Chapter 16 #2
“We won!” he shrieks. Behind him, the other dancers laugh, looking on with fond expressions like he’s not just their competitor but also their kid, someone they admire and feel pride in at the same time.
“That was amazing!.” Jayden says, and they hug tightly.
Alexander hugs me next, surprising me, and after a second I hug back, relaxing into his embrace.
His cologne is spicy, and he’s wearing a lot of it.
He moves to Forrest then, and the rest of us in turn, our little huddle a circle of warmth in the loud gymnasium.
It feels good, but it’s not going to last. I know Anna is thinking about me right now, how I’m such a bad friend that I had no idea about Jayden, how she’s done with me and our friendship.
She’ll tell Makayla, and then Jayden, and they’ll see it too.
The moment is a candle I’m holding, my very presence enough to douse the flame.
That isn’t real. It’s not—it isn’t right now, but it will be.
I can feel it, sweeping toward me like a tidal wave—STOP IT—this is going to end, and they’re all going to hate me.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I say, backing away, and it doesn’t seem like anyone notices.
I turn and slip through the crowd, out of the gym doors, into the lobby of the community center.
I scan the walls and find a sign pointing me in the direction I need: the restrooms, six all-gender single stalls lining a side hallway, and I push open a vacant one, locking the door behind me.
The linoleum floor is cool under me when I sit, and I press my hands to the hard surface like it can anchor me. I close my eyes, breathing deeply, and repeat the words to myself, the ones I’ve said so many times I can see them, like wheels wearing a groove in my brain.
It should work, but it doesn’t. I try over and over, set after set, until I’m breathing fast, tears streaming down my cheeks, hands clutching clumps of hair at my temples.
The fear is intense, swirling into devastation, a maelstrom that’s pulling me under.
I can’t feel this, I can’t handle it, it’s too much.
“That’s not real. It’s not happening.” I rock back and forth, the words coming out of my mouth now instead of staying in my mind.
“That’s not real. It’s not happening. That’s not real.
It’s not happening.” Someone is probably right outside and they can hear me, they can hear me losing it, they’re calling the police right now and I’ll go to a mental hospital and never come back and all my friends will forget about me and Forrest won’t care and I’ll just be that crazy person they knew—
My phone rings and I start. It falls out of my hoodie pocket and hits the floor, still ringing.
Forrest is calling. Forrest is calling me.
I answer.
“Where are you?” he asks.
“Um.” I scramble to my feet and unlock the door.
I can’t say where I am, that’s too weird.
“I’m. Um. I’m outside! Just needed a break.
From the, um, crowd?” I head out of the bathroom hallway, toward the exit, away from the gym.
I push through the door and step outside, the air hitting my face with a chill that snaps me back into my body like a rubber band.
“Oh, OK! I’ll come join you,” he says, and hangs up.
I’m at the side of the building, and I circle around to the front, phone still in my hand.
The line of cars dropping people off is gone, and there’s a small crowd milling around out here too, a few folks smoking cigarettes out by the street.
I stand next to a huge planter holding a shrunken rhododendron.
When Forrest emerges, I raise a hand hesitantly to wave, and he walks over.
“You were gone for a minute,” he says.
“I was?”
“Yeah, like two whole battles,” he says. “I got worried.”
Has he noticed? Has he realized that I’m actually crazy? “Sorry.”
“It’s all good.” He sits on the broad rim of the planter. “You staying the whole day?”
I nod. “Do you think 206 is going to win?”
“That would be fucking dope,” he says, picking at his cuticles.
“They haven’t been around that long. Alexander has only been competing with them for a year-ish?
He used to do mostly solo competitions, or sometimes he’d be in a random crew for a second, but it never really stuck.
The first one was a bunch of bros, and Alexander .
. .” He chuckles. “That’s not really his vibe. ”
I sit next to him. Forrest’s presence, the sound of his voice, pulls my focus, the thoughts fading away in the warm glow of being near him. Our legs are inches apart. “Were they homophobic?”
He shook his head. “Nah, they were always pretty chill and respectful according to him, but . . . it was just a lot of super-masc energy and he didn’t really feel at home. He likes hanging with femmes, so this crew is a good fit.”
“What about you?” I nudge him. “You’re not femme.”
He looks at me sidelong, smiling. “No, but I’m like . . . soft masc.” He flutters his nails, freshly painted black. “What about you? Do you like femmes, or mascs, or . . .”
His eyes are on mine, greener in this light, and I bite my lip, looking down at my shoes. “I don’t know! I like both, and everything else. I think the person matters more to me than the gender or the expression.”
“That’s cool,” he says. “I’m kinda the same.”
“Cool.” I press my feet into the pavement, very aware of my hand resting on my thigh, right next to where his hand rests on his.
“So . . .” He trails off. A bird twitters in a nearby tree, but otherwise, everything is quiet.
All I can feel is how close he is to me.
The thoughts, the fear, the maelstrom inside me, it’s all gone.
Just . . . gone. “The other day . . . it was really fun hanging out. And . . . I was wondering something.”
Everything slows down, like we’ve entered a parallel universe where time passes differently.
I shift my body, turning slightly, and my knee presses into his.
The warmth flows from his body into mine at that spot, and I look up, into his eyes.
Our faces are inches apart now. How did we get this close?
“Sid! Forrest!”
We both jump, whirling around to see Makayla waving at us from the doorway. “The next round is starting! 206 is competing first!”
“Oh shit!” Forrest hustles toward the community center, and I follow, heart pounding.
We weave through the crowd inside the gym, back to our spot, just as the emcee calls the 206 Maverix up to the stage.
I want to ask Forrest what he was about to say—I need to, almost, and the need is itching under my skin.
I press my lips together tightly, because if I speak, I won’t have control over what I say.
The words will come spilling out, and it will be humiliating, and Forrest will think I’m just some weirdo who’s in love with him.
But I’m not in love with him. I just feel at home around him.
When we’re talking, all my anxiety movies stop, the theater in my brain goes dark, and I’m in the present, anchored wherever he is.
And he smells good. And has nice eyes. And lips. And I want to lean in and—
“Can I tell you later?” he asks, right in my ear, and I jerk, startled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He curls a hand around my arm and squeezes it once before letting go.
“It’s all good! Yeah, totally,” I say, smiling at him in what I hope is a normal way to smile.
“OK, sick,” he says, and looks at the stage as the music kicks in. “Oh my god, Alexander is up first!”
I watch Alexander twirl and pose, trying to focus on the music, the moves, the crews cheering their dancers on, but all I can feel is the imprint of Forrest’s hand, still warm around my bicep.
Later, he’ll tell me whatever he has to tell me this will end and everything is going to be fine it will end—
EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE.
EVERYTHING IS GOING to be fine.
Everything is going to be fine.