mom. They spent weeks clawing their way back into my life. They even got my mom to come back to Europe for the first time since she was a kid, and bring us all! She and Dad inched further and further outside their comfort zones. And … now it’s all pretty much destroyed.
Again.
THREE
“How’d you meet Shane, again?” I ask Pierce as an escalator takes us deep into the underground.
He scoffs. “I’m honestly a bit offended he hasn’t mentioned me. Truly, I’ve known him as long as you have. Though I guess we weren’t close mates until a few years ago.”
“My best friend and I are like that,” I say. “We’ve known each other since we were, like, ten. But god, I hated her for ages.”
“Nothing so dramatic for us. I …” He hesitates. “I came out a few years before Shane did, and I think he worried people would catch on if he hung out with the only other queer guy in school.”
A chill runs through my body, just from the confirmation that Pierce likes dudes. Even with the eye contact and apparent interest, the connection we had, how was I supposed to know? It’s like how Megan used to joke that she always “knew” I was gay. Mom and Dad, too, always “knew” I was gay. But, fuck, if they really knew I was gay, why’d they leave me in queer isolation for a full-ass decade?
We stand on the train platform, and though there are dozens of people brushing past me and Pierce, we’re still able to lock eyes for one brief moment. One smirk, and he’s driven some emotion straight into my heart. I don’t know what this connection is, but it sure as hell isn’t anything I’m used to. We step into the train car and take our seats.
Let me count the ways in which I am overwhelmed.
I have just traveled—no, relocated—to a different country. Over an entire ocean.
I am very aware of the amount of money in my bank account. I always knew it wasn’t much, but for some reason, I didn’t think about the conversion rate until I stopped to get some cash out of an ATM here, and let’s just say the American dollar isn’t doing so great.
I am squeezed into a tiny-ass seat, rubbing upper arms with one of the most attractive men in the whole country. I’m exaggerating. Kind of.
I’m nearly silent, but Pierce talks and talks. I only get the gist of it, because instead of focusing on that dream-world accent—lazy A’s shoot from his mouth in a reservedly bouncy cadence—I’m focusing on his lips. His thin beard. Or how I can see his sculpted arms even though he’s just rolled up the sleeves of his sweater. Or how his arm hair is totally touching my arm hair.
“It’s a shame you’re not actually going to Knightsbridge. The summer program has been pretty interesting so far, but it’s preparing me for officially starting uni there in September. I tried out for every trumpet solo, even though first-years rarely land one. And guess what? I didn’t make it. They made me play third trumpet, which was just a huge step down. We’re auditioning again next week, but I don’t think I’ll move up any. The lecturers here definitely have their favorites. But …”
I expect his words about the academy to hurt more. In any other version of last year’s audition, I would have made it too, and I’d be right here bitching about solos or placements alongside him. But spending the last nine months revising my plan has actually done me some good.
I let him drone on about the school. It’s time for me to focus. I look around the train car and try to get my bearings. I’m on the Piccadilly line, I know that. After studying the big train map, I can locate the line. The blue one. They all have names: the Northern line is black, the Central line is red, the Bakerloo line is brown. I’ve never seen a subway map with so many colors (colours?) before.
“I know Shane’s really excited to introduce you to our friend group,” Pierce cuts in. “You’ll get on with the lot, I’m sure. Dani and Rio are probably our closest friends—they’re both in the program too. Well, for now, at least. There’s a lot of drama between Rio and another clarinet. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of them dropped out. Of all the audition pieces in the world, they picked the same