You wonder how many guys there are who aren’t out yet. Do they think you’re a danger, too? The thought makes your skin crawl.
You don’t hate anyone. You don’twantto hate anyone.
All because of that one word.
You can’t believe Brody can throw it around so casually. But as long as he doesn’t throw it around in front of Jace…
When you pull up at Jace’s house, you offer to get in the back, but, like usual, Marshall stops you.
“You’re my brother,” he says. “Family gets shotgun.”
That’s always been Marshall’s rule, even though you know he likes his friends better than you. It was even the rule when you were grounded and Marshall was mad at you.
“I don’t mind,” you mutter, but it’s no use, because Jace knows the rule, doesn’t even comment on it.
“Hey,” he says, sliding in behind you and buckling up. His voice is clear and high and smooth, like a singer’s. He should be in choir.
“Hey,” Marshall agrees, looking both ways three times before backing out of Jace’s driveway, even though there are no other cars in this little Gladstone cul-de-sac.
“Hey,” you offer, but Jace ignores you.
You glance at your brother. His mouth tightens up a bit, like he might say something again. But then he doesn’t.
He made it clear he loves you but he’s not going to fix your messes for you. But you don’t know what else to do. You took accountability. You said you were sorry.
Maybe some people are just never going to forgive you.
In the end, Marshall shakes his head and asks if Jace has done his trig homework.
You cross your arms and keep quiet.
Brody’s waiting for you outside the noodle shop, so you wave at Marshall (and Jace, who ignores you again) and jog across the street even though the light is flashing red.
“Hey.” You offer a hand, and he pulls you into a swift bro hug.
“Hey. You hungry?”
“Sure.”
The mac and cheese is calling your name, so you get it topped with brisket and barbecue sauce, while Brody gets a huge protein bowl that’s twice as big as yours. He holds his fork at an odd angle, and you clock him flexing his bicep as he twirls his noodles. It’d be impressive if it wasn’t so obvious. But a few of the girls at the next table giggle, so maybe it’s impressive enough.
You sit up straighter, in case they notice you, too. You’re glad you did your hair before going out, though now you wish you hadn’t rested your head against the car seat on the ride over. If your hair’s messed up, it makes your skull look flat in the back. You comb your fingers through it to fluff it a bit.
At least you know you smell good. Even if you’re still a breadstick.
“So, we going to Sephora after?”
You love that he asks, but you’re actually good on fragrance for now. “Nah. What do you want to do?”
Brody shrugs. “We can check out the GameStop.”
You’re amazed he finishes off his entire bowl. You only made it through half your mac and cheese before you got too full. You hear your dad’s voice in your head, telling you that wasting food is stupid, and your mom’s voice, telling you to box it up and save it for later. But you don’t want to carry mac and cheese around with you all day, so you end up tossing it.
The sun is out, and it’s a little warmer today, warm enough you only need a light jacket. Brody’s still in a T-shirt and shorts, though you could swear his arms are covered in goose bumps. And you’re pretty sure you catch a shiver when he thinks you’re not looking.
The sun feels nice as you follow the sidewalk past storefronts, take the turn into the center of the shopping district where all the fancier stores are, but also, crucially, the GameStop.
As you walk, Brody ribs you for messing up your audition for a solo in choir. You tease him for his abysmal performance in his latestWorld of Warcraftraid. You’ve never played it, but that doesn’t matter. You’re friends—best friends—and you know when to tease, when to give sympathy, and when to listen.
