Mrs Anne knocks on the door and enters, carrying a tray of coffee and biscuits. She puts it down and hovers by the desk, a bright smile on her face. “Good luck, boys.” She’s not showing any sign of leaving. Michael notices too.
“Thanks, mum. We’ll see you later.”
“Right. Just let me know if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
I pop my gum just loudly enough to make her jump.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
I can’t help snorting a little. Just a little. A little snort. “No, I’m good, thanks.”
Michael looks embarrassed for the first time. Watching his face flush is sort of exhilarating. I don’t know why I was thinking he thought he was better than me, or Tony. He’s probably just as screwed up as the rest of us; he’s just better at hiding it.
Mrs Anne closes the door behind her, all smiles. Michael hands me a mug of coffee. “I’m so sorry, she just likes to… hang out, you know.”
“That’s all right.” I point to the poster of Chopin above his bed. “You do like music after all.”
He gives the poster an anxious glance. “You can understand why I’m not advertising this.”
“Are you worried about what people say? Worried they’d take the piss?”
“They do. You did.” He rubs his palms against his thighs.
“Did I?” I pretend to inspect my nails.
“You called me a total nerd. You said you would never stoop so low as to hang out with me.”
Our eyes meet. I start blowing on my coffee, fast. “I wasn’t sure you’d picked up on that.”
“Look, I get it, okay? I’m boring. I’m not into whatever it is that you like. I care more about books and movies than parties and girls.”
Girls? Did he say girls?
“You’re not boring.” I surprise myself to come so quickly to his defence. “You know, about that day… I was having a bad time. Paquin has been on my case since the start of the year, and Tony was pulling my leg, and—”
“That’s quite all right.” His tone indicates to me he’d rather talk about something else. “You’re not the only person who’s made comments, you know. I’ve heard it all before — though not usually on my first day.”
“Do you often talk to strangers in the toilet on your first day, though?”
He gives me an incredulous look. “What?”
“That was weird, it freaked me out!”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. People making eye contact and talking in public toilets makes me uncomfortable.”
He laughs. “I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable. It was my first day, I was nervous, you came in there, you seemed cool, so when you looked at me, I said hello, you know.”
He said I looked cool. Just to be clear.
“I looked at you?”
He nods. “You definitely looked at me.”
“Probably only to warn you to stop looking at me.”
“I wasn’t aware that I was looking at you.” He slams a hand on his forehead. “I must have been lost in thought. I’m sorry. I feel like an idiot now.”
“That’s fine, come on.” I don’t want him to beat himself up over this, especially not because of me. “Think about it. Now the tension’s out of the way, we can move on.”
He smiles. “We can even be mates if you want.”
“Sure, but not in public.”
Silence…
Why the fuck did I say that? That’s the gay stuff I can’t shake, François’s fault. I didn’t mean to say that. Why am I even allowed to live? Michael’s jaw has slacked as though he can’t believe what I just said, but just got another confirmation that I’m a small dick in a bag of bigger dicks. I want to throw myself out of his window, but he lives on the second floor and there’s no way the fall would kill me.
Now, why would Michael be into me after that? He may have liked my reflection, but the real deal is something else. I insulted him, stalked him, made a fool of myself in front of François, and now I’ve insulted him again. Even if Michael was the gayest man in the galaxy, there isn’t the smallest chance of him being interested in someone like me. It’s not my safety I should be worried about; it’s my honour.
“What I mean is… My friends are pretty, hum, possessive, and they don’t…”
“So you do think I’m boring.”
“No!” In my panic, I can’t find a nice, white lie to say. The truth comes rushing out, and I can only witness it in horror. “I just… I don’t want you around them. Tony can be a bit… wild.” Can’t exactly explain that hanging out with Tony would scar Michael for life and then fat chance he and I could ever be mates.
Michael’s face is twisted in a painful grimace. I can see he’s trying his best to move on from this weird conversation, and he’s trying even harder not to call me an arsehole. “Okay. Let’s get started on this thing.” I get it if he wants to be done with me as soon as possible. I won’t hold it against him.
Michael stretches his long limbs and cracks his neck. I guess there would be worse things in the world than kissing this guy. I could almost understand François — if he wasn’t such an impertinent snob.
“Yes?” he suddenly says, looking at me.
He has seen me stare. He has seen me stare. Abort!
“Your mum’s nice!” That’s the best I could find.
“Isn’t she?” Michael’s face softens. “She’s brilliant.”
I’ve never heard anybody call their mum brilliant. Tony’s mum is close, though. She’s a funny woman. But Tony thinks she’s annoying too, sometimes.
Avoiding my gaze, Michael drums his fingers on his desk. “And your mom… how is she?” He’s just asking a question. He doesn’t mean anything by it. He doesn’t know how little I want to talk about it. But after the way I treated him, I owe him a fair answer.
“She lives in the South. I hardly ever see her. That probably explains why I’m acting so unhinged most of the time!” I meant it as a joke, but still. I don’t feel like seeing pity in his eyes, so I look down at the tiny nightstand I hadn’t noticed before. The picture of Michael and his parents at the beach on top of it catches my attention. Michael’s curly hair was much longer, his laughing face younger. When I spin around briskly, the real Michael looks away. Was he staring at me?
“I’m sorry,” he says.
About my mum? Or about staring at me?
“Why? I’m perfectly fine.” I hesitate. “She calls for my birthday, sometimes. Plus, I met Tony a couple of years later, so…”
“Tony’s your best friend.”
“Yep.” I wish he wouldn’t look at me so much. I’m no good for eye contact without my sunglasses. Whatever revelations people want to read in other people’s eyes, they won’t find in mine. But then, Michael startles me by slamming his Dorian Gray on his desk.
“So! The Picture of Dorian Gray. You have to read it.”
Ha! The moment has come for me to unveil my awesomeness. He still thinks I’m a total loser because I haven’t done my homework. After all, he hangs out with the likes of François, who knows the Shakespeare’s staff and who can get him ‘special editions’.
But hear this, Michael: “I read it last night.” A look of delighted shock brightens his features. Yes, I did that.
“You have read the whole thing last night?”
“Well, no.” Way to smash my achievement, Duncan. “I’ve read about a quarter of it.”
“That’s great!” He starts gesturing excitedly. “Because half of Mrs Paquin’s questions are about the beginning, and when you’re through, we can meet again, and we can start on the actual essay, and… and…” His shoulders sag. “You probably think I’m a total nerd again.”
“Hm?” All I heard was great. “What? No. I mean… yes. Yes, you’re a nerd, but you aren’t boring. I was wrong to say that… and you know what? I don’t know if you picked up by now, but I’m shit with words. Everything comes out wrong. I’m sorry.”
He folds his arms over his chest, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. “I have never been apologised to by a rockstar before.”
“First times for everything, baby.”
He laughs, so I follow, but my laughter turns nervous pretty much instantly when I realise how dirty everything I say sounds. He doesn’t seem to notice; he switches his laptop on.
We work better together than I would have expected. Not once does he make me feel stupid or useless, despite the startling difference between our educations. I feel at ease, so much, even, that I totally forget to worry about whether he’s gay or not.
Slightly astounded that anyone
could make Paquin’s homework interesting, it takes me a long time to get back
home. I find myself stalling to admire my city for the first time in years. I’m
even looking forward to having English literature on Friday.
Michael doesn’t have Facebook, but his phone number is now safely tucked away in my pocket. I hope he’ll understand what I meant earlier; I hope he’ll understand. There are things simply too precious to share.
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