I’d started to get a little annoyed with Ruby by then, but when I opened the door and I saw her I wasn’t mad anymore. Her hair was wet and her eyes were puffy. She was wearing a hoodie, the front pocket lumpy with markers and pens, and she held a small stack of brightly colored paper under her arm. I took these from her and set them on the table.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
She looked up at me, seemingly surprised and grateful all at once. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be able to tell that she’d been crying. But it was pretty obvious.
“Is it weird if I ask for a hug?” she said.
I didn’t answer. I just stepped closer and put my arms around her shoulders. She moved closer still, looping her arms around my lower back and resting her head gently against my collarbone. My body felt less solid where hers touched it, like a bubble that might burst if she pressed any harder. I wanted her to press harder anyway. I wanted us both to hold on for dear life.
“Tell me,” I said. We separated and sat on the couch, and I wished I had something to offer her besides popcorn, which now seemed irredeemably dorky.
“It’s stupid,” said Ruby. “I don’t know why I cried. I think I have PMS or something.” She rubbed at her eyes, leaving little shadows of mascara beneath them.
“I’m sure it’s not stupid,” I said. “At least, I’m pretty sure.”
“Thanks a lot,” she laughed.
“Boy problems?” I guessed.
She looked at me then, so intently I blushed. She shrugged. So I was right.
“Mikey?”
“Yeah, kind of.”
“What happened?”
“Just him being a dick, as usual.”
I wanted badly to agree but it seemed wiser to wait.
She sighed. “I talked to the guys about the show, and everyone seemed fine with it, and into it, and then a few hours ago Mikey texted me to say he wasn’t sure he was up for it after all, and it turned into a whole thing.”
“Do you think he meant it?”
“Of course not!” she scoffed. “He would never miss an opportunity to be adored.”
“Then what is he doing?”
“Getting back at me, I guess?”
“Boys are such drama queens,” I said. “Everyone acts like girls are the emotional ones, but have you ever seen a girl punch a locker? No.” I sound like Jamie, I thought.
“It’s true,” Ruby sniffed.
I paused. “Is it really that important to have a bass player?”
“Okay, how about this: if I’m somehow not ready by then, Mikey can play.”
“So he’s your alternate?”
“Mm, I prefer the term ‘understudy’?”
There was that laugh again. We smiled at each other until we remembered why Ruby was in my house in the first place. The posters and markers were on the coffee table three inches away, but neither of us moved to touch them. As for me, I didn’t want to break the spell. As for her, I couldn’t tell yet. But there was something.
“You’re so lucky you’re not attracted to them,” she said finally.
“Who, bassists?” I said. She smiled patiently at my joke.
My heart thrummed in my chest. Obviously Ruby knew I was gay (everyone did), but something about the way she was bringing it up now felt loaded. There was always that moment when it came up with someone for the first time, not as an abstract concept having to do with one’s values but specifically about me, when I reflexively held my breath, waiting to see where they wanted to take me: the long-held questions they might have, which I was expected to answer as a representative of my people; the stories about the other gay person they knew, and how genuinely thrilled they were when said person came out; the soft-eyed affection