“With what?”
“We need the props organized so we can start prepping for Romeo and Juliet,” Mrs. Henning explains. “Please be careful with them. Some may be crafts made by you students, but others have been donated by my peers. And thus, they are holy.” Mrs. Henning smiles. “Take care.”
I nod. It’s not like I have a say in the matter. She seems to realize this, too, as she purses her lips. She walks up the aisle but stops halfway.
“Please stay for the full lunch break. If you leave or mess around, I will know.” There is no denying it. Among the students, Mrs. Henning is infamous for her uncanny ability to know everything and anything that happens within the auditorium—whether she’s present or not. A few months ago, someone damaged one of the seats by running across the backs of them on a dare, and as soon as she came through the doorway, Mrs. Henning knew just who it was. Now there’s an ongoing rumor that she may be a witch.
“Yes, ma’am.” I watch her leave before heading toward the stage. I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible.
The prop storage room is small and located at the back of the stage. It’s still a mess from our Hamlet production. I enter the crowded space, remove my soda-smelling blazer, and drape it across my messenger bag. I’m bent over, organizing a box of old shoes, when there is a tentative knock at the door.
Bryson leans against the doorframe and looks at me like he’s seeing me for the first time—the real me. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I clear my throat awkwardly.
“Oh, you came.” In hopes that I can ignore the very distracting presence across from me, I search for the partner to the shoe I’m holding. My heart’s racing in my chest. We’re alone and we still need to talk. Should I bring it up first? Should I stay silent? I’m torn about what to do, what to say, how to act.
“Sorry I’m late,” Bryson says as he places his bag down next to mine. He’s holding two sandwiches. “Here.”
I stare at his outstretched hand. “What’s this for?”
“I thought you might be hungry.”
I hesitate, deciding whether I should accept the sandwich, but the loud growl from my stomach makes the decision for me. I reach for it with a mumbled thanks.
I sit with my back against the wall and take a bite of the sandwich—it’s chicken and mayo. Did he know that’s one of my favorites, or is it just a coincidence? Bryson sits down directly opposite me. He crosses his long legs and starts eating, too.
“So are you thinking of auditioning for the next play?” He points at the props around us.
“No. I hoped to write it,” I say. “I’m not an actor.”
Which is sort of a lie, considering I put on a performance every day. I’ve lied about crushes that I’ve never had, kisses with girls who don’t exist. I’ve acted out my own dramas. But I don’t say any of this. We seem to be talking about everything but the elephant in the room. And I’m okay with that.
“Hoped? Past tense?”
“The deadline for the play is the end of lunch. I still need to finish it, but I’m here instead.”
“What happened?” Bryson asks. “Why were you late?”
“You happened,” I say. The anger from before is mostly gone, though. The fear of what might happen between Bryson and me is demanding the spotlight now.
“Me? What do you mean?” He studies me, eyes narrowing.
I shake my head. “Louise Keaton was racing to ask you out and she bumped into me while I was drinking a soda.” I motion at the state of my uniform. Even though it’s dry now, it still carries the stain of the cola. “Which made me late for assembly. So I got busted for that and ended up late for drama, and, well, here we are.”
“Oh,” Bryson says. He runs his hand through his hair, a nervous gesture. “Your morning sounds worse than mine. I’m sorry about that. And I’m sorry Henning punished you.”
I shrug. “She’s still my favorite teacher. So I can’t be mad at her too much.”
“Don’t be too mad at me, either, okay?” Bryson offers me a smile. “Henning’s my favorite, too. You know, I spent an entire afternoon once just watching clips from that show she was on.”
My eyes widen. “Really? I did that, too.” I laugh. “It was an experience.”
“That’s one way of describing it,” Bryson says with a shake of his head.
“What about you?” I ask. “Do you plan on auditioning for the play?”
“Maybe, if soccer allows it. I like acting. It’s fun.”
“Hollywood aspirations, huh?” Living within driving distance of the City of Angels means that there have been a number of Fairvale Academy alumni who have moved to LA with big dreams. Those who have been successful have been invited back to guest lecture by Mrs. Henning. I can’t deny that Bryson Keller is hot enough to be a leading man.
“Not really. It’s not my dream.” Bryson stands. He crinkles the sandwich wrapper and places it in his pocket to throw away later. I smile—somehow, Bryson Keller not littering makes sense. “We should get this done before Henning has us repeating this all week.”
I stand, too, relieved now that there’s some distance between us. I busy myself with sifting through the bevy of foam props in all shapes and sizes. The silence deepens, and I try to ignore the growing awkwardness of this moment. Does Bryson feel the same way?
“So, you’re gay?”
I still. I know that I can lie. By saying no, I can change my story. But I find that I don’t want to. Kai Sheridan is gay. Why should I deny it? I am who I am. Honestly, I’m tired of holding this secret so close to my chest. It’s like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, and right now I want to watch the clock run out. See what happens.
“Yes.”
Three letters that change everything. Now there really isn’t any going back. Oddly, I don’t feel the sheer panic that I thought I would whenever I imagined this happening. Maybe I’m numb, and this is me preparing for the judgment that’s surely coming—if my ex–best friend couldn’t accept me, why will Bryson Keller?
“Cool.”
That one word has me sagging in relief. Even so, I find myself searching for the signs that my heart remembers. Bryson is standing next to a costume rack. He’s stopped what he was doing, and all his attention is on me. I look up from the box I’m rifling through and our eyes meet.
I wait for him to turn gay into an accusation—an insult. I wait for him to stop seeing me as Kai and to see me just as gay. I wait for all this while reminding myself that being gay is never a choice. If it were, why would so many of us choose to be shunned and spoken about behind our backs? The answer is simple: it isn’t a choice.