“Yeah, I suppose. And then there’s Hastings,” I added. “He might get jealous if I told him.”
Mikey spun around and swiped shampoo out of his eyes. “What the fuck does Hastings have to with anything?” he demanded. “I thought he was mean to you and that he wanted you to blow him on the down-low. Are we talking about the same Hastings?”
“Do what?” I asked, laughing while I washed my armpits with the bar of soap. “No one’s blowing anyone . . . at least not yet anyway,” I added.
“He practically tried to rape you at the drive-in,” Mikey hissed, anger spreading across his face like a prairie fire in a strong wind.
“No, he didn’t.”
“Yes, he did,” he insisted. “You said he did.”
“Exactly when did I say that, Mikey? Michael isn’t like that.”
He turned the water off and stood staring at me like I was a stranger to him. “You call him Michael?” he asked. “I hate that fucking name.”
“That’s what Jennifer calls you,” I argued.
“The fuck she does!” he raged, shoving me out of the way before he stepped out of the glass enclosure. “I hate it when she calls me that. Always bitching about her job and my beer.”
Mike leaned over the sink with his head slumped when I walked cautiously toward him. What the heck had he just said? What was he talking about?
“Mikey?”
He turned around, red-faced and angry. “What?”
“You’re angry at me. Yelling too,” I stated. “Have I done something wrong?”
“I don’t want you talking to Hastings anymore.”
“But you like Michael. What happened? Why?” I asked, confused by his behavior.
“And stop calling him Michael. If you need to call someone Michael, call me Michael,” he insisted. “I’m your Michael, dammit.”
“You’re Jennifer’s Michael and you’re my Mikey,” I reminded him. “Remember, you hated that I was going to call him New Mikey. We all laughed about it and you guys agreed on this arrangement.”
“That was when he was straight.”
“Have you gone insane? Michael isn’t straight,” I said.
I watched his face when I told him Michael Hastings wasn’t straight and it was as if he actually didn’t believe me and had never heard it before. I knew my best friend and I could tell when he was serious. This wasn’t a joke to him.
“You said he was straight and that he wanted to be on the down-low, Coop,” he whispered. “He wanted blowjobs.”
I walked over and grabbed his hand. “I didn’t say that, Mikey. Honest, you know I didn’t say that.”
His eyes filled and he stared past me and at the wall behind us. I could see his shoulders slump forward in his reflection in the mirror. He turned slightly and looked pleadingly at me. “He’s gay like you?” he whispered.
I nodded.
A single tear escaped one of his eyes. “Do you like him like that?”
“I do,” I admitted. “Maybe. I’m not quite sure, but probably, yes.” My answer was unsure because Michael Hastings sent mixed signals about his sexuality.
“Okay then,” he said. “I . . . I understand.” He seemed defeated by the news that Hastings was gay even though I swore we’ve discussed it before. He’d been in support of me exploring something with the new guy at school when I mentioned I thought Hastings was cute. “Can you give me a bit? I’m really tired, Coop.” I let go of his hand and he turned toward the mirror, facing me in its reflection. “I guess I forgot.”
“It’s okay, Mikey,” I soothed. “But can I ask you something?”
He nodded.
