Published: 23 Feb 2023

Vin’s mother calls in the middle of dinner, interrupting a mouthful of chicken-and-havarti sandwich (Isaac’s mother’s favorite combination of foods when working on a client’s paperwork) with a check-up on Vin and a request that he come home soon. “I gotta get the trash taken care of and all that,” he explains. “It’s my Wednesday evening chores. She says being at a friend’s house isn’t an excuse.” He rolls his eyes, but adds, “It’s fine — everyone has their things they do, and that’s one o’ mine.”

“You hear that, Isaac?” Ms. Brooks says from the other room. “That’s a nice, responsible boy, right there.” Isaac isn’t sure how to respond until she continues, “I think maybe it’s time to have you pick up some chores around the place, other than cleaning up your room.”

“I always keep my room clean, Mom!”

“I know, dear, and I appreciate that. Tell you what, we’ll talk more tomorrow about it, okay?”

“…Okay, Mom.” Somehow, the idea doesn’t settle well with him.

Shortly after dinner clean-up, the Brooks’ drop Vin off with relatively little fanfare. As Vin exits the car, he looks back and smiles. “Maybe see ya at school tomorrow, yeah?”

“See you at school tomorrow, Vin.” And with that, Vin walks up the path to his porch. No “I love you” or “I’ll miss you” or anything. Isaac is aware that his desire for that to happen is utterly unreasonable, but it doesn’t make him feel better either way.

When they get back home, his mother directs him over to the couch before he heads to his room. She takes a seat next to him and puts her hands out, the signal for him to put his own hands in hers. “Isaac,” she says, “I want you to know a few things.”

Isaac considers staying silent, but pushes himself to be more conversational. “What do you want me to know, Mom?”

“First off, I love you very much, and–”

“I love you too, Mom.”

“–I wasn’t finished.” Isaac shuts his mouth and waits. “I just want you to know that what I’m about to say isn’t to be mean, or to make your life harder, or to be unfair or anything, okay?”

Isaac isn’t sure whether to feel impatient or nervous about this conversation, so he manages a shaky middle ground between them. “Okay, Mom.” He avoids her eyes at this point, just in case whatever she says is unfairly mean and makes his life harder.

“I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Vin, and he’s a very nice boy, but…” she trails off, looking over Isaac’s head long enough for him to start wondering if there’s a spider on the wall. She takes a deep breath and continues, “I can see how…attached you are to him.” Isaac’s eyes go wide as he immediately begins to panic inside. Of course she knows! She’s Mom! She knows everything! She quickly adds, “Don’t worry, I’m not going to say you can’t hang out with him anymore or anything. I just want you to realize that, that…he’s a popular boy, and he has other friends, and if you keep trying to spend every minute with him, it might start to get annoying to him. Do you understand where I’m coming from, here?”

“You’re not coming from…that’s a figure of speech.””Yes it is. Do you understand what I mean about possibly annoying him?”

“I won’t annoy him, Mom.”

“You may not want to annoy him, and you may not think you are annoying him, but you still might be. He’s a very polite boy, and he may not immediately tell you that you are, for example, hanging out too often, or sitting too close, or things like that. I know you’re attracted to him, Isaac, so I just want to make sure that you don’t just start, well, trying to act like he’s your boyfriend or anything similar.”

Isaac just remains silent, afraid that any single thing he could do might give away secrets. At his protracted silence, his mother adds, “Do you see what I mean, though? You’ve been hanging around him a lot of the time. I just don’t want you to accidentally mess up your friendship by being clingy.”

“But…” He doesn’t have a good follow-up to that comment. “I’m not being…clingy.”

Eileen sighs. “I’m not going to do a tit-for-tat on this. I’ve voiced my concern, and I just want you to think about it. Maybe you can let Vin know that you’d like him to be the one to ask you to hang out, rather than the other way around. I’m definitely not saying you can’t hang out with him, just so we’re clear. Just make sure to give him some space, give him a chance to make some of those decisions. Okay?”

Isaac wants so badly to tell his mother that she’s wrong, that they are going out, that they want to spend every minute of their lives together and that everybody keeps getting in their way, but he fights the urge, knowing that he would make Vin very upset if he said all that.

“…Isaac?”

He jumps a bit, not realizing he had been silent for so long. “Yes, ma’am. O-okay, Mom.”

She stares for a moment at his forehead–he will not let her look at his eyes–and nods. “Good. Now I need to get some laundry done this evening, so go play. Thank you for listening to me.”

“You’re welcome, Mom.” He does as suggested, though the specter of doubt about Vin’s patience level hangs over his head, muting his enjoyment that evening.

As the blue chimes rouse him from his sleep Thursday morning, he has the distinct impression that he was dreaming about a song with a vivid pink and silver color to it, though he cannot at all remember what it might have sounded like. He lets the thought run in the background as he faithfully proceeds through his morning routine, with not a single article of clothing out of order, not a ball of lint in either shoe. By the time he reaches school, he is filled with confidence, sure that the day has started out right; as he steps out of the car, though, a few drops of rain hit him in the head, sending him in a near-sprint to the front door. He turns back and looks at the sky with clenched teeth, silently cursing the heavens for attempting to ruin the day so early, and then berating himself for being rude.

He makes it inside with only a few drops in his hair, which he rubs vigorously to dry it out. Breakfast is donut holes and miniature sausages, a great combination of finger foods easily divisible into threes, which he quickly devours so he can get to the Living Room; inside, he spots Christian working intensely on the bottom half of a long, wide piece of paper that takes up the majority of the table he’s sitting at, even with a portion of the paper rolled up. He quickly recognizes the project as a life-size poster of the human body systems, like the one he worked on last year. Christian is focused intensely on drawing the perfect lines for an accurate rendition of a penis, alternating between drawing a line and erasing half of it to correct a minor flaw here and there.

Isaac leaves him to his focus; not only does Isaac know how frustrating it is to be interrupted when he’s deep in thought, but it also means that Christian is also not directly bothering him. He greets Mr. Coleman and Mrs. Jimenez, and finds his way to sit near David, as he has recently grown accustomed to doing.

David is working furiously on the same drawing he started yesterday, which is decently further along than it was. The shape of the face suggests a strong-jawed man, though the face is blank and hairless. The clothing is somewhat plain, though, currently consisting of an uncolored t-shirt and nondescript pants; Isaac does notice that even though there seem to be plenty of details missing, everything that does exist has been carefully crafted to look realistic, even down to the way that a shirt would wrinkle across someone’s chest and midsection.

As Isaac watches silently, David jerks his head up to see Isaac, and he takes a quick glance between Isaac and his drawing before putting the pencil down and meeting eyes with Isaac. The image of the current drawing quickly resolves in Isaac’s mind, but it just as quickly shifts to a much more complete version of a man with short, tousled hair and toned musculature. Isaac studies the image in his mind, assuming that David is asking him for his opinion, but his mind cannot help but tweak the image slightly here and there. If the hair were a little shorter, and if it had a nose that turned upward just a little bit…

David jerks his head up a bit, and the image quickly fills in details to look almost exactly like Vin. Isaac gasps, realizing what David himself is realizing, and quickly averts his eyes. David doesn’t move at all, continuing to stare at where Isaac’s eyes last met his; at last Isaac looks back up, and the image that immediately greets him in David’s eyes is a near-photographic picture of Vin in the varsity basketball uniform. The unbidden moment of excitement and recognition in Isaac’s mind is apparently enough for David to nod and immediately start making changes to his drawing.

Isaac takes a deep breath and inches closer to David. He whispers, “Um, are you drawing…him?”

David nods.

Isaac’s mind lights on fire with conflict. On the one hand, this is an opportunity to have a really awesome piece of art. Isaac could keep it to look at later, or to give to Vin maybe. But then what if Vin saw it and thought that Isaac was being clingy or obsessive? The doubts creep in, squeezing Isaac’s chest slightly until he reasserts to himself that he is not being “clingy.” Vin would think this is just really good art. Vin likes good art. He is impressed by things like this. He wouldn’t think I was being clingy. Would he? As David continues on the drawing with full abandon, Isaac takes a deep breath. “Um, David?” David makes no motion of acknowledgement, but he continues, “Could you, um, make sure…could you maybe not tell anyone about this drawing?” As David continues drawing without any regard to Isaac’s question, Isaac realizes with embarrassment just how stupid the question was. He doesn’t get to think about it for long, though, before Christian throws his pencil on the floor and screeches through gritted teeth.

“I can’t get it right!” Christian shrieks, standing up fast enough to knock his chair backward. “I can’t do it! I can’t—!”

Mr. Coleman quickly attends Christian, asking him what’s wrong while picking the chair and pencil up. The morning pledge starts up, but when someone is having a meltdown or other serious issue during announcements, the others in the Living Room typically ignore the announcements until things are calmer, even if Mrs. Jimenez tries to distract them from the unfolding drama.

Christian just shrieks, “I can’t draw a penis!”

Mr. Coleman starts to respond, but he stops as a couple of other people in the room, David included, start to snicker at the mention of “penis.” He tries his best to placate Christian, but Isaac cannot make out most of the words he says over Christian’s full-lunged screaming.

David looks to Isaac, and Isaac feels the inquisitive confusion coming from him, along with an image of a crudely-drawn penis, the type that young teenage boys often doodle on bathroom walls.

Isaac can’t help but laugh at the awkwardness of the situation and David’s response, but he leans in and replies, “Christian is trying to draw one for the reproductive system for science.”

The image from David reforms into a science diagram-style picture of the human body in remarkable detail, very similar to what Christian’s poster has on it. Isaac nods. “Yes, David, the project from last year.”

David watches Christian scream for a moment longer, but then he stands up (Isaac always forgets how tall David is when fully standing) and walks over to Christian’s poster with his own pencil in hand. Shortly, Christian looks over and shrieks, “No! What are you doing! Don’t mess it up! Don’t–” He suddenly stops mid-sentence as he watches David modify his project. Before the announcements are even over, David returns to his table, seating himself in his chair as if nothing happened. Christian stares at his poster long enough that Isaac’s curiosity is piqued; Isaac wanders close and peers over Christian’s shoulder to see a perfectly-drawn diagram of male genitalia, with appropriate proportions and clearly visible internal structures. Christian sniffles and stares a moment longer before slowly writing “vas deferens” and drawing a line to the proper tube.

Mr. Coleman walks over to David and thanks him for helping Christian just as the bell rings for first period. Christian stays behind, probably to calm himself and work in peace, and Isaac heads to class.

Reading is still moderately smooth sailing, working with Mr. Guthrie on figurative language with an emphasis on similes and metaphors. Isaac preferred similes, as they are both descriptive and truthful; metaphors seem odd when they refer to someone actually being something else when they’re clearly not. When told to look for them, he could identify them, but they still tripped him up in the fast pace of normal conversations. All in all, though, it’s a generally inoffensive way to spend a class.

Near the end of class, Mr. Guthrie looks directly at Isaac, who does not return the gaze. “Just so you are aware, Isaac, I have set up a meeting with you and your mother for this coming Monday. I would like to speak about your progress so far and ask a few questions. The meeting will be before classes, so your mother will walk with you into school and meet me in the front conference room.”

“Is that where I talked t-to Juan’s…” He stops, realizing that Mr. Guthrie had nothing to do with that meeting. “Is…where is i-it?”

“Most likely the same place, yes; it’s on the left in the hallway behind the front office. Is that where you were referring to?”

“Yes, Mr. Guthrie.”

“Good. Then I will see you before classes on Monday.” With that, Mr. Guthrie stands up, smooths out his deep blue shirt, and gathers his materials. “Have a good day, Isaac.”

“Have a g–” he manages to say just before the bell cuts off the rest of his valediction.

He lets the river of students flow past him faster than usual today as he practically trudges to gym. Although he no longer has to do anything but participate–no demonstrating, no talking, no thinking–it’s almost as if his body is resisting him moving any faster to gym class. Come on, Isaac, he chides himself, nothing is going to happen. And if I get scared of something stupid like a bandana again, I will just…go to the bathroom and cry like an idiot, I guess. He grits his teeth, both against the memory and against his own self-rebuke.

When he gets to the gym, it almost seems anticlimactic; he knows there shouldn’t be anything weird about the class period, but it still seems unexpected that everyone is in the locker room, changing as normal, and nothing is out of place. He half-expected his therapist to be waiting in the doorway to talk to him about his “PTSD” episode.

“Hey, Isaac!” comes the hoarse call from through the throng of boys. Isaac catches quick glimpses of Juan’s grin between shirtless boys, and he works his way around everyone to go pull his gym clothes out of his locker and sit next to Juan.

“Hey, Juan,” he replies, undoing the velcro on his shoes and silently cursing Jason for his stupid comments about them the other day.

“Uh, is…everything okay?” Juan asks tentatively.

Isaac stops halfway through removing his second shoe. After a frustrating deliberation, he responds, “I don’t know how to answer that, Juan.”

“Oh, uh, because you seem, I dunno, upset about something.”

As Isaac analyzes his mental state, he removes that shoe and both socks, placing each in their place in his locker. He unsnaps the button on his jeans and shucks them, saying, “I remembered how Jason was mean, and then I don’t want to do the Regional Games anymore.”

“Yeah,” Juan says through his shirt as he lifts it off, “today’s the last day, though. It’ll be over soon.”

“I still don’t want to do it.”

“Are you gonna stay in here?”

“No, Juan, I can’t do that. I need to participate, but I just don’t want…to get scared again.”

“Oh, right.” Juan wriggles into his gym shirt. “I forgot. Maybe just don’t let them blindfold you. Would that work?”

Isaac sighs, pulling up his shorts and folding his pants. “Maybe, Juan.”

Juan puts his hand on the bench next to Isaac and says, “Hey, you need anything, I got you, okay?”

Despite Isaac being completely unsure how Juan would be able to do anything about him being scared of a blindfold, he still feels a tiny rush of euphoria at Juan’s support. “Okay, Juan. …Thank you, Juan.” He adds the last bit hastily after remembering his conversational rules.

Juan just smiles at Isaac and finishes dressing out before the coach’s whistle cuts the air.

The regional games are a lot more boring this time, mostly tag-type games with some hide-and-seek style ones as well. Two groups end up not presenting theirs; one group claims that the person who has all the information is absent, and the other group just shrugs and says they don’t have anything. The very idea of walking in without anything to show for a project absolutely horrifies Isaac, and he feels the adrenaline just thinking about it. The coach asks both groups to join him in the office to discuss the issue, and tells everyone else to have free time for the rest of class. Isaac has no problem with this and happily joins his normal group of boys, who are playing Four Square. He’s not very good at the game; it requires too much quick thinking and adaptation for his tastes, so he ends up watching more than participating.

A few rounds into the games, Isaac notices Juan walking around the perimeter of the gym. Normally Juan would be racing people or playing some kind of ball game, Isaac muses. After a moment of deliberation, he decides that it might be more entertaining to walk with Juan than to play Four Square anyway, so he dodges through the basketball court area and intercepts Juan.

“Oh, hey Isaac!” Juan says, looking up from the floor at Isaac’s face for the briefest flicker of a moment before looking around at other things. “I was all in my feelings, heh. ‘Sup?”

“Hey, Juan. I saw you walking around the room. You you y–you u…sually run or play ball.”

“Yeah. I have some things on my mind.”

Isaac isn’t sure how to answer, but following Juan’s advice from before, he says, “Okay, Juan,” and feels instantly awkward about it.

They both stand there for a moment before Juan grins and snorts a short laugh. “Wanna walk with me?”

“I wanna walk with you, Juan.”

They walk in silence through the noisy gymnasium for half of a circuit when Juan takes a deep breath, opens his mouth, turns to Isaac…and then looks back at the floor with a sigh. A few steps later, he takes another deep breath and says, “Hey, you…do you wanna meet in the practice rooms today after school?”

Isaac always enjoys the time he spends in there with either of his good friends. “Yes, Juan.”

“Cool.” They walk without words for the last few minutes of free time, though Juan looks ahead more than down at the floor. When the bell finally rings, Juan heads out of the locker room quickly, sticking his head back in only after he is completely out of the door to call, “Oh, see you later, Isaac!” through the river of exiting students. Isaac does not get a chance to respond before he is out of sight again.

As Isaac walks down the hall to math class, he ponders Juan’s behavior, something he doesn’t normally even consider. He did notice that Juan wasn’t playing ball or running, things he would normally do during free time; he also almost left without saying goodbye, which is unusual for him as well. He doesn’t spend much time thinking about it, but he does spend just enough time for Mrs. Davis’s normal greeting to startle a scream out of him.

“Mrs. Davis! I’m sorry! You scared me!”

Mrs. Davis puts her hand in front of her mouth and replies, “I’m so sorry, Isaac! I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you doing well today?”

“Yes, ma’am, I am doing well today. I don’t know why that scared me.”

“You looked like you were pretty deep in thought, but I misjudged just how deep. Well, you need to get to class, so have a good day!”

“Have a good day, Mrs. Davis.”

Math class is exactly as routine, comforting, and short as it always is; Isaac wishes he could replace his other classes with math, except he knows that the others are important. For what, specifically, he’s not entirely sure, but he’s not going to doubt the teachers who tell him as such. He wonders to him what all an engineer needs to know; math is an obvious one, but how much does history play into engineering? Reading? He can already read and understand instructional texts just fine, and he’s pretty sure they don’t use inferences and metaphors in blueprints. That seems dumb to him. Science is fine, though; it can stay. So can gym and lunch, for obvious reasons.

The lunch line is already long by the time Isaac reaches the cafeteria. By the time he gets his cheese enchiladas and watermelon slices – he skips the “fiesta corn” – and sits down, Christian is already most of the way through both enchiladas. He eats fast when he isn’t talking the whole time, Isaac muses.

“Hi, Ithaac–oh, thorry,” Christian says over a mouthful of enchilada. He takes a moment to swallow the entire bite of food, which looks quite uncomfortable to Isaac. “I know you don’t like me talking with my mouth full. It’s rude. Mr. Coleman told me so. Mom says it all the time, too.” Isaac busies himself opening his milk carton while Christian gets to the point. “Hi, Isaac. How are you?”

“I’m good, Christian.” After about a second, he continues, “How are you?”

“We turned in our science projects today, and I got a good grade on it. I mean my group did.”

Isaac thinks about exactly how to ask the next question: “Was the penis okay?”

“What?” Christian asks before stuffing his face full of corn.

“The penis that David d-drew. Was it okay for the project?”

“OH! Oh. Um, yeah, he drew a really good, um, penis, and testes and vas deferens and stuff.” He uncharacteristically lowers his voice for the body part. “I labeled all the parts and I got a good grade on it.”

“Christian, why did you say ‘penis’ quietly?” Isaac asks before taking a bite of a third of one of his enchiladas.

“Because it–because! Because it’s weird to just say that out loud!”

“But you said ‘testes’ out loud, Christian, and then th-that’s almost the same.”

“It’s not the same,” Christian protests. “It’s different saying ‘testes’ than ‘penis.’ I don’t know. I just think it’s weird.”

Isaac fills his mouth with enchilada instead of replying.

“So yeah, I did all that, I labeled it and, um, the rest of the reproductive system, and got a good grade. Also, Caitlin said that it was ‘a very realistic weenie,’ and we all laughed. My group did. The teacher didn’t hear her or she prob’ly woulda been in trouble. Maybe. We’re supposed to be able to talk about the body in an ‘academic sense’ without laughing or getting in trouble, but when she said ‘weenie’ we all laughed.”

Indeed, every time Christian says the word, Isaac has to stop himself from snickering. “Penis” is a fine term to use, and “dick” is maybe a little more impolite, but “weenie” is comical at best. Isaac swallows his food and asks, “So then why do you say ‘penis’ quietly if you’re supposed to be able to t-talk about it academically?”

“Because it’s weird,” Christian emphasizes. After a moment of food-filled silence, Christian suddenly chimes in with, “‘Weenie’ is a fun word. Weenie weenie weenie.”

Isaac responds with an explosion of milk all over the table. “Christian!” Isaac gasps, “you made it come out my nose!”

Christian busts out laughing in a high-pitched bouncing squeal, punctuated by occasional snorts, which only gets Isaac laughing harder whilst trying to snort the rest of the milk out of his nose. The entire scene is eventually brought under control by one of the lunch monitors with a wet rag and a stern look.

After things calm down, Christian picks up where he left off. “So I labeled all the parts of the wee–the, um, penis, and the testes, and all the tubes and stuff, and yeah, we got a good grade on it.”

“You already said that,” Isaac points out.

Christian continues unabated. “So anyway, we got a good grade but it wasn’t perfect because Jake did the nervous system, but he forgot to label the spinal cord, so we got some points off, and Maxi told him she was going to rip out his spinal cord for it, but the teacher told her that nobody was ripping anyone’s anything out in her classroom. So Maxine said she would do it later. Just like shloop!” Christian pantomimes someone pulling out a long rope-like object, ostensibly from someone’s neck.

Isaac reminds himself that you can’t really rip someone’s spinal cord out, since it is protected by bones and goes through a bunch of holes and stuff. Well, it would at least be really hard, and I don’t think she could do that. Isaac makes a mental note not to make her mad, just in case. Looking down at his food, he sighs, “Christian, you made me get milk all over my other enchilada.”

“So? Cheese is just milk.”

“It’s different. This was in my nose.”

Taking a bite of corn and talking anyway, he responds, “Like milk snot!”

Isaac finds himself laughing and gagging simultaneously. “Ew, Christian! That’s disgusting!”

Christian just laughs, spitting a kernel of corn out in the process. “Are you gonna eat them, then?”

Isaac gags again at the thought of Christian putting it in his mouth. “No, Christian. I’m throwing it away.”

“But I could eat it if you–”

“Christian, I’m throwing it away.” Isaac walks away before Christian can argue. By the time he gets back, Christian seems to have already forgotten about the potential extra enchilada.

The last few minutes of lunch go by without conversation, until Christian suddenly announces, “I don’t wanna date anyone anymore. Sex is gross.”

“No it’s not, Christian.”

“Yes it is! Besides, how would you know? You didn’t have, you haven’t, you never had sex. Did you?” He gasps. “Did you and Vin have sex?!”

Isaac practically yells, “Christian!” at the same time the bell rings for the end of lunch. He stands up and hurries out of the cafeteria, too busy panicking to thank the bell for its good timing.

After the bell finally decides to ring at the end of science class, Isaac packs up his stuff and heads to the practice rooms, giving his mother the usual perfunctory call. He opens the choir room doors to see a large group of choir students seating themselves in the risers and talking to one another. He freezes for a moment, wondering if he has somehow seriously misjudged time, when one of the girls sees him at the door. “You can use the practice rooms still,” she says, pointing behind her before returning her attention to a small group of girls in the risers.

Isaac takes a good ten seconds fighting between backing out of the room with an “I’m sorry” chant, or quickly and awkwardly striding across the room. He would debate longer if he didn’t see the middle door on the wall behind the risers open up and Juan poke his head out, beckoning him inside. Isaac takes one more look at the choir, none of whom are looking back at him, and hurries over to the practice room. By the time he gets there, he finds himself breathing like he was halfway through the PACER test.

Juan takes a look at him with furrowed brows and a small smile, but Isaac doesn’t venture to look into his onyx eyes directly. “Hey man, you okay?” Juan asks.

“I’m okay, Juan,” Isaac replies, catching his breath and letting the adrenaline subside.

“Did you, like, run all the way here?”

“No, Juan.”

“So…why are you out of breath?”

“I don’t know, Juan.” He thinks about it for a moment and corrects himself: “I got scared walking past the choir. N-nervous, I mean. I got nervous.”

“Oh. It’s fine. They’re all nice people. C’mon, sit down.” He pats the other side of the piano bench he is sitting on. As Isaac does so, Juan continues, “Why do they make you nervous? Just curious. If you don’t wanna talk about it, that’s fine.”

Isaac has to think about it for a moment; he never really considered the idea. “The choir doesn’t make m-me nervous. I just…don’t like to be the center of attention. And then I don’t want to, to bother anyone.”

“Oh. I get that. I’m usually that kid in class. Nowadays, anyway. I used to get bad marks in conduct as a kid ‘cuz I wouldn’t shut up.” He stops and looks ahead for a moment. “Wait. I already said that, didn’t I? Heh. Sorry.” Juan rubs the back of his head and hunches over slightly. After a moment, he asks, “So, how was your day?”

“It was okay, Juan,” Isaac admits. “Christian made m-milk come out of my nose and then on my enchilada.”

Isaac catches a glimpse in Juan’s wide eyes of surprise and amusement, though his mouth is more of a thin, closed line than a smile. Juan snorts loudly and cries, “What?!” before looking at the door behind Isaac and quickly covering his mouth with his hand. “Oops. Need to be quiet. That’s hilarious, though!”

“He kept saying ‘weiner’ and it made m-me laugh when I was drinking milk.” Isaac laughs a bit himself at the memory.

“Ouch. The worst that happened to me was with mole. My baby brother asked to be excused from the dinner table, and when he got up, the first thing he did was trip over the chair leg and faceplant on the floor. I immediately shot chicken and mole out my nose, and my other brother José laughed so hard he peed his pants at the table! It hurt so bad that I was crying, but I couldn’t stop laughing, either. Mamá was mad at us for making fun of him but I felt sorry for Carlito – I wasn’t trying to laugh at him, but I couldn’t help it!” Juan grins and shakes his head. “José had to go change his shorts before he could finish dinner. Mamá kept acting like she was mad, but I can tell when she’s really mad. I think she was just trying not to laugh.”

“Did your brother get in trouble?”

“Which one? José?”

“The one who peed his pants at the table.”

“Yeah, José. Not really, no. He’s always been like that. Just, I dunno, has a weak bladder or something. Doesn’t help that he always does really stupid things and laughs about them. He says he doesn’t really care, and Mamá just makes him do his own laundry.” Juan shrugs.

“Oh.” Isaac thinks about it for a moment, and decides to contribute. “I used to wet the bed.” He then instantly regrets his decision to contribute.

“Yeah, me too. It’s weird, but José never did. I dunno.”

Isaac takes a moment to marvel at the fact that Juan isn’t making fun of him for admitting that he used to wet the bed before correcting himself. Juan wouldn’t make fun of me for things like that. At least, I don’t think he would. I don’t know if I can be sure of that. I bet there are things he would still make fun of me for, even if he’s nice. Everybody seems to be like that. I just hope–

“Hey, Isaac.” Juan looks straight at him. Isaac looks back, and a heady rush of anticipation, anxiety, excitement, hope, and attraction wash through Isaac’s gut. Isaac looks down before the feelings overwhelm him, but Juan continues, “I was wondering if, maybe, you would want to…well, my sister is going out with this one boy and it’s, I dunno, I want to know what that’s like, I guess, and we’re both gay, and I think you’re really cute and nice, and smart–ugh, I’m making myself sound stupid, sorry–just…do you want to…go out with me?”

Isaac freezes. Vin was right, he realizes in sudden panic. Juan is interested in me–I’m going out with Vin already–can’t tell Juan–can’t tell secrets–if I say no, he’ll hate me–can’t say yes–can’t explain why–don’t want to lead him on–

“There’s–there’s no need to answer right away,” Juan quickly adds with a laugh that Isaac realizes usually comes with that fuzzy yellow nervousness attached. “It’s cool. I just, y’know, figured I’d ask. But, y’know, maybe…think about it and tell me at the party? I don’t wanna put you on the spot, so take your time.” He pats Isaac’s hand with his own; Juan’s fingers are soft, but cold.

Isaac takes a few breaths. “I’m sorry, Juan. I’m sorry.”

“No no, it’s totally okay! I, heh, I’m kinda nervous too, right?” He smiles, but Isaac is terrified of actually looking in Juan’s eyes at the moment.

“…Right, Juan. I’m sorry. I’m s–” Isaac clamps his teeth shut to stop himself from continuing the apologetic chant, instead funneling the excess nervous energy into rocking himself on the piano bench. “I can, I can tell you at…the party.” That will give him time to talk to Vin. That should work. Vin already said we maybe should tell him, but I can’t do it. Vin can tell him at the party. I…need to breathe.

“Cool. I promise you, it’s cool. Just…take your time, and just tell me yes or no at the party. It’s fine either way. I mean, I’d, y’know, be really happy if you said yes, but I get it if you end up saying no.” A pregnant pause fills the air in the practice room, broken only by the muffled strains of music from the practicing choir. Juan finally stands up, quickly enough to startle Isaac slightly, and announces, “Well, I need to go do some orchestra practice, so I’ll talk to you later?”

“Talk to you later, Juan. I’m s–I’ll…talk to you later, Juan.” He squints against his self-irritation until he hears the door to the orchestra room slowly click shut. Not in any mood to play music himself, he calls his mom to say that he’s ready for pickup. He rocks himself calm before heading outside to wait.

For the entire ride home, Isaac obsessively checks his phone to see if Vin has left a text message. He knows fully well that the chance of there being a text message that he somehow hasn’t heard the notification for, while the phone is in his lap, in the span of no longer than a minute, is practically nil; he still does, though, if only to pass the time between the usual questions: how was school, did you learn anything interesting, any bullies, and the like.

After he puts his backpack down at home, his mom asks, “Did Mr. Guthrie tell you about the meeting on Monday?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay. We’ll be meeting in the same conference room that you did with Juan’s family. I’ll be walking in with you, okay?”

“Okay, Mom.”

“And put your phone down for at least a little bit. You’re going to make your eyes sore.”

“But I’m waiting for a text from Vin.”

His mother takes a deep breath. “Isaac, this is exactly what I mean about you being ‘clingy.’ You can’t just sit there and constantly hope for him to talk to you.”

“That’s not–Mom!” Isaac huffs. There’s no way he can think of to say that he is not, in fact, obsessing, and that this is for a very specific thing, and he just wants reassurance from Vin about being able to tell Juan about them being together, without…telling his mother that they’re together.

“Besides,” she says over his protests, “today is his first day of therapy, isn’t it? I’m pretty sure he has other things on his mind.”

“…Oh yeah.”

“Speaking of which, you know you have your own return to therapy in a week. I’d like you to start thinking about what you’d like to talk about, like we used to do. Remember that it’s your first time in a while, so you’re going to have a lot of catching up to do.”

Isaac nods and sits at the kitchen table to do his homework. It’s boring, but Isaac is more afraid of bad grades than boredom. At least history packets are easy, he muses. Find the information, write it down. Find the information, write it down. Sadly, his homework doesn’t occupy him long enough, and after even Clash Royale gets boring, he catches himself checking for texts again. Vin, come on! he thinks with a sigh. …Isaac, you’re being stupid. He’s in therapy, or maybe practice, or something. …Maybe I am being obsessive. No, I just want to make sure that it’s okay to tell Juan, so that he doesn’t think I’m going to go out with him. Argh! Why is this all so complicated?

The hollow blue tone of the text message, combined with the sudden vibration, makes Isaac gasp and lose his grip, fumbling for his phone until it clatters to the kitchen floor. He picks it up and quickly checks for damage, though the case he keeps on it has saved him countless times from cracking the screen; satisfied that it is still just as okay as it has been every other time he’s dropped it (which is plenty), he unlocks it and quickly taps the notification from Vin.

Vin: Hey man
Vin: Out of therapy
Isaac: Can we talk
Vin: Is everything okay?
Isaac: Its about Juan
Vin: Yeah one sec

Shortly, the blue sparkles of Fireflies start up, but they don’t even get a measure in before Isaac answers the call. “Hi, Vin,” he says, already getting up from the table to go to his room.

Halfway to the bedroom hall, his mother calls out, “Isaac, are you done with your homework?”

He holds the phone a little bit away from his face and stops in his tracks. “Yes, ma’am.”

“All of it?”

“Yes, ma’am! I did my history, and then I did my science homework at school, and then I don’t have homework in math, or art, or reading.”

“And did you call Vin, or did he call you?”

“Mom! He called me!”

“Isaac Alexander Brooks, you watch your tone with me. I am just making sure you don’t get distracted from your schoolwork.”

“S-sorry, Mom.” He hazards a glance in her direction; She is typing on her laptop, not looking at him, but she has one raised eyebrow, which Isaac doesn’t explicitly understand but does know is probably not good.

“All right, go ahead.” She nods her head toward his room without looking away from her computer.

Isaac mutters to Vin as he enters his room, “Sorry, Mom wanted to talk to me.”

“I heard, heh. She always like that?”

“Not always, Vin. Sometimes.”

“Ah. Anyway, how was your day?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “Good. Um, I shot milk out of my nose and talked to Juan.”

There is a moment of silence on the other side. “Okay, you’re gonna need to elaborate here, heh. It was good that you…shot milk out your nose?” Vin’s voice breaks into laughter by the end of the sentence.

“Oh, no, Vin, that wasn’t good. I mean, it was funny, so I guess it was good? It hurt. Also my enchilada got milk all over it.”

Vin tries to say a few things, but each time he starts a sentence, he just laughs. “Oh God, Isaac, thank you. I really needed that. Ugh, I’m crying from laughing! What made all that happen?”

“Um, Christian k-kept saying ‘weenie’ w-when he was talking about the reproductive system, and it got too funny.” Isaac finds himself laughing at the memory of it, even going through the story a second time.

“Man, Christian sounds like he’s a pretty fun guy. ..Y’know, like a big red mushroom.” After Isaac’s silence, he adds, “Get it? A ‘pretty fungi’? …No?”

“No, I–OH, like fungus!”

“Yesss!” Vin hisses. “I got a good joke in!”

“That’s a good one.” Isaac grins at the phone.

“So I know you said you don’t like comedies because you don’t get a lot of the jokes. Do you like puns? Like, do you get them more often?”

“Sometimes I get puns, Vin. There was was–there was w–” He sighs. “One time last year I went up to Mom when I was studying the human body, and then I told her, I asked her if she wanted to see my kidneys. She said okay, and then so I took off my pants and then I pointed at my knees. She said see–said s-she thought it was hilarious.”

“Huh. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you tell a joke before!”

“Oh. I don’t…usually know any good jokes.”

“It’s all good. Comedians get paid for a reason, yeah? And, uh, why’d you take your pants off? Couldn’t you just, you know…”

“I was w-wearing jeans, Vin, and then I couldn’t roll up the legs far enough.”

“Fair. So let’s see…succubus, hypnotist, therapist, pianist, comedian–”

“I am not a penis!” Isaac snaps back, laughing.

“What? No! No, no, ‘pianist,‘ like a person who plays piano. Hah!”

“…Oh. I’m sorry, Vin.” He feels like every word he says comes out as giddy laughter at this point, but he doesn’t care–it’s time spent with Vin, and he likes laughter.

“So…you’re not a penis, but you are all the other things? You didn’t say you weren’t this time!”

“I–Vin! I’m not a comedian, or a…any of those things.”

“But you definitely are a pianist.” He takes care to enunciate the word clearly. “And before you say you aren’t, you literally are better than people who have played for years, you play regularly, you know multiple songs, and you can make people cry with how amazing your music is.”

Isaac sits for a moment, soaking in the list of qualities. “I also made a person with dementia talk again.”

“You wh–you what?! You didn’t tell me about this!”

“Are you mad, Vin?”

“No, I’m freakin’ amazed! If anyone else in the world told me they did that, I’d be like, ‘nah, you’re lying,’ but I know you better than that. Man, tell me! What happened?!”

Isaac goes through the story about what happened when he ran from the park, up through where he played the Moonlight Sonata with Jim’s wife singing along.

“That…wow, man, I don’t even know what to say. You are…you’re a miracle worker, my man.”

“Why do you say ‘my man’? I’m not a man.”

“Because ‘my boy’ makes me sound like your dad and ‘my teen’ sounds ridiculous. But don’t you go changing the subject yet, this is too cool. My boyfriend, waking people up from dementia with the power of his music. That’s like the kind of thing you expect to see in like Academy Award-winning films! Tell me you feel proud of that one.”

Isaac thinks about it for a moment. “I feel…happy that he was happy.”

“But you don’t feel proud that you did something nobody else could do?”

“…No, Vin. I don’t feel proud.”

“Isaac, buddy, you gotta–is there anything you do feel proud of?”

“I’m proud of…my reading grade g-going up.”

“A’right, that’s a good start. Anything else?”

“Getting g-good at chess, and then, um, being able to pronounce ‘anaphylaxis.'”

Vin snorts. “I’d be proud of that one, too, not gonna lie. But like, I mean, those are all awesome and you totally should be proud of those, but you do so many things, awesome things for other people. Don’t any of those things make you proud?”

Isaac racks his brains for any instance that might match his question. “Um…I feel a little proud ‘cuz I made David not scared anymore.”

“Yeah! See? I don’t think you get how much everyone in that hallway is thankful during morning tutorials that he doesn’t come in screaming anymore. For real. And that was all you, Isaac, my m…my friend. …Is that better? ‘My friend’?”

“But we’re b–” He looks to see that his door is shut. “We’re boyfriends.”

“That doesn’t mean we stop being friends, though, yeah? It’s like we just added another layer on top. Like acquaintances, then friends, and now boyfriends.”

Isaac finds himself squirming under the weight of the giddiness those words bring. “I like that, Vin.”

“Me, too, my boyfriend. So okay, you can actually feel proud of helping other people. I was starting to wonder, heh. Anything else you feel proud of? Just curious.”

“…I feel proud that I got…” He lowers his voice. “…That I got the kiss right.”

“Ooh, yeah. That was nice, heh. But, uh, going back a bit…what were you saying about the piano?”

Isaac remembers the behemoth of a grand piano with awe. “It had extra keys at the bottom, or, the left hand, that made my, my insides shake when I hit them.”

“No. There’s no freakin’ way. Bro, do you know–did he tell you what make the piano was?”

“What make?”

“Like what brand, the name, all that.”

“Oh, he called it, um, a…I don’t remember, Vin. It began with a B.”

“Oh my god. Was it a Bösendorfer?”

“Yes, Vin, that was the name.”

“DUDE, ISAAC!” Isaac has to pull the phone away from his ear a bit at Vin’s volume level. “That was a Bösendorfer Concert Grand Imperial?!” Vin’s voice cracks sharply on the last word.

“Two-ninety,” he adds.

“Oh my God, oh my God, Oh my God. Isaac. That’s like one of the most expensive pianos on the planet. That thing costs more than a house! Was this guy like filthy rich or something?!”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, Vin. He just lived in a regular house, um, with…regular furniture. It didn’t look…like yours.”

“Like…what, you think we’re rich?”

Isaac knows answering the question will make him feel much smaller than he currently does.

“Isaac, we’re not, y’know, rich. I mean Dad is doin’ pretty well an’ all, but it’s not like we’re the next, I dunno, Kardashians or whatever.”

“But you live in a two-story house, and then you have all the Nintendos, and then a keyboard, and a piano, and then…a swimming pool…and then, really soft clothes…” By the time he runs out of steam, he has a lump in his throat.

“I…I didn’t realize that was bothering you. Isaac, it’s…it’s not a contest, yeah? Money is just money. It’s, y’know, it’s just like my damn trophies over here. They’re shiny an’ nice an’ all, but they don’t mean anything to me. You mean something to me. More than any o’ dis stuff.” His accent thickens near the end.

Isaac finds himself picking his finger and clamps his fingers over his thumb to stop messing with it. “I’m sorry, Vin. I…I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replies softly. “I…Isaac, I wish I knew how to make you realize how amazing you are, and, and how much you mean to me. Really. Look, all this stuff is…” He sighs. “It’s really just my parents’ way of saying they love me, yeah? They don’t know how to do it like your mom does. They don’t know how to be good parents. They just don’t. I mean look at Brandon an’ me.”

“But you’re good, Vin!”

“Only because I try to be exactly not like them.”

“And, and Brandon’s…not a bad person.”

“Pff, you don’t live with him. …Okay, that’s not fair. He’s…he’s not that bad. He pisses me off and we get in a lot of arguments and fights, but, well.”

“But what, Vin?” Isaac asks after a pause.

“But I guess I’m kinda the cause of a lot of those, which is…not really something I wanna deal with right now. So! Topic change! You said you wanted to talk about Juan.”

“Oh! Oh yeah! Um, Juan asked me out.”

“Oh. Oh no. What did you say?”

“I…I didn’t say anything, Vin. I didn’t know what to say.”

“So, then, how did, y’know, like…what happened?”

“He asked me, and then before I said anything, he said I could tell him at the party. I said that I would…tell him. At the party.” Isaac wonders if people can tell when he embarrasses himself even over the phone.

Vin does not give any indication either way. “Hm. Yeah, I really think we should tell him beforehand. I’d hate to be the guy that’s all like, ‘Hey, I know we’re at a party that you’re throwing right now, but lemme just crash it by rejecting you,’ y’know?” Isaac does not respond, but Vin picks up the slack. “Hey, howzabout we all hang out after school tomorrow? I’m free for a little bit, and I can just grab a ride home with a friend or whatever. I dunno if Juan is, but you can ask him in gym and lemme know at the eagle, yeah?”

“You mean after school at the eagle, Vin?”

“Yeah.”

“We can, I can do that, Vin.”

“Cool. Now. I want you to listen to me carefully, a’right?”

“Okay, Vin.” Isaac breathes deeply, suddenly nervous for unknown reasons.

“I need you to know that you are one of the single best people on this Earth that I know. I don’t care how much money your family has, how good or bad you are at this or that, if you stutter, if you make mistakes, if you, whatever. None o’ dat matters. All that matters is that you are–you’re kind, loving, sweet, caring, compassionate, and just…you. That’s all I care about, and I don’t wanna change a thing. Now, can you promise me you’ll at least try to see yourself as at least half as, as awesome of a person as I see you?”

Isaac considers it. When his mom tells him those things, it just feels like one of her attempts to embarrass him. When Vin says them, though, it sets up a conflict in his mind and a jumble of emotion in his chest; he keeps trying to tell himself that none of those are true, or that he’s wrong somehow, but he cannot seem to find the proof, other than to bring up the faults and inadequacies that Vin just dismissed.

“You still there, Isaac?”

“Yes, Vin. I’m still here.”

“So whaddya think?”

“I…I don’t think…I don’t know, Vin.” The last bit comes out as a frustrated rush of breath.

“…A’right, lemme make a deal with ya.”

“What…okay, Vin.”

“Howzabout you keep reminding me that I’m an okay guy, and that I don’t suck as much as I think I do, and I’ll do the same for you. Howzat sound? Can you do that?”

“You don’t suck!”

“See? You’re doing great already.”

“I–what? Vin!” Isaac can’t help but grin at his phone.

“And you’re not so bad yourself, Isaac.”

Isaac rocks a bit and grins. “Why do you make me smile so much?”

“I…I make you smile?”

“VIN! I know you’re joking.”

Vin laughs heartily. “I just know that making people smile is usually somethin’ I’m pretty good at, an’ I know when someone deserves to smile, yeah? And really, for all the smiling you make me do, I feel like it’s only fair, heh. But I really do mean it. Try t’be nice to yourself, a’right?”

“A’right, Vin.”

“Heh. I got you saying ‘a’right.'”

“Vin.”

“Yeah?”

“Am I…clingy?”

“No? Why?”

“Mom says she thinks I’m being clingy, Vin.”

“Ah. Well, I mean…hm.” Isaac gets nervous at the pause he takes. “If you think about it, what she sees is that we were, y’know, just friends, and then alla sudden we’re hanging out like a whole lot, and talking on the phone a lot, and, well, I see where she could think that, yeah. B-but listen–you’re not being clingy. I’ve dealt with clingy before and you’re nowhere close.”

“…Okay, Vin.” Isaac cannot quite shake the specter of doubt, but accepts his answer for now.

“Tell ya what. I’ll tell you straight-up if I feel like you’re being clingy, a’right? So don’t worry about it, yeah?”

“Yeah, Vin. Okay, Vin.”

“A’right, cool. …Man, I wish I were over there right now to give you a hug. I could use one, too.”

Isaac’s heart ticks up a few beats at the thought of a Vin hug. “Wait, you could use a hug?”

“Well, I mean other than always, heh, uh…yeah, I dunno, I guess I’m still really struggling with the whole therapy thing.” He takes a deep breath and sighs. “I mean, it didn’t go bad or anything, right, we just, y’know, introduced ourselves, I said a little bit about me, what I do, all that, and we talked about therapy goals, and, well, the goal is obvious – ‘I’d like to not want to kill myself again’ – but we talked a bit about what sorts of thoughts lead to that kind of thing, and even just that much kinda left me shook, y’know?”

“I…don’t think I know, Vin. What’s ‘shook’?”

“Shook, like uh, uncomfortable, or anxious, or upset, kinda. I dunno. Anyway, I can tell it’s…not gonna be easy. I know I need it, but…yeah. So anyway, that’s why I feel like I could use a hug, at least today, heh.”

“M-maybe I can c-come over tomorrow and give you a hug.”

Another deep breath and slow exhalation. “I’d like that, but…I kinda feel like our parents are gonna be onto us if we just hang out constantly all the time, y’know? Like Brandon already caught on, and my parents aren’t stupid. I don’t–I don’t really wanna cross that bridge yet, so…maybe I get that hug on Saturday before the quince after-party, yeah?”

Isaac feels caught between disappointment and excitement, but smiles in spite of himself. “Yeah, Vin.”

“A’right, Mom’s gripin’ about something not bein’ done in the house, so I’ma hafta letcha go. I love you, and I’ll talk to ya later.”

“I love you, too, Vin, and I’ll, I’ll talk to you later.”

Another short sigh. “Bye, Isaac.”

“Bye, Vin.”

The rest of the evening is spent in an unsettling, heady mix of excitement, infatuation, and dread as Isaac considers the events to come.

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