And I have another little surprise for Dylan that is really going to be the icing on this fabulous gay cake!
CHAPTER FOUR
NATE
People are gathering in the yard outside the main entrance to the school because they’re doing group photos as you go in, so everyone’s waiting to make sure all their friends are there. I’m standing with Tariq, Alfie, Connie and Luke – a group I suppose you would call “the kids who survived five years at secondary school by being in the library every lunchtime”. The library’s the only place there’s guaranteed adult supervision during lunch – the rest of the school is pretty much a war zone.
The library is also where I first spoke to Tariq. In the last term of year ten, Mrs Davidson put this big display up, with a giant rainbow flag, loads of coloured bunting, a sign saying “Read with Pride”, and all these books about LGBT stuff. I’d casually walked past it, pretending to be on my way to do something very different and not connected to the display, like, three or four times, and I really wanted to pick some of them up, but didn’t quite dare. So then I did this thing where I pretended I’d dropped my pen, when actually I’d literally just thrown it so it rolled right by the display. I was doing a pretty good job of looking for my pen, all huffing and puffing and like, “Oh, gosh, where could my pen be?” while getting closer to the books, and trying to memorize them so I could look them up online later, and suddenly this voice says,
“This one’s really good.”
I looked up, and it was Tariq, pointing to a book with a big banana on the front.
My cheeks went hot in a flash. “Oh, right, yeah, but I’m not—”
“You don’t have to be gay to read a book with gay characters in it,” he said. And then he smiled and walked off and I scrambled back to the desk I was sitting at, hot, embarrassed and ashamed.
I didn’t dare even glance at that display again.
The next day, after school, I found a wrapped package in my bag – brown paper, string, no message or anything. I opened it, and it was the banana book with a little card, which said:
I took it out on my account so please return it! Tariq
Points for being thoughtful.
Points for knowing me better than I knew myself.
Points for being concerned about potential library fines.
I think I fell in love with him a bit right then.
And after that, every few weeks or so, a new book would magically appear in my bag. I don’t know how he got them in there – I never once saw him – but from me barely acknowledging what he’d done, we progressed to one-word conversations:
“Enjoy it?”
“Yup.”
And then longer ones, in quiet corners, where I’d admit how much I shipped the two boys in whatever book it happened to be, and he’d agree with an “I know, right? Cuuuuuute!” And I’d smile and blush again and say, “Yeah. Cute.”
One afternoon in June, I was sitting next to him in class, the blinds drawn because we were watching some video about coastal landscapes, and he shifted his left leg so it was pressed up against my right. And that’s how our legs stayed, for the whole lesson. I think it’s one of the most excitingly erotic things that has ever happened to me. I couldn’t focus on the video. All I could hear was the rhythm of his breathing. The warmth of his leg against mine, and the tingles that touch was sending through my body.
I was careful at school. I was careful not to be seen with him too much. I was careful not to look at him too much. I’d seen exactly what happens when people decide you’re not like them, and I couldn’t face any of that. A few weeks later, fate put us together to work on an English project, so there was a reason for him to come round to my house after school.
“Are your parents at work?” he said.
“Yes. WOULD YOU LIKE SOME SQUASH?” I replied, completely failing to play it cool by randomly shouting about squash at him.
He nodded. I made some. We drank it. We moved to put our glasses down at the same time and ended up standing really close.
“Sorry!” we both said.
And that was that, until two days later, when he needed to come round again for the same project.
“Are your parents in?” he asked.
“No. WOULD YOU LIKE A COOKIE?” I replied.
He nodded. We had cookies. We moved to go upstairs to start the work at the same time and got wedged in the kitchen door.
“Sorry!” we both said.
Two days later, he turned up again.
“But the project is done and my parents are in!” I said.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
He turned to go.
“Wait!” I said.
He turned back.
I just stared at him.
“See you at school, then,” I said.
He gave me a small smile. “See you at school.”
See, I like Tariq because he’s an awkward kid like me, but the problem with two awkward kids is that the process of anything actually happening is completely fraught with … well, awkwardness. And so, it wasn’t until the start of year eleven, and a field trip which fate had decreed would see me end up in a hostel bedroom with Tariq, when he actually kissed me.
“Oh god, sorry,” he said straight away afterwards.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I don’t think I’m gay, though. Sorry.”
“Oh god, sorry. I’m so sorry.”
I nodded. Then kissed him again. And we spent all that night kissing, and the next morning, down at breakfast, I was like, “Behold! I have extra confidence and swagger, because I, Nate Harrison, have now officially kissed another person, I am desirable and desired, I
