Page 89 of My Own Kind of Person

“I’m so glad you moved to Long Island,” I say.

“I’m so glad you’re gay.”

“I appreciate that.” I hold up a finger. “But! For what it’s worth, I think I’m bi. Or pan. Or just queer. Those are the words that feel good to me right now.”

He laughs in a way I don’t understand. “Take your time.”

I press my ear onto his body and listen, as though his insides could clarify. Soon he stands and I watch the curve of his back disappear under his T-shirt. His alarm hasn’t gone off, but he must be one of those people for whom being on time means being early. I watch his butt disappear into his tighty-whities.

“Why did you laugh just then?”

His mouth stops halfway to a smile. “It’s okay to be confused.”

“I wouldn’t say I’m confused.”

He does that same laugh.

“I thought you might be bi or pan too,” I say.

“I told you I’m gay.”

I pull the blanket around me. “You agreed it would be nice if it were the norm for a girl to make the move.”

“Yeah. Politically, that’s a concept I agree with.”

“You said you were glad a girl kissed you.”

“For her. She wanted to do it, and I’m glad she did.”

I blink.

“Sean. You’re gay.”

I touch my eyebrow. “I understand you’re trying to be affirming, but—”

“Why are you scared to say it?”

I straighten my back. “I may have had awkward moments with Christy, but unless I’m lying to myself I am attracted to girls. When I listen to who I really am, I know I can love people of any gender. Honestly, I don’t understand how that isn’t everyone’s feeling.”

He rolls his eyes with his whole head. “Corporations like to say love is love, but that’s not true. Queer love is queer love.”

“Isn’t love between any two people different from love between any other two people?”

He waves a hand. “Whatever.”

“Why are you being like this? I’m not that friend you used to hook up with.”

His face hardens. “I told you that story because I trusted you.”

He doesn’t sit and I don’t stand.

I’m reminded of how Christy said that seeing her as perfect meant I’d never seen her. Did I see Elijah as perfect? I admired him. But to think of him in the past tense now, even while he’s directly in front of me, literally within arm’s reach, means I must not be able to see him. I can’t see anything beyond the inside of my skull, I think.

He tucks his shirt into his jeans. “I don’t want to be another straight boy’s secret.”

“I didn’t say I was straight.”

“I don’t want to be with a boy who isn’t proud of who he is.”