Chapter 19 #2
When he steps down from the stage, the band begins to play, and the crowd starts to break up into their knots of conversation—and a large chunk of them swarm the bar.
Gray’s not smiling anymore as he comes down from the stage.
He looks washed out, exhausted, and I wonder if he’s ever said anything like that before.
Not in front of so many people. Not to me.
Part of me knew, I guess. Or suspected. But it’s one thing to have an idea, and it’s another thing to hear him say it.
To hear the old fear and pain in his voice.
To know that behind the smooth smiles and easy confidence, there’s that little boy who didn’t know what to do.
I think I’m about to start crying.
That goes right out the window, though, when Robin rushes Gray.
He wraps Gray in a hug, and it looks like he has to restrain himself not to jump up and wrap his legs around him too.
Gray rocks back and immediately starts trying to pry Robin’s arms loose, but Robin is holding on, saying something, and Gray is saying something back.
When I reach them, Robin is saying, “—so brave,” like he’s said it before. “You poor baby. God, my heart was breaking.”
Gray looks at me over Robin’s shoulder. He’s got help-me eyes; it makes me think of when little kids squeeze a puppy too tight.
“Robin, I think you’re on duty in the safe space until eight,” I say.
Robin lets go of Gray and whips around. He glares at me, and then he says, “He’s hurting, in case you couldn’t tell.”
“I’m fine, actually,” Gray says. “Thanks, Robin.”
Robin gives me another glare, like he’s sure I’m going to mess everything up, and then he sniffs and bounces away toward the safe space.
“You were amazing,” I tell Gray.
He rolls his eyes as he takes out his vape.
“You were,” I say. “You did such a good job.”
“I don’t know about that.” He hits his vape, holds it, and then exhales slowly. When he’s done, he rubs his eyes. “I mean, thanks.”
“Are you okay?”
“Not at all. I’m very fucked up.” But there’s a little hint of that cocky smile again. “Oh, you mean tonight?”
I wait because that’s what you have to do sometimes.
“I’m fine, Sammy. Thanks.” And then, “Seriously, thank you. This is incredible. I don’t know how you managed to do it.”
“A lot of it was donations,” I say. “And the college counseling center had some money left in their budget. Speaking of which, I want you to meet somebody.”
“Oh God,” Gray says. “Who is it this time?”
“Come find out.”
“How do you do this? How do you find these people and drag them here?”
“You keep calling them. It’s not hard. Come on.”
That’s more or less true, for what it’s worth.
It’s a few phone calls and some persistence, and yeah, it’s kind of a chore, but it’s worth it to see Gray’s face light up when I introduce him to the dean of Wroxall College, and then to the vice-provost of student life.
It’s like winning the jackpot, the look in Gray’s eyes, when he shakes hands with the president of the college.
And Gray doesn’t miss a beat. He smiles.
He’s charming—like Gran says, he could charm the pants off a preacher—telling everyone who will listen about what WISP can do and how they can help.
Wroxall’s president is moving away, and Gray is still beaming, when Mr. Fields steps up to clap Gray on the shoulder.
“Very impressive stuff tonight,” he says.
He’s got white hair that looks like somebody fluffed it, like a little show dog, and he’s wearing a blue blazer with brass buttons. “I’m glad I came.”
“Thanks,” Gray says, “but this was all Sam.”
Mr. Fields gives me a considering look, but all he says is “I took the liberty of inviting some friends. Let me introduce you.”
That’s when a girl I don’t know—she came with the college counseling department—appears at my elbow and tells me they need more flyers.
“Go on,” I say when Gray hesitates. “I’ll catch up.”
It doesn’t take long to find more flyers for the informational tables, and then I catch Robin grinding up on this big frat boy behind the photo booth, and somebody breaks a bottle so I’ve got to get a flashlight and help pick up glass.
By the time, I’m done, I’ve lost track of Gray, so I make another loop of the party, making sure everything’s in order.
And then I see him, and I stop.
Because he’s talking to Chief Peterson and Mr. Somerset.
They aren’t supposed to be here. That’s my first, clearest thought. And then, less clear, but with a sharper edge: Do they know?
They’re standing on the edge of the party, where the lights barely reach, like they want some privacy.
Chief Peterson’s face is hard to read, but Mr. Somerset doesn’t look happy, and he’s saying something, and Gray doesn’t look happy either.
Gray’s got his arms folded across his chest, and his jaw is set, and even though Gray and I haven’t had many arguments, I recognize the expression: when he’s done trying to be charming.
When a lot of people find out for the first time that there’s bone and gristle under all those freckles.
I can’t even explain it to myself, but I know what they’re talking about.
I start walking toward them. I’m not trying to sneak. I’m not trying to hide. It’s like everything’s part of a movie now, and all anybody can do is play their part.
“—because he’s not gay,” Mr. Somerset says, and he’s angry. It’s in his voice, low and hard. And it’s in his cheeks, hot little red points.
“What the fuck do you know?” Gray says.
“Let’s all calm down,” Chief Peterson says.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Gray says, trampling the end of Chief Peterson’s words, not even waiting for him to finish. “You should know better than anybody what it’s like. You want to talk about fucking bi erasure, take a look in the fucking mirror.”
“He’s not bi either,” Mr. Somerset says, and it’s like he’s cracking a whip.
“Fuck you,” Gray says. “How the fuck would you know?”
“I know he’s a follower, Gray. That’s his whole thing. He’ll do anything for people to like him. That’s how he’s been from the beginning.”
Chief Peterson says something, but I can’t hear him.
Some of it comes back when Gray’s talking again, and he’s saying, “—some fucking mentor.”
“Grow up, Gray,” Mr. Somerset says. “And do the right thing for once. I get it: he’s sweet, and he’s safe, and he can’t hurt you.
But you can hurt him. Do you know anything about him?
Do you know anything about his family? About his dad?
You are ruining his fucking life, and you don’t care because he likes you and you’re having fun. ”
Gray’s whole body seems to lock up. I can’t even tell if he’s breathing. He doesn’t even sound like himself when he says, “Yeah, well, you don’t have to worry about it, because we were just doing it to help each other out. After tonight, it’s over.”
Chief Peterson notices me first. All he says is “Sam.”
Gray pivots. Mr. Somerset’s color drops, and then it’s back again, redder than ever.
“It’s over?” I say.
Gray looks around. There’s a kind of desperation I haven’t seen in his face before, and finally, he says, “Fuck, Sam. Fucking—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” He stops again. “Can we talk about this in private?”
“Why would we talk about it in private?” I say. “You were fine talking about it five seconds ago.”
Hurt crosses his face, and for a moment, he looks off balance. Then he’s back, his voice calm but cool. “All I meant was we hadn’t talked about it.”
“We hadn’t talked about it.”
There’s the tiniest movement like he wants to look over at Mr. Somerset and Chief Peterson, but he doesn’t. “I don’t know what you want me to say. We haven’t talked about it. And I’d really like to have this conversation in private.”
“We’re having it right now,” I say. There’s this part of me that can’t believe how calm I sound.
And there’s this other part of me that keeps hearing We haven’t talked about it on repeat.
Like we needed to talk about it. Like we hadn’t both known.
But, then, I guess we hadn’t. One of us hadn’t.
“Right here. What do we need to talk about?”
The pause is longer this time, and the answer limps out of him. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know.”
“Stop fucking doing that.” He puts his hands on his hips, and his shoulders go back, and this is the Gray I remember, the one I thought I knew before the last few weeks. “How about if you’re even gay, for starters?”
Mr. Somerset says, “Sam, you don’t have to answer—”
“Be quiet,” I tell him.
Mr. Somerset shuts his mouth. He looks at me like I hit him.
“This isn’t any of your business,” I say. “So stay out of it.” Then, to Gray, I say, “Why do I have to be something? We’re—” I almost say in love, but we aren’t, and this hot flush runs through me, prickling my face. “We’re having a good time. Why isn’t that what matters?”
“Because it does matter, Sam.” Gray sounds like I’m stupid, like he can’t believe how stupid I am. “Because we’ve been living this weird half-secret, and it’s not going to last forever, and then shit is going to hit the fucking fan.”
I don’t know what to say to that.
“Is he right?” Gray asks. “Am I ruining your life?”
“No.”
“Great. So your family’s okay with all of this? No big deal?”
And I don’t have anything to say to that, either. But there’s this ugly satisfaction on his face, like he wants to be right, and it’s like my mouth opens all on its own, and I don’t even know what I’m saying until the words are coming out of my mouth.
“Why would it be a big deal?” I ask. “Like you said, it’s over.”
When I turn, I can’t look at Mr. Somerset or Chief Peterson. I’m a few yards away when Gray screams after me, “Yeah, you’re fucking right it’s over!” He sounds like he’s out of breath. “Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck! You!”