Page 95 of My Own Kind of Person

“I do.”

I don’t know whether I should ask more or just leave them alone. I close my eyes, the bumps in the road shaking my back. When I look over, Andi’s jaw is tensed, their eyes narrow.

“What is it?”

“Ms. Esposito asked me to do this…thing.”

“Whoa. A thing.”

“It’s an application for art school.”

“Oh.” I don’t know what I thought the application was for. A contest?

“I know it’s stupid, okay? There’s like a one in zero chance I’d get in. But if you do, then this school is free, so, whatever, I’ll send something in. The app only asks for ten pieces.”

“Great. Easy.”

“That’s what I thought. And then you had that good set at Captain’s.”

“As opposed to all the bad ones?” I joke.

“Yes. When you talked at McGuinn’s about real stuff, the night you got into the competition, it was cool. It wasn’t funny, but you were trying, trying to open up or whatever, and I found that inspiring. And then at Captain’s, your set was actually good. And you were being so honest. Like you’d looked hard at yourself and you knew who you were. It was a reminder that I don’t do that.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Then you and Elijah hanging out, it was like…”

“Like what?”

Andi’s eyelashes are long and thick, the kind a lot of people probably wish for.

“Nothing. I liked hanging out with Elijah after Tony’s. He’s great. Suddenly I had a new friend. But then you two snuck away that night, and again after the diner, and suddenly I had no friends. And I feel like I’m not as…never mind.”

“Not as what?”

“Not as special as you two. That’s it. I said what I wanted to say and now we don’t have to talk about it anymore.” They take a pack of gum out of a pocket in their door and shake a stick out. “Want one?”

“Sure.”

They crank their window down. Air blasts in and rushes around us. I crank down my window to let it out. Over the sound of the rushing wind, I shout, “You’re special to me and I’m sorry for not acting in a way that shows that!”

They roll up their window and I roll up mine. Then they reply quietly, “Please stop.”

I’m still not sure about the right amount to push and the right amount to leave it.

I cross my arms and say in a dopey voice, “So, you’re applying to art school?”

“This is deeply embarrassing.”

“This is fine!”

“Everyone says it feels good to share, but it does not. Antidepressants are good, and coming out was obviously da bomb. But the thing that has kept me going is that I never think about myself. I don’t even look in the mirror when I brush my teeth.”

“What if you get a pimple?”

“I dunno, I squint. But now all I’m doing is thinking about myself and I can’t stop.”

The town ends and we pass an open field.