Page 3 of Boy Friends
It’s like I’m experiencing my worst nightmare, the embarrassing sort, where you end up naked in front of your entire school. Except I’d prefer that humiliation to everyone knowing that I’m in love with Simo. ToSimoknowing I’m in love with him. But I’m painfully awake and about to be sick in a school bin.
I stop in front of the classroom. Icouldrun. If your gut tells you to do something, why would you ignore it? But the only thing worse than facing Simo would be to avoid him forever. Not just a logistical impossibility in a town this small, it would also, quite possibly, break my actual heart. So I do what I’ve been doing for the past ten years: pretend I’m not in love with my best friend. I’ve lied so well I even had myself fooled.
I try not to trip over my feet as I walk in and slide on to the chair next to him. I take a notebook out of my bag, a pen, a bottle of water that’s as good as empty, a pack of tissues I don’t need, anything to keep me busy. Simo doesn’t interrupt, but I can feel his eyes bore into me. When there’s nothing left in my bag I could possibly require, I send him a sideways glance.
Simo is looking right at me, and to everyone else he might appear mildly amused. But I can tell by the most gradual raise of his brows – his flawless, ever so sorrowful brows – and the stark vein between them, that he’s annoyed. It’s a look that topples my defences, which pretty much applies to every look he sends me. But in this awkward, excruciating mess we’re in, I realise that I need him and that he needs me. I’m about to launch into an explanation, or an apology, just to say something, but I’m cut off before I get the chance.
Mrs Leppla enters with a stack of books and plonks them on her desk. ‘Students, meet your required reading for the year.’
A choir of groans rises, and I want to join in. For the next two hours I’ll be unable to focus on anything but Simo’s presence beside me. I prepare for 120 minutes of intrusive thoughts, but when Simo shifts his weight, and our arms touch, my mind hushes. Despite everything, he never fails to have this effect on me. And, truth be told, there are far worse things to think about than Simo Lorca.
When class is over and the room empties, we stay in our seats, compelled by an unspoken agreement. I do my best to ignore the curious glances and all-but-quiet whispers around us, but I can’t help squirming. Simo musters an unbothered expression, but the vein remains. The last student leaves the room, and we’re alone.
Silence spreads. I don’t want to prolong this any more, and so I square my shoulders and face him. The problem is, I can’t put my thoughts into words, and for once it’s notbecause the sight of his soft brown eyes makes me forget my own name. Though it’s not helping either.
Simo also seems at a loss. He starts, then closes his mouth again. I watch him do this four times, his expression darkening. It’d be cute if I wasn’t shaking in my trainers. At the fifth attempt, he succeeds.
‘Someone told me we’re their Bella and Edward, but less toxic.’
We stare at each other for several beats. I might break out in tears or panicked laughter, but my body can’t decide which emotion to give into.
‘Someone told me we’realmostas cute as Nick and Charlie,’ I say instead, trying to gauge his reaction.
‘My psychology teacher said she’d like us cast inRed, White & Royal Blue.’ Simo’s face slips into a grimace and I make a gagging sound, and that’s when we finally break. Simo wheezes, his entire body rocking with silent laughter. Tears pour down my face and I slide to the floor, unable to stay upright on my chair. This delirious episode lasts several minutes, until we have caught our breath again.
Simo’s head appears beneath the table. His eyes are red-rimmed and when he speaks, it sounds as if he’s caught a cold.
‘You staying down there or . . .?’
‘I haven’t decided. I’m not sure I can take more of this.’ I wave towards the door and what lies beyond.
‘OK, fine,’ Simo replies and slips off his chair to join me on the floor. He sits cross-legged and gives me the look. The one that says, I’ve done my bit; now it’s your turn.
He did break the tension. And I know it wasn’t easy. Simo and I aren’t exactly used to discussing my sexuality. In fact,we never talk about it. Not because he’s narrow-minded – we wouldn’t be best friends if he was – but because it’s never come up. Because I’ve never brought it up. At first, I feared his reaction to my coming out, but as the years passed, I assumed he just knew. It’s not exactly an open secret, it’s just . . . open.
People say best friends talk about everything, but people are naive. We all have things we keep from even the closest people in our lives. Simo and I are no exception.
Still, thanks to him there’s air in the room again. I’m equal parts grateful and relieved that we’re still on speaking terms. That things might not be normal, obviously they’re anything but, but at least we’re here together. I prop myself up. We still have a problem, one the exact shape and size of the town noticeboard, and I’m still scared to address it. There’s just no way around it.
‘I don’t . . .’ I begin, but I’m unable to finish the sentence. ‘I’m not sure . . . I’m not prepared for this situation.’
‘One boat and we’re both sitting in it,’ Simo replies.
‘We need to let people know that we’re not . . . that it’s not true.’ My throat is dry as chalk as I force out the words. Simo holds my gaze, like he’s searching for something in my expression. I tell myself to keep a straight face, to not feel any of the things I’m feeling – like the paralysing fear of getting caught in my lies and losing my friend.
After several heartbeats, he finally nods. ‘And we need to find out who put it up there.’
The relief from a minute ago is gone. Because no one could possibly know. I’ve not told anyone about him. About Simo and the secret I’m so good at hiding, even from myself.I shove it down deep. And most of the time, I don’t think about the way he makes me feel. I don’t keep a diary, and if I did, it certainly wouldn’t mention Simo in a way that describes him as anything but my best friend.
‘Any suspects?’ I ask tensely, and receive a shake of his head. Simo doesn’t feel the way I feel, so the blame is on me, that much is clear. I’m the one who slipped up and let my feelings show. I was too obvious, not careful enough.
People know that I’m gay. And they also know that Simo and I have been best friends since forever. What they don’t know is that I’m particularly gay for Simo. Or at least they didn’t until the noticeboard shouted it across town. Now I feel seen in the worst way. Everyone knows I like him more than a best friend would, and denying it is pointless. And yet, it’s my only option.
‘We have to ask the town council. They’re in charge of the noticeboard,’ Simo decides. He scrambles out from under the table and gets up. I follow his example, solely because I can’t stay on the dirty school floor forever. Simo shoulders his bag with the expression of a man on a mission.
‘Let’s ask the town council,’ I agree with a lump in my throat, wishing I could pretend this hadn’t happened. Bury it and never mention it again.
Together we return to hallways filled with loud students. Some try to high-five us, some hum a wedding march. It’s so over the top that I can’t take them seriously, but there’s a knot of dread in my stomach that won’t let me relax. I can tell Simo is uncomfortable too. His steps are robotic, his shoulders stiff.
