Page 4 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

Jules shrugged. “Sorry.”

Ms. Tabatabai shook her head with a smile. She obviously agreed with Jules that Connor needed to settle down, but she couldn’t rightfully let students insult each other in her presence. Jules had apologized, and Connor had been in the wrong, so Ms. Tabatabai wasn’t going to make a big deal about it.

“We still on for Friday night?” Jules asked casually as we leaned against the wall on either side of the door outside of class.

“What’s Friday?” I asked.

“Horror movie marathon?” Jules gave an annoyed groan. “Two excellent, two horrible?”

Nodding along, I remembered the promise I’d made to watch a selection of great and not-so-great horror movies with my best friend.

“Oh, yeah,” I said simply. “Yeah. We’re still on. I should be able to make it if I can cancel that hot date I had planned.”

Jules snorted. “Yeah. Okay. I’ll plan to see you on Friday then.”

I scowled at her again.

“It could happen.”

“Sure,” she said. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours,” I said, ignoring her jab. “Dad’s been on a ‘let’s do guy things’ kick lately.”

“Your dad, man.” She smiled at me. “He’s still doing that?”

As though my dad was the most inconveniencing factor in my entire life, I nodded solemnly.

My father, one of the greatest men in the world, liked to do “guy things” with me far too often. It wasn’t because I was gay and he was trying to “fix” me or anything. It was because we were both guys. By “guy things” he didn’t necessarily mean activities that were traditionally labeled as “male” or “female” by the patriarchy that ignored most of the gender spectrum, either. It simply meant that he wanted the two of us to do things together. A far better label for it would have been “Guy Time,” since we both identified as male. However, since Dad had actually gone with me to see a Taylor Swift concert once for “Guy Time,” and was open to my ideas, I let it slide.

A dad who only wanted to spend time with me, yet maybe was lacking in inoffensive terminology, was something with which I couldn’t find much fault.

“If we watch movies at my house, you know he’s going to find a way to be involved,” I said.

“It’s kind of sweet,” Jules said with a shrug, but I knew she agreed.

“Yeah.” I relented. “But this is our thing. Not yours, mine, and Dad’s.”

“Fair. As long as we’re still on?”

I nodded.

She held her fist out to me and I bumped hers with mine, my copper skin tapping against her mahogany skin with the soft, yet distinctive, sound of flesh meeting flesh. A stream of students was steadily pouring into Ms. Tabatabai’s class between us, so Jules and I ducked into the line of bodies and hurried into the room. We both had barely slid into our seats, side-by-side in the two front seats in the third and fourth rows, when the bell rang again.

Just in time. Like always. The process of leaving the cafeteria, walking leisurely to English, and getting into our seats in the nick of time was an art form for us. One which we would have gotten high marks in if it was an actual subject taught at A.M. Whitemane. The two of us might have actually been in the running for co-valedictorians if that were the case. Alas, our skills were such that we made honor roll but posed no real threat to the students fighting for top dog tooth and nail.

Rustling of backpacks being stowed under seats, the thumping of books on desktops, and the clicking of pens and sounds of ripping papers filled the room briefly. Ms. Tabatabai patiently waited for the din to die down. Typically, as everyone was settling in for their first class after lunch, Ms. Tabatabai would take her time turning on the interactive whiteboard system. She’d pull up the lesson we were about to learn, grab her interactive pen, and then class would begin. The fact that she hadn’t moved away from her desk worried me.

Once everyone quieted down, and all eyes were aimed at the front for our teacher, she smiled at all of us.

“All right, ladies and gentlemen,” she said brightly. “Let’s turn in our weekend essays.”

My eyes grew wide in horror, but an amused snort forced its way out of me.

“Shut up,” Jules whisper-hissed at me.

Ms. Tabatabai smiled brightly at Jules.

It had only taken three and a half years, but the jig was up. Jules had a pretty good run.