“So?” Dylan replies.
“Tariq,” I say.
“Yeah,” Dylan says. “Who knew? Dark horse, huh?”
“Very sly. How long’s it been going on?”
“How should I know? Shut up!” he hisses. “Just be happy for them!”
“Huh,” I nod. “Happy. Tariq didn’t exactly look happy just now.”
“He was surprised!” Dylan whispers.
“Surprised? How do you know he was surprised?”
“’Cause Nate didn’t say beforehand he was gonna do this.”
I nod, satisfied, and let Dylan think about what he’s just said.
“Huh,” I say. “And how do you know he didn’t tell him?”
Dylan’s eyes widen. “What the hell are you talking about, man?”
He says it too loud. Nate stumbles and is put off his stride. He gives us a nervous glance before carrying on. “The competition was particularly stiff this year…”
There’s laughter and a “Whoa-hey!” on the word “stiff” – year eleven being as immature and predictable as ever.
“I know what you’re implying,” Dylan hisses.
“And what’s that?”
Dylan licks his lips, swallows. “I dunno.”
“Oh, it’s just you literally just said you did know.”
“Stop trying to trip me up,” Dylan says, reaching for my hand. “Come here.”
I let him hold my hand, keeping some semblance of a smile on my face for the sake of the crowd, because this really isn’t the moment for a screaming row. Nate’s just come out. Nate’s just told everyone about his boyfriend. And apparently Nate’s boyfriend is screwing mine. Of that, I am ninety-nine per cent certain. I’m in shock, I’m just staring forward, I can feel my whole body shaking, I can’t even process the enormity of this yet, I know it’ll crush me … but I know it’ll kill Nate.
“Chill, dude,” Dylan whispers. “Doesn’t matter if we win or not, I’ll still love ya anyway!”
I do not reply.
I don’t have any words.
Nate’s brandishing a golden envelope. “I have the names of the winners from the secret ballot here, and I can tell you it was close, but there was a winner!”
Nate does that thing from TV talent shows where he waits way too long to announce the result.
“Please just tell us,” some girl shouts, with literally zero excitement in her voice.
“Sorry,” Nate says. He clears his throat, opens the golden envelope, reads it and takes a deep breath. “The prom king and queen 2020 are…”
Total hush falls over the entire room.
“Jack Parker and Dylan Hooper.”
The room erupts in cheers.
Dylan throws his hands in the air, basking in it all, then he picks me up, lifts me off the floor and twirls me around.
I’m like a rag doll, and I just let him.
When I’m back on the floor, Nate is brandishing two golden crowns. “Please step forward so I can crown you,” Nate says.
Dylan is right up there, suddenly loving it all. I wander up behind him.
“Who’s king and who’s queen?” Nate whispers.
“Bit personal!” Dylan laughs.
Nate’s face is a picture of innocence, really not getting it.
“I think it’s obvious I’m the king,” Dylan adds.
“Huh. OK,” Nate says. “Please kneel!” he announces.
Dylan makes a big show of kneeling so his face is indecently close to Nate’s crotch, which elicits further cheers from the overexcited crowd, and a flurry of photos. “Say that to all the boys now, huh, Nate?” Dylan grins.
Nate just stares at him. “No,” he says. He glances nervously at the crowd, and then at Tariq. “I didn’t mean that.”
Whatever poison is multiplying inside me is reaching some kind of critical mass. I don’t care if we don’t talk any more. I don’t care if he hates me. We used to be best mates and Nate does not deserve any of this.
Nate raises the crown above Dylan’s head. “I hereby crown you—”
“WAIT!” I shout.
Everything stops. Everyone’s staring. I’m like the person who has barged into the church at the last moment with an objection to the marriage.
Nate’s wide-eyed, semi-terrified, frozen in mid-air with the crown in his hands.
“Do it, crown me!” Dylan tells him.
“Don’t!” I say. “Do not crown him.”
Dylan blows out a breath. “Wow, OK, let’s have some drama from Jack so this can all be about him.”
There’s an “oh my god” from somewhere in the crowd, and the atmosphere switches in that instant. I think, I guess, I hope, it’s because no one can quite believe the venom that just came out of Dylan’s mouth, because I certainly can’t. Dylan can be prickly, but it’s usually good-natured. Now he’s spitting poison at me, in front of everyone, like I’m actual dirt.
A surge of panic runs through me because there’s a chance this is all in my head. There’s a chance I’m about to make myself not only look stupid, but accuse the most popular boy in the school of cheating on me, and if I’m wrong, or even if I’m right, quite honestly, there’s no way back from that. But I know what I saw. I know in my gut. Dylan looked at Tariq before Nate even mentioned he was seeing Tariq. And that look … I know that look. Seen it many times before. A look that speaks of an understanding, a shared history, but something locked away, secret, not for other people.
I try to steady my erratic breathing. “Dylan,” I say. “Do you think, hand on heart, you should accept the crown?” He goes to speak but I hold my hand up to stop him. “Do you think, hand on heart, that you embody all the qualities befitting of this accolade?”
“What, being fit?” Dylan shrugs. “Um, yeah?”
And in that second all I feel towards him is hate.
But I swallow it down. For now. “No,” I say. “The qualities of honesty, loyalty, of—”
“Christ, if you’ve got something to say, just say it!” Dylan says.
OK, then. “Have you been seeing Tariq?”
Pin. Drop. Silence.
I have way overstepped the mark.
Not a single person knows what to do.
Dylan is staring back at me.
Nate is staring back at me.
I glance down at Tariq.
He’s got his head in his hands.
“OK, this is some weird, messed-up shit you’ve got going on in your head, Jack. And this isn’t the time—”
“Answer the question.”
“I don’t have to ‘answer the question’ because the question is offensive.”
“You’re not gonna answer the question?”
“That’s right, I’m not.”
“Then let’s ask Tariq,” I say.
And all eyes turn to him, where he’s still crouched on the floor, head in his hands. He slowly stands up, and sweeter, kinder, and less able to lie than Dylan, his face says it all.
“Say it, Tariq,” I say.
“Just ignore him,” Dylan says.
“Tariq?” Nate mutters. “What’s…” He makes a little gasp that’s half a nervous chuckle.