Page 50 of Reaching Avery
Avery watched me a while longer before lifting a hand and brushing his long fingers through his hair. It was an action I craved to do as well. Touch his hair. Any part of him, really. He didn’t like to be touched, however. That was evident enough in the way he’d slugged me and how he wouldn’t let me stand too close.
“We’re still friends,” he said with a nod. “That’s all we can be, though.”
Why?The question was right there on my lips, but my racing heart prevented me from asking it.
When he reached down to unzip his backpack, I noticed the slight wince and way he held his thigh. Which of course drew my attention to his clothes. His black skinny jeans were frayed in the knees, and not because they were styled that way. He wore the same pair of Converse, and the shoes looked even worse than I last remembered.
Then, I briefly looked at mine: expensive jeans from Abercrombie thatwerestyled with frays, new Vans shoes, and a shirt from American Eagle.
The comparison wasn’t intended in a negative way. But it kind of made me wonder if it was one reason he didn’t want to try for more with me. Not because of the clothes, but from where we came from.
“Everyone take a seat, please,” Mr. Jones said, entering the room.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said to Avery before going to my desk.
Mr. Jones started discussing the next chapter—another battle in the Civil War—and I listened. It was one of my favorite times in American history to learn about. Just everything that went on was interesting, and yeah, really sad too.
After a while, I couldn’t help but look back at Avery.
He was staring out the window, and he looked so distant. Lost.
And something told me that, maybe, he didn’t want to be found.
***
“How was school?” Dad asked as we sat at the dinner table. It was rare that the three of us could actually sit together for a meal. He was always working. Or I was.
Mom had made spaghetti and meatballs with garlic bread, which was usually one of my favorite meals ever, but I didn’t have much of an appetite. Avery hadn’t talked to me much at all that day. At lunch, I’d sat at his table, but even then, he hadn’t really looked at me or said anything. Ben had talked to me, though, which had been interesting. It sort of made me feel bad for not talking to the guy sooner.
“It was okay,” I answered, moving my fork through the noodles before scooping some up and forcing it down. “Not a whole lot happened. The stagehands are meeting tonight, so I didn’t have to stay after school. We’ll start line reading next week, I think.”
Neither of them had asked about my face, but Mom kept scrutinizing me.
“I’m proud of you, sweet pea, for doing what you love,” Mom said, touching my hand before pulling away and taking a drink. “We just want whatever makes you happy.”
Mom often saidwewhen showing me support, but more times than not, Dad didn’t factor into those well wishes. Don’t get me wrong, he loved me and wanted what was best for me. However, what was best for me inhisopinion was different than mine.
After I told my parents about me and Chris breaking up, both had reacted differently.
Mom had been sad and constantly asked if I was doing all right. Dad, however, seemed pleasantly pleased, as if I’d suddenly find a girlfriend and stop being gay. He’d even had the nerve to ask if I thought any girls in my grade were cute. Maybe one day he’d understand that this was me.
Sadly, it wasn’t that day.
“How’s Travis doing?” Dad asked after swallowing a bite. “Is his dad still coaching college baseball?”
“I think so,” I answered, not missing how he’d changed the topic so fast. “And Trav is doing great. He really supports me with the theater thing too.” I met Dad’s gaze with a hardened stare. “Because he’s a really great friend, ya know? He doesn’t judge me or make me feel like crap for being who I am.”
Silence. The light scraping of forks on plates halted.
“Mav…” Dad wiped his mouth. His dark blue eyes focused on mine. “Can we not do this? I had a long day.”
“No problem,” I said, grabbing my plate and scooting back from the table. “I’ll just leave so you can enjoy your meal without me around.”
I placed my barely touched food in the kitchen before going to my room.
My behavior was out of character for me. I’d never been one ofthoseteens who back talked their parents and stormed to their rooms when they didn’t get their way. But I was just fed up that day, and his uncaring attitude really stung.
Sometimes I felt like he never sawme. He only saw the son he wanted me to be. When I did something to turn that image on its head, it disappointed him, as if I wasn’t living up to some expectation… that I wasn’t good enough.
