18. Jordan

EIGHTEEN

Blaise suddenly lookslike a deer caught in headlights, and I have no idea why, but I'm spurred to rescue him. "He's an amazing costume designer. You should see some of his stuff, Uncle Luke—it's so good! He's doing cosplay outfits for some people going to a book convention at the moment. I read the character descriptions in the book, and I swear, he's brought them to life." Uncle Luke is smiling faintly, and Grant's got his analytical face on, but Blaise is still quiet and a little green.

So I press my knee against his and keep talking. "And he did a costume for Hector from Space Reivers that's so freaking awesome—I like it better than the one he wore in the movie."

"It's different?" Grant asks. He's currently the director of Joy Universe, and the live-action movie was made in the studios on-site there not long after he took the promotion. He didn't have any direct interaction with it—the studios are separate from the parks—but he still had to stay across the project overall. And of course he got me access for some set visits. There's gotta be some perks to being the stepkid of a JU exec.

"Yeah, he made it when the movie was first announced, so he didn't know what the actual costume was going to look like." I turn to Blaise. "Do you have pictures on your phone?"

He hesitates. "Jordan, I don't think your dads?—"

"If you do, I'd love to see them," Grant cuts in.

"Me too," Uncle Luke adds. "Jordan was obsessed with that movie, even before the remake. When he was little, he used to pretend to be a space pirate. Only he didn't have a laser blaster thingy, so he used the remote control. It was annoying when we were trying to watch TV and the channel would suddenly change, or the volume would zoom up to deafening."

"Thanks for sharing that," I say, deadpan. Uncle Luke's usually so cool that I forget he does do embarrassing parent things like this sometimes.

But at least Blaise is smiling now. "You must have been so cute," he teases. "Are there pictures?"

"Hundreds," Uncle Luke assures him. "Give me your email before we go, and I'll send you some."

"Speaking of pictures…," Grant prompts, and Blaise pulls out his phone and starts scrolling.

"Hector. Um, sure, I have some I took when I was making it, and then my friend took a few of me wearing it for me to add to my portfolio… Here." He passes his phone across the table to Grant.

My stepdad takes it, glances at the screen, and his eyes immediately widen. "You made this? When the movie was first announced… so you were, what, a freshman?"

Blaise nods. "Yeah. I ended up using it for a project that year for my intro to design class."

Uncle Luke leans in to see and blinks. "Wow. I know Jordan said you were good, but I was expecting him to have rose-tinted glasses."

Now my boyfriend's cheeks are turning pink. "Thank you. I can see the problems with it, things I might do differently now, but it's still one of my favorite projects."

"We can see why. Is it okay for me to scroll?" Grant asks.

"Sure. There's a few more from the side and back views."

They scroll through the pics, and I elbow Blaise and shoot him a grin, bursting with pride. He smiles back at me, but I can tell he doesn't understand what this means. Probably because I haven't told him all that much about where my dads work and who my honorary uncles are.

This is huge, though.

The dads will go home and tell Dimi and Jason about Blaise's mad skills. Jason used to be a Broadway director—he works exclusively at JU now, but he's still touted as one of the all-time best directors Broadway has ever seen, and he knows everybody. Plus, Uncle Luke works for Joy Inc. directly, not JU—he's got connections in the design and wardrobe departments, because he works with them on processes and efficiency. Blaise might already have a leg up for getting this internship because the guy who runs it likes his work, but once he has the money, I can pretty much guarantee he's going to get it, thanks to my family.

And if he decides he wants to try something different instead… well, we can help with that too.

I just have to find a way to tell him that doesn't make it sound like I think he needs the help. Maybe it would be better if I stayed in the background on this? Like a puppet master, pulling all the strings behind the scenes.

Heh. I like the idea of my dads and uncles being puppets.

"Could you send these to us?" Uncle Luke asks, on cue. "I have a friend who'd love to see them."

Ding ding ding. Step one, complete.

"Sure." Blaise shrugs. "You can just text them to yourself, if you want."

Grant does, and a second later hands Blaise's phone back. "When you're ready to apply for that internship, I have every confidence you'll get it," he says. "They'd be idiots not to take you."

"That's so nice of you to say." Blaise grins. "Let's hope you're right. My savings are going pretty well—I started before I even finished my sophomore year. I'm hoping that maybe I'll be close enough to put my application in come April, for the July intake."

"That soon? That's great!" I don't know why I thought it would take longer.

He lightly raps his knuckles on the tablecloth. "Touch wood, anyway. It's not for sure, and I'd probably have to take on some side work next year as well, to cover the gaps. But if not this time, then definitely next year, and in the meantime, I can continue working locally to build my portfolio."

My dads exchange an approving look. They like work ethic. Then Grant lifts his glass.

"Let's toast to hard work paying off, then."

I wave my dads off after brunch and consider how to spend the rest of this sunny almost-spring Sunday. I could study, but we all know that's not going to happen. What I really want to do is go see Blaise, but he's at work and even if me hanging out in the store all day wouldn't be weird, he actually has to work. I'd be a distraction. I'll call him later.

Instead, I wander toward the beach. It's too cold to swim, and I'm not a surfer, but the sun is nice enough to sit in the sand and make the most of living in SC. Back home—which I guess won't be home when my dads move in a couple months—the beach is a two-hour drive away, minimum. I hadn't realized how soothing I find the ocean until I moved here.

A lot of other students have had the same idea, and it takes me a minute to find a relatively clear spot and flop down. The sun glitters off the deep blue of the waves, and a few seagulls caw overhead. Nearby, someone's playing music, but it's not obnoxiously loud. There's a low hum of chatter, the occasional peal of laughter. It's nice.

I can smell the enticing aroma of coffee from the Bean Necessities coffee cart, and something else from the food trucks that would make my stomach growl if I hadn't just eaten. If I'm still here in a couple of hours, that's going to be my next stop. Meanwhile, I'm just going to sit here and be Zen. Let nature speak to me. Be at one with my thoughts.

Yeah, that's not as easy as it sounds. My thoughts are clear enough, but it's hard to be Zen when I know I need to tell Coach I'm queer and seeing someone. If Blaise and I weren't together, it wouldn't be necessary, but no matter how low-key and non-PDA we are, there's always a chance that someone will work it out. I don't need Coach being taken by surprise on two fronts if that happens.

I just really don't want to have that conversation with him.

It's not that I think he'll be homophobic. I've talked openly about my dads with the team, and he's talked to them—when I started last year, Grant called to offer discounted JU passes for everyone associated with the team, and Coach helped him set that up. He's got firm rules about use of homophobic language in the locker room too.

But he's under a lot of pressure right now, with the Hannaway thing. The athletic department and the PR department are still in serious damage control mode, and the other sports teams are giving us serious side-eyes and cold shoulders, so I can only imagine what their coaches are being like to him. I don't think me telling him about another possible thing that might attract the media spotlight is going to be a fun experience for either of us.

"Jordan?"

I glance up at a familiar face: Harrison, the guy from my stats class last semester who pretended he was going to hook up with me to make the guy he really wanted jealous, because said guy and his identical twin had been playing swapsies and never told him. Or something like that. I'm still not entirely clear on the details. But he's with the twin he wanted now, so it all turned out.

"Hey, what's up?"

He sits beside me. "I was just about to ask you the same thing. You look very pensive."

I shrug. "Just thinking. I gotta tell my coach something that's probably going to add to the shitpile of stress he's under right now, and I don't wanna."

Harrison pulls a face, his red hair all fiery in the sunlight. "Yeah, I heard about what happened."

"You and everyone else at this school… and in SoCal… and who follows college baseball or hates jocks."

"I can't help with that, obviously, but is there something else I can do? I'm a good listener, and Benny's going to be in line at the coffee cart for a while."

I glance over my shoulder in the direction of the cart, and sure enough, the line is long. Austin, the cute guy who works at Bean Necessities, has his work cut out for him.

Harrison would be a good person to talk this through with—until he started dating this guy, he was straight.

"Okay, so… this goes in a vault, right? And it's all hypothetical," I add.

His eyes widen, and he glances around, then nods solemnly. "I swear."

"You used to be straight, yeah? Or at least you thought you were," I amend, because I'm not sure how he wants to approach the concept of his pansexuality. "When you thought you were straight, did you think male celebrities were hot? But that it wasn't a reflection of your preferences, because they weren't real people?"

He looks a little confused. "I don't think I ever really thought about it?"

Moving on, then. "So let's say that a member of the… swim team had recently discovered they were bisexual."

Harrison's mouth forms an O, and then he nods. "Sure. It happens."

"And there's no existential crisis because they've got queer family members and don't have any problem accepting that part of themselves."

"Great news."

"But they don't ever plan to try out for the Olympics or anything, so they don't see the point in making a big ‘I'm a queer athlete' announcement when they actually just want to live their life in peace. And their new partner also doesn't want that kind of attention. And someone else on the swim team was recently caught up in a scandal—let's say doping—and there's a lot of media attention and pressure on them at the moment already."

"Well… that's definitely a sticky wicket."

I blink. It's a what? You know what, never mind. "What would be the best way to tell the swim coach that they're bi so that if it somehow came out, he'd be prepared? Or would it be better to just not say anything and hope for the best?" I'm hoping he'll vote for option two, but I know that even if he does, I need to tell Coach. My friends think so. My dads think so. Even Blaise thinks it would be smart.

Harrison winces. "No, sorry, y—I mean, the swimmer should talk to their coach. And maybe it won't ever need to be discussed again, but at least that way all bases are covered."

I chuckle. "Pun intended?"

He looks blank. "Sorry?"

Okay, so he's not really a baseball fan. "Never mind. Any suggestions for the swimmer?"

"Open and straightforward is the way to go. ‘I don't think this will ever be a problem, but I thought the responsible thing was to let you know. I'm bisexual, I'm dating someone, and though we don't plan to make this public, sometimes secrets come out.'" He frowns. "The coach isn't bigoted, is he?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

"Then that's the best bet."

A shadow falls over us, and we look up at the scowling face of Harrison's boyfriend. I can't resist poking the bear a tiny bit. "Which twin are you?"

Harrison scrambles to his feet. "And on that note, I think I'm ready for a walk. Come on, Benny. Jordan…" He gives me an encouraging smile. "Good luck to the swimmer."

They walk away, and I hear the twin—Benny—mutter, "Who the fuck is the swimmer?"

Time for me to go and find Coach.