I don’t even trust myself to type anything.I like the message and lock the phone.
11
Sam
I’m on my fourth outfit of the night when Gray knocks on the door.
“Gran,” I ask as I frantically do up the buttons on my shirt.“Can you get that?”
First, it was a polo and khakis, but that felt a little too much like I was going to church.And then it was a hoodie and shorts, but that felt like I was one of those hacky-sack guys I had to give a citation to the week before.I tried the sweater Gran says looks good on me, but that was back to the church vibes.And now I’m staring at myself in the mirror: a white button-up and jeans.I think maybe I look like John Travolta.
“Hello,” Gran croons from the front of the house.“Oh my, don’t you look handsome.Give us a twirl.”Then Gran laughs, and I figure that means Gray gave her a twirl.He says something, and Gran says, “He’s in his bedroom.He’s worse than a girl.”
Gray laughs, and the sound grows louder as he moves through the house.“Back here?”
“That door,” Gran says.“Tell him to quit fussing.”
A rap comes at the door.“Sam?”Gray calls.“You decent?”
“Yeah,” I say, kicking the previous outfits into the closet.“Come on in.”
The door swings open, and Gray says, “Should I close my eyes?”
“Samuel Yarmark,” Gran shouts, “stop fussing about your clothes.”
“Get in here,” I say.
Gray’s grinning as he slips into my room and shuts the door behind him.He gives the room a quick once over.It’s not anything special.It might even be a little small for a bedroom, but it’s big enough for my bed and my desk.Everything’s neat, because respecting your space is a way of respecting yourself, but therearea lot of papers on the desk, even though I try to keep them organized.
Gray looks like he struck the right balance between casual and professional—big surprise, since all this stuff is easy for him.He’s wearing some sort of sweater-polo, which I didn’t even know was a thing until right now, with a pair of dark jeans.He gives me a quick look, shoots his eyebrows—like I have any idea what that means—and then starts to move around the room, inspecting it.
“Is this okay?”I ask, plucking at the white shirt with the miserable feeling that the answer is most definitelyno.
Gray stops at the desk.“Why do you have last year’s training bulletin?”he asks, working a stapled packet out of the stack.
“Because I wanted to review those topics.”I can’t help but add, “But I haven’t done it yet.”
“Good Lord, Sam.”He glances around.“Why don’t you have anything on the walls?”
I shrug.“I don’t know.Should I wear a sweater instead?”
Gray fixes his attention on me.He doesn’t smile.Not exactly.But whatever you call that look on his face, it makes me scowl.
“Easy, tiger,” he says.“That looks nice.Do you like it?”
“No.”
He laughs.“Then why’d you put it on?”
“I don’t know.I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear for this kind of thing.”
“This kind of thing is a college mixer for the queer student life group.People are going to be dressed in a lot of different styles.If you don’t like it, let’s find you something else.”
“Like what?”
He nods at my dresser.
I give a helpless go-ahead gesture.
