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“You look divine,” Avery replies.
Pope smiles, a little confidence returning. And Avery feels more confident, too—having to deal with Pope’s insecurity has momentarily made him forget his own.
Nobody is going to use the decorations here as an argument for the concept of a “queer eye”—but the decorations, Avery feels, are beside the point. The point is the number of kids clustering within the lobby and the halls. The bus has brought a certain busyness to the municipal center that reminds Avery of an assortment of birds; it’s almost cliché to think of gays as flamingos, but here he sees hummingbirds and pigeons and mourning doves and, yes, flamingos. Avery himself feels like an oriole; not as showy as the others, but still with a personality.
There is song in the way everyone is talking to each other, and there’s also song spilling through the air that holds them.
“It’s a pride prom!” Pope proclaims to their group. “We must partake of the dancing!”
From behind him, Noxema La Crème calls out, “Hallelujah and amen!”
This is when Avery feels it: His heartbeat suddenly has a whole lot of added bass. Nervous tremors cascade through his body. He knows he belongs here. He swears he knows he belongs here. But his body wants to show him the cracks in his thinking.Do not put yourself out there. Do not make yourself noticed. Do not think you’ll be happy, because that will only make you sadder when you’re not.He’s not even hearing these words; it’s like they’re in his blood, in his nervous system. He wills himself to be steady, to feel worthy of this destination.Just have a good time,he tells himself.
None of the people he’s with notice he’s wavering. Part of him is relieved by this. Part of him wishes they knew him better, could see his signs.
Pope leads their group forward as if this is a club Pope’s been to a thousand times before. Avery walks in the door of the gymnasium ten minutes after Ryan does. The DJ has just started a song that unlocks the dance floor, and kids are starting to turn the silence into a fray, moving their bodies decisively as the singer lets loose amaybe.
Three things happen in quick succession. Pope grabs the hand of the nearest person, who happens to be Jesse, and they plunge into the dancing. Hannah spots a few friends from school and leads Liz over to meet them. And Lana sees a boy she used to date and is so unprepared for it that sheruns off to the restroom. Avery could follow any of them but instead he holds fast. The song shifts from maybe to yes, cutting from indecision to a feeling. The dance floor erupts in hand-clap euphoria.
Avery looks at the people in the crowd, then looks at the people who are, like him, ringing the crowd. He spots a boy whose hair is as blue as Avery’s is pink. Instead of dancing, he is singing along, every now and then closing his eyes and swaying his head. Because he’s been watching the crowd, it doesn’t occur to him that anyone could be watching him.
It is not in Avery’s nature to approach strangers, however cute. But this isn’t an aspect of his nature he particularly likes, so he figures now is as good a time as any to alter it. He is drawn to the blue-haired boy—drawn by curiosity, drawn by empathy, drawn by the fact that neither one of them is their natural hair color. There’s the thrill of not knowing who he is, and the thrill of possibly finding out.
It’s as if someone’s laid down a red carpet between them, a yellow brick road. No one gets in Avery’s way as he walks over. The song remains and the dancers disappear. His heartbeat is still loud, but no longer an alarm. It’s a musical instrument. He is writing this song as it’s happening. He has started their story before Ryan even knows it exists.
Ryan turns a little, swung by the song, and sees Avery walking toward him. He doesn’t realize he’s this boy’s destination—not at all. But he notices the travel, and the boy who’s traveling. He sees the pink hair and smiles.
Avery smiles back, uses that moment to step into Ryan’s life.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” Ryan says back, a little confused. He doesn’t understand what’s happening—has this pink-haired boy mistaken him for someone else?
Avery, sensing confusion, says, “I saw you standing there and thought it might be a good place to be.”
Ryan has no idea what to say to that.
“What town are you from?” Avery asks.
“I’m from Kindling. Here.”
“Oh! I’m from Marigold.”
“Awesome,” Ryan says. Then: “I have no idea where thatis.”
“About two hours away.”
“Wow. That’s a far drive. Worth it?”
Avery is looking straight at Ryan when he says, “Yes.”
It’s only now that Ryan realizes…this pink-haired boy is flirting with him. This has never happened to him before. No boy has ever come up to him like this. Online, sure. But in person? There’s nothing to hide behind, no safe pause for typing the next words. He has no control of the moment. He must give in to the moment.
“Do you want to dance?” he asks. This isn’t a sentence that comes from his heart. It’s a sentence that comes from movies, from fantasies, from fairy tales, from him grasping at how to fill the space in a way that will keep the flirtation going.
Avery aces it when he replies, “Yes. But first I want to know your favorite kind of dog.”
“My favorite kind of dog?”
