James navigated his way out of the spot DJ had found near the lot.
As we drove to the other build site, I read directions off the Waze app on my phone.
It was the sort of moment that could have made me believe in magic—that the whole fucking universe had conspired on my behalf to put James and me together, even if just for the afternoon. Although, I knew I’d had more than a hand in it, considering I’d nearly knocked one guy over when I’d sprung forward, waving my hand to volunteer with him. Acting so nonchalant about it now was as ridiculous as it was pathetic.
While heading down the freeway, I noted the sweat he’d managed to work up, making his dark-gray tee hug his body.
“Are you?” he asked.
“What?” I must’ve spaced while I was checking him out. “Sorry, I was…” I didn’t even know how to excuse that, but he saved me by saying, “I was asking if you were going to homecoming.”
“Are you asking me to the school dance? And here I thought we were just getting to know each other.” He took it in the playful spirit I’d intended it, which settled any nervousness I’d had about him potentially catching on to the sincere interest that made me play with the remark to begin with. “Dances are kind of hit or miss for me. I went to homecoming freshman year with this girl I’d asked out, and then didn’t really care sophomore or junior year. But Taryn and Ben both want to go as a group this year, and I’m fine with that.”
I could tell by the expression he made that he still wasn’t all that clear about our dynamic.
He said, “Since we’re talking about this, there is something I’ve been wanting to bring up with you. You don’t have to say anything, but you’ve mentioned your friends Taryn and Ben to me a few times, and insinuated certain things…”
I tensed up. It was one thing when I was keeping the conversation on him and his own life, but I didn’t share things about myself.
He continued, “Just…I hope that if you ever need to discuss anything around that, you would feel like you could talk to me about anything you might be struggling with.”
Struggling with how much I want to bone my straight teacher is about it.
As I reflected on our previous discussions about Taryn and Ben, I realized I had sort of danced around it, feeling like that was best to do with a teacher. But I guessed what he was really getting at. “Are you talking about me being bi?”
He seemed taken aback by my directness. “Yes, I—”
“I’m all good with that.” I had to laugh. “I thought it was pretty clear by the way I talked about my friends that that was the case. If you think I haven’t been eyeing Jason’s abs for the past few Saturdays, you’re dead wrong.”
That got him laughing again as he stopped the car at the light off the exit Waze had told us to take. “I feel so stupid. Here I was thinking you might be too uncomfortable to share it with anyone.”
“Oh, I’m very comfortable with it, Mr. Warner.”
He sighed, then chuckled. “Leave it to me to overcomplicate something.” Smiling, he hoisted himself up slightly in his seat, retrieving a brochure from his back pocket and handing it to me. “That’s what I was going to give you.”
As the light flashed green, he pushed on the gas and kept on our path as I read the brochure title: Staying In or Coming Out? Tough Decisions in the Life of LGBT Youth.
I practically snorted. “This was how you were going to console me if I had a bunch of deep-seated self-hating queer shit?”
He shook his head. “It was easier at my last school because we had a whole program. I was talking to Kendra…sorry, Ms. Eiken, about—”
“About me?”
“No, no,” he said quickly. “I wouldn’t mention your name. I told her I was talking to a student about things that made me think that, and she thought some literature might be good. I don’t know why, but it felt stupid to begin with, and now even stupider that I was concerned.”
The idea of him chatting about me with other teachers didn’t sit well with me, but I pushed the discomfort aside as I opened the flaps on the brochure, scanning over the text on the cheap paper stock that had cartoony graphics complementing the facts and information.