Chapter Five 13 Going on 30, dir. by Gary Winick #4
“I didn’t even realize I’d fallen for him, how much I liked it when we’d lay in my bed and he threw his legs over mine, or
when he’d play with my hair. Or when we’d hang out with our teammates, and they’d all leave the Walmart parking lot one by
one until it was just the two of us in the bed of his pickup truck and we’d go to Cook Out and get milkshakes.”
“The Walmart parking lot?” Eli tries to tease, seeing how much this story is bothering Peter.
“There aren’t that many places to hang out in Comer,” Peter says, smiling that soft smile that’s already become so familiar.
“Then, it just happened one day. We were watching a movie, he asked if I’d kissed anyone, I said no. He kept asking questions,
the last of which was if I wanted him to kiss me, and I did.”
“You know, I hear about that all the time in movies and books, but no one ever wanted to practice kissing with me in high
school,” Eli protests, still trying to add a bit of levity.
“Maybe I was cuter than you?”
The comment is such a surprise that Eli can’t help but stare at Peter with his mouth open. “Hey!” Eli yanks his hand, pulling
Peter toward him, but their steps never falter, and Peter laughs boldly.
“Sorry,” he says, laughing along with Eli.
“No, it’s probably true. God, my acne was out of control as a kid, and starting a film club certainly didn’t help.” Eli reactively
touches the zit that’s barely below the surface of his nose. “What happened to Mark?”
“We kissed a lot after that. And kissing turned into touching, that turned into hooking up. In our rooms, at school under
the bleachers after games, behind the grocery store we got part-time jobs at. But his parents found Grindr on his phone one
day, found the older guys that he was talking to.”
Eli’s heart sinks. “Oh, Jesus...”
“Yeah, then they found our texts and told my parents.”
Eli’s stomach sinks, his hand tight around Peter’s. “You don’t have to talk about this, Peter. It’s okay.”
“No, I mean...” His breath hitches. “I’ve unpacked parts of it. My parents didn’t care. I mean, they did. My mom hated that I was keeping secrets from her, and my dad had a lot of questions. Things were really weird at first, but
we figured it out. They’re okay with it now, send me texts every June for Pride month, like it’s my second birthday or something.”
They walk for a minute in silence before Peter opens his mouth again.
“Mark’s parents sent him to conversion therapy. My mom said it was just a different school, but I found a brochure that Mark’s
mom gave her. Then the rumors around school started to spread. And people would ask me what I thought; I was his best friend,
after all... and I... I never knew what to say.”
“Peter...” Eli pauses, his arm stretching out as Peter walks ahead as if nothing had happened.
“Is everything okay?”
“I feel like I should be asking you that.”
“It’s... I mean... it’s fine.”
“Is it?”
Peter shrugs. “I mean, can it be anything else? Besides, don’t you need this stuff for your article?”
Eli struggles to come up with what to say.
“It’s been years,” he says to Eli. “I still think of him a lot. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget Mark. Like after he was gone,
I couldn’t play football anymore, not without him. And I realized he was the only reason I was still friends with the people
who’d bullied me when I was a freshman. But... that whole... situation. It’s over, in the past.”
“Yeah, but he was your best friend. Did you ever see him again?”
“I did, once. I saw him in town one day after we were both supposed to have graduated, and we caught up for a bit. But...
he wasn’t the same. I gave him my number, but he never reached out, and then his parents moved the next week, and he went
with them. And I never saw him again.”
“I’m sorry, Peter.”
“I bet that’s good material, huh?” Peter’s voice even sounds lighter now, at least to Eli’s ears.
“Oh, yeah...” Eli stammers, caught off guard. “I won’t write about that, though. Not all of it, at least. I’m sorry that
you went through that.”
“Thanks.” Eli feels Peter squeeze his hand.
The remainder of their walk is taken in silence. Eli’s too afraid to unearth any more of Peter’s trauma, so he leaves it be.
And Peter doesn’t seem to mind. They make it to the bus stop just as Eli can see the bus approaching.
“Can I ask you something?” Peter peers down at Eli.
Eli smiles artfully. “You just did.”
Peter smiles right back at him. “Tonight was better, right?”
“I think we’re already seeing improvements,” Eli tells him. “Though I want you to practice not logging in and responding to
work messages when I’m not around.”
“I have terrible news,” Peter says. “I have to write a report over the weekend.”
“Peter Park.”
“I’ll start on Monday,” he says and holds his hand up. “Scout’s honor.”
“Were you really a Boy Scout?”
“Another Mark story, our dads thought it’d be good for us. But the other kids were just racist.”
“Kids are assholes.”
“Yeah.” Peter nods. “I swear I have good memories.”
“Can you tell me one?”
“Tonight is one,” Peter offers before he cringes at his own words. “I’m sorry, that was cheesy. I always loved cooking with
my mom—she’d always let me help, and we perfected our own little kimchi recipe.”
“You’ll have to share it with me sometime.”
“And my dad, he loves his garden. He never got the chance to have one in Incheon; their apartment was too small. But they
have a huge backyard in Comer, he grows all kinds of flowers and vegetables, and he let me help when he thought I was old
enough. Eventually we started to take what we harvested to the farmers’ market on weekends. Everyone loved his tomatoes; said
they were the juiciest they’d ever had.”
“Do you still cook? Or garden?”
“Nah, I wanted to when I moved into my apartment. There’s a lot of good space in the backyard that the other tenants said
I was free to use, but I never did. I guess gardening and cooking didn’t have that same magic being away from them.” Peter’s
voice is melancholic, as if he’s imagining that he’s right there with his parents in the garden or the kitchen.
The bus brakes at the intersection ahead of them, and Eli takes a leap. Metaphorical, of course. “Um... I have an idea.”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you good night?”
“You want to... to kiss me?” Peter stumbles through the question.
“Only if you want to,” Eli says. “For practice?”
“Yeah... I mean, yes. Of course, that makes sense. We’re supposed to be boyfriends, and boyfriends kiss. That’s a normal
thing for boyfriends to do, and I guess I should learn how to kiss, I think that—”
“Peter?”
“Hmm?” In an instant, Peter seems to snap out of whatever trance he worked himself into.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” Eli promises. Perhaps the idea was a little far-fetched.
“No, I mean... I like kissing. And I think kissing you would be fun.”
“Do you want me to lead?”
“If you don’t mind?”
Eli takes Peter’s other hand, just as his bus pulls up to the stop, the brakes hissing as their lips meet for a short, chaste
kiss. It’s simple, sweet, Eli lingering just long enough to taste whatever moisturizer is on Peter’s lips. He even has to stand on his tiptoes to meet Peter, and that’s
barely enough to truly close the distance.
It’s not much. But it’s enough to turn Peter bright red again. From his cheeks to the very tips of his ears.
“How was that?” Eli asks.
And Peter smiles brighter than Eli’s ever seen him smile. “I liked it.”
“Good. Now.” Eli lets him go, stepping onto the bus just as the doors open. “Do me a favor?”
“What?” Peter asks, still caught in a haze.
“Pick the next date,” Eli says.
The confusion sets in immediately. “What?”
“Tell me something you want to do,” Eli says as the doors close and his voice becomes muffled. “You have to pick what we do
next!” Eli yells through the door.
“But I—” is all Peter gets out before the bus lurches out and speeds along the route. Eli scans the Clipper card on his phone,
picking a spot at the back of the bus for his ride home.
His phone dings a second later.
Peter: I’m supposed to pick the date?
Eli smiles at his screen.
Eli: we did something i wanted to do
Eli: now we do something you want to do
Peter: What should I pick?
Eli: whatever you want
Eli: it’s your date.
Eli: just make it interesting.
Peter doesn’t respond until Eli gets home, walking into a dark apartment. Light is coming out from the crack at the bottom
of Patricia’s door, but he decides not to bother her. He can hear Rose snoring in her bed, so he can’t talk to her. Which
leaves him all on his own, falling face-first onto his bed and listening to the frame of the bed creak with his weight. He
pulls out his phone, scrolling back through the texts to Peter, all the selfies he’s sent, their first few awkward messages.
It’s nice to feel like they’ve already made progress. Tonight Peter really shined, opening up to Eli in a way that he didn’t
really expect. Sure, the night began rocky and awkward, and it’s not as if Peter’s been magically fixed.
But progress has been made, and he’s already got a few ideas for what to put in both articles he’ll have to write. He thinks
about Peter’s story, how scary it must’ve been for the boy you liked to be there one day and totally gone the next.
Then for him to return, just to be a different person. He knows his conscience won’t let him write about those exact circumstances, but he has to include them in some capacity; it’s too interesting not to.
He jots down a few notes for Michael’s article as well, how Peter is seeming to relax when he’s with Eli, how they spoke about
his addiction to his work. It doesn’t feel like much, but like Eli’s mother tells him often: “Any progress is good progress.”
His phone vibrates while he brushes his teeth and washes his face, leaving Peter’s final message of the night unchecked for
a good few minutes before Eli grabs his phone again, diving under his comforter.
He smiles when he reads it.
Peter: I have a few ideas.
Peter: Also, I made it home.
Eli types a quick reply.
Eli: glad you’re home safe.
Eli: and I can’t wait to hear what your ideas are.