“I’m gay.”
It’s the most obvious statement in the world, but he doesn’t tease. Because I think he knows I had to say it out loud. He kneels beside me and cups my chin, inviting me to look at him.
“Dylan?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I like you.”
“Yeah?”
“I like you very, very much.”
He kisses me again. On the lips this time, the lightest, most feathery kiss, and I kiss him back. He runs those brilliant dancing fingers through my hair, trails them down the back of my neck, lightly scratching my skin. He presses harder and I open my mouth and very softly feel the tip of his tongue against mine. And then he’s kissing my jaw and my chin and the nape of my neck, and his hand is inside my shirt,hisshirt, grazing fingernails across my chest.
And then, because I’m Dylan, I say something stupid.
“So, you’ve ruined history for me.”
He pulls back, lips smudged, grinning. “What?”
“I know absolutely nothing about the French Revolution, and we’ve been studying it for a month. Basically because I can’t stop looking at you, and I just—”
El’s phone starts to buzz. We exchange a glance and I can see the panic in his eyes. Julia. Something’s wrong. He fumbles in his pocket, pulling out his second-hand Samsung with almost Dylan-levels of clumsiness, thumbing the screen and then dropping the phone on the floor. Leaning over the bed, we both stare down at Mr Denman, El’s hipster art teacher.
“Oh.” Denman blinks at us from the screen. “Hello, Ellis. And is that…Dylan McKee? Sorry, am I interrupting something?”
El shoots me a wicked side-eye. “Not at all, sir. Everything okay?”
“Yes, Ellis, no, everything’s fine. I just thought I’d call to say how impressed I am with the latest improvements to your sculpture. With this as your main project, I can’t imagine you’re going to have any trouble getting into the uni of your choice.” He moves to one side and I see that he’s standing in one of the school’s art studios. Behind him is this incredible model of a winged monster, its body a see-through string of wires, its insides veined with red ribbons. I’ve seen this sculpture slowly taking shape during my secret visits to the art block. It’s startling and it’s perfect. Of course it is. “However, I do think it needs just a few more touches,” Denman goes on. “Could we maybe get together after school one day to discuss?”
El nods. “Sure. Thanks so much, Mr D.”
Denman gives us both a knowing grin. “Okay, boys. As you were.”
El lets out a long breath and ends the call.
“Wow.” I elbow him in the ribs. “Your art teacher has your number. And I thought I was the world’s biggest dweeb.”
“Oh, Dylan.” He smiles. “You aresothe world’s biggest dweeb.”
“What?”
I throw myself at him and we roll across the bed. I’m kissing him and I know I’m doing it right because I can feel him, hard and aching against my thigh. After a delicious forever of this, we turn onto our backs, faces to the ceiling, where a million years ago I stuck a galaxy of fluorescent stars.
“Are you my boyfriend, Ellis?” I ask, my voice tremulous.
“Dylan…” He rolls to face me. “Know this one thing if nothing else…” He kisses me again, soft and deep. “I amvery definitelyyour boyfriend.”
I hate you, El.
Ihateyou.
I stumble out of Bradley Hinchcliffe’s office and push my way across the dance floor. Someone shouts “Hey!”and starts to follow. There’s a huge mirror lined with shelves and bottles behind the bar and I can see this twenty-something reflected there, twice my size with murder in his eyes. I don’t give a shit. Let him beat the crap out of me, who cares? But then Bradley grabs his shoulder and spits a word in his ear and the guy holds up his hands. By the time I reach the bar he’s back on the dance floor, grinding against his girlfriend.
Bradley’s reflection makes some signal to the barman, who scurries over.
“Yes, sir?” I plunge a hand into my jeans pocket. “No, no, sir. On the house. You’re Mr Hinchcliffe’s guest, aren’t you?”
