Page 23 of Boy Friends
‘You go ahead,’ I say, without giving them a reason for staying behind. Even if I had an explanation, I wouldn’t be able to tell them. I barely know how to soften the blow for Luca.
Jacob and Louise shuffle out, but Mairi lingers at the edge of the stage. Angular and statuesque, she looms a headtaller than us, especially in platform boots.
‘Let us know about Sunday, yeah?’ she says, and follows the others into the mist. Now there’s only me and Luca huddled beneath the somewhat derelict roof, and I’ve still not managed to come up with the right words.
A flicker of worry dashes across his face and settles in the strained tilt of his neck. He reminds me of a fawn watching its surroundings for a reason to bolt. Ever since the noticeboard announcement, it’s a reaction I’ve seen more often in him than I’d like.
This morning, Mum cornered me in the kitchen when Luca was in the shower. She said she didn’t mind having him around – which was less stretching the truth and more like twisting it completely – but he couldn’t camp out with us forever. He has a dad that worries about him, and also my trousers are too short for his legs. She wasn’t wrong about the latter. Luca’s ankles are on full display, but he makes it look intentional.
‘What is it?’ he asks, searching my face for a sign. I’m nervous he’ll find something he shouldn’t see.
I’ve always suspected that my parents don’t approve of the fact that Luca is gay, that his dad is gay and, most of all, that I spend so much time with them. They’ve never said anything hostile, but kids are more perceptive than parents like to admit.
I saw the reaction when Mum asked about Maz’s wife once, and Maz clarified he’d never been married to Luca’s mum, and that he’s gay. When Maz sent Luca to ballet lessons and asked me to join, I declined, knowing my parents wouldn’t approve, even at eight years old. And then, rightbefore the trip to Granada, Dad gave me a few euro notes for a night out, but warned me, with a look I could hardly misinterpret, to stay away from ‘those’ bars. It made me feel gross, like I’d been accused of a crime I hadn’t committed. Adding up these moments paints a grim picture, one I hope Luca never lays eyes on.
I open my mouth, still unsure how to begin, but Luca sees through my hesitation.
‘I’ve outstayed my welcome,’ he deduces.
‘That’s not true,’ I lie. He hasn’t, not with me. Luca raises his eyebrows, both of them, cos he’s never mastered the art of moving just one. ‘All right. My parents complained that they can’t keep cooking for four.’
Luca frowns. ‘Is that what they said?’
‘Not in those words. But the message was clear.’
‘They’ve seemed to enjoy cooking for us.’
‘To show off.’
‘They made nice conversation.’
‘To pry, nothing more.’
‘They didn’t ask once about the fight with Maz.’
‘Because they don’t care.’
Luca waits a beat. He wears a serious expression, but there’s something gentle in those ocean eyes. ‘I don’t think you give them enough credit,’ he says.
‘I think you give them too much,’ I reply.
He only shakes his head. ‘It’s OK, honestly. I have a home, and a dad, and it’s not like I’d planned to stay forever. I needed a timeout and that’s come to an end.’
‘You sure?’ I ask, relieved that he’s not hurt.
He smiles, softly, and at last I know he’s going to be allright. ‘You’ve been sharing your room and your clothes with me. You must miss not having anything to yourself.’
I don’t know why he’s consoling me when he’s the one leaving. The only thing I’ll be missing is the little moments when he talks in his sleep. I’ve heard my name in there once or twice. I always hold my breath when it happens, hoping he’ll say more.
It’s confusing, knowing I’m on his mind but being left in the dark as to why. I want him to let me into his dreams. Our bodies are so used to each other that sometimes I can’t sleep without the sound of his breath in my ears. But that doesn’t erase the barrier between what’s on his mind and what he tells me.
Ever since the noticeboard message, we’re on unfamiliar ground. And ever since the moment in the cupboard, I’ve started seeing him in a different light. I have always been sure of our friendship, and having him around tells me that we’re still Luca and Simo. But I’ve yet to find the line where friendship ends and turns into something else. Whatever is happening with my feelings for Luca, they’re taking on a different shape, one that I can’t interpret. I want to know if he feels the same, but I’m not sure I can muster the courage to ask.
I want to tell him that no, I don’t mind sharing. He can have my food, my room, my bed, my clothes. He can have it all and I’d be happier for it. But the words don’t make it past my lips. Because as Luca said himself, we’re not a couple. Lombard wants to make us something we’re not. So perhaps it’s best that we sleep in separate beds again.
We head out into a rain so gentle it’s like walkingthrough spiderwebs. Immediately we’re covered in a thin layer of mist. By the time we reach the edge of the school grounds, Luca is wearing a crown of dewdrops, hundreds of diamonds caught in his hair.
I don’t know who I’m fooling. If we were ever to break apart, of course I wouldn’t cope. I’ve lost my favourite person once before. There’s no way I’d survive another hit.
