I actually hate when people say that. I mean, I feel secure in my masculinity, too. Being secure in your masculinity isn’t the same as being straight.
I guess the one thing that’s weird for me is dressing like a girl. What no one knows, even Blue, is that dressing up used to mean something to me. I don’t know how to explain it or reconcile it, but I haven’t forgotten the feeling of silk and air against my legs. I always knew I was a boy, and I’ve never wanted to be anything but a boy. But when I was younger, I used to wake up at night in April dreaming of Halloween. I would try my costume on a dozen times each October, and all through November, I obsessively fantasized about pulling it out of my closet one more time. But I never crossed that line.
I don’t know. There’s just something kind of mortifying to me about the intensity of those feelings. I remember them so clearly. I can’t even stomach the idea of cross-dressing now. I don’t even like to think about it too much. A lot of the time, I can’t believe that was me.
The classroom door opens, and there stands Martin Addison, framed by the bright light of the hallway. He managed to find a cheerleading uniform, and he even went to the trouble of stuffing his chest with weirdly realistic boobs. Martin’s really tall, so the amount of his skin on display is actually pretty obscene.
Someone in the back row whistles. “Looking hot, Adderall.”
“Late pass, Mr. Addison,” says Mr. Wise. And maybe it’s just Leah getting into my head, but I can’t help but think it’s unfair that Abby didn’t have to get one.
Martin stretches his arms up against the frame of the doorway like he’s hanging from monkey bars, and the top of his uniform rides up even higher. Some of the girls giggle a little bit, and Martin grins and blushes. I swear to God, that kid will whore himself out completely for a cheap laugh. But I guess he’s kind of a genius for that, because I’ve never met a nerd so beloved by the popular kids. I mean, I’m not going to lie. They kind of live to tease him. But there’s no bite to it. It’s like he’s their mascot.
“Any day, Mr. Addison,” says Mr. Wise.
He tugs his top down, pushes his boobs back into position, and walks out of the room.
On Friday, the math and science hallway is covered in hay. It’s probably three inches thick under my feet, and a few strands of it jut out stiffly from the slats of my locker. Dust seems to rise off the ground, and even the light looks different.
The theme this year is music, and out of every genre in the world, the junior class picked country. Only in Georgia. Which is why I’m wearing a bandana and a cowboy hat. School freaking spirit.
Okay. So, homecoming sucks and country music is just embarrassing, but I’m in love with the hay. Even though it means Anna and Taylor Metternich and all the other asthmatics will have to skip science and math today. It just transforms everything. The hallway looks like another universe.
When I get to lunch, I seriously almost lose my shit. It’s the freshmen. They’re adorable and ridiculous, and oh my God. I can’t stop laughing at them. Their genre is emo, and it’s basically a sea of bangs and wristbands and tears. I begged Nora last night to show up in a black wig, eyeliner, and for the love of God, at least a My Chemical Romance shirt. She basically looked at me like I had suggested she show up naked.
I catch a glimpse of her now across the cafeteria, and her curly blond hair is really the opposite of emo. But it looks like she talked herself into the raccoon eyeliner, probably once she saw everyone else doing it. She’s a perfect chameleon.
It’s hard to believe this is the same person who once insisted on dressing up as a trash can.
Martin’s at the table right next to ours, and he’s wearing overalls. Seriously, he owns overalls. He tries to catch my eye, but I look away abruptly. Avoiding Martin is like a reflex for me at this point.
I take a seat between Leah and Garrett, who carry on arguing right over me.
“Who the hell is that?” asks Leah.
“You seriously haven’t heard of Jason Aldean?” says Garrett.
“I seriously haven’t.”
Garrett slaps his hands down on the table. So I slap my hands down to imitate him, and he shoots me a self-conscious smile.
“Hey,” says Nick, settling into the seat across from me and opening his lunch bag. “So, I have a thought,” he says. “I think we should go to the game tonight.”
“You’re kidding me,” says Leah.
Nick looks at her.
“What about WaHo?” she says. We always hang out at Waffle House during football games.
“What about it?” asks Nick.
Leah’s head is tilted down, so her eyes look kind of scary, and her lips are sucked into a straight line. Everyone is quiet for a moment.
And maybe my timing sucks here, but I guess I’m not really thinking about Leah.
“I’ll go to the game,” I say. Because I’m pretty sure Blue will be at the game. I like the idea of sitting in the same bleachers as Blue.
“Seriously?” Leah says. I feel her eyes on me, though I make a point to look straight ahead. “Et tu, Brute?”
“Holy overreaction, Batman—” Nick starts to say.
“You shut up.” Leah cuts him off.
Garrett laughs nervously.
“Did I miss something?” Abby arrives to find us caught in this thick, weird silence. She sits down next to Nick. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Nick glances at her, and his cheeks look sort of pink.
“Okay,” she says, and grins. Abby isn’t wearing a cowboy hat. She’s wearing a full-on stack of cowboy hats. “So, are you guys psyched for the game tonight?”
Leah stands abruptly, pushes her chair in, and leaves without a word.
The game starts at seven, but there’s a parade at six. I walk over to Nick’s house after school, and we drive back to school together.
“So, we’re on Leah’s shit list,” I say as we turn onto the road leading to Creekwood. Already, cars are parallel parked on the street, which has to mean the parking lot is full. I guess a lot of people like football.
“She’ll get over it,” he says. “Is that a space?”
“No, it’s a hydrant.”
“Crap, okay. Geez, it’s crowded.”
I think it’s the first time Nick has been here for a football game. It’s definitely the first time for me. It takes us another ten minutes to find a spot that Nick can pull up into from behind, because he hates parallel parking. In the end, we have to walk about a million miles through the rain to get to the school, but I guess those cowboy hats are good for something after all.
It’s really the first time I’ve ever noticed the stadium lights. I mean, they’ve always been there, and I’ve probably seen them turned on before. I never realized how incredibly bright they are. Blue loves them. I wonder if he’s already a part of the mass of people milling around the field. We pay a couple of dollars and they give us tickets, and then we’re in. The marching band plays a weirdly awesome medley of Beyoncé songs and does this stiff little dance in the stands. And really, despite the rain and the fact that it’s homecoming, I think I understand why Blue loves this. It feels like anything could happen.
“There you are!” says Abby, jogging toward us. She gives us each a giant hug. “I just texted both of you. Do you guys want to walk in the parade?”
Nick and I look at each other.
“Okay,” I say. Nick shrugs.
We end up following Abby to the teacher parking lot, where a bunch of student council people have assembled around the junior class float. It’s built onto a flatbed trailer with a frame constructed up the back, and it definitely looks like country music. There are bales of hay lining the entire surface of the trailer, stacked up higher along the back, and red bandanas knotted together like streamers all around the border of the frame. Everything is lined with Christmas lights. Twangy pop-country music blasts through someone’s iPod speakers.