“Um.” I scramble to my feet and unlock the door. I can’t say where I am, that’s too weird. “I’m. Um. I’m outside! Just needed a break. From the, um, crowd?” I head out of thebathroom hallway, toward the exit, away from the gym. I push through the door and step outside, the air hitting my face with a chill that snaps me back into my body like a rubber band.
“Oh, OK! I’ll come join you,” he says, and hangs up. I’m at the side of the building, and I circle around to the front, phone still in my hand. The line of cars dropping people off is gone, and there’s a small crowd milling around out here too, a few folks smoking cigarettes out by the street. I stand next to a huge planter holding a shrunken rhododendron. When Forrest emerges, I raise a hand hesitantly to wave, and he walks over.
“You were gone for aminute,” he says.
“I was?”
“Yeah, like two whole battles,” he says. “I got worried.”
Has he noticed? Has he realized that I’m actually crazy? “Sorry.”
“It’s all good.” He sits on the broad rim of the planter. “You staying the whole day?”
I nod. “Do you think 206 is going to win?”
“That would be fucking dope,” he says, picking at his cuticles. “They haven’t been around that long. Alexander has only been competing with them for a year-ish? He used to do mostly solo competitions, or sometimes he’d be in a random crew for a second, but it never really stuck. The first one was a bunch of bros, and Alexander...” He chuckles. “That’s not really his vibe.”
I sit next to him. Forrest’s presence, the sound of his voice, pulls my focus, the thoughts fading away in the warmglow of being near him. Our legs are inches apart. “Were they homophobic?”
He shook his head. “Nah, they were always pretty chill and respectful according to him, but ...it was just a lot of super-masc energy and he didn’t really feel at home. He likes hanging with femmes, so this crew is a good fit.”
“What about you?” I nudge him. “You’re not femme.”
He looks at me sidelong, smiling. “No, but I’m like ...soft masc.” He flutters his nails, freshly painted black. “What about you? Do you like femmes, or mascs, or...”
His eyes are on mine, greener in this light, and I bite my lip, looking down at my shoes. “I don’t know! I like both, and everything else. I think the person matters more to me than the gender or the expression.”
“That’s cool,” he says. “I’m kinda the same.”
“Cool.” I press my feet into the pavement, very aware of my hand resting on my thigh, right next to where his hand rests on his.
“So...” He trails off. A bird twitters in a nearby tree, but otherwise, everything is quiet. All I can feel is how close he is to me. The thoughts, the fear, the maelstrom inside me, it’s all gone. Just ...gone. “The other day ...it was really fun hanging out. And ...I was wondering something.”
Everything slows down, like we’ve entered a parallel universe where time passes differently. I shift my body, turning slightly, and my knee presses into his. The warmth flows from his body into mine at that spot, and I look up, into his eyes. Our faces are inches apart now. How did we get this close?
“Sid! Forrest!”
We both jump, whirling around to see Makayla waving at us from the doorway. “The next round is starting! 206 is competing first!”
“Oh shit!” Forrest hustles toward the community center, and I follow, heart pounding. We weave through the crowd inside the gym, back to our spot, just as the emcee calls the 206 Maverix up to the stage. I want to ask Forrest what he was about to say—Ineedto, almost, and the need is itching under my skin. I press my lips together tightly, because if I speak, I won’t have control over what I say. The words will come spilling out, and it will be humiliating, and Forrest will think I’m just some weirdo who’s in love with him. But I’m not in love with him. I just feel at home around him. When we’re talking, all my anxiety movies stop, the theater in my brain goes dark, and I’m in the present, anchored wherever he is. And he smells good. And has nice eyes. And lips. And I want to lean in and—
“Can I tell you later?” he asks, right in my ear, and I jerk, startled. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He curls a hand around my arm and squeezes it once before letting go.
“It’s all good! Yeah, totally,” I say, smiling at him in what I hope is a normal way to smile.
“OK, sick,” he says, and looks at the stage as the music kicks in. “Oh my god, Alexander is up first!”
I watch Alexander twirl and pose, trying to focus on the music, the moves, the crews cheering their dancers on, but all I can feel is the imprint of Forrest’s hand, still warmaround my bicep. Later, he’ll tell me whatever he has to tell methis will endand everything is going to be fineit will end—
EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE FINE.
EVERYTHING IS GOING to be fine.
Everything is going to be fine.
Forrest doesn’t have time to tell me later that day. The Maverix lose the second round, and Alexander is crushed, crying in Forrest’s arms. I keep looking at Forrest, hoping he’ll say something, give me a look, but he’s focused on Alexander. We stick it out ’til the end of the competition, because Alexander says that’s the right thing to do, but we all head home before the dance party: Forrest in Stef’s dad’s car, Alexander with someone in his crew who lives near him, me and my friends in the twins’ van.
I can’t sleep that night. I lie in bed for what feels like hours, replaying every moment of the competition, looking for clues of what to expect when Forrest and I talk. Does he like me back? Or is he tired of me? Is he hoping everyone will pick him when we revote, and he’s worried about how I’ll react if they do? Maybe that’s what he was going to say at the community center before Makayla interrupted us.
