I half think forrest will ditch me after school, but when I get to my locker, he’s there, winding one string of his hoodie tight around a finger.
“You’re losing circulation,” I point out as I open my locker.
He grins. The tip of his finger has gone bright red. “I know.”
I snort. “OK then.” I get what I need, then shut the door and turn to him. “You ready?”
“Take me to your lair,” he says.
“You are so corny,” I say, heading for the doors.
He falls into step beside me. “You like it.”
“Do I?” I raise my eyebrows at him as we step into the cold gray afternoon. It’s not raining, but it feels like it should be.
“You’re hanging out with me, aren’t you?” he says, elbowing me. It’s light, just a little bump, but I feel it like an electric shock. I don’t think Forrest and I have ever touched before. I grab the straps of my backpack, holding them tight.Don’t overthink it,Dad said. I guess I really am friends with Forrest.
As we walk to the train, he asks me if I’ve seen the newest episode of an animated show he’s into, and when I say no, he spends the next ten minutes explaining the entire backstory and the characters until he can tell me about the episode with the proper context.
“You are deeply invested in this,” I say when he’s done.
“It’s one of my hyperfixations,” he says. “Was it too much?”
“Not at all.” We scan our transit cards at the train entrance and ride the long escalator down to the platform. It’s like descending into a bunker, all concrete and metal and fluorescent lights. “You make it fun. I feel like I’ve seen the whole show and I didn’t even know about it until you told me. I could hold a whole conversation with someone about it now.”
He laughs. “Do you have anything like that? A hyperfixation-type thing?”
“I mean, I’m not neurodivergent that I know of,” I say. “So it’s not really the same, but I guess queer stuff. Queer history, and queer musicians, and Queer Alliance ...if it’s gay, I’m into it.”
A rumble starts deep in the tunnel, signaling the train’s arrival, and a moment later it whooshes in front of us, slowing until it stops and the doors open. We step aside to let people out first and then get on, finding an open two-seater by a window. The seats are small, and our legs touch, my lightblue denim against his black sweats, our bags perched on our laps.
“What made you get into all that?” he asks, right as I’m about to start overanalyzing whether or not I should pull my leg away. “Besides the fact that anything queer is just objectively superior.”
“Right?” I say. “We moved around a lot when I was little, my dad had a hard time keeping a job, so I always felt like anything could change at any time. But when I figured out I was queer and joined the alliance, it made me feel at home, like I was part of something solid. Like, history exists. Queer people exist. None of that can be changed, even if people try to.”
“Damn.” He nods, raising his eyebrows. “That’s deep.”
I blush, shrugging. “I don’t know.”
“No, it is. That makes a lot of things make sense.” He jiggles his leg, fingers tapping on his knee as he gazes past me, out the window, even though there’s nothing on the other side but the dark tunnel before the next station.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but when the year started, I thought you were kind of...”
“Uptight?” I say quietly, my heart sinking.
“No, no!” He waves his hands. “Well, you obviously wanted things your way and it was annoying, but mostly you just seemed soserious.!”
“I mean, that’s how things get done,” I say, hugging my bag tighter.
“No, I get that. And I’m not that good at getting things done, so—”
“Do you really think I think I’m better than you?” I blurt out.
“What?”
“That day ...when I asked you to give up the presidency.”
