“I’ll give you the tour!” He grabs my hand and pulls me away.
The music is loud enough to be bumping pretty much anywhere you go. Some people are dancing inside. Outside they’re chilling and smoking. Hunter keeps looking back at me like he wants my approval, like he’s nervous I won’t like his house or something. I smile awkwardly and keep following.
Before I know it, we’re in Hunter’s room, and the door is closed. Of course the tour would end here. I kick myself for not having seen this coming. He starts going through one of his drawers. My stomach tightens. Is he looking for a condom?
“What are you doing?”
“One second,” he mumbles, and keeps rummaging. He starts pulling something out.
“I’m not going to have sex with you,” I say before he has a chance to embarrass himself. He whirls around, with a deer-in-the-headlights look and a comic book in his hand.
“What? I’m not—I’m a . . .” He looks around as if there were other people in the room who could hear him. “Um, I’m a virgin. . . . I mean, I would want to get to know you first. I was just gonna show you this.”
My chest gets heavy from embarrassment. It’s a comic book. With spies.
“I saw that you like spy stuff, so I thought you’d like it. . . .” He holds it out for me with his eyes fixed on the floor. His face is still burning red.
“Oh . . . sorry. Thanks.” First Bo and now Hunter. I really need to stop assuming people are coming on to me. Maybe I do need to get over myself.
“For what? You can take it if you want.” Hunter’s gaze slowly moves from the floor up to my eyes, and he smiles, then coughs. “The book! I meant the book, not my . . . um . . . I like you, but I’m not ready for sex.”
I snort-laugh and take the comic to keep him from imploding. I put it in my bag and give him a quick hug. Except Hunter doesn’t get the hint that it was supposed to be quick, and he holds on a few seconds too long. I start pulling away, but before I know it, his mouth is on my mouth. I let out a startled yelp and hop backward.
“I’m gay!” I say, then my hand shoots over my mouth. He rubs his head.
“Oh my God, I seriously misread this situation.” He takes a step back.
My surroundings blur together, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or that I just came out. I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone, okay? Your trust means a lot to me.”
But I don’t trust Hunter. I barely even know Hunter. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Thanks . . . I, uh, have to pee.” I grab my drink, then channel my inner Hunter and run away.
I thought having to pee was an excuse, but I actually really have to pee. I drink on the toilet, finishing off my cup before I realize how hard the alcohol is hitting me. Something about sitting on a toilet makes me want to relive the cringiest moments of the day. My brain runs wild and betrays me. I told Hunter I’m gay. I told Bo I’m straight. He’ll probably blow my cover. She probably hates me. For some reason, I care more about the latter right now. I get out my phone to text her.
“Hi, Dad!” I giggle at my screen saver before focusing on texting Bo. In my head, my screen-saver dad moves to give me a thumbs-up and says, Go get her. With his encouragement, I send her two texts.
Yami: Heyy
Yami: I’m really really sorry
With my phone still in hand, I scroll Instagram for a bit, but I can’t help but think about Jamie, and how much I want to be her. Maybe I should dye my hair blue . . . or was it purple? I wonder if you’re allowed to dye your hair at Catholic school. Probably not.
What color was her hair again? I need to know. Not because I want to stalk Bo’s girlfriend on Instagram, but because . . . I might want to dye my hair one day, or something. I start scrolling through the 224 people Bo is following, looking for a Jamie, but I give up when Jamie isn’t one of the first fifty or so.