Chapter Two

chapter two

WHEN I PICK TAYLOR UP THE NEXT DAY, I’M STILL FEELING A BITannoyed with Miles. It’s none of his business who I sleep with, or who I set up, or even who I date, if I were to date.

“Uh-oh,” she says, hopping into the passenger seat of my EQS, “what happened? You have that ‘I need to be a good person but I just want to punch someone’ face.”

That makes me laugh, and I shake my head as I start driving us to school. “My dad invited Miles and his mom over last night, which is fine, but when I said I was going to find a boyfriend for Harrison, Miles got all judgy, the way he does. Said it was a bad idea.”

The best thing about Taylor is I can tell her anything. I can even be mean about other people to her. She understands. I have all these really just bitchy thoughts sometimes, and they’re terrible, and I would never say them aloud, but with Taylor, she won’t judge. She says we’re all allowed to vent.

It was one of the first things she told me when we met freshman year—she said you need someone you can always be honest with about how you’re feeling, because sometimes scary truths have to be spoken aloud. I remember we were sitting on the porch swing on my deck, and it felt like she was trying to tell me something, but what I thought of immediately was how much I missed my mom. And how weird it was, being at a new school, not just having to come out again but having to explain that my mom was dead. It felt like a lot. She took my hand, which I thought might have been romantic back then, because I still thought she was a gay guy like me, but then she looked at me, and I knew it wasn’t like that. I knew this was a friend who just wanted me to know it was okay to feel… rough.

“That all sounds hard,” she said. “But I’ll be there with you.”

That’s when I knew I’d met my closest friend since Miles.

“Why does Miles think you playing matchmaker is a bad idea?” she asks as I drive. “You did so well with me and West!”

“Right?” I say. “It’s like he doesn’t want other people to be happy. I’m just trying to do good, give back.”

“And you totally will. I know you’ll find someone great for Harrison.”

“Thank you.” I nod firmly.

“Oh, you know who I think likes him? Robert. From carnival planning, you know? I think he’s president of the environmental club?”

“Yeah… I think I can find someone better. I like Harrison. He shouldn’t just settle for the first guy who comes along.”

She laughs. “True. But don’t hold him up to your standards.”

I sneak a sideways glance at her. So maybe I don’t tell her everything. The thing is, Taylor is very romantic, so I try to keep my no-strings-attached rendezvous from her because I worry that then she’d try even harder to find me a boyfriend. She wouldn’t fetishize me the way Georgia would, but she’d just be so insistent that we should go out and experience love. She says my twenty-five rule is absurd and people are going to get their hearts broken one way or another anyway, so who cares. That’s part of love. And I agree—it’s just not a part I especially want to experience yet.

She catches me looking and holds her hand up to her earrings, steadying them for me to look when we stop at a red light. “Do you like?”

“Love,” I say.

Taylor is gorgeous, green eyes, peachy skin, and dark brown hair that she has in a braid today. Over the summer she transitioned from hormone blockers to estrogen, and though she was pretty before that, since then she’s just been so much happier, and it shows—she’s always glowing. She’s got super-cute earrings on today, too. They’re little yellow crystals that match her uniform. Technically, we have a whole wardrobe to choose from for our uniform—always a white shirt, but then it’s mix and match: ties in yellow, blue, or yellow-and-blue plaid. Pale gray suit (pants or skirt), or gray, yellow-and-blue-plaid suit. Sweater vest or cardigan in the yellow-and-blue plaid. They’re keen on making sure we have a uniform look at Highbury, to make sure no one feels like they have to chase brands or trends, but they still want us to be able to express ourselves. Today Taylor is in the plaid suit, with skirt, and the earrings are blue metal hoops with yellow crystals dangling in the center. They match everything perfectly.

“Thanks! I made them.”

“Really? Those are amazing, Taylor. Did you buy new supplies?”

“Yeah, I found a new place that sells metal, and I loved this blue stuff.”

Taylor wants to be a jewelry designer. Accessories, too. But she started with jewelry because it’s one of the things we can wear to school. I have several brooches she made me and I wear one every day. Today’s is a cameo of a woman’s profile, surrounded by golden flowers, with chains looping down from it. She calls her aesthetic extravagant romanticism because she wants everything to feel sort of vintage but in a modern way—cameo pins with huge flowers, rings with huge flowers, pretty much anything with these huge metal flowers she casts from wax. She says she likes molding things and then seeing them shine, because it’s like remaking the world, even the boring stuff—wax, metal—into beautiful things that gleam. I love that about her. That she can see even the most boring things, or ugly things, and turn them into something stunning in her mind, and then will actually do it with her hands.

“Well, I love them,” I say, smiling at the earrings again.

“I’m trying to broaden my portfolio before I send it in to FIT next week.”

“Well, I think those are fantastic. They’ll get you in for sure.”

“Thanks,” she says in a soft voice. I reach out and squeeze her hand. FIT is her dream school. I got into Stanford early decision last week, which means we’ll be on opposite sides of the country, and that always makes my body ache a little to think about. Like the potential distance is already pulling us apart and we’re still reaching for each other, arms stretching out. That kind of ache. But I also want her to go to her dream school. I want her to have all of her dreams.

“You’re going to get in,” I say. “I know it.”

“Well, I need to send in this application before midterms or I won’t focus on studying at all, so I have like six days left to make my best stuff ever.”

“And you will.”

“Okay, okay.” She shakes her head and I take my hand back. “Let’s talk about something else, this is making me anxious.”

“What else?” I ask.

“How about Andre, West’s brother?” she asks, leaning toward me.

“Taylor, I’ve told you…”

“I know, I know. But it would be so fun if we were dating brothers! And then, if we all got married, we’d be related. And we’d definitely have to keep in touch no matter what coasts we’re on.”

“We’re going to keep in touch no matter what,” I promise her.

“I know…” She sighs. “It would be fun, though. And he says you’re hot.”

“You did not show him a picture of me.”

“I didn’t,” she says. “But West did. Only fair since I showed you his photo, right?”

“He’s a college sophomore. I don’t see us making a lasting relationship happen.”

“He’s a sophomore at Stanford.”

“Oh,” I say. “You never mentioned that.”

“Well, every time I mention him you tell me it’s not happening. I can’t get a word in edgewise.”

I smirk at that and pull into the school parking lot. “I’m just not looking for a boyfriend.”

“Well, at least be nice to him when you meet him,” she says.

I park the car and laugh. “I’m always nice. And I’m happy to meet him. Maybe he’ll be a good match for Harrison.”

“Oy vey,” Taylor says, opening her door. “I hand you a smart, good-looking man and you palm him off to the guy you’re tutoring. I do not understand it.”

“I know, but you love me anyway,” I say, stepping out of the car.

She narrows her eyes at me over the top of the car, but she’s smiling. “Yeah, I do.”

We head together toward the main building, where West is waiting. Seeing Taylor run up to him and kiss him, I almost, for a moment, envy them. They just seem so happy, the sun hitting them as they kiss on the white steps leading up to the building, his arms around her waist, her foot up in the air. A few stray leaves from the maple trees even rain down on them, the breeze washing them around the lovestruck couple. Cover of a romance novel. In the distance I can hear the faint melody of the school’s string quartet practicing.

They break, and as if reading my mind, Taylor turns to me and says, “Sure you don’t want a boyfriend?”

“Are you really still bothering him about that?” West asks, then turns to me, shaking his head. “Sorry, man. It wasn’t even my idea.”

“I know,” I say. I like West. He’s straightforward, kind, and handsome, with brown skin, an excellently done fade, and beautiful, high cheekbones. And he’s tall, very tall, and surprisingly well muscled for how narrow he is. But more than that, he’s just calm. He seems unbothered by everything and like someone who never judges, not even in his head, which is practically impossible to imagine. But that’s him. Calming. He’s good for Taylor.

“Like my new earrings?” Taylor asks him.

“Are those the ones you’ve been working on? They came out great, babe.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He takes her hand and kisses it, staring in her eyes while a few more leaves circle around them in the breeze. Then they head up the steps into the building and I follow them, quickly forgotten as she tells him about the earrings, and which ones she’ll make next. That’s fine. I have my own project to worry about: a boyfriend for Harrison.

The string quartet seems to pick up on my goal, as their cover of “thank u, next” breezes through the halls and seafoam-green lockers. I look around me, taking mental note of any of the queer men I know: There’s Jimmy, he’s good-looking, and a junior like Harrison, but he has a boyfriend at some other school. Alex, a sophomore, but he’s always going on about his bird, and I like birds and all, but it’s like it’s his whole personality. Adam is always in his sketch pad, I don’t think he’s looked up in years. Tom went to Toronto Pride last year and it’s literally all he talks about now. Cale is a horror guy, to the point where if you can’t have a two-hour conversation on Pinhead with him, there’s no point even talking to him. Ethan smokes pot too often for it to be considered “recreational” anymore. There are so many out guys, and yet none of them seem right.

I stop in front of my locker—right next to Taylor’s—and put some books away.

“Hey, Emmett.” I look around and spot Robert coming over to me. The one who likes Harrison already. He’s a sweet kid, and not bad-looking in theory. But a little hair product would help, and probably a haircut, and those glasses are too big for his face, and he needs to shave better, and his arms are just too thin. I try to imagine him doing to Harrison the things I do to Harrison, and it just doesn’t fit. Though I shouldn’t think strictly physically. He gets good grades, I think. He’s head of the environmental club, so that’s good. It’s just… the moment he leaves the room, I tend to forget about him. Harrison deserves better than forgettable.

“Emmett?” Robert asks again, and I realize I’ve been staring at him in silence.

“Yes?” I ask, closing my locker.

“You said to come by your locker and grab the form from you for the environmental club booth at the winter carnival, remember? We’re doing a lottery, with a big plush whale as the prize. It’s so cute, you just wanna squish it!” He laughs a little and pushes his glasses up. No, he won’t do.

“Sure,” I say, opening my locker again and taking out one of the forms. “Just turn it in to the student activities office.”

“I know, I’m on the winter carnival student board, remember?”

“Yes, of course, sorry.” I shake my head. “Habit. I say it to everyone who I give a form.”

He laughs. “Just running on autopilot. Yeah, I do that. I never remember turning on the radio to NPR when I get home. I just go into my room, and hit the stereo, and then I’m taking off my jacket or fishing out my books and it’s like ‘Wait, who turned the radio on?’”

“Yes, like that,” I say.

“Well, I’ll see you at the meeting after school. And I’ll have the form done by then.”

“Great,” I say, closing my locker. “See you later!”

I turn around to find Taylor and West leaning against her locker, lips firmly fastened together. I turn back around and head to class.

I spend all day checking out guys—for Harrison, not just for fun. At lunch, though, inspiration strikes, and I know exactly who to set Harrison up with: Clarke. Cocaptain of the cheerleading squad, and so very well-built, with red-blond hair and bright blue eyes. Clarke is popular, and a solid student. He’s also a professional gymnast who everyone says could make the Olympic team in a few years. He’s a junior, same as Harrison, and has like 47k followers on KamerUhh, that social media site with the videos and photos, which makes him almost famous. I only have 10k, but I’m barely on social media really—I post some selfies sometimes, but mostly I just lurk, watching other people’s videos. Clarke is all over KamerUhh, with photos of him stretching, at the gym, in a Speedo at the pool, and doing videos where he lip-syncs, explains various cheer throws, or does whatever the viral trend of the week is. He’s super charming, and really funny. Everyone likes Clarke, even when he’s a little bitchy.

Harrison will be perfect for him—they’ll look great together, and Harrison’s sincerity will balance Clarke’s sometimes too-camera-ready exterior. Meanwhile Clarke’s outgoingness will help bring Harrison out of his shell a bit. He’s perfect.

“Clarke,” I tell Taylor, who’s eating next to me, one hand spooning yogurt out of its cup, the other entwined with West’s hand on her thigh.

“What about him?” Taylor asks.

“He’s perfect for Harrison.”

“You think?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Yes.” I nod firmly, then take a sip of passion fruit seltzer. “I’m going to make that happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Georgia asks, brushing her bleached bob behind her ear, leaning forward, waiting for gossip.

“Emmett’s a matchmaker now,” Taylor says. “He’s trying to do for Harrison what he did for me.”

“Oh, that is so cute,” Georgia says. “Can I play?”

“Well, it’s not a game,” I say as sweetly as I can. “And I already picked someone out. I just need to get them to hang out a bit. Confirm there’s chemistry, and then hopefully one thing will lead to another, and… a second happy couple.” I smile at Taylor, who leans into West.

Sure, a second happy couple leaves me without an outlet for physical pleasure, but after a day of evaluating the other queer boys at school, I think I have several who would do as a replacement. Plenty of them would be open to a different kind of relationship, I think.

“Oh, well, that’s fun. We should do a group hang with them.”

“Agreed,” I say. “The winter carnival would be great, but it’s too far off. Maybe a movie?”

“Oh!” Georgia says. “We should go to that new pop-up art exhibit at the place that used to be the movie theater? But they renovated it into, like, a performance space?”

“Yeah.” Taylor nods. “The projected art thing? It’s um… some old artist, William Hodge. He did landscapes in the seventeen hundreds.”

“Hodges?” West asks, lighting up. He’s an art nerd. Part of why I knew he and Taylor would work so well.

“Yes!” Georgia says. “But they project them in these rooms and they move and there’s, like… wind, I think. And at the end there’s, like, a virtual drawing room, too. They started in Paris—John went, he said it was so much fun and I had to go.”

“That does sound like a good first-date group event,” I say, nodding. Georgia might be a bit abrasive, personality-wise, but credit where it’s due: it is a good idea.

“John will be so happy we went!” she says, almost shrieking, like she heard me thinking something positive about her and just had to cancel it out. I sigh. She means well. I should be nicer.

“Thanks, that’s a great idea,” I say, smiling at her. “Now I just have to get Harrison and Clarke on board.”

“So this weekend?” West asks. “I love William Hodges, actually. I mean, there’s something super colonialist about it, but also it’s just… really pretty. I did a report on him for art history this semester. I don’t know how I didn’t know about this… what is it?”

“An augmented-reality space,” Georgia says, reading from her phone. “A full sensory virtual experience putting you in the exotic landscapes painted by William Hodges.”

“Don’t love the use of the word exotic,” West says.

“Sights, sounds, smells, and more,” Georgia continues. “A vacation for the soul.”

“I don’t know,” Taylor says.

“I’m still up for it,” West says. “We can always make fun of it.”

“John said it was super beautiful,” Georgia says, her voice a little whiny.

“What is?” Miles asks, sitting down next to me. He’s holding a half-eaten banana.

“This William Hodge virtual soul vacation thing,” Georgia says.

“Hodges,” West corrects.

“We’re going this weekend,” Georgia says to Miles, reaching her hand out toward him. Her nails are bright yellow, and she taps them on the table. “It’ll be fun.”

“Who’s going?” he asks, looking at me.

“Well, us four, and Harrison and Clarke, if I can get them to come.”

“Ah,” Miles says. He laughs. “Clarke?”

I don’t dignify that with a response.

He shrugs. “All right, sounds weird, I’m in.”

“Yay!” Georgia clasps her hands together. “This will be so much fun. And John will be so happy we all took his advice. If this works, though, I’m next. Boyfriend, girlfriend, theyfriend, whatever, maybe all three!”

“I think I’m sticking to one setup at a time, but I’ll see about creating a polycule for you after.”

“Honestly.” She shakes her head. “That sounds like too much work. Just find me a few hookup buddies.”

“I’ll be on the lookout. And thank you,” I say, gracious, “it’s a fun idea for a date. Now I just need to wrangle the happy couple.”

Harrison is easy. We have a committee meeting for the winter carnival, which of course goes perfectly, and after that I ask him if he needs any tutoring, and we go back to his place. His parents work late, so it’s always empty, even if that ceiling fan has been looking at me funny lately.

After, lying in bed, I tell him.

“So what do you think of Clarke?”

“Clarke Hansen? My year?” he asks, looking confused.

“Yeah.”

“I mean, I don’t talk to him much. He seems cool. Everyone likes him, right?”

“Do you think he’s hot?”

“You’re asking me that right after what we just did?”

I shrug. “Why not? I’m asking you about romance. What we just did wasn’t that.”

“I guess,” he says, almost sighing, then rolls onto his side, away from me, and sits up. “I mean, yeah, Clarke is hot. He’s got that cheerleader body and everything.”

“Good. I think you two would be great together.”

“So you’re really setting me up?”

I sit up, too, resting my hand on his shoulder, and he turns around. “That’s all right, isn’t it?” I frown. If he doesn’t want me to set him up, but does want a boyfriend, then I may have to be unkind. “We did talk about it, and I thought you gave your blessing.”

“It’s just weird you doing it, I think,” he says. He frowns, then lies back down. “No, what’s weird is you telling me about it after sex. I think that’s it.”

“Oh.” I lie back next to him. “I’m sorry. I thought it was… fine, I guess? Should we stop having sex if I’m going to be setting you up?”

“Have you asked him about me?” he asks, his eyes widening with anxiety.

“Not yet. My plan is a group hang—we’re all going to this virtual art thing this weekend. I figure we invite you, him, Taylor, West, Georgia, Miles…” I manage not to sneer on the last two names. “Makes it feel less like a setup. Then you two have a chance to see if you like each other, and maybe it all happens then, or maybe I give him a little nudge after… we’ll see.”

“Okay.” He bites his lip, which is really hot, and closes his eyes, nodding to himself. “This weekend?”

“Yeah, that okay?”

“Sure. Um, but then… yeah, I feel like we should stop… tutoring. I don’t want to get into something with someone else while I’m still… tangled with you.”

“We’re not tangled,” I say. “We’re just friends who enjoy each other intimately sometimes.”

He laughs. “We have sex, Emmett. And that makes it more than just your usual friendship. More… complicated. Maybe not for you, but for me. So we should stop.”

“All right,” I say with a sigh. “Well, it’s been a lot of fun.”

“We should stop…,” he says, sitting up and then straddling me, “… after today.”

“Even better.”

Clarke is harder. We’re friendly, sure, but I’ve never sought him out for anything. He’s not on the student council, and he doesn’t volunteer at the soup kitchen. He mostly just cheers, I think, and goes shopping and then hangs out at home doing his KamerUhh videos. So the best place to catch him is cheer practice, just after school.

After the string quartet leaves for the day, the school pipes in classical music through the PA system for any students staying late. Today it’s a flute solo that gets fainter as I walk away from the main building toward the football field.

The field is regulation-size, just behind the school and next to a cliff that overlooks the ocean. It’s really lovely, and the cool December wind breezes through my hair as I approach. Just as the flute fades out, the sound of chanting fades in.

“Highbury Academy! We’ll Win the Game Dramatically!”

In the stadium, there’s a soccer practice going on, but I follow the cheer chant around it to a large grassy field where the team has set up. They’re not in the usual robin’s-egg-blue-and-canary-yellow uniforms that make them look like well-muscled Easter eggs; they’re just in school gym clothes. I spot Clarke in front of the group. He’s in a yellow hoodie with the arms cut off and a pair of blue bicycling shorts with yellow stripes down the side. His legs and ass look amazing. If I were Harrison, I’d be thrilled.

“That’s fantastic, Alicia!” he shouts. “Great turn on that. Elisa, give her a little more lift, really extend the arms to match Brittany! Brittany, you’re perfect as always! Let’s try it one more time!”

I approach quietly and wait for them to go through the routine again, Alicia soaring into the air and flipping before landing perfectly, like a bird.

“That was perfect,” Clarke says. “You’re all beautiful, amazing people. Amy?”

He turns to his cocaptain, Amy, who nods, then steps forward. “Now we’re going to focus on the rolls! Don, Paul, you’re up!”

As Amy takes over the practice, Clarke backs away and picks up a water bottle, then spots me and smiles. He takes a long sip, some water pouring over his lips and running down his chin, which he wipes before walking over to me.

“What brings you out here, Emmett?”

“The squad looks amazing.”

“Thanks!” Clarke grins. “Just came to admire?”

“Checking you have everything set for the Cheerleader Dunk booth for the carnival,” I say.

“Oh.” He nods. “Yep, we’re all set. The rental place is going to be there at seven a.m., and I’ll be there to make sure it’s all done right. You’ll be there to make sure it goes in exactly the right spot, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then we’re set.” He takes another drink of water. “That all?”

“Actually, I was wondering. Do you know Harrison Stein?”

“Sure.” He nods. “Kinda floppy hair, quiet?”

“That’s the one,” I say with a nod. “He and I and a few other folks are checking out that virtual art exhibit this weekend. You want to join?”

“Virtual art exhibit?” He raises an eyebrow. “I don’t even know what that is.”

“Oh,” I say, “well—”

“But text me the details. I’ll be there for sure.” He smiles broadly. “We never hang out. It’ll be fun.”

“I think so, too,” I say, wondering if the we he means is him and me, or him and Harrison, or all three of us. “I’ll text you. But I’d better get going. I volunteer at the soup kitchen today.”

“Oh god, you’re so nice,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Makes me look bad.”

“Don’t be silly—you’re leading an army of encouragement.” I gesture at the cheer squad. “Very important.”

Clarke glances at them, then turns back to me. His face looks a little pink in the sunlight.

“Yeah, I try. Well, have fun at the soup kitchen. See you this weekend.”

“See you then,” I say, turning around and walking back to the parking lot. When I can hear the flute again and know I’m safely out of sight, I let myself grin and jump for a moment. This is going perfectly. Clarke and Harrison will be wonderful together.