Zihan watched me, seeming to read my mind. “You’re not back there anymore, Nick,” he said, his voice gentle. “This is New York. You don’t have to hide.”
I received his words in silence. “It’s just... I don’t recognize this way of living,” I said, finally.
“Well, you’re not supposed to be the same person forever. That’s what this”—he gestured around us, as if to the world—“is all about. In New York, you get to define yourself. You don’t have to be what anyone says you are. You can be anything. You just have to believe it for yourself.”
I knew he was right. Here, in this city of strangers, I didn’t have to fear what everyone else thought of me.
The skirt felt foreign against my skin, but comforting. Like not everything had to make perfect sense. I could feel unsteady, unsure, but also deeply alive! Perhaps the skirt was more than a piece of clothing—perhaps it was a door to stop hiding altogether.
I slipped back into my pants and followed Zihan out to the main room, feeling a growing sense of unease about how often Jay had been crossing my mind. He was distant—lost in a game of entertaining strangers again.
We didn’t speak until the night winded down; Jay found me alone just outside the entrance. People were exiting the place, slowly. The music faded in the background of the cars whooshing through the night.
The Green Light’s sign bathed the wide alleyway in an otherworldly glow.
Jay stood leaning in the door, like he didn’t quite know how to approach but couldn’t stay away. “Nick,” he said, his voice intimate. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “Yes, of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”I thought we’d spend the night together and you betrayed me.
I swallowed my thoughts and felt my face contort with confusion, as if in shock at the current of rage passing from my heart to my head.
In the moment that hung between us, it was like Jay could sense my thoughts, and he seemed amused by them. A smile played at his lips that he was having trouble straightening. AndI was ready to scream and give him the real punch he’d been asking for earlier, but instead, I put my hands into my pockets to restrain myself.
“They’re closing soon, right?” I said.
He nodded. “Oh, yeah. I’ll see you back to school.”
“Won’t need it,” I said with a tight smile, and Jay flinched like I’d really hit him.
Zihan approached and slipped by Jay to exit the place, pulling Jay along with him. “Taxi’s going off duty in five minutes! Let’s move, boys.”
Zihan grabbed my arm too and created a three-part link as we walked down the alleyway.
I was grateful to have him between us as I sorted through my emotions. Emotions I was not comfortable with. I couldn’t walk away from what Zihan had pointed out about Jay and my feelings for him. I knew there was something there.
I glanced over and took note of Jay’s shoulders, tense and straight, like he was bracing for a blow. I couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight, something had slipped through our fingers.
11.
There was more to be done in that abandoned classroom—our sanctuary, where Jay, Zihan, and I had formed our trio.
No more wallowing! With the help of my friends, I’d hatch a plan to fight back against Charlie’s hatred and Artie’s gossip column. But first, we had to shape our hideaway into something that was ours.
Jay and I worked together on it, mostly. I couldn’t stay mad at him for long when I witnessed his desire to help me in my plight. He was determined to make our secret room more comfortable, so when we found a torn-up leather loveseat by the dumpster out back of the White House dorm, we hauled it inside. The cushions sagged and the fabric had seen better days, but it made the place ours!
Jay wiped his hands on his pants and took a step back to inspect our furniture. “Better than sitting at a desk, right?”
He took it upon himself to smuggle snacks for us too. A bagof donuts made its way from the White House all the way to our hideaway. He’d also grabbed a couple of dumbbells from the recreation center gym.
He said, “Now we’ve got somewhere to relax, and we can get strong!”
I glanced around the room, feeling a new surge of peace. I’d started reading more about stories of people who didn’t fit in and their strange lives. My last visit to the Schomburg Library had introduced me toThe Autobiography of an Ex-Colored ManandTarzan of the Apes. I found comfort in knowing Jay and I weren’t the first to feel out of place.
We spent hours hashing out ideas for our first issue ofThe Sovereign, scribbling furiously and talking about all the things theWest Egg Chroniclewould never dare to print: the shabby housing, the way some boys got all the privileges in class while others barely scraped by, and the divide between the ones who had it all and those of us left to make do with what we could.
Jay followed the Gatsby tradition of philanthropy and donated to the cause, which allowed us to expand. I made more flyers with Zihan’s help and late one night we tacked them onto bulletin boards around campus. They made the rounds!
A week into what I’d dubbedThe Sovereign Scheme, I was the last to arrive to our hideaway after school, holding a folder with four sheets of paper. They were submissions, which had been slipped under my door as per the flyer’s instructions.
