WeendeduponKaden’s balcony.
It’s not big, just enough for two chairs, a table and a heating lamp. Kaden’s tuning his guitar and when he’s done, he softly plays the intro to “One Last Breath” by Creed. I’ve heard him play that bit so many times, I could probably pull it off, too.
The subs are eaten and we’re about two beers in when I ask, “Were you that weird art kid in school?”
“Yeah,” he says, plucking the strings. “But I was cool about it.”
I snort. “As they often are.”
“Asshole. What were you? The geek?” He grins. “Did you wear glasses and drop your books in front of the hot jock in the hallway?”
“I did, yeah. And then he fucked me behind the bleachers,” I reply without a beat. The music stops and when I glance at Kaden, his eyebrows are raised.
I laugh. “I’m kidding.”
“Fuck do I know?” He shrugs one shoulder, laughing. “I didn’t lose my virginity until prom night.” He starts playing again. I know this one too, it’s “Yellow Ledbetter” by Pearl Jam.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“What was her name?”
“Stacy Thomas,” he says, shooting me a smirk.
“Girlfriend?”
“Yeah.”
I turn back around, staring out over the parking lot. There are crickets chirping somewhere, and Kaden mumbles the words as he plays. His voice is like velvet with a slight rasp.
“Who’d you go with?” he says. “To prom.”
I should’ve known that question was coming. I should’ve known better. I slowly blink and shift on my chair.
“I didn’t go,” I mumble, picking at the label on the beer bottle.
“Why not?”
I shrug. “I was supposed to go with Lou, but then she moved away before that, so…” I clear my throat. “Didn’t feel like going alone.”
“You didn’t ask someone else?”
I scratch my nose, then my eyebrow. Everything’s itching as I weigh my words.
“I was the only out gay kid in school, and…” I shrug again. “I don’t know. A bit of loser, I guess. Nobody wanted to mess with that.” I huff a laugh, but it gets caught in my throat.
I pick at the label, crossing and uncrossing my legs, spreading them wide.
“Did you wanna go?” he asks.
Yes.I bite my bottom lip, my leg bouncing on its own.
“I don’t know,” I rush out. “Maybe. I heard it can be pretty lame, though, so…” I shrug again.
“I mean,” he snorts, absentmindedly plucking the strings on the guitar. “I felt kinda lame in my tux, and it wasn’t exactly a dream come true to see my math teacher on the dance floor, but…” He shrugs.
“Yeah.” I try to laugh but I can’t.
