We Are the Ants(62)

Marcus looked up when I approached, and broke into a splintered grin. “I didn’t think you were gonna come.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You look good.”

“You . . . don’t.”

Marcus stopped pacing and stuffed his hands into the front pocket of his hoodie. “I miss you.”

“Is that why you wanted to see me?”

“Isn’t that enough?”

“Whatever we had ended when you jumped me in the showers.”

“You used to like it when I jumped you in the shower.”

“Good-bye, Marcus.” I turned to leave, but he called for me to wait. His voice cracked, as did my resolve. “What do you want?”

“You’re with that Diego guy, aren’t you?”

“No . . . it’s complicated.”

“Does he make you happy?”

“Marcus . . .”

“We were happy, weren’t we?”

“You were horny, and I missed Jesse.”

“It was more than that,” Marcus said. “For me, anyway.”

“Then how come you never told your friends you were f*cking Space Boy?”

Marcus looked at the sidewalk, the grass, rarely at me. “Why didn’t you?”

The question caught me off guard. “Obviously because you didn’t want me to.”

“Did you ask? Did you ever think maybe I was hoping you’d tell people because I was too scared to do it myself?” His voice was colder than the Boomerang Nebula.

I tried to recall the many opportunities I’d had to out Marcus. There was the time his parents came home early from Greece, and I hid under his bed while his mother recounted the horror of nearly having to fly coach because the bastards at the airline had overbooked first class. Or the time Adrian nearly caught us making out behind the English building. Marcus shoved me to the ground to cover, and I skinned my palm. We had quite a few close calls, but I thought Marcus liked the thrill. I never once wondered if he was hoping we’d be caught. “Did you really want that?”

“Remember when you asked me if I’d save the world?”

“I didn’t think you’d heard me.”

Marcus snorted like I was stupid to think otherwise. “Well, I would.”

“Why?”

Instead of answering, he pulled a folded envelope from his back pocket and handed it to me. “Merry Christmas, Henry.”

Marcus tromped off, leaving me standing behind the auditorium still trying to think up a reply. A sane person would have reveled in seeing Marcus brought so low, but I hated him that way.

I tore open the envelope. The Christmas card sported a picture of a hunky frat boy who resembled Marcus in a revealing Santa suit. Across the top it said I’ll jingle your bells. He’d taped a prepaid calling card to the inside and written Space Boy, use this to phone home. And if no one answers, I will. Love, All-Star Plumbers.





19 December 2015


If I weighed 146 pounds and Diego weighed 162 pounds, and the distance separating us was fractionally nothing, then the gravitational force between our noncelestial bodies was approximately equal to three times the force a seat belt applies to a restrained passenger in a vehicle traveling at sixty-three miles per hour when it collides with a stationary object.

You can’t fight gravity. Gravity is love. Love requires us to fall. Anyway, I couldn’t have reached the escape velocity required to break free of Diego even if I’d wanted to.

“Why do you keep laughing?” Diego asked. His skin was damp with sweat, but I didn’t mind.

“Your hair tickles my nose.”

“Then stop kissing my neck.” Diego paused. “On second thought, definitely don’t stop.” He pulled me on top of him, running his hands up the back of my shirt, holding me like the last note of a song.

When Diego kissed me, I could hardly believe it was real. Believing Diego liked me and wanted to be with me seemed more implausible than being abducted by aliens who wanted me to decide whether to save the world. If I thought about it too long, doubt burrowed into my brain, multiplying and feeding on my fears. Mom was working, and I’d only invited Diego over to play the new Zombie Splatter, but we started kissing and I knew we should stop, but I didn’t want to.

Diego sat up, breathing heavily. “I think my lips may fall off.”

“That would be unfortunate. And gross.” I grabbed one of the glasses of water sitting on my desk, and drank. My tongue felt heavy and my lips raw.

Diego started rifling under my bed before I could stop him. He ignored the dirty socks and went straight for the spiral notebooks. “What are these?”

“Nothing important.” I tried to sound casual, but my voice cracked.

“Are they stories? Read me one.”

“They’re my journals.” I grabbed the notebook and shoved it back under the bed.

Diego raised himself onto his elbows. “What do you write about?”

“Personal stuff.”

“You’ve seen my paintings.”

“Those weren’t hidden under your bed.”

“Only behind a closed door.”

“Why don’t you tell me why you were arrested for assault? Then maybe I’ll read you something.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, but I couldn’t stand how easy it was for him to demand to know my secrets without giving away any of his.