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“I wasin Murphy House last night with Jonah and overheard a conversation between Henners and his football buddies,” Emil told me on Wednesday when we met for lunch.
“What was it?”
“They were teasing him about never hooking up with anyone.”
I cast my glance across the room toward Henry’s table. He was laughing about something, and his beaming smile made my stomach feel all funny. “And?”
“I don’t know… There was this moment when he looked so uncomfortable, and then our eyes met, and I recognized something in him,” Emil said, and my gut churned. “Like I’ve been in that situation before, you know what I mean?”
“Being put on the spot?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Being put on the spot as a gay kid,” he countered.
I lowered my voice, though it was only the two of us today. “What are you trying to say?”
“Nothing. It was probably my overactive imagination.” He lifted his sandwich. “Just thought maybe you’d get it. Connecting with people is hard enough, let alone dating someone.”
I picked at the edges of the bagel I’d packed myself that morning from Mom’s diner. It was thick and doughy and I normally devoured them, but I just wasn’t feeling it. “Haveyoubeen able to date or connect with anyone?”
He shrugged. “Hookups here and there, using apps. How about you?”
“I’m not really…looking. Just trying to stay afloat with grades and stuff.” My pulse throbbed as I felt his scrutiny.
“You can talk to me, you know. About anything. I consider you a good friend now, so you’re stuck with me.”
I smiled. It felt good to have made a friend at college, and I hadn’t shared that much personal stuff with him, not really. But maybe this was the perfect opportunity.
“The reason why dance is so important to me is because I had cancer when I was a kid and beat it. But the possibility that it could return is always in the back of my mind, so I’m just trying to live my dream for as long as I can.”
His lips parted, and his eyes widened. “Fuck, thanks for telling me.”
“It’s not something I try to hide”—my gaze drifted across the room again—“but it’s also not something to, like, announce at a party either. Sort of a buzzkill.” When I looked at Emil again, he was gaping at me. “What?”
He lowered his voice. “Is that how you know Henners?”
“I’m not going to discuss that with you,” I sputtered, caught off guard. I obviously was too weak to not seek Henry out, especially lately, which meant more eyes on us. And Emil had put two and two together. “Sorry, that came out wrong. What I meant was, it’s private. Please don’t say anything.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he said, and I breathed out in relief. “And you’re right. Everyone’s business is their own. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say I was curious about your history. I can tell he cares about you.”
“What? How…how do you figure?”
“Well, right now he’s trying hard not to stare at you, and it’s the same for you.”
“Oh God.” I put my face in my hands. No way did I want anyone else to notice stuff like that. “He’s…a friend.”
He winked. “Sure, whatever. Like I said, I’m here if you ever need to talk.”
* * *
After school I worked a shift with Pete. I helped less at the junkyard nowadays, but today it would be a good distraction. Besides, I liked the idea of hanging with Pete and getting a night off from babysitting duty.
I waved to Pete’s uncle, who was inside the office, his gaze cast outside the large picture window facing the junkyard. He was like a permanent fixture, always aware of everything going on. Well, almost everything. This lot was enormous, and every surface was covered with something that’d been salvaged. Mom jokingly referred to it as a gigantic flea market. At least to those who loved cars. He had even restored a twenty-year-old Buick that Pete drove around. It was an eyesore but got the job done. He promised to keep a lookout for me as well, but I wasn’t in any hurry to pay car insurance or gas. The bus suited me just fine.
“Okay, what are we doing today?” I asked Pete, who had just jumped off the loader. He’d been busy moving fenders into a pile. That was a lot of what this work entailed—grouping random shit into piles for the compactor or to sell as scrap.
He motioned to the far corner of the lot. “How about we start separating all the tires from the rims?”
“Will do.”
