You’renot.
But some people still give you wary looks when they pass you in the hall. Last week Cora, this trans girl in the senior class, let a door close in your face after holding it for like five different people.
You want better than that for Brody. But you don’t know how to say any of that.
So instead you say, “I’d be bored if you landed yourself in ISS again.”
“Nah, I’d just get you in trouble with me so we could go together.” Brody laughs, but then he softens. “I’d be bored without you, too, my dude. No homo.”
“No homo,” you softly agree.
You might be Cassandra.
(You’ve been studyingThe Iliadin ELA. And every time Mr. Clemens talks about Patroclus and Achilles he looks right at you, like he’s daring you to say something. Make some joke, some hateful comment. You’re not sure if Patroclus or Achilles are really in love or if they’re just best friends and ancient Greece was different. But either way, you’re fine with it. If anything, Mr. Clemens should be paying more attention to Reggie, whodoeskeep snickering. But Reggie never seems to get caught doing anything bad.)
(He still owes you twenty dollars, too.)
Anyway, you’re not thinking of Patroclus and Achilles, you’re thinking of Cassandra, who warned people about the future she saw and was totally ignored, because Brody is missing from conditioning on Tuesday. You and Angel and Farshid end up in a three-way spotting situation as you do squats and seated rows and planks.
“I heard Brody got ISS again,” Angel says, leaning against the squat rack while you stand behind Farshid, ready to spot him if he needs it, but the dude is strong, stronger than you, with good form.You’re not sure what you could actually do if he did start to fail, other than fail with him.
You shake your head. “Really?”
“Yeah.” Angel’s a skinny guy—breadstick-shaped, like you—with brown skin, though his brown is a different, cooler brown than Farshid’s. For such a breadstick-shaped guy, his voice is deep, like he’s got a tuba in his chest. He’s got a slight accent, a softening of the consonants that makes him nice to listen to. “Guess he made the jerking-off sign in bio after Mx. Lee called him out for goofing off during lab.”
You groan.
Of course he did.
Of coursehe did.
In front of you, Farshid huffs, and you raise your hands in case he needs help, but he doesn’t.
The guy’s a freaking beast.
“I can’t believe him sometimes,” you say.
He’s your best friend, but on days like this he’s a total mystery, too.
Angel chuckles. “Tell me about it. For a guy who says ‘no homo’ every other sentence, he sure talks about masturbation a lot.”
Farshid grunts, and this time you see his legs shake and the bar wobble. You get your hand under it in time, steady him, and then he finishes his set on his own. The back of his neck is getting dark, brown blooming to rust. You wonder if he’s blushing because of nearly failing or because of what Angel said. Your own chest is tight with embarrassment. You’re not even sure why, except that word still feels weird. Forbidden.
Exciting.
You still aren’t sure how to do it. You’d look it up, but your parents have your phone on parental lockdown. Maybe if you hadn’t gotten in trouble at the beginning of the year, they’d have loosened up, but no.
Your own neck and ears are warming, tingling, and you’re relieved when Farshid finishes his set and racks the weight. He dips below it and straightens up, and yeah, he’s blushing big-time. Just like you.
His eyes meet yours for a second. In the harsh lighting of the weight room, they look more amber than brown, with arched dark eyebrows above and thick lashes that brush his cheeks as he blinks. You hear the girls talking about him sometimes.
You wish they talked aboutyouthat way.
You give him a small, embarrassed smile, while Angel pulls off some of the weights Farshid added, because again: The guy’s a beast.
Farshid smiles back for a second, and your stomach unwinds a bit because at least you’re not the only one who feels weird about this whole conversation. But then it’s like a door slams shut. The light goes out of his eyes, and a frown creases his lips.
He shakes his head and looks away, at the floor, at the walls, at anything but you.
