Darius the Great Deserves Better - Adib Khorram Page 0,75
you can’t do anything about them.
Landon kept echoing in my head: “Selfish.”
And I kept seeing Chip’s eyes too. How he couldn’t quite look at me.
I trusted him.
I knew his history with Trent. Knew he had never, ever stood up to him. Knew he was as much accomplice as witness, since Trent worked best with an audience.
And I trusted him anyway.
This is what I deserved.
I sniffed and pulled my phone out. The droplets left tiny rainbow flecks on the screen.
What was I supposed to tell Mom?
Were Landon and I broken up or was it just a fight?
Ditching me at a dance felt like a breakup.
“Darius?”
I glanced behind me and then looked down at my phone again. Mom was sending Oma to get me.
Chip lowered himself to sit next to me. His knees splayed to the side and bumped against mine.
“Well, that was super awkward,” he said, and did this sort of nervous chuckle.
“What do you want, Chip?”
He frowned and looked at his hands.
“Just wanted to apologize for what Trent said.”
What Trent said.
Chip only ever apologized for Trent.
I didn’t say anything.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Where’s Landon?”
I shook my head.
“What happened?”
“You and Trent happened!” I shouted, but then I lowered my voice. “He was already frustrated with me, but then you and Trent making jokes about me, it was just . . .”
“I didn’t joke about you,” Chip said.
“But you told Trent about that day in the locker room.”
Chip sighed.
“Yeah.”
“Why would you do that?” I choked out. “I thought we were friends.”
“Because I like you, okay?” Chip gulped. “I like you, and I was telling Trent about it because I couldn’t get you out of my head. We were alone and you were so beautiful. You are. You’re beautiful and funny and thoughtful and kind. You’re the nicest person I know. And I couldn’t stand hurting you. I couldn’t stand being so close to you.”
Chip put his hand on my knee and tried to squeeze it, but I took his hand and lifted it off me.
“Don’t touch me,” I said.
“But—”
I couldn’t believe Chip.
If he liked me, why didn’t he treat me better?
The pulsar inside me destabilized and exploded.
“This isn’t some . . . some TV show, where you can torment me for years and then kiss me and be like ‘Guess what? I was gay for you all along!’ It doesn’t work like that.”
“I’m queer. I’ve always liked guys too,” Chip whispered. “And I never tried to kiss you. I wasn’t tormenting you.”
“You’ve stood there, every time Trent said or did something to me. Every racist joke. Every homophobic nickname. You never stopped him.”
“Trent’s not homophobic. He knows I’m queer.”
“You can have queer friends and still be homophobic, Chip.”
He sniffled.
I couldn’t tell if he was crying or if it was just the rain.
“Is that why you told me to quit my job?”
“What?”
“You wanted me to quit because I worked with Landon?”
“No! I wouldn’t . . . You seemed so sad. I just wanted you to be happy. I promise.”
“Why should I listen to anything you say? You’re just as bad as Trent is.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’ll make him leave you alone. I promise.”
Cyprian Cusumano didn’t get it.
It wasn’t just about how Trent treated me.
It was about how he treated me too.
I recognized the glow of Oma’s headlights curving around the parking lot. She pulled up and honked.
I sighed and stood.
“Darius?” Chip said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
Chip was always saying sorry. But he never acted like it. He never changed.
I wiped my own face and cleared my throat.
“Yeah, well.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
Maybe there was nothing else to say.
MENTAL HEALTH DAY
Monday morning, Mom knocked on my door.
I rolled over in bed and groaned.
I’d turned my alarm off when it woke me for my run, and I’d fallen back asleep, despite the noise of everyone else waking up.
Well. First I tried Sohrab.
Again.
And he didn’t answer.
Again.
That’s when I went back to bed.
Mom knocked again.
“Darius?”
“Yeah?”
Mom cracked the door and peeked in at me.
“You okay?”
I sighed.
“Can I take a mental health day?”
I hadn’t taken a mental health day since fall of ninth grade, when I was going through a medication change and having anxiety attacks every morning when it was time to get dressed.
Dad was a big believer in mental health days.
Mom came in and sat on the bed. She brushed my hair away from my eyes and rested her hand on my forehead, as if she could diagnose my mental state like a fever.