Page 22 of As You Walk On

Jay’s mouth eventually relaxes into a smile.

“We need snacks first,” I say. “I’m not dealing with two trashed besties on an empty stomach.”

“Don’t forget—I need Sonic!” Darren mentions. He’s created this infallible hangover-prevention method. Greasy burgers are a main component.

“Deal!” Jay agrees after checking the time on the dash.

Chloe’s party doesn’t formally start until nine p.m. That’s eightp.m. for Chloe’s inner circle. Ten p.m. for the fashionably late, but polite-enough-to-not-show-up-empty-handed crew. Anything after that is for the already-drunk crowd looking for more booze and provisions before their next party stop.

We’re aiming for around nine thirty.

After a lane change, Jay’s elbow nudges mine. He whispers, “Thanks” without looking my way. I nod and leave it at that.

He never wants to talk about these things in front of Darren.

One Drake song later, we’re pulling into a SpeedEx gas station parking lot. Pregaming before a party is another mandatory ritual for us.

Today, we all need it.

•••

Familiar faces from Brook-Oak roam around SpeedEx’s convenience store. Darren’s chatting up two girls I think he knows from Yearbook at the checkout area. A group of seniors argue over the best doughnut-and-beer combos near the mini-bakery. P. J. Wahid from my Algebra 2 class is doing the Shiggy dance to, you guessed it, Jay’s bro-crush Drake by the self-service coffee bar. We’ve entered the unofficial pre-party waiting zone.

I’m not interacting with anyone.

Thing is, I’m in my own head. I’ve been standing in the middle of the candy and chips aisle for five minutes. Something about the scent of hot dogs roasting under a heat lamp and the BOGO cranberry Sprite sale advertised on the soda fridges derails my brain. Now all I’m thinking about is Christian. More to the point: needing actualwordsto ask him to prom.

I can’t go allLove, Actually. Show up to Chloe’s party with a series of oversize cue cards that basically add up to:Will You Go to Prom with Me?

I’m all for sentimental gestures, but not that clichéd.

Netflix makes it look so easy. He’s gay. I’m gay. We’re both out. I’m supposed to say something clumsy but cute. He’ll laugh. The world will freeze around us. The perfect obscure pop song will come on as I ask him to prom.

We kiss. Everyone claps. Roll the credits.

Except, outside of TV and movies, I’ve only ever seen that happen for straight kids.

What are the chances it goes so smoothly for me?

“Jay!”

I spy Jay being tugged into a bro-hug from Cole Nelson, former BOHS wrestling captain. He graduated last year. We never really socialized. Jay’s people-person skills far exceed Darren’s and mine. He might know more people around here than Dad does.

“Tell me you’re headed to Chloe’s tonight,” begs Cole.

“Where else would I be?” Jay replies easily.

“Sweet.” Cole fist-bumps him. “Flying solo?”

“No. My boys Darren and Theo are coming.”

“Hmm.” Cole’s eyes flit around as he grips a Mountain Dew bottle. I slink behind a candy station. Cole leans toward Jay. “Theo’s a chill guy. At least I’ve heard. Gay, right?”

One of Jay’s eyebrows lifts. “Uh, yeah.”

“Cool for him,” says Cole. “I’ve got no problem with it.”

Here’s the thing: the moment anyone says they don’t have a problem with something, it means they do.

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