school colors—yellow and blue; go, Lions!—but still has that depressing look of a gymnasium. It reminds me of my great-grandfather’s funeral. Even wearing makeup and dressed in his favorite suit, he looked like a corpse.
PrezMamasBoy: I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this. You probably have friends to talk to about these feelings. I have friends.
PrezMamasBoy: Okay, I have Tamal. He’s a friend. My best friend. But he and I don’t talk like this. We talk about baseball and college and I listen to him worry about girls.
PrezMamasBoy: Are we friends, Dre?
PrezMamasBoy: I feel like we could be friends, which is a bit surreal if you think about it, but I don’t want to assume a friendship where there isn’t one.
PrezMamasBoy: I should go before I begin typing out the lyrics of maudlin songs that you would only ridicule me for listening to. I have a serious Troye Sivan addiction.
PrezMamasBoy: Even if all you do is skim these messages, thank you for listening.
I paused with my finger over the button, prepared to sign off, probably for the last time, seeing as I had essentially vomited my feelings all over the screen. It was horrifying, in a way, to see the wall of words on the screen that I couldn’t take back. They were like the path of devastation left by a tornado. Tornado Dean. They don’t name tornadoes, do they? Hurricane Dean, then. If there was any chance of Dre and I being friends, I’d probably ruined it.
I sat on the edge of the toilet, reading and rereading what I’d written. Everything I’d said to Dre was true, but it was all so embarrassing. There was honesty and then there was what I’d done. The funny thing about honesty is that most people claim to want it until they actually get it. The truth is often ugly and unpleasant. It’s why most people, when asked how they are, respond with “Okay” rather than by dumping the truth of how they’re feeling on the person who asked. We might all be happier if we answered more honestly. Saying the things I’d said to Dre left me feeling vulnerable and a little sick to my stomach, but I also felt a bit . . . not better, but lighter. No matter how Dre responded, at least I’d told him the truth.
When I turned back to my phone to type my goodbye, I saw three dots indicating that he was typing a reply. I waited, dread sucking a hole in my stomach, for Dre to ask me to stop bothering him, for Dre to tell me I was nothing more to him than the uptight son of his father’s political rival.
And then the reply finally came.
DreOfTheDead: of course we’re friends
DreOfTheDead: dumbass
Dre
FIRST IMPRESSIONS ARE a bitch, and so was I. Especially when it came to my girl Mel. No one was good enough for her.
“What do you think?” Mel had dragged me to a corner of the ballroom that was far enough from the music that I could actually hear her talk. Pulsing colored lights strobed the dance floor as cool costumed freaks danced to music from their favorite movies and TV shows. I kept looking over my shoulder, expecting a photographer or reporter to be lurking somewhere in the shadows, but the nice thing about the convention was that the costumes and sheer number of people afforded me a temporary cloak of anonymity. Tonight, I got to be Dre and not Tomás Rosario’s son.
“Honest opinions?”
Mel nodded emphatically.
“Andy’s cute. He’s got a whole brooding Loki thing going on that I dig, and he’s got a sense of humor. Not sure it’s a good one, but it’s better than nothing. He doesn’t seem like the type to hang out with you at a protest; more like he might be willing to give you a ride to one and pick you up after. Overall, he was cool to talk to.”
“What about Tade?”
I tapped my chin like I had to think about it. “He’s got a sexy John Boyega vibe.”
“Star Wars Boyega?”
I shook my head. “Attack the Block Boyega.”
Mel broke out in a grin. “My favorite Boyega.”
“Is there a bad Boyega?”
“Definitely not,” we both said at the same time, laughing.
“But,” I said, “I couldn’t get him to talk about anything. Not even Saga, and he’s dressed like Marko!”
Mel threw up her hands in frustration. “You’re not helping, Dre. What am I supposed to do?”
I threw on my best How are you not seeing the solution