I’d seen of him. Not that I’d spent hours late into the night googling Dean Arnault. Who would do something like that? Definitely not me.
(Hold on, I gotta go clear my browser history.)
Once I was done admiring Dean in his fancy bow tie, I zoomed in on the picture and peeked around the sides of the mirror to see if I could get an idea of what the secret sanctuary of Dean looked like.
Neat. It looked neat. His bed was made, there was nothing on the floor, the bookshelves were filled with philosophy books and biographies about people I didn’t recognize, and I didn’t see a TV anywhere. Dean lived in the bedroom of the boy my parents would’ve killed for me to be.
DreOfTheDead: geek chic never looked so good
PrezMamasBoy: You don’t think it’s a little too much?
PrezMamasBoy: Wait. Forget I asked. I’ve seen the way you dress.
DreOfTheDead: jealous much
PrezMamasBoy: Yes. You have found me out. I am so incredibly jealous of your avant-garde sense of fashion.
DreOfTheDead: is that sarcasm i’m sensing
PrezMamasBoy: I’m going to make sure that my mother’s first act after she wins the election is an executive order outlawing school dances.
DreOfTheDead: not looking forward to going
PrezMamasBoy: There are many reasons I’m not looking forward to this. Allow me to list them for you.
PrezMamasBoy: They’re loud. Music does not need to make your ears bleed to be enjoyed.
PrezMamasBoy: They reinforce the outdated notion that people must pair up in order to lead a fulfilling life.
PrezMamasBoy: One word: dancing.
DreOfTheDead: you don’t dance?
PrezMamasBoy: Don’t be silly. Of course I dance.
PrezMamasBoy: But the only dance I know how to do is, wait for it . . .
PrezMamasBoy: The robot.
DreOfTheDead: you shouldnt make jokes like that
PrezMamasBoy: Why not?
DreOfTheDead: cause its an ace stereotype
DreOfTheDead: you know thats not why i used to make those jokes right???
DreOfTheDead: and i’m sorry about them
PrezMamasBoy: I thought you made those jokes because you were jealous of my impeccable sense of fashion and polysyllabic vocabulary, but your apology is accepted and appreciated.
“What’re you laughing at over there, mijo?”
My mom was sitting on the couch with her legs pulled up and a blanket draped over her feet because they were always cold, even during the summer. My mom was beautiful in an old Hollywood glamour sort of way. The one time I dressed in drag, I partially based my look on her, and I was stunning.
“Nothing,” I said, which was kind of the truth. I’d been talking to Dean almost nonstop since the debate. When we weren’t talking, I was thinking about talking to him. I read back through our conversations over and over, and I imagined what it would be like to see him again. I tried to keep from letting my emotions get away from me, but restraint wasn’t one of my strengths.
“Nothing seems to be taking up a lot of your attention lately.”
“What?”
Mom pointed at my phone. “You’re spending more time than usual staring at that device. Do you need an intervention?”
I dropped my phone on the couch beside me and turned to my mom.
“There’s the face of the beautiful boy I gave birth to.”
“Ugh, Mom, gross.”
“The miracle of life isn’t gross.”
I shuddered and shook my head. “When’s Dad getting home? I’m starving.”
My mom checked her watch. “Why don’t we order Indian? I don’t think we’ll see your father tonight.”
“Again?”
“It’s the campaign,” she said. “He didn’t do as well in the debate as he’d hoped, and Jackson McMann is causing more trouble than expected.”
“Still,” I said. “He could at least come home for dinner.” Even when Dad was attorney general, he’d made time for us. He had always come home for dinner and had been both willing and eager to help me with Dreadful Dressup. The photos of him made up like a giant zombie bunny had received more comments than any other shoot Mel and I had done. Since he’d started his run for president, I felt like I hardly saw him.
“I know you miss him,” my mother said. There was a wistful tone in her voice that said I wasn’t the only one who missed Dad. “He still hopes you’ll spend some time with him on the campaign trail.”
“What about school?”
“You can take a leave of absence from school until after the election.”
I threw my hands in the air in celebration. “No more homework!”
My mom glared at me with the exasperated look only a mother could conjure. “I’ll speak to your teachers and get your assignments so that you can do them while you’re