Everyone is staring at us now, even the tour guide.
“It’s nothing,” I say. “Just a dumb joke.”
In the past, he would’ve asked me what the joke was. For all his sophistication Ruben actually has a very crass sense of humor sometimes, and making him laugh at something stupid always made me happier than like, anything.
“Oh,” he says. “Right. Whatever.”
My heart sinks to new depths as a terrifying thought occurs to me. I’ve been so focused on trying to find space and figure out what the hell is going on with me, in the face of Ruben trying to push me to talk, that it hadn’t occurred to me that he might not be open to talking anymore. He’s not acting like he is. Before, he was eager to figure this out, stat.
But what if I’ve left it too long?
What if I’ve pushed him too far?
* * *
You’d think by now I’d be used to photo shoots.
But nope.
I never know how to pose, and they make me feel super awkward. Plus, given how I’ve been questioning my whole life lately, and things with Ruben are such a mess, the last thing I want is a camera on me, capturing this forever. I want to be in bed, alone, with a sad playlist and all the chocolate in existence, so I can figure this out. Yet I’m here, having to fake a smile over and over again, all while Ruben is treating me like I’m just a coworker, someone he simply has to be nice to because it’s the professional thing to do.
He’s getting the finishing touches on his makeup by Penny. I don’t have to be queer to notice he looks incredible. He’s wearing a deep purple suit jacket that’s tailored perfectly to his frame. He looks every part the superstar I’ve known he’d be since camp. He makes a joke, and Penny laughs. He might never try to make me laugh like that ever again.
I don’t want him to look at me, but it’s also all I want. It feels like I’ll die if he doesn’t do something the old Ruben would’ve done like, right now.
I get the urge to go up to him, to say something, anything. Just so he’ll stop acting like he doesn’t know so much about me. But I can’t. We’re working right now, and he’ll be even more upset with me if I do anything that messes with that. Or maybe I’m being a coward, so I don’t have to say the words that almost give me a panic attack every time I even think them.
I could be bi.
“Zach?”
I snap back to reality. An assistant is in front of me, holding out a jacket.
“Sorry, thanks.”
I take it and pull it on. It’s made of black leather but is cut like an oversized suit jacket, which makes it kinda punk and cool. My hair has been slicked straight back, and Penny has already done my face, including the trademark Saturday eye makeup. It’s a little more subtle for this upcoming album cycle promo, but it’s still there.
I glance at Ruben. I was hoping he’d maybe be looking at me; I thought I saw him looking out of the corner of my eye when I was talking to the assistant, but no such luck. He’s looking past me, at the set that’s been assembled.
Please, look at me, Ruben. Smile at me. Convince me this will work out okay, somehow. Make me believe I haven’t ruined everything.
“I’m not wearing that,” says Jon, interrupting my thoughts.
He’s holding a blue shirt made of a thin, mesh-like material.
“Come on,” says Viktor. “You’ll look gorgeous!”
“I’ll look naked.”
“I’ll wear it,” says Angel, poking his head through an off-white sweater, totally boy-next-door chic. It’s sleek and nice, but definitely not sexy. “Let’s be real, my grandma would wear this.”
Ruben has spun in his makeup chair to watch and is smirking slightly. Likewise, Penny is fully invested, her mouth hanging open. I forgot how much I like that playful smile of Ruben’s, and seeing it again, aimed at someone else, rips me apart. Who knows if he’ll ever look at me with anything other than cold disdain ever again?
“Boys,” says Erin, glancing up from her iPad. “Stick to your assigned outfits, okay?”
“You’re asking me to show my body,” says Jon. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t feel comfortable.”
Viktor frowns. “Don’t you want to capitalize off your spot on the list?”
“I don’t care about the list.”
“It’ll help the band, Jon,” calls Erin.
“I don’t have to use my body to sell music, Erin.”
“True,” says Erin. “But you’ll sell more if you do.”