Page 11 of My Own Kind of Person

“Never mind.” They hold up a hand. “I would drive ten hours to see you talk about your unibrow rather than look at that retired Klansman Bobby Bingo again.”

Before I can respond, they take a scuffed Discman out of their backpack. Andi is the one person who could find anything nostalgic about compact discs. I have records of folksy Bob Dylan albums that Mom got me into because there’s something magical about a tiny needle reverberating a physical sound from vinyl grooves. Even cassette tapes have a certain messy romanticism. But a tiny disc read by a laser? Nobody should be hoarding those.

They pop in a mix CD and hand me one of their earbuds. Andi plays stuff from the early 2000s, like their glory days happened before they were born. Being with Andi is the way I wish every moment felt, like everything is not actually wrong.

When the bell rings, Andi takes the earbud back and we enter the main hallway without breaking our silence.

Christy’s face bobs in the oncoming traffic.

I must not look excited about this, because Andi turns to me and says, “What is it?”

Christy doesn’t see me yet. She leans over to her friend Kaye and talks very quickly. I’ve barely ever spoken to Kaye but have always gotten the impression she does not agree with Christy’s decision to date me. Christy’s hair is parted down the middle and pulled back in a wet-looking bun. She has on one of those tight hoodies she’d wear before we met. She’s carrying a 7-Eleven coffee.

I smile and give a three-fingered wave, like, Hey, I recognize you.

She smiles as she nears. “You free after eighth period?”

“Oh yeah!” I show all my teeth. “Dream life.”

I lean in for a kiss as we pass each other and by some miracle we pull it off.

I message, That was genuinely impressive

She replies, Ahhhhh

You are:

The best

My thumbs freeze. I’ve gotten the interaction right so far and I’m terrified I’ll ruin it now.

“You spend this much time writing your texts to me?” Andi asks.

“Why?”

“I’m not making fun of you. You’re taking it seriously, that’s all. It’s cute.”

“I’m cute!”

Andi winces and covers their ears. They point to the hallway they’re turning down. “Later, man.”

I look back at the conversation with Christy and reply, !!!

I get in some good jokes during calculus and physics, so by lunchtime I’m feeling good. I pick up a grilled cheese from the kitchen and sit across from Tony. He opens his deli sandwich and passes me a bag of chips.

His eyes are open wide, like he’s trying to watch everything in the room at once. Historically, Tony has not enjoyed being in school. It gives him stomachaches.

I lean in and whisper, “Would you like a happy dance?”

This is something I do from time to time for select loved ones in need of a boost. It involves shaking my bottom half while waving my arms and, if the moment calls for it, meowing. Whatever it takes to elicit a laugh.

Tony gives a single head shake. “No, thank you.”

“All right, but…” I wiggle my eyebrows and add in a surprise nostril flare.

He smiles and sticks out his tongue.

“So!” I crush the bag of chips and shake the broken pieces into my mouth. “We’re going to a different club,” I growl. “A better club.”