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When they getto the school where the tournament is being held, Mr. Castor receives a sheet that informs them which forensic categories are in which room. He tells the other students where to go, and tells Ryan in front of everyone else to stay with him to watch the extemporaneous competition. Their team disperses, and when they are out of view, Mr. Castor asks Ryan to come with him for one round. Then he can have an hour outside, returning with plenty of time before the bus heads back.
Ryan has no idea what extemporaneous speaking is, and even after he and Mr. Castor watch the first two contestants, he isn’t that much more clued in. Basically, it looks like the judges spring a topic on you and you have about a minute to figure out what to say about it. The boy and girl at the front of the room seem into it, but it comes across to Ryan as the worst pop quiz ever.
After sitting through the girl ranting about the Electoral College and the boy talking about the merits of democratic socialism, Ryan is starting to feel like he’s being punished. Mr. Castor looks at him, releases a snort of laughter, and says, “Okay, you can go. Just remember—one hour. Andmake sure your phone is on, because I’ll call you if anything changes.”
Ryan doesn’t have to be told twice. He jumps out of his seat, out of the room, out of the school. He checks his messages—nothing from Avery. He assumes this means Avery is still driving.
He summons his maps app and makes his way to the donut shop.
—
Driving into BluffLake, he could see it was just like anywhere else, with big-box stores perched among stripped-out strip malls, lonely gas stations, and overbright fast-food establishments. The downtown area also looks a lot like anywhere else, with a few shops and far fewer people. The two clothing stores display the kind of sweaters and pants your great-aunt would give you for Christmas and you’d never wear. The shoe store is very proud that it has some Crocs in stock. The pizza place is called Giuseppe’s, but it’s unclear whether there is really a Giuseppe or if someone just thought that’s what a pizza place should be called. There isn’t a Starbucks in sight, though there was one on the highway, drive-through.
In this context, the donut place is an exclamation point. The glass cases can’t contain all the frosting and sprinkles—versions of them dance across the brightly colored walls as well. The music coming from the speakers is also super sweet, and the tables are much more excitably busy than anywhere else Ryan has seen in town. He imagines theavailability of coffee has something to do with this, because while a few customers have donuts in front of them, almost all of them have coffee at hand.
Ryan can see some people look at him when he comes in—he can’t tell whether it’s because he’s a stranger or because he has blue hair. (It’s both.) The idea of sitting at the table without coffee or a donut, waiting for Avery, feels weird, so he buys a large coffee and holds out on the donut, to justify taking up the space before getting to the good part with Avery.
Once he sits down, he checks his phone again. Still no word. The traitorous chamber of his proverbial heart is already pumping out the panic that Avery isn’t coming, that Ryan is going to be stood up. It gets so bad that Ryan ventures aYou near?text. The phone tells him it’s received—but that’s all it tells him.
The uncharted territory is starting to dim in the low light of his thoughts. He is staying still, but the horizon is receding.
He is so focused on his phone, on waiting for those three dots of response, that he doesn’t even see Avery until Avery is at the table.
“This seat taken?” Avery asks. Ryan looks up and there he is, with his pink hair and mischievous grin.
What is it like to see Avery again? It’s like life has suddenly elevated to a higher level, and the present is a much better place than it was a second ago.
Ryan is smiling now, too, but it isn’t enough. He gets out of his seat and knows he has to walk the delicate pathbetweennot enoughandtoo much. As is often the case with that path, the answer is to put his arms around Avery, to pull him close, to linger in each other’s arms a beat or two longer than friends would, to send the message that even though they aren’t going to kiss in front of all these strangers, this hug is a kiss in its way.
“I’ve missed you,” they both say at the same time, pulling apart so Avery can take off his coat and put it on the back of his chair.
Then Avery says, “Donuts.”
And Ryan agrees, “Donuts.”
Some of the options at the counter sound divine and others feel unholy. Avery says he doesn’t see anything wrong with putting bacon on a donut; Ryan, who is fine with bacon in most other instances, says he’s going to stick to raspberry, and maybe one topped with Fruity Pebbles.
They order two donuts each, and instead of coffee, Avery gets a glass of milk. Then they weave through the tables and sit back down at their own.
If life elevates to a higher level when your maybe-boyfriend steps into the room, there is also the dip that comes shortly after, when life threatens to drop back down to the mundane world you’ve been elevated from. Ryan looks at Avery across the table and doesn’t think there is anything he can say that will be worthy of these first minutes back together. He can’t just ask about the drive. He can’t bring up that they only have an hour. He can’t say how much he missed Avery, because he’s already said that. Hecan’t blurt out the contents of his heart, because they haven’t sorted themselves into a sharable display. So in the middle of his happiness, there is a strong pinch of despair.
Avery shifts his chair forward so their knees are touching. He presses, and Ryan presses back.
That is all it takes to dispel the despair.
Contact.
“Thank you for coming all this way,” Ryan says.
“Thank you for joining forensics in order to be with me,” Avery replies. “Plus, you drove longer for our last date. And have since been imprisoned for it.”
Ryan makes a show of looking out the window. “I want another storm to come,” he says, moving his hand across the table so their pinkies can flirt. “I want us to be stranded here.”
“We could live for weeks on donuts alone,” Avery says. “I’m on board. Bring on the snow.”
This is the vocabulary of the sixth date, all these different ways of sayingI like you, you know?
Ryan tries to make his donuts last, but it’s like each bite has a subliminal message planted within it, insistingYou must take another bite right now this moment. Both donuts are gone within two minutes.
