I laughed. “It’s true.”
Stephen shook out some candy and then passed me the box. “I bumped into Colin today.”
“Lucky you,” I said.
“He said you all went to see the soccer game last night?”
“Right.” I hadn’t meant to hide it, it just hadn’t seemed important enough to mention. “Didn’t I tell you?”
“I think I’d remember, I was kind of surprised. Not that you didn’t say anything. That you went at all.”
“You know—Safie made me.”
“Well, did you have fun?”
“Sure, I guess.” To my relief, the lights went down; I lowered my voice. “Movie’s starting.”
Stephen had picked the film. A sci-fi thing about time travel. As soon as the first images came onto the screen, my mind returned to the conversation with Tyler. When he asked if I enjoyed watching, did he mean the game, or him? I was horrified to think he’d seen me, and I was kicking myself for going in the first place—a stupid idea. The theater felt overly warm and I couldn’t settle—the unforgiving chair, its plastic angles and scratchy armrests. Stephen leaned close, his breath buttery on my face. “You okay?” His hand drifted to my leg and cupped a knee. I willed myself to stay still but the resisting thought only made me more antsy.
Finally, the movie ended. At the first flash of credits, I jumped up and pulled Stephen toward the exit. The parking lot was a seaof SUVs and Camrys. Stephen had done a master’s in physics and was explaining the field theory behind the storyline. I half-listened, eyes wandering the lot.
“There’s just something really interesting about translating these ideas to film,” he said. He waited, and then—“At least I think it’s interesting.”
I realized he was waiting for a response. “I’m sorry. Do you remember where we parked?”
“We’re right there.” Stephen pointed across from us, where his car sat, surrounded by empty spots.
“Jesus.”
At the car, Stephen stopped me. “Everything okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem distracted. You’re sure there’s nothing?”
“I’m just stressed.” I leaned against the car and stared at the stretch of open asphalt. The parking lights hummed orange overhead.
“What about?” he asked.
“Nothing, really. Sometimes I just find work mentally exhausting.”
“Well, it does involve a lot of mental activity. It’s kind of in the job description.” He smiled.
“I don’t know.… Do you ever suddenly look up in class, at all these students staring at you, and just think—who the fuck are these people? Where did they even come from?”
Stephen laughed. “Did something happen in class?”
“No, nothing. I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m just tired.”
“So we’ll have an early night and get some sleep.”
He started to pull me in for a hug when all at once I was aware that a car had stopped in front of us and there was a shout and acrash of something and the screech of tires and the engine revving as the car pulled away. And I saw that the crash was one of those gigantic sodas from the theater. They had thrown it from their car and it had exploded, spilling ice and its contents across the asphalt at our feet. A spray of it had caught my leg, splotches of dark against the denim. And it was not so much that I realized what they had yelled from the car, but I heard it, on delay. They had shoutedfaggots.
I couldn’t look Stephen in the eye. That was the worst part, that he had witnessed my humiliation. And that’s what it felt like: mine. Something in me had brought this on.
When I did look up, Stephen’s face was leaned close, still and open. “Are you okay?”
And then another humiliation: my weakness in caring.
