The image made me feel hot all over. “You look at me like that,” I said defensively.
“Yes, I do. Because I like you.”
I said nothing, and started yanking up fistfuls of grass and tossing them aside. My chest felt tight, like the way it did for years in church when the preacher started going on about sin and loose living, the bonds of marriage and all that horseshit. Parenthood, the way we were made, the way we were intended to be by His Holy Highness who lived up in the sky, take a left at the ionosphere. The way my father sat attentively during those sermons in that hot chapel that smelled like old lady’s perfume, his eyes glued to the preacher in reverence, fat mouth open slightly, breathing loud, hot and wet. And he forced me to come every single Sunday until I turned thirteen, when I would throw the biggest tantrums imaginable, screaming and stomping my feet until they gave up and left me at home.
“Is it your friends? They don’t know shit, Jack,” Connor said. “They’re just as insecure as the rest of us.”
In my mind, there was Mom in her Sunday dress from Walmart, that cheap piece of shit in puke yellow that smelled like mothballs, staring blankly at the floor.
“You’re amazing, Jack. I know you don’t see it, but I do.”
“Don’t call me that,” I said. “Girls say that shit to each other.” I pulled the cigarette from his mouth, took a drag, and stamped out the butt in the grass. It tasted like our kitchen.
“Maybe girls have the right idea. We could learn a thing or two from them, you know.”
I remembered being in my starched dress shirt tucked into the only slacks I owned. I kept my hands in my lap, wishing I could be anywhere but there as the preacher went on and on about how homosexuality desecrated the sanctity of marriage and would be the ruin of our society. My palms were sweaty, my throat felt itchy, and it was like everyone in the congregation knew my shameful secret.
Fuck the shame.
I kissed Connor hard, pushing him deep into the earth with my lips. He slid his hand under my shirt, up my back, opening his mouth to welcome my tongue.
18.
“Hey Connor.”
We were standing by the lockers, just hanging out in between periods, when Skye Russo and her posse appeared behind us. All doe-eyed and glossy-lipped, Skye stood there lingering in front of Connor, her friends close behind, pretending to be oblivious but wearing knowing smiles.
Connor turned away from me and smiled at her, leaning against the locker. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Um, we…”
Her friend stepped in. “Skye wanted to invite you to our party this weekend. Her parents are out of town, and you know the drill.”
“Lots of uh, refreshments and fun times,” Skye said with a waggle of her eyebrows, and her friend gave her a look. “Sorry. I mean there is, but…you should come.”
“Yeah, okay. Give me your number,” Connor said. He reached for his phone but Skye grabbed his hand and pulled out a pen, writing it on his hand. Her friends laughed. “See you in psychology, Connor.”
He turned back to me. To whatever was on my face. “What?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. Have fun at your party.”
“You should come with me,” he said, inching dangerously close. “We can do…all kinds of things.”
I took a step back. “Yeah, maybe.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Come with me,” I said, pulling him into the nearest bathroom. I pushed open all the stalls, checking for people.
“We can’t do that…in front of people, Connor.”
He frowned. “Do what?”
“You know. You can’t act like that around me here.”
“Oh right,” he said, rolling his eyes. “You’re scared someone will see—your friends, what they’ll think of you. God, fuck it, Jack, we should go to that party and go out in a blaze of glory! Just show up like it’s no big deal, I mean what are they gonna do if they—”
“Connor,” I interrupted. “How long have you gone to this school?”
He frowned. “Long enough to know that this place is royally fucked up.”
“Yeah well, it is fucked up and it’s worse than you think. I just can’t do that, okay? Not here. Not right now.”
He sighed and nodded. “I got you. I used to be like that too, before I stopped giving a shit about what other people think. But I get it. Trust me, I do.” He took my hand. His skin on mine was like flipping a switch on my mood. “You should come with me to the party.”
“Why?” I said. “There’ll be plenty of hot girls like Skye there.”
“I don’t care,” he said.
“I thought you liked girls.”
“I do.” He leaned in and kissed me. “But I like you more.”
I felt myself smile.
“Anyway, you have to come. They have a hot tub. Big fancy house. Or at least that’s what I heard Skye bragging about to her friends in Spanish.”
“Shut up.”
“No, I’m serious.” The bell rang. “I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” He kissed my cheek and left the bathroom just as a group of guys came in, startling me out of my daze.
I spent the next period doing what I usually did after Connor kissed me in between classes: nothing. I couldn’t concentrate, could barely think. Buzzed and high, like I was full of helium.
The rest of the week was clouded by him. He was what I saw when I closed my eyes, and it sent my stomach into knots, my chest full of fire. His voice, his laugh, the way he put his hands through his hair, it was mesmerizing. I watched the way he breathed, fascinated by each intake of air and each exhale, the way his
