“I wasn’t the one who ran away like my dick was a cattle prod. Remember, Fenn?”
I laughed with no humor whatsoever. “You’restraight.”
“I’m… yes,” Mason agreed. “It’s probably very likely that I am.”
“Probably very likely?” That was new. “So then what’s this?” I nodded down at his hand, which was stuck to my T-shirt like a burr. I could feel each fingertip through the thin cotton like five tiny, fiery brands.
Mason swallowed so loudly I could hear him. “You were there in the bathroom the other night.”
“I was,” I agreed. “And I heard thatstimulus was stimulus, which was the dumbest thing ever. That was more than just you getting a semi, Mason.”
“And you left before I could process a fucking thing beyond that. And you avoided me for a solid week.”
“During which, you processed it.” I squeezed my hands tightly. “I’m dying to hear your conclusions.”
“I… don’t have any. I tried,” he said in a small, bewildered voice. “I have. But I don’t knowwhatto conclude. If a person has believed himself to be straight for twelve thousand nine hundred eleven days, give or take, Fenn, and then realizes he’s… having other ideas forsevendays, what does that make him? Does the not-straightness erase the straightness, like all those years never happened? Or do you average the days of straightness and not-straightness and come up with something in between? Does it mean you’ve always been not-straight and just lying to yourself? Or can it just be something new you pick up? Something you start to feel for one person in one crazy scenario?” He sounded a little bit desperate and a whole lot confused.
He wasn’t the only one. Was he talking abouthim? Was he talking aboutmeand what happened last week?
“Is there, like, an algorithm, where the more recent days are weighted more?” he went on. “Does it matter how many people of each gender you’ve ever found attractive? Or, God, does it matterhowattractive you’ve found the people of each gender? Is there a formula?”
“I… I have no idea.”
“The internet assures me that sexual fluidity isverycommon. That people can become more or less sexually attracted to one gender over time—”
“Can they?” I shook my head. “Because as far as I know, youcan’tchange your sexuality, Loafers, and no one can change it for you.” It was the motto I’d repeated to myself over and over and over again, after what happened in Texas. It wasn’t possible to make a person gay any more than it was possible for my mother to pray my gay away.
“Yeah, that’s whatIsaid!” Mason exclaimed. “To myself, I mean, when I was reading about this. I know it’s a thing that exists, and if I’m sexually fluid or bi or pan or whatever, that’s cool… but I still don’t understand how it happens. Or what you call it. Or whether it’s permanent. So that’s why I’m saying,probably very likely straight. Okay?”
His fingers were clenching my pec, a nervous, unconscious motion. I grabbed his hand and held it tightly. “Loafers, breathe. It’s fine, okay?”
It wassonot fine. I was completely out of my depth with this. Knowing I was gay had been the easy part; accepting it had been harder; coming out to my family had been harder still. But it sounded like Mason could accept it just fine, if he could reallyknowit. But how could you know it unless you…
Oh.
Oh.
“What are we doing here?” I whispered.
His fingers tightened in mine. “I want my last dare, Fenn.”
I shook my head slowly. This was a capitalBBad Idea. Loafers was going to be on the island for weeks. We’d see each other all the time, and we’d never be able to unring this bell. And I had a rule about straight guys…
I had myOne and OnlyRule about straight guys.
Except maybe Loafers wasn’t so straight.
And I’d already broken that rule, anyway.
“How do you know what a thingisuntil you’ve classified it, Fenn? Until you’ve looked at the symptoms and run the tests and diagnosed it? Last week I… I thought about you.” His confession came out squeaky and breathless.
I nodded. “Sure. Yeah. It was a weird encounter. I thought about you, too. But that doesn’t—”
“No.” Mason clenched his eyes shut, and I could feel the heat radiating off his face. “No, Fenn, I mean Ithought about youwhile I…” He squeezed my hands tight, and I suddenly understood.
Oh.
Motherfucker.
