Been Here All Along (5 page)

- Create a plan of action.

I realize quickly there's not much more I can do at the moment, but I already feel more in control.

I flip to the next page and start a T chart with the heading “Am I gay or Kyle-sexual?” On one side I write reasons I think I'm gay, and on the other I write reasons I think this is just about Kyle. The number one reason I think it's just about Kyle is because I've literally never liked anyone else before. In my entire life. I can't remember being attracted to anyone.

I go through celebrities, models, athletes. I can understand how someone might find these people aesthetically pleasing, but I don't think I've ever imagined kissing anyone until I imagined kissing Kyle in the locker room.

But using the transitive property—if a = b and b = c, then a = c—I figure I'm both gay and in love with Kyle. Because Kyle is male and so am I. Simple as that.

I take a moment to adjust to this idea.

I am gay. I, Gideon Isaac Berko, am gay. It actually makes a lot of sense.

The next blank page becomes a list of reasons Kyle and I will never work out. The crux of the issue, aside from him having a girlfriend, is that I am not anything like Chris Evans, since apparently that's the type of guy Kyle likes.

I am the antithesis of Chris Evans. I could be in a remake of the Arnold Schwarzenegger and Danny DeVito classic
Twins
. Chris Evans would be the Arnold character and I, of course, would be there in all my DeVito-esque glory to play opposite him. I scribble all of this down, just trying to keep my thoughts in order, no matter how embarrassing they might be.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes twice, alerting me to the fact that it's already two in the morning. I've been working on these lists for almost two hours.

I shake my head to clear it and flip to another clean sheet of paper, starting another list, this one about all the ways I like Kyle. Because damn, I really like Kyle, and I need to get them down on paper. I start with shallow stuff but soon find that I get more and more detailed.

I have a feeling this list might get embarrassing, so I decide to write it in Elvish.

Reasons to Like Kyle:

1. He's tall and can reach things on the top shelf.

2. He's adorably awkward and endearing and easy to like. Everyone likes him, not just me.

3. He's not one of those guys who never shuts up about his car.

4. He's not a jealous person.

5. Our shared love of Lord of the Rings makes us better friends.

6. Even though he has a girlfriend, he still has time to be friends with me. I was really worried when they first got together that I'd never see him anymore. But he's really loyal.

7. He listens to me babble about wanting to be student council president even though he doesn't really care about that stuff.

8. We have varied interests but still get along really well.

9. He's always willing to help me with SAT vocab prep.

10. He tries new things even when he doesn't think he's going to like them.

I read over what I wrote, and it's embarrassing. Oh man, so embarrassing. I actually start blushing, by myself, in the middle of my own den just thinking about how much I like him. It's so ridiculous to put him on this high a pedestal, because if anyone is aware of how not-perfect Kyle is, that person is me. I've seen him at his best, but I've also seen him at his worst.

I have—I hate myself even as I think the word—a
crush.
I have a crush on my best friend. I have become a teen rom-com cliché. There is no hope for me.

I'm in desperate need of a dose of reality.

I flip one more page and start my last list by going through each of the reasons I like him and trying to think of a corresponding reason I don't.

Everything That's Wrong with Kyle:

1. He's too tall.

2. He's really awkward sometimes.

3. He's a terrible driver.

4. He's not as smart as me.

5. When I gave him the Lord of the Rings trilogy to read, he said he just “couldn't get into it.” I even tried to get him to read
The Hobbit
and he wouldn't. And that's practically a kids' book.

6. He has a girlfriend.

7. He doesn't care about school politics.

8. He's too into video games.

9. He has a limited vocabulary, and I always have to explain words to him.

10. He didn't get
Inception
. Or
The Matrix
. Or
Looper
. Or any of those awesome movies that are a little confusing.

About halfway through, I realized that I should probably be writing this one in Elvish, too, but it's getting late and I'm having focusing issues. I promise myself that I'm not going to keep this list. It's pretty brutal, but when you've been best friends with someone for twelve years, you know all the good and bad things about them.

But I finish it because it kind of feels good, cleansing, to get some of these things down on paper. I'm about to rip it up and throw it away, but then I'm startled by a noise at the front door. Someone's banging around, obviously trying to get inside.

Perhaps it's a really inept burglar?

I glance around the room, looking for something to use as a weapon, when I hear a familiar voice in the foyer.

“Ah, shit, crap,” the person says as something falls over.

I walk into the hall and find my brother, Ezra, standing there.

The prodigal son returns in all his tattooed glory.

Ezra

I knock over a lamp on the side table next to the door. That seems like a good way to announce my return home in the middle of the night. It's sure to put everyone in the family in a great mood. I haven't been home since last Thanksgiving, so hopefully they'll be happy to see me anyway.

“I didn't know you were coming home,” someone says in a gruff voice.

I look up, and there stands Gideon in a pair of very matchy-matchy pajamas with anchors all over them. Definitely a gift from our mother.

“It's great to see you, Giddyup.” I juggle my rolling suitcase through the door, nearly knocking over the antique umbrella stand that no one has ever put an umbrella in.

He rolls his eyes. “No, but really, did Mom and Dad fail to tell me you were coming home or am I having a mini stroke?”

“I'm home for Passover,” I say.

“You're a few days early.”

“It's never too early to celebrate,” I say with a smile.

He still looks perturbed, but then he sighs and pads over to me in his bare feet to give me a hug. A very tight hug. The kind of hug that makes me feel happy to be home.

He pulls away without a word and walks back toward the den. I follow him and find the coffee table a mess of paper and office supplies.

“You're really burning the midnight oil, huh?”

“It's a, um,” Gideon stumbles and stammers as he collects all his papers and shoves them into a binder. It's probably killing him not to organize them in a neat and orderly fashion, but it's pretty obvious that he doesn't want me to read whatever's written on them.

“I'm just working on something for my, um, election campaign.”

“So you've still got your eye on the big prize?” I ask, trying to get him to be more Gideon-like, because whoever this person is fluttering around the coffee table like a demonic bird is not my little brother. I obviously caught him doing something that he didn't expect to be caught doing. Some kind of strange, middle-of-the-night, illicit paperwork. Maybe a scandal is rocking the world of high school politics.

I slump into our father's Barcalounger, the one no one else is allowed to sit in if he's around, and try not to be too nosy. It was hard to miss the fact that some of the papers were written in Elvish. He slides everything under the couch and then sits primly down on it as if he's afraid he might crush his paperwork.

“So, how long are you planning to be in town?” he asks. His demeanor is making me even more curious about what he's trying to hide.

“What are you, interviewing me for the school paper?”

“Shut up,” he says, finally smiling after what seems like forever. He's like a piñata of tension. I'm about to comment on it when there's a shriek in the hallway.

“Ezra!”

“Hi, Ma,” I say, standing up to give her a hug and let her kiss me way too many times. My mom is a kisser. She kisses everyone. She'll kiss anyone if they stand still long enough. And if they don't, she'll chase them down.

“Maurice,” she screams in between laying kisses on my forehead. “Maurice! Ezra's home!”

My father runs down the stairs in boxer shorts and a deep-cut V-neck undershirt, as usual. It's the image of childhood breakfasts. He adjusts his glasses at the bottom of the stairs.

“Ezra,” he says with a grin. “It's good to see you.”

He pulls me away from my mom and gives me a hug that lasts a long time, with plenty of pats on the back. He smells the same, like peppermint and aftershave. He used to always smell like tobacco, too, but my mom finally made him stop smoking a pipe.

“We had no idea you were coming,” she says, straightening my hoodie like it's school picture day. “Why didn't you tell us? I would have had something prepared.”

“It's fine, Ma,” I say. “I really don't need anything. I was just talking to Gideon.”

Our parents finally notice Gideon sitting on the couch, pouting like he's about three years old and not getting enough attention at a family gathering.

“I thought you went to bed hours ago,” Mom says.

“I did. But you forgot to tie me down,” he mutters, crossing his arms.

I laugh. I can't help it.

My father tsks but smiles, and my mother ignores Gideon.

Kid's got sass and sarcasm down pat. It's really the only way to make it through being a teenager in this house. I totally understand.

And then my dad asks the question I've been worried to answer.

“So what are you doing here, pal?”

“Just wanted to see you guys,” I say.

I don't tell them that I ran out of money. I don't tell them that I'm here indefinitely. For now I'll let them shower me with food and praise and let them act like it's not two o'clock in the morning.

But I'll have to tell them soon enough.

 

five

Kyle

I spend a lot of time during the next week trying to be invisible. This isn't really a recent development. I've always been more comfortable with being out of the spotlight. But between all this attention from the team winning state and my problems with English and my fight with Ruby, I need some “me time.” This has been made much easier by the fact that it's Passover so Gideon has all these seders to go to with his family, leaving my evenings wide open to hide under my bed. Not just under the covers, but literally under my bed. I need that much coverage.

The biggest activity I really focus on is avoiding Ms. Gupta. No matter how much effort I put into pretending I'm not in class, she always seems to call on me. I need to work harder on not existing.

I figured that after I spent the whole weekend and most of this week working on her extra-credit assignment, maybe she'd go easy on me. I was wrong. I am always wrong.

Yesterday she wanted me to answer a question about how two random books we read this year were connected. I barely remember either of them. How can I possibly know what themes connect them? If she's so smart, she should already know how they're connected and not have to ask people about it.

What really sucks about the whole situation in her class is that I want to answer. Like, it would be awesome to be one of those kids, one of those people, who just understand things and answer questions like it's nothing. I don't think I ever noticed before how much I don't
get
. But, like, I do fine in all my classes. Unless maybe I'm not doing fine in all my classes and my teachers can't stand me so they keep passing me along.

That doesn't seem possible.

Obviously, they might not like me, that's completely possible, but the idea that they would pass a student just to get rid of them seems unlikely. It would seem to go against everything they believe as teachers.

Of course Ms. Gupta pulls me aside as I'm leaving class on Friday afternoon. But now that basketball is over, I have no excuse to make a fast getaway, even if Ruby is meeting me at my locker. Meeting your girlfriend to hang out isn't considered reason enough not to talk to your teacher, I would assume.

But this afternoon was special because Ruby finally doesn't have to babysit for once. She's always had a lot of responsibility at home, but lately it seems like there's more and more. I don't want to miss even a couple of minutes of hanging out with her, but I guess I have no choice.

“I finished going over your extra credit,” Ms. Gupta says.

I make a noise somewhere between a yawn and a groan. Invisible people should not make noise.
Pretend to be a tree, pretend to be a tree
, I tell myself.
Trees don't speak.

“It's not great, Kyle. I'm a little concerned that you rushed through it.”

She seems to be waiting for me not to be a tree, but all I can manage to do is chew on my bottom lip.

“It's enough to push you into D range for the marking period, but that's not exactly a victory. I think you need to consider getting a tutor.”

“Oh.”

“If you could pull your grade up to a B next marking period, this blip won't seem so bad in the grand scheme of things. I'm still a little worried that there's something else going on, but you don't have to tell me about it.”