It has taken me a while to get to the point where I’m ready, but I think that’s OK. Tariq has been patient – he actually came out shortly after Dylan Hooper, the football captain, though he said it was cool if I wasn’t ready to yet – but I clocked the look of disappointment on his face when he asked if we were going to turn up to this prom as a couple and I said, several weeks ago, maybe not. It didn’t feel right at the time. Plus, it was the middle of GCSEs and there was other stuff to think about. But now I have thought, and it feels right, it feels like something I want to do, and I feel I owe it to Tariq to do it big style. I want him to know that I’m proud. Of him. Of me. Of us.
I notice Luke tense as a white limo glides into the yard, and at least three of the boys responsible for the lion’s share of all the bullying over the years hop out, like they’re full-on reality TV stars. Jordan, Mason, Brandon and Tyler all have skinny-fit suits, worn with no socks and slip-on shoes, and I immediately feel like a full-on knob in my oversized dinner jacket and bow tie.
The Mean Boys help four Mean Girls out of the car, all in what look like hugely expensive prom dresses. Chloe, Megan, Jas and Amanda – the girls who ripped the piss out of my dancing at the year seven disco so badly I’ve never danced since. Funny how both me and Luke remember the things those kids have done to us so clearly, but as they laugh and hug each other and call one another “babe” they don’t even acknowledge us. It’s like we don’t even exist.
They all pose in various combinations in front of the limo.
They’re the sort of people that life always seems easy for.
Luckily, before I’m sucked into a vortex of despair, there’s this gentle humming noise, the sort of high-pitched buzz you hear when a fly’s trapped in a spider’s web, and then in pootles Jack Parker on the back of Dylan Hooper’s scooter and, honestly, he may as well have just arrived on the back of a sewing machine on wheels. Simultaneously with his arrival, Theo Appleby, who is secretary of the LGBTQ+ society committee, fires up that St Elmo’s Fire song on a portable speaker system he’s rigged up.
A-mazing.
I can’t help but smile. Jack and I may have gone our separate ways in the last few years, but one thing I’ve always admired about him (not that I’d ever tell him; not that he’d ever tolerate a conversation with me anyway) is his dry sense of humour and the way he subverts everything so many times over, you can’t quite tell where the genuine ends and the sarcasm begins. No one’s looking at the limo kids any more, which must be really annoying for them when they’ve spent all that money on hiring it and, knowing Jack, arriving just moments after them and stealing their thunder was probably not accidental.
Jack comes to a gentle halt and steps off the scooter, and there’s an actual round of applause and cheers from various year elevens who are standing around, waiting to go in. Jack laps it up, does a twirl with this insane gay cape thing he’s wearing, and a theatrical bow. I’m well aware that Jack hasn’t had an easy ride of it over the last few years, so what does it take to have confidence like that? It’s like a switch flipped with him at some point, and he was all, This is who I am and I don’t care what any of you think. And somehow because he didn’t care, the bullies started caring less too. The thing with Jack is, he’s really good-looking – he’s five ten, so he’s tall, but not too tall; he’s got a good physique, toned, but not too toned; his hair always looks great (textured, blond) and his skin is always clear and radiant. If that wasn’t enough, he’s bright, like top-set bright, but he’s not geeky. He’s witty, he’s sharp, he just sparkles, and he’s completely happy to be himself. He’s basically A-list gay. Lucky him, because I feel like that helps. I haven’t even come out yet and I already know, with my stunning ability to be awkward in any social situation, complete lack of fashion sense, appalling lack of knowledge about the gay “scene” and even s-e-x, plus low-level anxiety and occasional paranoia that I’m destined to be the messiest sort of disaster gay. In fact, that will probably be on my gravestone, which everyone will see soon enough because I’ll probably die onstage tonight during my speech, metaphorically and literally:
Nate Harrison
2004–2020
Gay Disaster
Why am I thinking about death? Why can’t I just be happy?
Jack catches me looking at him, and he gives me a nod.
I nod back, then look away quickly. Part of me does wish we were twelve again, mucking about in my room, before things got weird and we never spoke again. I wonder what he’ll think tonight, when I come out?
I watch as Jack gives Dylan a kiss, then they stride off hand in hand towards the entrance. I glance at Tariq, who gives me a small smile. I know Tariq would love it if we kissed and held hands in front of everyone, and, sooner than he knows, I guess we will be.
The thought of that suddenly makes me very happy indeed.
CHAPTER FIVE
JACK
I don’t want to sound mean, but
