I flush. “What makes you say that?”
He raises his eyebrows at me. “Come on. You brought a posterboard of reasons why you should be Queer Alliance president to the election meeting. And you made a speech.”
“That’s called being prepared.”
“Like how you’re so prepared for this essay?”
I gasp. “You are so shady!”
“The real Slim Shady, that’s me.” He pats his chest, smirking.
“An Eminem reference? Really?”
He turns up his palms. “Hey, you understood it.”
“Only because my dad’s a superfan.”
He laughs. “Oh my god, so’s mine. He still has a concert T-shirt he wears around the house.”
“Wooooowwwwwww.”
“I know.”
The bell buzzes and we both startle, then snicker. I gather my notebooks, and he dumps his lunch wrappers in the trash can nearby.
“What’s your next class?” he asks as we walk out.
“Math,” I say.
“Oh, sweet. I’m heading that way too.” He smiles at me, and I smile back.
“Are you doing anything after school?” I ask. If he’s got rich parents, he’s probably in a million extracurriculars.
“Nothing today,” he answers. “Usually it’s either tutoring or golf.”
“You play golf?”
“That’s right.” He makes a motion like he’s swinging a club. “I suck at it, but my parents made me pick a sport and that one has the least amount of running. You willnotcatch me chasing a ball up and down a field.”
I laugh. “Relatable.”
“What about you?”
I shrug. “This essay, I guess.”
“If you need more help, I could come over,” he says.
I look down at my feet, threading through the crowd ahead of him. Forrest, in my house. The thought freaks me out a little bit, but it also feels ...well, fine. I’d rather be with him than alone with my thoughts, trying to focus instead of spiraling for three hours until Shar and Mom get home. If Mom is even home at the usual time; she’s been staying at work later and later.
Talking to Forrest today made me feel better, made the thoughts fade to a faint fog hanging in the back of my mind. So maybe, if I keep spending time with him, they’ll stay that way. That itching buzz, that sick black-hole pull that puppets me into someone I don’t want to be, will leave me alone.
“Are you sure?” I ask as we come to a stop in front of my classroom.
He grins. “I don’t have anything better to do.”
I cross my arms. “Oh, because hanging out with me is such a chore?”
He sighs dramatically. “It is, but someone has to do it, I guess.” I shove his shoulder and he darts away, cackling. “Have fun in class!”
