“End of year eight,” I say. I turn on my side. Discussion over.
“Nate?” Elliot blabbers on. “What about you? Like, did you know when you were ten?”
I hear Nate’s sharp intake of breath.
“Strangely specific, Elliot,” I say, rolling back to face them and propping myself up on my elbow. “What makes you say that?”
Elliot is silent, which is even more suspicious.
“I came out at prom,” Nate says.
“Yes, but that wasn’t the question,” I chip in. “Elliot asked when you knew, and he wondered, for some reason, if you might have been ten years old?”
“Huh,” Nate says.
OK, so I’m not a fool, I’ve managed to piece together the fact that something is going on here, and it’s clearly connected to when we last all saw one another, when we were ten, and the fateful summer when we spent a lot of time in my TREE HOUSE.
“I guess, same as Jack, really,” Nate continues.
“Same as me?” I say.
“Yeah?”
“So, like, around year eight or nine.”
Nate hesitates. “I guess, yeah,” he says.
I sigh and turn on to my side again, facing away from them. And I’m filled with the most terrible sadness, because I never knew that. I never realized. After I came out in year nine, and Nate never spoke to me again, I thought it was because he felt too awkward, or maybe he felt like if he spoke to me, I would think he fancied me, or maybe he was worried if he spoke to me other people might think he was gay, I don’t know, any number of those reasons. It didn’t cross my mind that he might have been feeling the same sort of things too. And so right there, right in front of me the whole time, was the person who could have made those hateful few years better and less lonely. My best friend could have been by my side. But he wasn’t.
And now I want to know other things too. I want to know if he thought he might be gay, why didn’t he speak to me? Why didn’t he come round one weekend and say anything? We were best mates. We did everything together. He knew he could trust me. He knew I’d never take the piss or spread gossip, but he said nothing. He just backed off and … disappeared. He made a choice to do that! But Elliot’s here, and Nate clams up at the best of times, so I can’t ask him now.
But a little later, when Elliot is gently purring in his sleep, I hear Nate whisper,
“I’m sorry.”
My heart squeezes.
“Are you awake, Jack?” he whispers again.
I don’t answer; just lie there. I don’t know what to say. I’m mad with him. I’m hurt.
“I was scared,” Nate whispers. “I don’t know if you’re listening, but if you are, I was terrified. I saw all the crap you got at school after you came out, and I … I couldn’t face it. I knew I’d get the same if I told everyone I was gay too, so I didn’t. So that’s why. It’s not because I disapproved of you; it’s because I’m a coward. I’m a coward, and I’m sorry.” He chokes back a little sob. “You deserved better than me.”
“It’s OK, Nate.”
I reach across Elliot, find his hand, and squeeze. “It’s OK.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
NATE
I’m woken by Elliot belting out “Baby One More Time” from the en suite as he showers. The boy has some lungs on him.
“It’s quite the concert,” Jack says from the other side of the bed, looking up from his phone. “We’re very privileged to be here today, experiencing this. Would you like some hotel room tea with that vile UHT milk?”
“I can do it.”
Jack slides out of bed. “Relax. I’m making some anyway.”
I watch as he starts fussing around the tiny kettle and the little packets containing the teabags. I still feel guilty about everything. The hurt in Jack’s voice last night nearly killed me, but even so, I’m not sure I would have done anything differently. I don’t know why other people have to make things so hard. The fallout from all the stuff at prom has only gone to prove that point, but even before that, like in year seven, at the disco, Chloe and her gang ripped me to shreds when they saw me and Jack dancing to “Embers” by Owl City – a song we had claimed as being “ours”. For weeks afterwards, if they saw me in the corridors, they would start to flail their arms about, legs kicking out in all directions, like they were in spasm or having a fit. I’d only been enjoying myself; I loved that song, with its message about burning brightly and not letting the fire die, even when things are tough. But the fire did die. Chloe and the others saw to that. If I’d hung out with Jack in year nine, if we’d stayed as best mates, if I’d come out too, I’d have been targeted like he was. I’m not proud of myself. He shone like a star. I was just ashes. And just when the embers were starting to glow again, I feel like this thing with Tariq has extinguished them.
Jack leans against the desk, waiting for the kettle to boil. “Dylan posted a ‘felt cute, might delete later’ pic this morning,” he says. “Vom.”
I roll my eyes.
“Pouting at the camera, like that’s normal first thing in the morning,” he mutters. He glances at me. “You OK?”
I nod. “You?”
“Yeah.” He flicks his eyes back to the kettle.
There’s some clattering from the en suite, then the door flies open, and Elliot does a grand jeté into the room, wearing just a towel tied around his waist.
“Baby one more time!” he howls, performing a version of a pirouette, as the towel flies off him. Otherwise stark bollock naked, he quickly cups his hands
