I stood and watched him try to light it. Eventually he gave up, as if he didn’t even want it. I wanted to approach, but I wasn’t sure if he’d tell me to leave him to his tragic thinking.
“If it makes you feel better, I’m a virgin too,” he announced. Jay held up the lighter and finally turned to faced me. “No fluid,” he said, shaking the lighter. “Hey, I’m not in the best mood. Wouldn’t want it to rub off on you. I’ll see you.” And then he walked away.
I watched him go, right across the dark yard, back in the direction of the street. Didn’t he want to commemorate how we’d just survived a locker room bloodbath? Why did it seem he was always escaping, and just out of reach?
“Wow, two virgins,” said a voice behind me.“How unfortunate.”
I spun around to find Artie Botts studying his face in a handheld mirror, his sleek girlish hair shining in the campus’s orange lamps. He was ladylike in all ways, but so confident in it that the bullies mostly left him alone.
“Please don’t tell people about that?” I asked.
Artie closed his mirror and shook his hair from out of his face. “Don’t take it personally if I do. Talk is what I do.”
Artie was theWest Egg Chronicle’s first Negro writer. His essay was featured in the West Egg pamphlet, and in it he talked abouthow proud he was to have impressed the paper’s faculty supervisor with his easy voice and punchy humor. Now he ran a column in theChronicle, where he published tabloid-style journalism about popular students.
Artie’s presence was at times loud and at others quiet—he’d go unnoticed as he moved like a shadow through the locker room, observing conversations and storing details away to write about later. He seemed to know each student’s story before they’d told it to him.
“Late night showdown between the founding boys?” Artie continued. “You best believe I’m on it. And you...” He tilted his head and sized me up, in a way that made me feel small, despite Artie being inches shorter. “You really, really like Jay, don’t you?” He laughed smugly and wiped lip balm off the corner of his mouth. “Another fan taking thekind humanitarianact a little too personally, I see.”
I was not in the mood for any fighting. “Can’t you focus on something else?” I asked, voice bleeding with exhaustion. “All I do is mind my own business around here—I don’t bother anyone.”
“Unfortunately no, Nicholas, I can’t. Becausethisis my favorite subject. You know why? Because nothing is more interesting than the truth underneath a disguise.” He began to advance on me, his eyes severe. “Your dear Jay, for example—charitable, oh-so-charming on the outside, but what’s underneath? Anything real? His personality isall for show—just like this school!”
Artie wasn’t technically wrong, about the school anyway.White boys came here to look good on paper but wanted little to do with us in reality.
Artie gave me a fake smile, probably because he saw my face fall.
“I’d tell you to be careful, but it seems like you’re in the full swing of things already, so good luck!” He waved with his fingers insincerely and spun away.
The next day I returned to the bathroom several times in the afternoon; something about nerves made my bladder inconsistent. I kept throwing gel into my hair and splashing water on my face.
When I caught myself in the mirror, I realized how nervous I was. I didn’t think my burgeoning friendship with Jay would get attention. Now there were unwanted visitors with me when I was inside the small corners of my mind, feeling my emotions.
I liked that Jay continued to stick up for me. But I wasn’t a chump—I wanted to be someone who could stick up for himself.
When I got back to the room, Vinny was sprawled on his bed, skimming through his homework. He glanced up, caught the look on my face, and raised an eyebrow. “So, how’s the note passing going with Jay?”
“Ugh,” I groaned, collapsing onto my bed, face-first into the lumpy mattress. I turned my head to speak, but didn’t bother moving the rest of me. “It’s actually fine. Like, I’ve got myself a pen pal now.”
Vinny snorted, not looking up from his notebook. “A pen pal?Man, we’re not in grade school. You know you can just talk to him, right? In person?”
“What if it wasn’t my idea to write in the first place?” I muttered. “Ever think of that?”
Vinny shrugged. “Sure, but if you’re gonna write him back, that’s your thing. Don’t act like it’s some big secret. You could talk to him anytime. Seems like you like the safety of writing, though.”
I shot him a glance, suddenly self-conscious. He wasn’t wrong.
Vinny caught my eye with a knowing smirk. “What’s the deal? What’re you holding back?”
I felt I was in the hot seat. But before I could respond, a loud voice called from outside, “Come on, baby! Give us a smile!” Someone was catcalling outside the window, and it ripped me out of the conversation just in time.
I looked outside and found some boys gathered in front of the building, barking at someone. A little further out, where the walkway toward the front of campus began, a girl in a headwrap and sunglasses was talking to a boy. When she gave him ashoomotion and he ran back toward the building, I realized that it was Daisy! She must have sent the boy back for me.
I raced down to meet her—I was excited she’d come to visit me here!
She’d nearly made her way to the street when I got downstairs. I caught up to her at the front of campus, where she’d gone to lean back on a roofless car, one of her heels propped up on its body. A skirt umbrellaed in black and white polka dots from her waist to her knees.
“Daisy?” I called, shuffling down the front steps and squinting.
