“Because—” Another wave of aliens descended. Tanner recovered, picking them off with ruthless efficiency. “Because I’ll get distracted and lose.”
“Sounds like a you problem.”
“You’re the worst.” But he was smiling, and when he finally lost his last life—level seven, a respectable run—he turned around with a challenge in his eyes. “Your turn.”
“I’m going to be terrible.”
“I know. That’s the fun part.”
I stepped up to the cabinet and proved him right. My first life lasted maybe thirty seconds before I flew directly into an enemy I hadn’t seen coming. Tanner laughed—actually laughed, loud enough that one of the high schoolers glanced over—and the sound cracked something open in my chest.
“You have to move and shoot at the same time,” he said, stepping closer. His hand covered mine on the joystick, adjusting my grip. “Like this. See?”
His breath was warm against my ear. I missed the next three aliens in a row and didn’t care at all.
“You’re not helping,” I said.
“I’m helping a lot. You’re just easily distracted.”
“Wonder why.”
He stepped back, but not far. We played through my remaining lives—all lost in embarrassing ways—and then moved to the next cabinet. Street Fighter. I was marginally better at this one, but Tanner still destroyed me three rounds in a row.
“Okay,” I said, leaning against the cabinet after my third defeat. “How are you this good at everything?”
“I’m not good at everything. Just games that require pattern recognition and fast reflexes.” He selected his character for another round. “Also, I had a lot of free time in high school. Not many friends.”
“Their loss.”
He glanced at me, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he looked away. “You really think that?”
“I really do.”
We found a co-op shooter in the back corner and played through four levels before I said what I’d been holding on to all morning.
“There’s something else I haven’t told you about my family.”
Tanner’s character took a hit while he processed the shift. “Okay.”
“You know they’re against football. What I didn’t tell you is that’s not the only reason they’ve written me off.” I kept my eyes on the screen, picking off enemies as they spawned. It was easier to talk without looking at him. “When I was sixteen, my mom found some searches on my computer. Questions I was asking myself about whether I liked guys.”
Tanner’s hands went still on his controller. On screen, his character died.
“She sat me down and told me that whatever I was ‘experimenting with,’ I needed to stop. That our family had a reputation. That my father’s position at the university meant people were watching. That I couldn’t afford to be confused.” I cleared another wave, my voice flat. “She said if I chose that path, I’d be choosing it alone.”
“Seth—”
“So I stopped searching. Stopped asking questions. Dated girls for two years, made sure she had nothing to worry about.” A boss enemy appeared on screen, and I focused on it with more intensity than it required. “When she found out about the first guy I hooked up with freshman year—one of her colleagues saw us leaving a bar together—she called to tell me I’d made my choice.”
“She gave you an ultimatum when you were sixteen?” His voice had gone sharp.
“She gave me a choice. That’s how she’d frame it.” I took down the boss, level complete. “So coming out to my family isn’t about finding the right moment. It’s about deciding whether to lose them permanently or keep pretending.”
Tanner set down his plastic gun. On screen, the next level started without us. “You’ve been carrying that for seven years.”
“On and off.”
“That’s not on and off. That’s survival.” He gripped my elbow, brief and fierce. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
