And, like, the very next day, I see him in the chemist, and he’s literally holding a bottle of hand lotion and a box of Kleenex, and I don’t need to say anything, I just raise my eyebrow, and he knows. He knows.
CHAPTER TWELVE
NATE
Jack’s face in the chemist’s says it all, I know exactly what he’s thinking and, just so we’re clear, I’m buying Sudocrem because I have this patch of eczema on my forearm that comes up when I get stressed.
Also, tissues are tissues, there’s nothing going on there, not that I have to explain myself to anyone, Jack can go to hell with his suggestive eyebrow raising and knowing smirks.
Anyway, the next day, I’m applying the aforementioned healing cream and wiping my greasy fingers on a tissue when Jack appears in my bedroom again, my parents clearly just treating him like a member of the family and letting him come and go as he pleases. The fact he doesn’t immediately crack a joke about the scene he has walked into puts me on edge.
He doesn’t speak, he just hands me his phone, which is displaying the most recent post on Dylan’s Instagram account: him and Tariq in the first pic, a couple of plane tickets in the second pic, Dylan kissing Tariq on the cheek in the third pic, and the pair of them clinking cocktail glasses together, laughing, in the final pic. And it begins to occur to me that Tariq seems to quite like Dylan, you know, there’s a lot of smiling and happiness going on in the pics, a lot of love, and the dull ache that’s been in my stomach for days suddenly becomes a stabbing pain, and I feel a bit sick, and cold, and, and, huh, I think the odds of me getting Tariq back just got a whole lot worse.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JACK
I needed him to see this. I don’t deny part of it is selfish: I wanted someone to be indignant with. But also, Nate needs to stop being in denial – Tariq ain’t coming back any time soon, and hard as it is, the sooner Nate can accept that, the better.
He’s pacing the room, rubbing the back of his neck, chewing his lip and staring at the screen. “‘Summer with this one’?” he mutters, reading the caption. “This one? God, I hate that phrase, why can’t you just use his name? ‘This one’ is second only to ‘the boy’ in the league of top phrases used by tossers!” He clears his throat and glances at me. I nod my agreement. Other than grown adults who count down to a significant event by telling you how many “sleeps” remain, it’s the absolute worst.
“Loads of stuff planned, and just booked for Ibiza later in August, flying Club Europe?” Nate scoffs. “Ha! Courtesy of Tariq’s minted dad, that is! ‘Summer of frigging love’? I mean, that sounds … corny?”
He looks at me again. I nod again.
“How is this even a thing? How has it got so many likes?” He scratches at his forearm. “Hashtag living our best frickin’ life? Hashtag gay? Hashtag Instagay? Hashtag gay boys? Hashtag gay couple? I dunno, do you think they’re possibly gay or something?” He throws the phone on his bed. “AAAAARGGHHH!” he screams. “They’re such TOSSERS! Such utter DICKS! Fuck me, I HATE THEM BOTH!”
“Good, Nate, goooood,” I purr. “Let the hate flow through you!”
“SHUT UP!” he barks. “What’s in the comments?”
“Don’t read them,” I tell him.
“Let me see.”
He grabs the phone again and scrolls down, his breathing erratic. And then he collapses on his bed.
“Please don’t cry,” I tell him.
But he’s consumed with tears. I probably shouldn’t have shown him, though at least it looks like he’s running the full gamut of all the stages of grief, so I guess that’s good?
“Why did they have to do this?” he sobs. “Why is everyone so happy for them? Why does no one else see that they’ve completely screwed us over and now they’re acting like everything’s fine? I don’t get it. I don’t get any of it.”
“Well,” I say. “That’s probably more to do with me than anything.”
“Why, what have you done now?”
He’s staring at me, and I can’t take it, so I drop my eyes to the floor. “I haven’t done anything, Nate. It’s just me, isn’t it? People don’t like me.” I fiddle with the bracelet around my wrist. “The bullying only stopped when I got together with Dylan, and now I’m not, the knives are out.” I feel a thickness in my throat, but then I remember it’s Nate I’m talking to, so it doesn’t matter, he won’t use it against me.
“It’s not everyone. You’ve got friends.”
I look back up at him, and it’s his turn to look away. For a moment I wish it was like it used to be, when he’d put an arm across my shoulders and tell me to ignore the haters. He starts scratching at his arm again.
“You’ll make it worse,” I tell him.
He stops scratching, grabs the phone, and starts going through the rest of Dylan’s pictures, sniffling, probably barely able to see the screen through the blur of tears. He’s a mess. I’m a mess too, but right now, I’m less of a mess than him, and this has got to stop. Dylan and Tariq have already ruined prom, and they’re about to ruin our summer. And one thing I’m sure of – I don’t think you should allow other people to dictate your happiness.
“Nate?” I say gently. “We need to turn this around.”
He doesn’t reply, just laughs contemptuously.
“Only we have the power to do that.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” he mutters, wiping his eyes with the palms of his hands.
I turn an idea around in my head. “They’re not the only ones who can have a good summer.”
He laughs again. “Oh, sure, I mean if they could see us now!”
“They don’t have to win—”
“They’ve already
