then we tried a section on the heart. I read the text as written, and then Bubba would try to explain what he’d just heard out loud. He seemed to have the best results when he imagined he was explaining it to me and then to his father, the way they might discuss cars. That worked even better.
All the long Latin names made him sweat. I could see they were throwing him off.
“They’re just names you memorize, like anything else,” I told him. “When you were four years old, you probably had no idea what a carburetor was, right? Or, for that matter, a gluteus maximus. But you learned those terms, and now they’re second nature.”
That made him smile. “True. And now I’m a gluteus-maximus man.” He waggled his eyebrows at me.
I looked at him fondly. It was on the tip of my tongue to say that Bubba himself had one outstanding gluteus maximum but felt that would be crossing the line we’d so carefully reconstructed.
“Well. You have the self-explain technique down, I think.”
“This is perfect since I have this huge test coming up. A real ball buster.” He looked suddenly worried again.
I nodded. “I should probably leave you to study on your own.” I put the textbook back in my backpack and zipped it.
“Wait, Sean.”
I looked up at him. Bubba was biting his lip. “Um, I meant to tell you. There was a guy at the Mad Tech flag game who wanted me to give you his number. His name is Phil.” He opened a drawer in his desk and took out a little piece of paper. He handed it to me but didn’t want to let it go at first. I had to tug on it before he released it.
“Which one was Phil?” I asked, confused. All I remembered of the Mad Tech flag team was a bunch of random guys, none of whom paid any attention to me. Not that kind of attention, anyway.
“He wasn’t playing. He was watching the game. He goes to Mad Tech.”
“Oh.” I recalled seeing a few dozen people watching the games in the bleachers but hadn’t noticed anyone specific. I’d been too busy trying to keep up with the other players and hoping not to make a fool out of myself—again. And then I’d caught a ball. That had been rather glorious.
But when I looked down again at the number, the memory of that glorious moment faded. My chest hurt kind of little like I’d been stabbed through my ribs. Bubba was so very much not interested in me that he was trying to pawn me off on someone else.
I forced a smile. “Excellent. Thank you.” I put the number in my jeans pocket.
“You don’t have to call him,” Bubba said hurriedly. “I just thought I ought to give it to you, you know, since he gave it to me. You can toss it. Now that I think about it, you should probably toss it. Stranger danger and all that.” He looked uncomfortable again.
“Why would I do that?” I said brightly. “Phil actually wants to be with me.” I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. But Bubba stopped me by grabbing my arm.
“Sean, wait.”
I stood still, not looking at him.
“The thing is…I’m not gay,” he said awkwardly. “I mean…I really like you. And I really liked kissing you. So, I must be bi. But I’ve only ever been with girls, and I don’t know how to do…the other thing. Or be that guy. I mean, it’s okay for Rand. But that’s not me. That’s not big ol’ Bubba Merkofsky, you know?”
I nodded sharply. “I understand. People put performative expectations on us. And it’s easier to fall in line with those expectations than it is to break free of them. That’s human nature. We’re social creatures, after all. It’s in our genetic makeup to care what others think of us. Survival and all of that. So you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
I was babbling, but I realized that I meant it. And that I really could understand—and forgive. In fact, I felt a little sorry for him. For us both. I turned and offered him a smile. “I’d just like to be your friend.”
He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “I knew you were smart. But how’d you get to be so smart about, like, people stuff?”
I shrugged. “Oh, I know all about expectations. My parents expect me to be a genius and only focus on