“Why are you doing that with your eyes?” She asks, reaching for her soda to take a sip.
“It was him. Jesse. Jesse was the guy.”
Dr. Pepper sprays across my living room furniture. Shawna clenches her eyes and pinches her nose. “Oh God, I snorted it.”
“Still better than hard drugs,” I deadpan, quoting her snarky response to anyone mentioning how much caffeine she consumes.
“Fuck you,” she says, and it’s even funnier because her voice sounds like she has a bad cold. Her eyes are streaming with tears from the sting.
“Want some water?”
“Water? Like out the toilet?” Shawna will take any opportunity to quote the movieIdiocracy.
A laugh huffs out of me, and I shake my head, getting up to grab her a kitchen towel. When I come back, her big, grey eyes are fixed on me.
“You’re really serious?”
It takes a minute to remember what we were talking about. I shift my eyes back to the television, where Jesse is on his knees at the edge of the stage, head thrown back and screaming up into a mic. He’s wearing torn black skinny jeans and an almost sheer white t-shirt with the words “You’ll Have To Go Through Me” in the colors of the trans pride flag.
My lips quirk. I’m so fucking proud of him and his band for what they’re doing. They’ve barely started, and they’ve already raised over half of their goal. Their partnership with the social media company is giving them a huge boost, as is the rising discord with American politics.
Taking out my phone, I use the QR code on the screen to open the donation link, making a large anonymous donation.
I notice Shawna has been quiet for a little too long and lift my eyes to meet hers. She’s gaping at me.
“Lucius Barrett Martín,” Shawna says slowly. She gestures at the screen. “Him? Really?”
“Yeah.” I shift in my seat. “Him.”
“Jesse fucking Moore.”
“Jesse fucking Moore,” I repeat affirmatively.
She makes a strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Holy shit.” Her eyes narrow. “Wait,” she says, and I can see the cogs whirring as she rewinds all the way back to the beginning of this conversation, when I said I wanted us to watch this concert. “You’re actually, likeactually,seeing him? Currently?”
I glance at her, then back at Jesse. The cameras sweep the crowd, colored lights illuminating the smoke. Jesse’s voice hits a high note, cutting through the air, sharp and raw. With my surround sound and this ridiculous TV AJ talked me into buying, it feels like we’re right there at the concert. Minus the crowd, which is a huge plus. But it’s also minus real-life Jesse, and that sucks.
“Sort of,” I answer finally.
“Sort of,” she repeats, and then snorts. “Babydoll, you’re gonna have to give me more than that, and you know it.”
Babydoll.He calls me baby. I’m bigger and taller than he is, but I melt into a puddle of goo when he calls me baby.
“What more is there?” I say indignantly.
“I am your best friend. I tell you all of my–”
“Nuh-uh. I don’t ask for the dirty details of whatever you get up to. You force those on me against my will.”
“I will comb my cooch with your toothbrush.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“What’s disgusting is you not sharing any details about your rock god boyfriend with your best fucking friend!”
“Dude, calm down. He’s not my boyfriend.”
“We’ll circle back and unpack that later. I can’t calm down, bro. This is serious beans.”
