Gone, Gone, Gone(41)

Duck if you see a white van. Or if you’re pumping gas. Better yet, don’t pump gas, okay? But if you do, you bob around a lot and try to stay behind your car. Thank me later, when you’re still alive. Stay alive, Craig, okay? Don’t get cancer.

So I don’t know what decision we came to, last night, really, and I’m confused, so . . . here’s what I think is going to work out best for you. Here it comes.



Essentially, I’m not going to bother you anymore. I don’t mean this in like an emo way, though it probably sounds that way to you. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking that. You haven’t seen much of my ability to make friends. But I swear I can do it. I had a whole posse of gay boys in New York. And I think my father might still think I’m straight. I don’t even think he’s trying to deny it, I think he really is just that clueless. So he’ll probably match me up with a nice Jewish girl soon, and there’s a friend.



Anyway, I’m not even sure if there are any fabulous Jews or homosexuals at our school, but rest assured that if there are, I will find them. By Friday they will be my babies. Mark it.



Lio

God, Lio. What am I going to do with him?

I resist the urge to open his email up next to Cody’s and compare them. I know which email is better. I know which boy I . . . I think I know which boy I want. So it doesn’t matter.

I sleep.

I dream about Cody.



I wake up feeling dizzy and sick at five in the morning and go upstairs for more food—more food solves everything. And even though there wasn’t a shooting all day, I’m not going back to school, my parents tell me. Because obviously no shooting yesterday means there has to be a shooting today. Exactly like whenever there’s a shooting it means there’s going to be another right after. My parents have gone crazy.

Dad is going to a meeting with some other principals or the school board or something, and his hands are shaking around his tie. Today they’re figuring out if they’re going to close the local schools.

I notice for the first time this note by the phone, folded up with my name on it. How long has it been there?

And inside is the world’s smallest smiley face.





LIO

I’M GETTING PRETTY FUCKING SCARED OF GOING TO school. In the car, I ask Dad, “I’ll go today, but can I stay home tomorrow?”

There are teachers lined up outside the school to make sure I don’t get shot on my way in.

He takes one of my hands and squeezes. “Yeah, champ. If it makes you feel better.”

Michelle hasn’t been back since it happened. A lot of the kids from her school haven’t, I think.

No Craig at school, not that I’m supposed to be looking for him. Second day in a row. And today is the one-week anniversary of realizing I’m in love with him. Yay, my life.

I celebrate the occasion by attending a Gay-Straight Alliance meeting after school, before therapy. I told my dad this morning that I was going. He nodded and said, “Have fun.” I’m so confused about what he wants me to be and who he thinks I am.

Everyone mills around, waiting for the meeting to start. There are a few flamboyantly gay guys, who I envy and fear at the same time, and some girls in black buckled boots and eyeliner with really long hair.

This is my first GSA meeting ever. And I’m here for the sole purpose of picking up boys. Hopefully a few of them. I need one to make out with, but I would also like a posse.

But more girls come in, dominating the meeting, and there are only three boys who don’t scare the f*ck out of me. My radar immediately locks on one—Jack Johannson, he says, when we go around introducing ourselves. Alliterative first and last names are my favorite. Like Peter Parker or Ben Bruckner. Amazing.

We talk about dental dams and this talent show coming up and gender-queerness, which is a concept that I want to understand but don’t, yet. I sit and listen and don’t talk. Afterward, we mill around and eat chips and soda. I am the only one who doesn’t drink diet. I love gay boys so much.

I make a beeline to Jack and give him my I’m short and isn’t it cute? smile. Can I do this without talking?

Apparently so. He smiles at me and holds out his hand. “That’ll get you far. What’s your name, kid?”

I shake his hand. “Lio.”

“Like Tolstoy.”

“Uh-uh. L-i-o, short for Liam. Which is short for William.”

“A nickname of a nickname.”

I missed being teased. Craig is too nice to do it. “Can’t get much more abbreviated than that. Soon I’ll just be a thoughtful pause.” This is an old joke, so it isn’t hard to get out.

He laughs a little. “I haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m new. Transfer.”

“How are you liking the meeting? Are you a freshman?”

“Hey. Sophomore.”

He grins and sips from his cup. “Sorry, sorry.”

“You?”

“Senior.”

Ho buddy.

He takes an Oreo off the table and looks around. Damn. It must be my turn to talk. Um . . . shit. Okay. I say, “So, do you come here a lot?”

He says, “My best friend actually founded the group. Her name is Leah, funny enough.” He gestures toward her. She’s one of the girls in boots.