Page 7 of As You Walk On

Between bites, I say, “You sure we’re not gonna have any trouble getting in?”

Chloe’s parties are labeled as “exclusive to seniors and close friends only.” Without an invite, you’re likely to suffer extreme harassment from drunk seniors. Sometimes worse.

“It’s a done deal,” Jay confirms.

He shows us a string of texts from Jayla that are largelyinappropriate emoji usage or over-the-top love declarations. Neither Darren nor I signed up for another episode ofJ & J: Sext City.

Oh yeah.J & J—Jay and Jayla. They’rethatcouple at BOHS, according to the underclassmen who idolize them.

#RelationshipGoals. #BaeForLife. #ImNotAHaterButThisIsGross.

As disgustingly cheesy as Jay and Jayla are, the thing I’ll never say out loud is I want a version of that.

The lactose-free kind, of course.

For the longest time, it almost felt too dangerous to dream about. To give myself that kind of hope. Another boy’s fingers laced with mine as we walk the halls. Being late for extracurriculars because we’re too busy making out in an empty classroom. Maybe it’s because the visual representation at Brook-Oak is severely lacking.

Having two straight best friends—plus a host of teammates regularly sipping from the heteronormative cup—isn’t... easy.

When I came out, Darren was exceptionally chill. He hugged me tightly. Hasn’t once asked an insensitive question about my sexuality. Jay, however, was overly enthusiastic about it. Captioned a photo of us as kids on Instagram with: #MyBestBroIsGayWhatOfIt. Rainbow emojis included. Later that night, over pizza, he added an unsolicited “My cousin Jenny’s a lesbian. So, I get you.”

Back then, I lacked the vocabulary to explain how association by proxy doesn’t give you the slightest range to what it’s like to beinsidethat community. I still struggle with that. It feels weird to think about calling out my own best friend for the sometimes-problematic shit that slips out of his mouth.

Jay and Darren are clueless when it comes to being queerand crushing on someone, even if that other person is out of the closet. The asking-someone-out thing isn’t the same. Neither is dating when, at any moment, you could be risking your safety or theirs. Homophobic assholes can be anywhere. As progressive as Brook-Oak—Louisville as a whole—is, it’s still alotbeing gay here.

Lockers slam around us. Sneakers squeak on the vinyl tile. A group argues about song lyrics as they pass.

A new set of texts flashes across Jay’s screen.

“It’s your mom,” Darren informs him.

“Shit.” Jay quickly turns his phone around. He scowls while reading, thumbs smashing out a reply. “It’s like she fucking forgets I’m atschool.”

I smile empathetically. Dad’s the reason I leave my phone in my locker between classes. He’s always sending me words of encouragement or checking to see how I did on a test. It’s sweet but distracting.

“She says to tell her golden boy hello,” Jay grumbles to me.

My face wrinkles. Another unwanted nickname.

“Anyway.” Jay locks his phone, pocketing it. “Chloe’s party? We’re going, right?”

Darren’s eyes dance between us.

“Okay.” I finally exhale. “Let’s do this.”

Jay fist-pumps the air.

“We’re gonna get kicked out,” Darren comments, laughing.

“You’regonna get kicked out if you try break dancing while buzzed again,” Jay says with mock admonishment.

I grin, looking around.

Brook-Oak’s design is breathtaking from the exterior, but not the easiest to navigate once inside. It’s a three-story, Gothic-lite structure—think Westminster Abbey, but modern and cooler—filled with over a thousand talented, genius, and/or privileged students.

Getting here was step one in Dad’s Plan. It’s all he talks about. A guaranteed strategy for me, a young, economically average Black kid, raised by a single parent, landing at a top college outside of Kentucky.

Brook-Oak’s admissions committee was exceptionally clear that I scored in the bottom third of applicants. That I was “lucky.”

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