jerk my arm away. Bryson frowns.

“Uh, yes. I’m free,” I answer.

“Then how about we get together and at least decide on what movie we’re going to perform.”

“Okay. Where?”

“I know this great café,” Bryson says. “We can go there if you want?”

“Sure.”

“Meet me in the parking lot after school, then.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I stand.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“To beg for my life.”

Mrs. Henning is seated in the front row, flipping through some notes. As I approach her, I take deep, calming breaths. She looks up.

“What can I do for you, Kai?”

“Uh, actually, ma’am…,” I start awkwardly. “I was wondering if—no, hoping that—that you’d let me out of detention today. I can do it tomorrow?”

“Why would I do that?” Mrs. Henning asks. “You were late today. And so you must serve your punishment today.”

“I was hoping to work on my script at lunch. I’m almost done and just need to do a bit more work to get it ready by the deadline. If I don’t, I won’t be able to submit.”

    “Time management matters, Kai. I understand that life happens, but I can’t give you any special treatment. On my way to audition for Elphaba, I broke my toe. But did I let that stop me? Of course not. I worked through the pain, made it on time, and was sensational.”

There isn’t anything I can do or say now. The one thing I wanted for my senior year is slipping away. I would have loved to write the school play for my final year at Fairvale Academy—a small way for me to leave my mark. It was important to me, and now it’s all over—all because of Bryson Keller and this stupid dare.

I head back to my seat. “Why were you late?” I ask. I want to tell him why I was. I want to tell Bryson Keller just how much he has messed up not only my day but my year. I’m angry and annoyed at him. Maybe it isn’t fair, but right now I don’t care.

“Family stuff.” Bryson’s expression is clouded and heavy, and it almost dulls my anger, but then his phone vibrates with a text. “Everyone’s wondering who I’m dating this week.” He smiles then, showing perfectly white teeth.

“Who is it?” I ask. I swear to God, if it’s Louise Keaton, I’ll lose it.

“No one yet. It’s nine-ten and I am still single,” he says. “This hasn’t happened in ages. I miss it.”

That all this has happened for no reason pisses me off, as does his nonchalant attitude. I am drunk on anger and disappointment. It gives me confidence that I never had before.

    “No, you’re not,” I say.

Bryson turns to me again. “Huh?” he asks. He’s clearly confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not single.” I do it. I say the words that I never thought I ever would. “I’m asking you out. I’m first, so this week you’re dating me.”

Just then the bell rings, but Bryson and I stay seated. We’re staring at each other. With each passing heartbeat, my confidence and anger shrivel up and die. Soon I am left with the aftermath of what I have just said, of what I have just done and what it all means.

Bryson bursts out laughing. It’s too loud. It’s clear that he thinks this is a joke. And I know it would be safer for me to laugh it off, too. I’m a senior, in my final year of high school. For these four grueling years, I’ve managed to keep it a secret that I am gay, and just like that, I’ve kicked the closet door open. As I listen to him laugh, I realize that I don’t want him to think this is a joke. My being gay isn’t a laughing matter. I want him to know that I am serious.