Page 44 of The Build-a-Boyfriend Project

“Maybe I was cuter than you?”

The comment is such a surprise that Eli can’t help but stare at Peter with his mouth open. “Hey!” Eli yanks his hand, pulling Peter toward him, but their steps never falter, and Peter laughs boldly.

“Sorry,” he says, laughing along with Eli.

“No, it’s probably true. God, my acne was out of control as a kid, and starting a film club certainly didn’t help.” Eli reactively touches the zit that’s barely below the surface of his nose. “What happened to Mark?”

“We kissed a lot after that. And kissing turned into touching, that turned into hooking up. In our rooms, at school under the bleachers after games, behind the grocery store we got part-time jobs at. But his parents found Grindr on his phone one day, found the older guys that he was talking to.”

Eli’s heart sinks. “Oh, Jesus . . .”

“Yeah, then they found our texts and told my parents.”

Eli’s stomach sinks, his hand tight around Peter’s. “You don’t have to talk about this, Peter. It’s okay.”

“No, I mean . . .” His breath hitches. “I’ve unpacked parts of it. My parents didn’t care. I mean, they did. My mom hated that I was keeping secrets from her, and my dad had a lot of questions. Things were really weird at first, but we figured it out. They’re okay with it now, send me texts every June for Pride month, like it’s my second birthday or something.”

They walk for a minute in silence before Peter opens his mouth again.

“Mark’s parents sent him to conversion therapy. My mom said it was just a different school, but I found a brochure that Mark’s mom gave her. Then the rumors around school started to spread. And people would ask me what I thought; I was his best friend, after all . . . and I . . . I never knew what to say.”

“Peter . . .” Eli pauses, his arm stretching out as Peter walks ahead as if nothing had happened.

“Is everything okay?”

“I feel like I should be asking you that.”

“It’s . . . I mean . . . it’s fine.”

“Is it?”

Peter shrugs. “I mean, can it be anything else? Besides, don’t you need this stuff for your article?”

Eli struggles to come up with what to say.

“It’s been years,” he says to Eli. “I still think of him a lot. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget Mark. Like after he was gone, I couldn’t play football anymore, not without him. And I realized he was the only reason I was still friends with the people who’d bullied me when I was a freshman. But . . . that whole . . . situation. It’s over, in the past.”

“Yeah, but he was your best friend. Did you ever see him again?”

“I did, once. I saw him in town one day after we were both supposed to have graduated, and we caught up for a bit. But . . . he wasn’t the same. I gave him my number, but he never reached out, and then his parents moved the next week, and he went with them. And I never saw him again.”

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

“I bet that’s good material, huh?” Peter’s voice even sounds lighter now, at least to Eli’s ears.

“Oh, yeah . . .” Eli stammers, caught off guard. “I won’t write about that, though. Not all of it, at least. I’m sorry that you went through that.”

“Thanks.” Eli feels Peter squeeze his hand.

The remainder of their walk is taken in silence. Eli’s too afraid to unearth any more of Peter’s trauma, so he leaves it be. And Peter doesn’t seem to mind. They make it to the bus stop just as Eli can see the bus approaching.

“Can I ask you something?” Peter peers down at Eli.

Eli smiles artfully. “You just did.”

Peter smiles right back at him. “Tonight was better, right?”

“I think we’re already seeing improvements,” Eli tells him. “Though I want you to practice not logging in and responding to work messages when I’m not around.”