Last Seen Leaving (20 page)

A million or so questions later, most of which I had no real answers for, the detectives finally left, the front door slamming on their perfunctory have-a-nice-evenings. The air in the house had been suffocating in their presence, but without their gun belts and threatening demeanors to distract me, the echo of my unplanned confession suddenly rang throughout the empty rooms as loudly as a church bell.

I was standing by the kitchen island, one hand jammed in my pocket and the other clutching the counter's edge so my fingers wouldn't visibly tremble, when my parents walked quietly back from the front door. Their expressions were concerned, but otherwise indecipherable, and my throat seized with another hiccup as I managed, “I'm s-sorry I didn't tell you earlier—”

I was cut off midsentence when my mother wrapped her arms around me, so tightly that the air whooshed out of my lungs, and she spoke gruffly into my ear. “I love you. I will always love you and support you, no matter what.
No matter what.
”

“Me too,” my dad said, and engulfed both of us in a bear hug. I was already sort of crying and laughing at the same time, overwhelmed with relief, when he added, “And I am really,
really
glad that you didn't get anybody pregnant.”

 

SEVENTEEN

THE REST OF
the night was surreal. The atmosphere in the house was supercharged by my admission, and while I was constantly aware of the almost shocking relief of finally
not
having to edit myself—of not having to think twice about every statement that left my mouth, fearing I would betray myself with a slip of the tongue—I was also painfully aware of the stilted way my parents were behaving around me; the three of us were trying so hard to act normal around one another that
nothing
felt normal. The roller coaster went up and then down as the realization crept over me that I was going to have to get to know my own parents all over again, to forge a brand-new “normal” after fifteen years of struggling to be comfortable in my own skin, and the same would be true with all of my friends. The thought was both exhausting and a little scary.

Once the detectives were gone, their intimidation fading into memory, I was able to let go of the fear that had first gripped me when they'd implied that I was a suspect. My alibi was solid, and anyone I knew—no matter what they thought of me after learning my secret—would tell the cops I could never hurt January. Not ever, for any reason. But when at last I went to bed, all I could seem to think about was that she had been
pregnant
. With child. Expecting.
Enceinte.
Who was the father? The idea that she might have been planning to claim that
I
was disturbed me even more than all the lies she'd told her friends about me. Would she really have done that? Conned me, used me as a cover rather than taking me into her confidence?

On the other hand, I hadn't trusted her with my own difficult secret, and mine would only have effected temporary upheaval in our lives. I hoped. I couldn't begin to imagine what she must have been going through, how scared she must have been.

Had she really known? And for how long? She'd been in real distress, that night in the barn. I could see it so clearly now, looking back; the emotion I'd mistaken for frustrated desire had actually been desperation. I had been her last hope. But why? Why had she felt the need to conceal the identity of the guy who'd gotten her pregnant?

Unless the truth would've caused an even greater shitstorm than if she'd succeeded in passing the baby off as mine. And when I'd turned her down? If I knew January at all, a take-no-prisoners girl who stepped in the middle of fistfights and once threatened her meth-head lumberjack stepbrother with a freaking bread knife, she would have gone straight to the would-be father and confronted him.

And after that, she'd disappeared.

*   *   *

The next day was Halloween, and ironically the first day I was going to set foot in the halls of Riverside High without my mask. When I hadn't been dwelling on January and my troubling thoughts about the baby she'd been carrying, I'd been sweating cold bullets as I thought over what I would say to my best friend when I saw him again. Between the two problems, I got almost zero sleep.

I'd known Micah Feldman since we were two years old, and our moms decided to start a toddler playgroup in the neighborhood—a generous-sounding pretense for beefing up their own social lives. For a couple of hours in the afternoon, Micah and I would bang toy cars together in a room full of squalling little kids while the adults drank coffee and shared embarrassing stories about our bodily functions. As it turned out, one of the only things the playgroup adults happened to have in common was being parents, and once the kids started kindergarten, the coffee klatch moms and dads drifted apart.

Micah and I, on the other hand, became friends for life. We did T-ball together, peewee soccer, summer camp, science fair projects; we learned to ride bikes, skate, and play
Call of Duty
; we talked about philosophy and people and nothing at all; sometimes we just sat in my bedroom or his and listened to music for hours without any pressure to fill the empty space. We'd even talked about girls—who was hot, who wasn't, and who maybe just possibly
like-
liked one of us. The only subject we'd never really discussed in any amount of depth was ourselves.

Half the night I'd spent telling myself that I didn't have to do this so soon, that I'd gotten the news out to my parents—arguably the bigger hurdle—and could let the dust settle before purposefully upending my life again. My coming-out experience hadn't exactly lacked for drama, and with everything that was going on at the moment, there was an appealing argument to be made in favor of taking some time to breathe before I notified the student body at Riverside.

The problem with that was that I was facing a great, big, ticking time bomb in the form of Detectives Garcia and Becker, who would sooner rather than later be making the rounds to double-check my story; I couldn't let that be how the news got out, and I couldn't just sit around and act natural while waiting for the blow, either, knowing it could come at any moment. Plus, I wasn't exactly sure how to deal with having the cat only halfway out of the bag, being honest at home while still pretending to agree with Micah when he went on about how much he really,
really
liked watching Megan Fox in
Transformers
, even though he really hated
Transformers
.

Simply deciding to move ahead with Operation Surprise-I'm-Gay did not, however, bring me a huge sense of relief. While it was great to know that my parents weren't going to disown me or—worse—try to “fix” me, they weren't my
friends
. If Micah freaked out, who would I bitch to
about
my parents? Who would I practice my kickflips with, buy weed with, and sneak into R-rated movies with?

I found him in front of his locker, kneeling on the floor and trying to reorganize the contents of his backpack to accommodate his chemistry book. A hoarder-in-training, Micah had filled his bag with a staggering quantity of useless crap he was afraid to throw away: old tests, receipts, a beanie in case it got cold, a thicker beanie in case it got cold
er
, a canister of awful body spray he used after swim practice, and actual, honest-to-goodness trash he'd stuffed in there because he refused to litter, but which he never remembered to throw away.

“Hey, dude,” I said, sure my voice was quivering like a guitar string. Micah didn't notice, glancing up at me, his eyes popped open wide.

“
Dude!
” He abandoned the backpack, springing to his feet. “You never texted me back last night, head case! What did the cops want this time?” I blinked. I'd been so focused on my errand that I'd forgotten he'd seen the police car in my driveway. Thrown off-balance, I explained what Detectives Garcia and Becker had told me and my parents, and watched my best friend cycle through the same series of extreme reactions I'd had the previous evening. “
Pregnant?
Dude.
Dude.
”

“I know.”

“You didn't even tell me that the two of you ‘sealed the deal,' asshole!” he admonished, sincerely annoyed in addition to being genuinely shocked.

“We didn't,” I said uncomfortably, and his eyes bulged even more.

“She was
cheating on you
?” He was flabbergasted at the very idea and, feeling more awkward by the moment, I didn't tell him I believed it might not be quite as simple as that. For the moment, it was probably best if he went on thinking that January had maybe simply hooked up with some rich Dumas kid behind my back. Micah frowned worriedly. “You don't think Ti knew about it, though, do you?”

“No, I really don't,” I answered honestly.

He looked a little relieved. “Man, I'm sorry. That pretty much sucks.” We stood there in silence for a moment, but it wasn't one of our normal, congenial silences—this one was thick enough to write your name in. “Is something else going on? You're giving off this weird
vibe
right now.”

I swallowed, my throat so dry I tasted sand. “Yeah. Um, actually, there's something I need to say.”

He waited, but I was frozen, struggling to force the words off the end of my tongue. I stared at the dirty linoleum floor until he gave a nervous laugh. “What is it, dude? Don't tell me you're pregnant, too.”

I was so anxious I couldn't even crack a smile at the joke. My joints were starting to vibrate and my brain was speeding and I took a deep breath that rattled ominously in my chest. “The fact is, man, I'm, um … I'm gay.”

He stared at me for a beat, totally expressionless, and then he let out another laugh. “Ha! Good one. You almost got me.”

He dropped back to his knees, struggling with his backpack again, and I looked down at the top of his head, confused. “I'm not joking, man. It's true.”

“No it isn't,” he said crossly. With a grunt, he forced his chemistry book into the Dumpster that was his bag and yanked the zipper closed. “You're just saying it to fuck with me. I've known you since you were potty training, Flynn. You're not gay.”

He stood up again, slung the bag over his shoulders, and slammed his locker door shut. His expression was angry now, and I was starting to sweat. “I am, Micah.” My voice was a foreign squeak, and I was grateful that the halls were emptying out so that there wasn't anyone around to hear it. “I swear it's not a joke or anything. I told my parents last night, and I … I wanted to make sure you were first after that.”

“Stop it, okay?” He put up his hands. “Just stop.”

“Micah—”

“You think I wouldn't have noticed something like that? Something like my best friend being into dudes? You've had girlfriends, Flynn! Plural. We've watched porn online together and talked about …
doing things
—
you
talked about doing
things
with
girls
—and now, all of a sudden you're gay, just like that?”

“No, not … just like that,” I mumbled, feeling cold all over. “I've kinda known for a while, but I didn't—”

“I said stop!”

“You need to listen to me, okay?” I exclaimed. “I've been dealing with it for a long time, Micah—maybe even since eighth grade, but I just—I kept hoping that it was some kind of a phase, or that I would—”

“You've known since the
eighth grade
and you never told me?” His manner shifted abruptly, unchecked anger flooding his tone. “Dude, I tell you
everything
!”

“No you don't,” I said. I could feel pressure building behind my eyes and I tried to stay calm. This wasn't going the way it was supposed to.

“I tell you all the important shit!” he countered hotly. “I told you when I thought my dad was having an affair, when I had IBS and had to wear a fucking diaper to school … you were the only person I came to that time I thought I'd gotten genital warts!”

“You knew you didn't have genital warts,” I pointed out, distantly hoping that maybe he would see the humor in it now. “You were still a virgin.”

“
I showed you my dick!
”

I stared at him blankly for a moment while my fear and dismay curdled together and produced alarm. “Is that why you're so pissed?”

“I've spent the last thirteen years changing my clothes in front of you and whatever, thinking it was no big deal, and now I find out that the whole time you…”

“I what?” I challenged, spreading my arms out. “That I was secretly
lusting
after you? That I was jerking off at night thinking about your IBS and your maybe–genital warts? Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm into you, Micah! You're like my
brother
! Trust me—I'm not hot for your body.” Insistently, I added, “I'm still the same fucking person!”

“No you're not!” he fired back indignantly, leveling a finger at my face. “You are
not
the guy who bragged about seeing Brittany Cole's boobs fall out at my bar mitzvah; you are
not
the guy who helped me draw nipples on my sister's Barbies so we could take porny pictures of them; and you are
not
the guy I thought I knew for my entire fucking life! I don't know
who
you are.”

We stared at each other, breathing hard, and then the bell rang, splitting the dense air of the hall like a meat cleaver. Stiffly, Micah stated, “I have to get to class.”

With that, he turned and marched down the corridor, while a wave of panic, disbelief, and sorrow rose up and forced all the air from my lungs.