Page 52 of Meet Me Back Here

I pulled out the big guns. Forrest’s middle name comes from a great-grandfather he never met and knows very little about, so he isn’t the biggest fan of the old-fashioned moniker.

“I just want you to talk to me. What happened? Why is your hand bruised?” I have a pretty good idea of the answer to that last question, so I answer it myself with more questions. “Who did you hit? Why did you hit them?”

“I—Ugh.” Forrest’s hands go into his hair, and he tugs the strands in frustration.

“I’m not a bad guy,” he says. “I’m not a violent person.”

“I know that,” I say, stepping toward him. I’m not afraid of Forrest. I never could be. “Which is why I’m worried. What was so bad that you hit someone?”

Forrest’s eyes dart around. I don’t know if he’s looking for a way out or checking to see if anybody can overhear us, but he looks torn… tormented.

“Treehouse,” he says.

“What?”

“We talk about stuff like this in the treehouse,” Forrest clarifies before jerking his head toward our block and turning away from me. At least he waits for me to catch up before continuing to walk.

Forrest lets me go up the ladder first, waiting until I’m fully in the treehouse before he follows. Once we’re both seated, I look at him expectantly, but he still doesn’t say anything, avoiding eye contact and picking at a bit of lifted skin on his hurt hand. He must touch something sensitive because he winces and sucks in air between his teeth.

“Oh, move over,” I say, shoving past him none too gently without giving him a chance to do as I request. He’s not the only one who’s pissed off. I hurry down the ladder and return almost immediately.

“Ice it,” I demand, dropping the snow-filled bundle I made out of my scarf on his hands. I huff as I gingerly sit, shifting to one leg to protect my bruised ass. “And talk.”

When he doesn’t move, I kick the scarf with my shoe, pushing it further and further into his lap until he sighs and holds it to his hand.

“It’s not very civilized,” Forrest says, finally looking at me.

“I figured that part out. You know, considering.” I gesture to his hand.

“Tanner Clark was talking shit,” Forrest says. I expect him to provide detail, but he seems unwilling to elaborate.

“And…?”

“And I didn’t like what he said. So, I punched him.” Forrest shrugs.

“Forrest!” I scold, feeling my own anger tick up at Forrest’s rash reaction and the consequences he’s going to face as a result. “You can’t do that! Tanner Clark is always talking shit. He’s a fucking idiot. His single brain cell is going to die of loneliness. You’re going to get in a lot of trouble for hitting another student on school property. You have to think of your future. Colleges don’t want to hear about hot-headed kids getting into fights because of something somebody said. People say shit! They⁠—”

“Cam!” Forrest shouts, shutting me up. “He called you a⁠—”

I stare at him, my mouth still ajar from my rant. Forrest doesn’t say it, but I have a feeling I know what Tanner called me. In terms of dating, I’ve hung out with a couple guys. And with a couple girls. I’ve heard some rumors about myself. Not all of them are nice. Some of what’s being said is downright heinous.

Forrest is so angry his face is red and his hands are shaking, but he still can’t force himself to say the word Tanner Clark called me. Even to quote somebody, he’d never.

Forrest takes a deep breath and then another, and the color staining his skin lightens some.

“He called you a not very nice word for queer people, and I’m not going to let shit like that go. I don’t care if I get expelled and never go to college. I’ll hit him again if I hear him say it again. I might hit him again even if I don’t,” Forrest says, his eyes shimmering now.

“Forrest,” I say, my own eyes filling with tears over his reaction on my behalf. “You didn’t have to do that. You don’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I do,” he says sternly.

“You are my very best friend, and I love you for being so protective of me, but I don’t want you destroying your future for me,” I say. I hesitate before I continue, “It’s not the first time somebody’s called me something like that. People talk, and they’re dense and cruel sometimes. I chose to be open about who I am, and these kinds of things happen because of that. I don’t regret it, but I don’t want to make it worse by hitting people every time they do.”

“It’s not right,” Forrest insists, and I can see the muscle in his jaw working.

“It’s not, but I’m ok,” I say. It’s a half truth, but I’m as ok as I need to be. I’m ok enough.

“I can’t wait to get out of this little town. Maybe things are different somewhere else. Somewhere less full of people trapped in their own little worlds. At least somewhere big enough that you can have some damn privacy,” I say, looking out the little window like I can see all the way to a place like that.