Riding With Brighton(78)

“You love that, don’t you—keeping me guessing.”

“You’re cute when you fidget.”

“I have secrets too, you know.”

“Really?” he asks with a doubtful eyebrow raised.

“Yeah… really. My mom’s back. And she talked to me this morning. And she did that because of the little present your mom gave me before I left your house.”

Brighton stops in his tracks and turns to me, his head cocked. “I forgot about that. What was it?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.”

He pouts at me. It’s so damn cute.

“Fine. It was the letter you wrote her… the one where you told her we were gonna sleep in your bed.”

He looks surprised. “She gave that to you? Why? And how the hell could that make your mom want to talk to you? I told my mom we made out.”

“She added her own little note on the back, telling me how much she loves me and how much you love me and how we are going to make each other really happy,” I tell him with a smile.

“Shut up. She did not.”

I shrug. “It was something like that. Anyway, my mom was inspired. Told me she wished she could be that accepting. I think she’s gonna try and accept this.”

Brighton’s smile turns huge. “God, I love my mom.”

“Yeah… I kind of love her too. And seriously, she definitely loves me.”

Brighton laughs as he turns back toward school, throwing his arm over my shoulder as we begin to walk again. “You’re definitely loveable.”

“We’ll see,” I mutter as I notice the kids outside staring at me. They don’t look so loving.

I take a deep breath as we walk through the doors.

Just inside the entrance, Molly, Shaw, and Nico are standing in front of a table filled with piles of white T-shirts. I watch as Molly yells at kids passing by, attempting to shove shirts and fat markers at them. I’m confused until my eyes travel up to their chests; each of them is wearing one of the shirts, with big words written across it. Shaw’s says Too Feminine. Nico’s says Too Yellow, and Molly’s says Too Weird.

“What the hell is this?” I ask Brighton.

“The idea I had… the epiphany.”

“You did this?”

“Yeah, but I had some help. Molly had a giant box of tees left over from her shirt designing phase, and we got some awesome friends who were willing to make all my dreams come true.”

“Hey, man.” Jones is by my side, slapping me on the shoulder. I look at his chest. Too White Trash.

Brighton pulls me forward to the table. Grabbing a shirt and a red marker, he scratches out the words Too Starved for ATTENTION!!!

“That’s what you’re going with? That’s the stereotype that defines you?”

“I don’t want to steal any of your thunder. Not that I’m pressuring you to write anything….”

“You were thinking about taking my jockhole status away from me?”

He raises his eyebrows in disappointment, and I laugh before writing, as big as I can, Too Gay. “There,” I tell him, pulling off his hoodie and replacing it with my new shirt. “Are you happy? Have all your dreams come true?”

“I don’t know. I mean if we’re being completely accurate….” He grabs a marker and in the small space left at the bottom of my shirt, he writes (for Brighton).

“It’s always gotta be about you, doesn’t it, you attention hoarder.” I laugh.

“Maybe… for today at least, I wanted to make sure it wasn’t all about you.”

I look around and see that everyone—well, everyone except for some of the group I formerly considered my friends—has declared themselves too something.

It takes a minute for me to realize how unreal this is. It’s completely unreal. And somewhere in the back of my head, I manage to comprehend that Brighton did this… for me. To make this easier on me. To make sure today wasn’t all about me.

As I continue to focus loosely on the bodies around me, I’m having trouble accepting that this is happening here… in my high school… in this small, seemingly insignificant town, in the middle of nowhere, Minnesota. Either I haven’t given my fellow residents enough credit or something significant is happening right here, right now. I mean, this is high school. The jungle where being able to camouflage yourself is a necessary survival skill.

Suddenly the camo is being shed. Not only that, but people are painting targets on their chests. Damn.

As I look around, I swear I can see it… the realization, the relief, the fear, but the happiness too. The freedom.

The freedom of owning the words that people are calling you behind your back. Words that suddenly don’t seem as shameful or defining. Words that have lost the power to hurt you and are now empowering you. Because, what the hell can you say to someone when the words you use against them are proudly labeled on their chest? I laugh. Nothing. There’s nothing else to be said.

I’m not the only one outing myself today. Everyone is. Thanks to Brighton.

Goddamn, that kid is too much.

As I finally turn back to him, I’m completely overwhelmed with love. I can’t help it; I grab on tight to his waist and pin him against the locker we’re standing next to. “You are so fucking amazing,” I growl before my lips crash down on his.