We head toward the school entrance, studying the chaos that surrounds us. Ever since the dare started, Monday mornings have become a circus. A crowd lingers at the entrance, mostly spectators. Bryson has kept to the rule that only seniors can take part. It seems that they’re all waiting for the arrival of the man of the hour.
“It’s amazing how the dare has spread,” Donny says. When it first started, it was mostly the girls from cheerleading and the soccer team who asked Bryson out. Then the girls from drama class. But now the dare is out there, and people with no real connection to Bryson and those activities are stepping up to ask him out for fun.
“I heard Eric say that if he could ask Bryson out, he would,” Priya says.
I try not to react to the news of another boy wanting to ask Bryson out.
“Eric?” Donny asks. “The gay one?”
I’m pretty sure, like 85 percent sure, that Donny will be fine with me being gay. Generally, he seems really supportive. It’s him saying stuff like this, though, that makes me hesitate.
Priya smacks Donny on the arm. “Eric Ferguson,” she says. “That’s his name.”
I plan on telling both Priya and Donny…after we’ve graduated from high school. I don’t plan on coming out until then, because even in a school with out-and-proud students and an active LGBTQ club, “gay” is still a label. It doesn’t matter that Eric is a state champion in chess or even that he’s the vice principal’s son. Those are all second to his sexuality. That’s the thing with labels: they tend to stick to you like unwanted gum. It’s why I’m so careful not to be labeled. More than anything, I do not want to be Kai Sheridan, “the gay one.”
Donny shrugs. “I mean, we didn’t really specify that a boy couldn’t ask Bryson out, did we? So anyone could ask him out if they wanted.”
All this talk about gayness has my warning sirens blaring. I try not to move, try to blend in with my surroundings.
“Either way, it doesn’t really matter,” Priya continues. “I’m pretty sure Eric has a boyfriend now. So I guess we’ll never know.” She looks down at her watch. “I need to stop at my locker before assembly.”
Every Monday morning Fairvale Academy holds an assembly in the auditorium, and our principal delivers this week’s announcements and recaps the glory that the sports teams have brought. I don’t mind, though, because my first-period drama class is held in the same building, so I don’t need to leave when the assembly ends. It’s very convenient.
“Don’t be late,” I say.
“Right. I really can’t afford detention for being tardy.” Priya rolls her eyes. Anything that upsets the teachers means us forfeiting our lunch breaks as punishment—being late tops the list. For greater infractions, we earn demerit points—six and we get a Friday afternoon detention. And if you accumulate thirty, you’ll find yourself at school on a Saturday with Vice Principal Ferguson.
“Well, I’ll catch up to you guys later,” I say. “I have an appointment with Big Bertha.”
“No more soda. You drink too much of it. It’s going to kill you.”
“Yes, Mom,” I say to Priya.
“Let a man live,” Donny says.
“Enabling bad behavior is part of the problem.” She turns to me. “We’ll save you a seat.” With that, Priya heads off.
Donny jogs after her. I’m envious of them. I close my eyes for a second and picture Isaac walking with me to my locker—doing normal, everyday things that straight couples get to do.
I open my eyes with a sigh. Judging from the crowd, it seems like Bryson is running late today. I walk over to the vending machine, which is sandwiched between two rows of lockers. Ever since the school board initiated the Great Sugar Culling, this vending machine has been the last of its kind. And I can’t survive without my daily sugar fix.
The vending machine is old and in need of service, but all the students are too afraid to mention it for fear that Big Bertha will be next to receive the ax. As I’m waging war against it, Shannon Flockhart and Natalie da Silva stop by Natalie’s locker.
“It has to be this week. I have to be the one to ask Bryson Keller out today,” Shannon says. “The deadline’s next week.”
“And what if you miss your chance again?” Natalie asks. She looks down at her watch. “Maybe someone already asked him out.”
“Not possible. Dustin says Bryson is coming in late today. So I just need to catch him after first period. I have it all worked out.” Shannon sighs. She leans in close to whisper to Natalie, but Shannon’s never grasped that whispering means actually lowering your voice. “And then I can have the finishing touches for my story. A firsthand account of dating the most popular boy: an in-depth look at private high school culture and the phenomenon of the ‘it’ boy. This will definitely get me off the waitlist for Stanford.”
“You’re doing this all for a story?” Natalie asks.
“I can focus on more than one thing. I can get my story, get off the waitlist, and win the heart of my dream boy. I have it all worked out.”
“You do know this is supposed to be a game, right? He’s specifically not looking for anything serious.”
Finally, with a hard kick, Big Bertha releases my bounty. They turn to look at me—surprised. I blush and bend to pick up my soda. Deciding that I’m not a threat, they return to their conversation. I’m not eavesdropping, I swear.
“Love happens when you least expect it,” Shannon says.
“So, what? You and Bryson are perfect for each other?”
“Yes,” Shannon says. “I knew from the moment we kissed.”
“As your friend, I feel like it’s my job to remind you that that was during a game of spin the bottle, so I don’t think it counts.”
“It doesn’t matter. All I need is five days to show Bryson Keller that we are soul mates.”
Shaking my head, I leave Shannon to her fantasy. Everyone is entitled to one. After all, in mine Isaac and I rent a studio apartment in New York City, and we have a puppy named Dobby the House Dog—we’re really very happy together.
The can opens with a satisfying click. I’m taking my first sip when Louise Keaton barrels into me, sending the can flying. Soda sprays everywhere, but mostly on me.
“Shit!” I say, looking down at my dripping, stained uniform.
Louise seems oblivious. She’s chattering away on her phone. “What! You see Bryson’s car? Where?”
Briefly, I wonder if this is personal, because Louise Keaton is my ex-girlfriend. I’m not even sure I can call her that, because our “relationship” lasted less than two weeks. Freshman year, I asked her out to fit in. Everyone was dating, and Louise said my freckles reminded her of the stars. I appreciated her poetic soul and so I took the plunge. Our relationship was fine…until we went to see a movie on Friday night. Having to lie to Louise when we were alone was too much. I broke it off. Now if anyone asks me why I don’t date, I lie and say my parents are extremely strict.