Riding With Brighton(41)
“Don’t get into it with her,” Brighton tells me. “She’ll get you to say things you’re gonna regret.”
“She’s a master manipulator,” Nico concurs.
“She’s just looking out for him,” Shaw says, defending her.
“You guys know I’m always right,” she says confidently.
And no one contests that.
Shit. She’s not right about me. At this particular moment, I’m sure of it. And then Nico says to Brighton, “You’re still playing with us at Jones’s party tonight, right?”
Oh God. My coming out party might happen before I’m ready for it.
Cowering again, in the deepest, darkest corner of my mind, arms wrapped over my head, praying that fallout shelter will show up sooner rather than later. Or that straight kid will find his way back to Brighton’s house.
Shit, no. Praying that he’s lost, far far away in the woods, and he tripped and fucked up his leg and there’s no way he’ll make it back here in time because, dammit, Molly’s wrong about me.
“I KNOW what’s going through your head,” Brighton says as we sit in the back of Nico’s conversion van. “Don’t do anything stupid because of her. What she thinks about you doesn’t matter. Her opinion isn’t going to change the way I feel about you.”
“I’m not gonna do anything stupid. And even if I do, it’s not because of her.” I try really hard to sound convincing. If I’m seriously doing this right now, taking whatever’s going on between Brighton and me public, it must be for her because I’m sure as hell not ready for it.
“I’m sorry about this. I can’t believe I totally spaced it.”
Brighton fought with his friends for a good twenty minutes, trying to get out of the commitment he made to fill in for their other friend, Ramey, as the lead guitarist for their gig at Jones’s party tonight. Which I had, obviously, forgotten about also. Brighton ultimately cracked because Shaw is desperately trying to save enough money so that he can go to NYU with Molly in the fall.
I don’t blame him. I was totally cheering for Shaw. He was the only one on Brighton’s side, insisting he could get the cut of the cover that Jones is paying them to gig at his party another way.
I never understood why he was dating Molly. I mean, he’s seriously like the most diplomatic, genuinely nice, selfless person who ever existed. And she’s… not. But from hanging out with them for the last few hours, I can see why it works. They balance each other out.
“Seriously, Brighton, it’s no big deal. It’ll be fun and besides that, I really want to see you play your guitar.”
“Seriously, Jay, I won’t be offended if you pretend like you don’t know me. I can’t imagine how stressful this is for you.”
“I mean, I might not be willing to make out with you in front of everyone, but please don’t act like we don’t know each other. That would fucking suck.” I’m trying to make him laugh, but I think he’s more stressed out for me, and pissed off at Molly, than I am. All he does is let out an unamused grunt.
When we get to Jones’s house, I help them unload their gear and bring it into his basement, which I’ve spent hours in. Jones is one of the few people I hang out with who doesn’t live in Folsom Hills. But he’s always been popular because, despite his economic deficiency, he’s got everything else going for him. If all my friends turn their backs on me after I go public, he’s one of the few guys I’ll actually miss.
His easygoing attitude that he’s showing all of us right now is one of the reasons.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asks Brighton after all the equipment is set up.
“Sure,” Brighton tells him.
“You too, Jay.” He clamps a hand on my shoulder. “I just wanted to apologize for the stupid shit Mack and I were saying about Josie today at the restaurant. I feel like a total asshole. I mean, it’s not the first time my brain’s turned to mush over a hot girl, but she didn’t deserve to be talked about like that. No girl does. And I know she’s your friend, so if you could, let her know I’m sorry.”
“No worries,” Brighton tells him. “I don’t blame you—she is beautiful. But you might want to talk to your friend. That kid can be a real prick.”
“Trust me—we had words. I don’t even know if he’s gonna show up here tonight and, honestly, I hope he doesn’t.” He shakes his head. “You guys want a beer?”
“Sure,” I tell him while Brighton’s telling him no thanks.
Jones smiles at us and goes to get my beer. “You don’t drink?” I ask Brighton.
“Nope.”
“How come?”
“Don’t feel the need. I get drunk on other things.” He laughs at his corny comment as his gaze travels the length of my body.
“Is it gonna be a problem if I do?”
“Please tell me you’re not asking for my permission?”
“More like your preference,” I tell him with a shrug. My brain is going all haywire, the wires of my straight life are crossing with the wires of my gay life, and everything is short-circuiting—I can already tell.
“Well, I definitely don’t fuck around with drunk guys. I can’t think of anything more unattractive than a sloppy drunk. And I refuse to take advantage of people.”