Hannah takes a swig of soda. “It’s not all sunshine and friend requests. Last week, she called me during class to tell me she got a message from a random person saying that the government was monitoring her Facebook page and that she needed to send in her social security number to verify her identity.”
“Oh my God,” Clem gasps. “Do they have like child lock on phones but for grandparents?”
“Is it bad that I don’t know my social security number by heart?” I ask.
“You don’t even know your cell phone number.” Clem throws herself against the back of the booth. “I guess I’ll just go to Prism by myself.”
Prism is the only school-sanctioned queer club, started by—you guessed it!—Kyle Meeks. And, for the record, I don’t think I’m actually a bad gay, but I’ve never been good at being... political the way Kyle and the other members are. The group has done really awesome things, like a gender-neutral bathroom in the attendance office and fighting to remove gender-specific dress codes for school dances, but some days I feel like I’m barely getting by in Clover City and maybe there isn’t always safety in numbers. Maybe numbers put a bigger target on our back? I’mthisclose to graduating. I’d rather not become any more of a target than I already am. (And trust me. Femme-leaning fat, gay ginger guys already stand out plenty, even when they’re wearing basic-ass clothes their mom bought them at Sam’s Club.) Especially if Clem is about to leave me here to survive on my own.
Okay, maybe I also really can’t stand Kyle Meeks and everything he does, and maybe disliking him so much also makes me feel like a colossal jerk. I don’t know. Jury’s still out.
“Room for two more?” asks Kyle, as if summoned by our conversation. He slides in next to me, followed by Alex.
“I guess so,” I say as Clem says, “Of course!”
I slide to the center point of the U-shaped booth seat.Great. Now I’m trapped.
“Nice and cozy,” says Alex.
“So cozy,” Hannah deadpans, and I could kiss her cute little unimpressed face.
Kyle says longingly as he looks at all of our trays and then back to his grilled-chicken salad, “I was bad over the weekend, so salads for me.”
Alex rolls his eyes. “Babe, a burger won’t kill you.”
“No,” says Kyle, “but it will make me fat again.”
I want to slither out of this booth until I’m nothing but a puddle of human irritation on the floor.
“Um, Kyle,” Clem says gently, “maybe you don’t have to say fat like it’s a bad thing.”
Kyle gives her a puzzled look, but continues charging into a conversation about some teacher who dared to give him an A minus.
I wink at Clem, who reaches under the table to squeeze my kneecap.
For the rest of lunch, Clem, Alex, and Kyle chatter back and forth about choir and passing on the Prism torch to the underclass people, and Kyle and Alex’s big plans to be the queer power couple of the century at Rice University this fall.
My mind wanders as I watch them and every other Clover City senior in this restaurant laugh and whisper and hug. All I can think about is Clem leaving me and Lucas choosing someone over me and how these are supposed to be the best years of my life, but how can that even be true? How is that even possible? If you would have told me just a week ago that these were the best years of my life, I wouldhave shrugged and said, “Sure, I guess. It’s not bad, so it must be good.” But this can’t be it? Can it?
“So I told him he has to send the video in,” Kyle says and nudges me in the side. “You’re sending it in, right?”
I throw my arms up. “Yes! Okay? I’m going to send it in. I’m going to show the whole world that a random kid from a little Texas nowhere town can be the Fiercest of Them All. Are you happy?”
Kyle smiles a full twenty-watt smile. He doesn’t get it. He’s too damn noble to even read my sarcasm. “Yes,” he says, like I’ve finally seen the light. “You go, queen!”
I could puke. I could vomit right this moment.
“I gotta go,” I say, and look around for my nearest exit, but I’m quickly reminded that, oh yeah, I’m a huge tall, fat dude stuck in a tiny booth and there’s no chance my butt is going over or under, so I turn back to Kyle. “Excuse me.”
He doesn’t move.
“Excuse me,” I say again as I begin to scoot toward him, until he finally gets it and he and Alex move out of my way.
From across the restaurant, I can hear Tucker laughing loudly, and I know it’s not directed at me, but I can’t stop myself from feeling like I’m the butt of whatever joke has him so entertained.
I go out to the truck and wait for Clem and Hannah to finish their food. Part of me wants to ditch them and let them catch a ride with Kyle and Alex.
After a few minutes, Clem comes outside and whisperssomething to Hannah, who hangs behind, plopping down on the curb.
