I brush the question aside. What do I care? I focus on moving forward into the dimly lit sports hall where music blasts through broken speakers, disco lights flash off the floor and walls, and streamers criss-crossoverhead. My fellow students are scattered around the space in clusters, some sitting at tables and others just standing around, close to a long table that is covered with food and drinks, none of which look particularly appealing. As I expect, Miles and his cronies have already lost interest in us and they push past us, knocking Raquelle and I apart. She spots a group of our other friends and immediately rushes over to join them. I’m about to follow but a deep voice stops me.
“Hey,” Benji says from close behind me.
I turn and see him better than I did outside. He’s wearing jeans and a shirt, not a sports brand logo in sight. He’s not shaved which has me wanting to tease him that he couldn’t even go to the trouble, but at the same time I’m glad he didn’t. His chiselled jaw looks so much more masculine with that stubble and when the disco lights keep catching his bright blue eyes… well,I do my best to avoid looking directly at them. He seems so much older than his eighteen years and I have a fleeting thought that Benji is going to have it all once he leaves this town. At university, the girls will lap him up, and many boys will wish they could too. I just know he’ll be one of those who finishes university with their life in perfect order: a good job, a woman he’ll eventually marry, friends he’ll have forever, and three years of happy memories to look back on.
I’m happy for him. And also very, very jealous.
“Hi,” I say and wonder why he’s stopped me. If he’s going to apologise for Miles’ behaviour, we’re going to be here a long time.
“You look…” His eyes slide down my body and I’m aware of all the parts of me I like, and the parts I don’t. “So fucking cool.”
He’s smiling so much he’s almost laughing. Or maybehe’s simply laughing at me, I don’t know. I don’t want to know one way or another.
I pull on the lapels of my blazer to straighten it. “Well, some of us have to make an effort. You didn’t even shave.”
Now he’s definitely laughing at himself as he runs a hand over his chin. My envy focuses in on his fingers and I ball my hands into fists at my side as if to stop them reaching out to copy the action. I don’t know if it’s stubble on my chin or the stubble on his chin that I want to touch most. “Had football training. Ran out of time. My mum said it made me look sophisticated.”
I roll my eyes hoping it hides the flinch of jealousy I feel.
“Well, if your mum thinks you look good,” I tease him.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“So, no date?” I ask and then want to hit myself for doing so. What do I care?
A strange expression wipes his smile away for a beat but then it’s back, if a little tighter than before. “Nah, just with the boys.”
“Well, I’m here with Raquelle,” I say, feeling even more foolish and yet I don’t stop talking. “She’s my date. Not like, romantic dates, but platonic dates. I’m going to look after her the way a guy should.”
Benji nods at me knowingly, and I realise he’s connected the dots between Miles and Raquelle. “And what about you?”
“What about me?” I frown, confused.
“Who’s going to look after you like a date should?” He seems to grow taller as he asks this, wider too. Or maybe it’s just that everything else — the music, the chatter, the lights, the decorations — fade away.
I’m stunned — by his question or my reaction, I don’tknow — but I quickly compose myself and step back ever so slightly as if the distance will help. It does, a little.
“I don’t need anyone. Not tonight, not ever,” I tell him, and then I turn and walk off to find Raquelle, wondering why I said that to him. Although it’s completely true, why did I feel it necessary to tell Benji Smith of all fucking people?
FIFTEEN
BENJI
NOW
He staresat me so intently, I get the distinct impression he’s trying to communicate something to me with just those big, dark, Disney eyeballs, but it’s like a language I don’t speak. Although I want to. I really want to speak the language that only his eyes know, because I could stare into them forever. I could spend the rest of my life trying to determine what they want to tell me.
“You do know me,” he says, finally.
“I mean, yeah, you’re my tattoo artist. We’ve covered some decent ground today being stuck here together, but I don’tknowyou.”
“Yes, you do,” he says slowly, carefully.
“I do?”
His hands jolt forward, as if they were about to hold mine but then they retreat. “We went to school together.”
I smile and shake my head. “You know, I thought that, earlier. But I don’t remember you, and I would totallyremember you. Not because you’re trans,” I rush to clarify. “I mean, there weren’t any trans kids at school, that I was aware of, but just…I would remember you.”
