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Daniel smiled at me again. “Still feel sick?”
“No.”
“You’re green. It’s okay if you’re queasy.”
“I did stuff,” I said softly. “Stuff I don’t think I should’ve done.”
Daniel’s eyes went gentle. He bent close to me, so close I thought about reaching up, tangling my fingers in his thick, straight hair, and bringing his beautiful lips against mine for the kiss I’d fantasized about since I’d met him. But no. Because of the vomit.
“Don’t worry about that right now,” he said quietly. “Just rest and sober up. Tomorrow is soon enough to worry about things you can’t change.”
“Okay.”
He stroked my hair off my forehead and then moved away to sit in Renée’s chair again.
I watched him read a while, aware that every few minutes he checked on me. His smile was sweet, and I wanted to keep it. So I smiled back.
Eventually, I fell asleep. until voices inside the blackness woke me up.
“I called his parents already, Barry! I’m not letting him go home like this!”
“And what’d you tell them? That their eighteen-year-old son was having anonymous sex and using drugs—”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what?”
Renée huffed, and I struggled to open my eyes, seeing her upside down and kind of sideways. She stood with her hands on her hips, one high-heeled foot turned out, and a glare contorting her features. Daniel was gone, and Renée and Barry stood over me. Barry with his arms crossed over his chest.
“I told them we’d gotten carried away working on a project, he’d eaten some bad food, puked for a while, and passed out on the sofa.”
“And they bought that bullshit?” Barry shook his head in astonishment.
Renée smirked. “Of course they did. I get people to buythis, don’t I?” She spread her arms.
I sat up, the world heaving around me. My head felt slow to follow my body. “Hey, I’m sorry about everything,” I whispered, my throat raw from puking. “I didn’t mean to throw up on your shoes, Barry. I’m really sorry.”
Barry sighed and hunched down on one side of me. Renée, all eyelashes, perfume, sequins and powder, kneeled on my other side.
“Listen, Puker,” Barry said, but his voice was oddly gentle considering how angry he’d been when I threw up on him. “You’re going to stay with us tonight, okay? Robert cleared it with your mom.”
I thought about my bed at home: safe, with cool, clean sheets I’d just put on that morning. “Um,” I began.
“No ’um,’” Renée interrupted. “Sweetie, you can’t let your parents see you like this. Okay? Especially not your mom. Trust me. You’re going to be fine now. You’ve puked, and you’re in the homestretch. But if you go home, you’ll traumatize your parents forever.”
“And be locked up all summer. Which might not be a bad thing,” Barry added.
Given my mom’s fragile state, and her fears over my gayness, Renée was probably right.
Renée took off her makeup and dress, emerging from a dozen wipes and washcloths as Robert. He slid on some jeans and a blue tank top before bending down to brush back my hair. “It’s time to go. Barry’ll take you out to the car. Okay, Sweetie?”
I didn’t protest when Barry hauled me to his chest and stood up with me in his arms. I circled my hands around his strong neck and blinked up at him.
“You’re handsome,” I mumbled, and Barry snorted, obviously pleased but also disbelieving.
“I’m ugly. But I’m still a sexy man,” he said.
“No,” I sighed, resting my head against his chest. “You’re gorgeous. Everyone is, but especially you.”
