Unexpected Variables Arise

If I hoped the rest of my day would be Micah-free, I’m sorely mistaken. He materializes at my shoulder as I pass the cafeteria. And, yeah, this should be my opportunity to ask him about the video, but just thinking about our conversation during American Lit exhausts me. Trying to ask him anything while surrounded by the noise of people spilling in and out of the cafeteria? Impossible. “Hey! Aren’t you going in?” He gestures toward the cafeteria doors with his lunch box. It reads ‘Theater is my sport’ and not gonna lie, that’s pretty dope. If I wasn’t opposed to the whole speaking-in-front-of-people thing? I might have gone for theater as an elective instead of nutrition. Which I’m absolutely not gonna tell him. Because if I tell him, it might encourage whatever his deal is, and I don’t want that. So I give him a silent head shake before continuing outside. He follows at my heels instead of running off to whichever table the pack of wild theater kids normally occupy. Don’t they occupy one in the cafeteria somewhere? Or are there no other theater kids in B lunch? If not, surely some of the GSA kids share our lunch period. Or is Micah that determined to bond because he’s decided we’re somehow the same? That’s a terrifying thought. It’s the monstrous realization I exist to other people, but ten times worse. Because I can usually ignore the fact people don’t forget me the moment I walk out of their current scene. You know, by not interacting with them as much as possible. But Micah isn’t gonna let me forget. It’s like he wants me to know he knows I exist. It bothers me, the idea that I exist in other people’s minds. That they have opinions about me. That something might remind them of me. I’m not even sure how I feel knowing Shuvam has thoughts about me. Yeah, I want to go to Homecoming with him and in order to do that? I need to be a person who exists for him. But there’s still a part of me that balks at the whole thing. Except in the case of dance. That’s it. That’s the only acceptable place to exist in the same world as other people. Talitha waves us over. I sit across from her, not taking my hoodie off despite the heat; it’s my only protection from our unwelcome table invader. My anti-people force fields are defective, apparently, because Micah sits right next to me. I have to scoot all the way to the end of the bench to have room between us. Talitha’s jaw drops. “Oh my god, Micah?” She leaps to her feet and hugs him while I give her my best what-the-hell look because, seriously. What. The. Hell? Where do Talitha and Micah know one another and why is this the first time I’ve heard about it? She steps back, both hands on his shoulders. “It’s been forever. What happened?” “Kadarius didn’t tell you?” Micah asks, fiddling with his chocolate milk. A can of Celsius comes into view as Talitha places it on the table. “No. I asked, but he wouldn’t say a word. It’s like you stopped existing. And the two of you were so close.” “You’re friends with Kadarius?” It’s not the question I want to ask Micah, but it slips out anyway. It’s just so difficult to imagine Kadarius befriending Micah. What do they have in common, other than being smart? And, I guess, being gay. Which I know from personal experience does not mean you get along. “Were. Sort of,” Micah says, pushing his hair out of his face only for it to fall over his eyes again as soon as he leans forward. “What d’you mean sort-of?” Talitha demands. “He went to every one of your shows. I know for a fact he gave you rides to auditions before you got that rusty piece of shit you call a car.” Micah peels the top off a lunchable. “Yeah, well, things change. Trust me, it wasn’t my idea.” “That tells me nothing,” Talitha says. “What happened?” Micah shrugs. “He wanted to be exclusive. I told him from the start I don’t do monogamy, but he still acted like it was this big betrayal that I got together with other guys.” Well, that’s more than I wanted to know about either one of them. It also reinforces the idea Nesbit High has a secret underground gay network nobody told me about. Look, I know I keep to myself, but did nobody think I’d be interested to know about this? It can’t be because I don’t go to GSA, because Kadarius doesn’t go, either. Maybe none of them want me to know. Am I that annoying? Am I more annoying than Micah? Because it’s shocking to realize that not only am I an outlier in not kissing, but also Micah and Kadarius were kissing each other. And Micah has kissed multiple people. Micah. How? How has anyone wanted to kiss him, let alone multiple anyones? This is the most time I’ve ever spent with him and I’m hella done. But I guess if you’re kissing him he can’t talk, and if he wasn’t talking he’d be more tolerable. “He’s a good kisser,” Micah adds, as an unwelcome afterthought. “Definitely better than Danny.” My cheeks get all prickly. Is this embarrassment or the heat of a midday August in Georgia? “Can we talk about something else?” I beg, covering my face with my hands just in case it’s embarrassment that’s making me so hot and itchy. “Feeling left out?” Micah nudges me and I lean away. “No,” I lie. But it won’t be a lie for long; now that Shuvam and I are going to Homecoming, kissing is just around the corner. “Too bad,” he says. “I was gonna offer to include you.” Talitha giggles. “Hydrate, Dev! You look like you’re about to die of heat stroke.” Everything about this conversation is mortifying. First, Micah films Shuvam asking me to Homecoming. Now he’s suggesting I kiss him and not my date? What is up with this guy? We seriously don’t live in the same universe. Talitha sips her drink before nudging me. “So. How’d the two of you meet, anyway? I know you’re too allergic to touching people to be one of Micah’s boy toys, Dev, so spill. What’s the deal?” My mouth is full of turkey but I still manage a more or less comprehensible “Huh?” And also, ew, Talitha. “We’re both in Ms. Torres’ second period,” Micah explains, but he doesn’t stop there. “I forgot to fill out the form for AP Lit, so I’m stuck in the regular class this year. I’m so bored already. Remind me not to make this mistake next year.” It's physically impossible for a gifted kid to pass up the opportunity to remind everyone else they’re gifted. “Unfair. How come you get Ms. Torres?” Talitha asks. “I’m stuck with goofy old Mrs. Higgs. But seriously, Micah, you and Kadarius should make up.” “Or make out,” Micah says with a snicker. “If he’s changed his mind about monogamy.” I bite my straw so hard the tip comes off in my mouth. I spit it into my hands. Gross. This is the worst lunch conversation. “Nah.” Talitha prods the crumbled guts of her cafeteria burrito. “He’s not gonna give up on the idea of a one and only. He’s a romantic at heart.” That’s a new thought. Kadarius? Romantic? Never seen it. But I guess I only see the teasing-older-brother-and-cameraman side of him. Why would I see the romantic side? It’s not like we’re dating. Hell, I didn’t even know he’d ever dated anyone, despite knowing him since I was a tot. How did he manage secretly dating Micah without me or Talitha knowing? There’s a lull in the conversation as we all drink from our respective sources of hydration. My water doesn’t wash away the disturbing images this new information has afflicted me with. At last, I find my voice before the others, and manage to both change the subject away from Micah and Kadarius’s love lives and also bring up the one topic I need to discuss with Micah. “You’re not gonna show this morning on the announcements, right?” “At some point. We’re filming different Promposals so we can run HoCo ads up through Spirit Week,” Micah says. Can it be a Promposal if it’s not Prom? But that’s the least of my worries. Micah has basically just admitted this is gonna play in front of the entire school. He can’t. They can’t. “Don’t you need my permission?” I ask, but neither he nor Talitha answer. “What video is this? Can I see?” Talitha makes grabbing motions across the table. Micah places his phone in her hands. I slide myself as far down the bench as I can go without entirely ending up on the ground–my legs are a hazard to everyone walking around our table now, but I don’t care. “Kill me,” I beg as the sound of my confusion plays from Micah’s phone. “If I kill you, how will we place at regionals?” Talitha wags her Celsius in my face. “And man up. Your crush wants to go to Homecoming with you and you’re whining about us getting video proof.” She replays the video, resting her chin in her hand. “God, why didn’t I think of filming this? Romance shit always does numbers. Can I post a copy of this on my vlog?” My mouth refuses to work. “Sure, no prob” Micah says. “Tag the Knightly News channel if you do. If you’re linking on social media add the hashtag NesbitKnightsHoco2023. Zoya is running our social medias and she’ll keep an eye on the tag so she can spotlight anyone using it.” Oh, sure, that’s what I want. Everyone at school to know my socials. “Cool, thanks,” Talitha says, because she does, in fact, want everyone at school to know her socials. And to follow her. Like and subscribe for more great dance content! “So what do you vlog about?” Micah asks, making another futile attempt to push his hair out of his face. “Neurospicy stuff?” “Dance,” Talitha says. “But that’s not a bad idea, now that you mention it.” If she tries to get me onboard with this, she’s canceled. Her vlog is the one place nobody knows about my labels, and I’d like to keep it that way. “Score!” Micah says. “I knew it. Can I be in on it? I still don’t have a diagnosis, but…” Talitha pats his arm. “Don’t worry, we accept you as one of our own.”

---

By the time I arrive home, my emotions are a jumbled up mixture of excitement for Homecoming, frustration at Micah and Jayla, and dread of whatever message Myrick has sent my parents.

And he’s definitely sent them something, because Dad greets me with, “You’d better be thinking about spending your free time catching up on missing assignments before you run off with Jayla today.”

“But regionals–”

“Are less important than school,” he says. You would think he’d never been a dancer himself. He should know exactly how important these are. Comps start in January. That’s what? Only six months away? We need to have our routine perfect.

Jackson is already in the living room with his homework spread out in front of him. To annoy me, obviously.

I fling my backpack onto the floor with a groan. “Why are parents so mean?” I complain as I pat Purrome, who immediately gets up and moves out of reach because everyone in my life is a traitor.

“It’s less stressful to just do it,” Jackson says without looking up from his laptop. “Get it done and you won’t have it hanging over you.”

Do I look like I want life advice from my little brother? I get enough of it from everyone else.

“I know. Sheesh,” I huff as I open my laptop. The cursor hovers over ClassLink. I hesitate. Has Jayla posted that video yet? It won’t hurt if I just take a quick peek at her YouTube channel.

And yep, she’s posted it.

I send her a quick text. Take it down right now or else

Her response arrives immediately. Or else what?

IDK I won’t dance with you

LOL

Don’t LOL me I mean it

Dad clears his throat as he passes through the living room with a load of laundry. I drop my phone and look at ClassLink. But before I pull up my homework, my phone buzzes again.

You haven’t looked in the group chat yet have you

Each company level at NBDS has its own group chat. Every year, I mute it as soon as I’m added. I can’t remember the last time I’ve looked at it, let alone said anything in or about it, so I don’t know why Jayla is asking. Doesn’t she know by now I’m not checking unless they ping me directly?

But now I’m curious, so I open it and lo and behold my so-called best friend shared the video to our whole freaking company. I’m not sure if the fawning “This is adorable” or the “haha he asked if figurative cinnamon rolls was a brand” are more humiliating, but for the first time ever, I’m not even looking forward to dance. Thanks a freaking lot, Jayla and Micah.

Dad comes back into the living room. I hastily shove my phone beneath me instead of sending Jayla the stream of exaggerated, impossible-to-follow-through-on threats that I'm fantasizing about in this moment.

“Dinner’s ready,” he says. “Are we all done with homework?”

Jackson is, because he sucks. But I haven’t even started. It’s not my fault! My best friend betraying me is kind of more important.

But Dad doesn’t know and I’m not filling him in, so he launches into his standard lecture on time management. The lecture drones on as we make our way to the kitchen table.

I nudge my asparagus with my fork, tuning him out. He’s given this exact speech five hundred times in the past week alone, so listening is unnecessary.

My parents talk big about time management. It’s their favorite thing to criticize me on, after grades. And organization. And making friends.

Like when I need materials for a project and they get all pissy that the due date is in eight hours.

Or when they find out I wrote an essay in the hallway between classes the day it was due instead of being proud I finished it and got it turned in without marks off for lateness.

They don’t appreciate how responsible I am. What if I just didn’t do it at all?

It’s obviously important to them, this planning ahead stuff. When it’s me, I mean. If they leave things until the last minute, that’s fine. But if I don’t give advance warning of what I want then I’m in the wrong.

Too bad even I don’t always have advanced warning of what I want.

Hell, if it had been up to me, I wouldn’t have known whether I wanted to go to Homecoming for real or if I’d prefer it stay a nice, un-ruinable fantasy until the day of.

So I’m grateful Shuvam asked, even if I’m annoyed at Micah and Jayla for turning it into a huge deal. And even if Shuvam did, you know, ask in front of a film crew instead of objecting to the complete lack of privacy. Maybe he’s used to Micah being weird and tunes him out the way I’m tuning out Dad.

And maybe the whole thing where I said yes to Homecoming without having a ticket is one of those things my parents want advance warning about.

This thought prompts me to interrupt Dad’s lecture with, “You know Homecoming is in a month?”

“And what does that have to do with Algebra?” Mom is tapping her fork against the plate in a way that signals danger if my clarification fails to satisfy her.

“Soooooo can I have money for tickets?” Look at me asking in advance. This has to be a point in my favor given the fact they’ve just chewed me out for time management.

Instead of looking pleased at my forethought, Mom continues her ominous tapping. “Seriously, Devin? Why should we let you go?”

“Because it’s Homecoming,” I say, hoping they don't bring up the fact I've never in my life cared about a school event before today. "You and dad are always telling me to be more social. Plus I kind of have a date.”

“Your dad and I aren’t buying a ticket if you can’t pass math.” Mom’s tone has an edge to it. “Maybe this will be the motivation you need to start finishing your homework on time.”

My elation at Homecoming evaporates in an instant. Everyone at school is gonna see that stupid video and I’m not even gonna get the benefit of going to the damn dance. Because if there’s one thing I know, it’s this: There’s no effing way I can improve my math grades before homecoming.