El makes the suggestion and I bury my face in my hands.
“Are you seriously trying to kill me? Honestly, I’d like to know, just so I can decide who gets my stuff after I’m dead. To you, Ellis Bell, I leave my complete comics collection, plus this sweet middle finger, which I’m flipping you as we speak. I also hereby return all the drawings you’ve ever given me. You’ll find thereallyfilthy one taped under my desk drawer.”
I pull my hands away and give El a sidelong smirk. He smirks back. And I know I’ve already lost the argument, because his smirks are in a different league and complemented by these huge brown eyes that compel you to surrender.
“C’mon.” He rocks my shoulder. “Don’t be a drama queen. It might be fun.”
“Dude, I have had more than enough ‘fun’ for one day.”
And that might be just about the greatest understatement in human history.
El sighs and turns his belching, beat-up old Nissan Micra out of my drive and onto Denvers Row. I watch his long dextrous fingers grip and slide and tube the steering wheel, and my stomach flips. Just a little.
“El,” I say warningly, “this is the way to school.”
“So anyway, I thought your parents took it pretty well,” he says, deflecting like a pro. “Your mum laughed and clapped her hands like you’d just farted pixie dust out of your arse and your dad actually gave you a hug. Sort of. Honestly, was that a hug or was he burping you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so awkward. Oh, and by the way, I saw that brother of yours checking me outagain.I’m not sure what creeps me out more, Chris lusting after me or that immense pube thing your mum keeps on the dining room table.”
“First” – I raise a finger – “that is one of my mum’s decorative sculptures. She made it at her art class last week, and she’s very proud.”
“Hey, I’m not judging. As far as immense pube things go, it’s a keeper.”
“Second,” I say, forcing my lips into a straight line, “Chris is most definitelynotinto you. You embarrassed him fairly spectacularly at the Berringtons’ barbecue, remember? And he has a girlfriend. Third girlfriend this year, in fact.”
El shrugs and takes another turn towards school. “It’s true,” he says quickly, cutting off my latest protest, “that ‘Chris’ is the least gay name your parents could’ve come up with for their firstborn. But three girlfriends in twelve months? That’s protesting way too much.”
“And your gaydar is never wrong, I suppose?”
“Not where McKees are concerned. By the way, while we’re talking names, with ‘Dylan Lemuel Jasper’ they were just asking for trouble. But I guess they’re so hip and tolerant and everything, they actually wanted their second son to be at least a little flouncy.”
“Flouncy?” I shake my head. “That’s coming fromyou?”
And just like that the mood changes. It’s the kind of jackknife switch around that might give anyone else whiplash, but after all these months of secret dating, I’m used to El’s rhythms. He loses the adorable grin for a second and one of those strong, gentle hands reaches across the space between us, his fingers interlacing with mine. He draws my palm to his mouth and kisses it. I decide a millisecond beforehand that my stomach willnotflip. Not this time. Noteverytime. Come on, it’s getting ridiculous.
It flips.
“Dylan, I mean it. Your mum and dad? That was pretty awesome. I don’t think you even realize how awesome. You told your parents who you were and you got to leave the house with all your teeth. It’s one up on my coming-out story, anyway.”
I blink hard and cup the line of Ellis’s jaw. He nestles his face into my palm. El very rarely cries, even when he has every reason.
“You know,” I say, “I’m always here if you—”
“I know. But I’ve told you most of it anyway, and I had the dental work done the same day I moved into this cheesy little town. And, honestly, McKee D, a lot of rancid water has gone under that particular bridge; I don’t really fancy wading back into it again.”
He smiles. A strained grin so big that it reveals his pearly whites all the way to the back molars, like he’s a living advertisement for the Ferrivale dental surgery. His teeth are perfect. Of course they are. He’s Ellis Maximillian Bell. By the way, Maximillian? That’s one of the few things about my boyfriend I haven’t been able to figure out. From what I know of his parents, it seems unlikely they tookthatmuch trouble over his middle name. In fact, having to come up with a first name was probably a chore for which they never forgave him. My theory is El took Maximillian for himself, claimed it and owned it, and that it’s as recent as last December, when Mr Morris introduced us to the main characters of the French Revolution and El became fascinated by the rebel leader Maximilien Robespierre. For all of a fortnight. El’s passions are intense but fleeting.
Except, I’m happy to say, in my case.
My boyfriend.Weird how new that still sounds. I roll it around in my head for a bit. I like how it rolls, smooth and easy and natural. Okay, so he’s been my boyfriend for quite a while, but as of tonight, it’s official. My brother knows. My parents know. The world, or at least my tiny corner of it in Ferrivale, knows. It’s thanks to some sweaty-palmed pervert at school who caught us unawares with his smartphone, then posted us all over Instagram. Honestly, I guess I should thank our friendly neighbourhood pornographer. His shonky camerawork gave me that final push when nothing else could. I had to bite the bullet and come out to my family.
El never understood what my problem was with telling the folks, and I guess to an outsider – especially one with El’s family history – it must have looked unnecessarily cowardly. But you see, things aren’t always as people make them out to be, and that look my parents exchanged when I told them, the look El didn’t catch?
Well.
“Suh-oooooo,” he prods, “can-we-can-we-can-we-can-we?”
I claw my fingers down my face and moan. If I really put my foot down he’ll turn us around, I know he will, but here’s the thing: scared as I am – freakingpetrifiedas I am – I’m also kind of curious. So I admit defeat and give him the nod.
“Huzzah!” We’ve stopped at a junction and El paddles the steering wheel with his palms. Then, digging into the pocket of his perfectly contoured charity shop jacket, he takes out a lipstick and puckers. “Elliswillgo to the ball!”
