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He thought again of how vulnerable Omar had seemed when talking about dating.“I want a real connection, with someone who actually likes you back.”That bugged Anthony, because they had that already. Not in the romantic sense. They were only friends, but how much better could it get? Every minute spent together was perfection. And apparently that wasn’t enough. Omar wanted more. But then, if Anthony was honest with himself, he wanted more too.

I know what I am.

He stared at these words, his breath short when he brought the pen close to the paper again. After a moment of hesitation, he hastily added,I’m gay.

Anthony inhaled, his pulse racing. With fear? Excitement? He’d reached the same conclusion before, after years of it being a long drawn-out suspicion. Anthony could still remember a particular recess during the sixth grade, back when hanging out with a group of guys meant trying to impress each other with whatever scraps of adult knowledge they’d managed to piece together. One of them had finally put a title on it for him. What itactuallymeant to be gay. The real meaning behind the insult. Much like the term bastard, there was a technicality that made someone qualify. Anthony had experienced a terrifying thrill when hearing another boy describe it. He wasn’t a bastard, no, but hewasa fag.

Little had changed since then. He remained both fearful ofand strangely drawn to the thought of being with another guy. And he was almost okay with that until he thought about how the rest of the world would react—how the people in his life would turn their backs in disgust. Even his best friend.

Anthony returned the tip of the pen to that dangerous little word so he could scribble it out. Worried that someone might be able to decipher it anyway, he didn’t stop until the pen had worn a hole through the paper. Even then he tore the remainder into shreds that were buried at the very bottom of his trashcan.

Anthony knew what he was. That was no revelation. But he also knew what he’d have to pretend to be if he wanted people to keep loving him.

CHAPTER 3

September 8th, 1992

Omar waited outside the journalism classroom, his camcorder safely stowed in his locker. He didn’t carry it with him everywhere. Mostly because people found it insufferable. But on the first day of school? He didn’t regret documenting that moment in history, despite it not living up to his fantasies. Although there had been a glimmer of hope toward the end.

When he saw his best friend coming down the hall, Omar wished he did have his camcorder, because Anthony always looked so damn cool. Sort of like John Cusack, but not fromSay Anythingwhen he stood around with a dumb boombox over his head. More likeBetter Off Deadwhen he fixed up that badass Camaro with the sexy French girl.

Anthony was wearing a black T-shirt that was all torn up, and another beneath it, blood red, that showed through, like someone had slashed him with a knife on the way to school. His hair was short on the sides and messy on top, which was probably an attempt to copy Morrissey. Anthony was into some weird music, but Omar liked that about him. The man had style, taste… and he was freaking smart! That’s why it sucked they weren’t allowed to work together for this class. Omar needed the boost it would’ve given his grades.

“Day two,” he said when they were close enough to hear each other over the chaos in the hall. “Did your brother make you hide on the way here?”

“Only when we got close to the school,” Anthony replied, rolling his eyes. “He’s worse when you’re with me, for some reason.”

“Well he can shove it, because I don’t need a ride today.”

“You don’t?”

“No, I have to meet…” Omar glanced around and lowered his voice. “I have to meet Ricky after school to work on that paper.”

Anthony winced in sympathy. “Wanna hang out after?”

“I don’t think I’ll have time. I’m hoping we can get it all done in one go. But if you miss me too much, you could always call.”

They both stared at each other before cracking up. Guysdidn’t talk on the phone. Not to each other. Now if a girl was on the other end of the line, that changed everything.

“Hey!” Omar said. “I forgot to tell you. Remember that hot chick who works at the record shop you like? The one downtown.”

Anthony’s brow furrowed before he shook his head. “You mean at Right Round Records?”

“Yeah! You know who I’m talking about?”

“I guess.”

“What do you mean, you guess?” Omar demanded.

Anthony shrugged. “I’ve chatted with the owner a little.”

A guy with huge hairy arms that were always on display because he only wore sleeveless shirts, even in the dead of winter. Anthony rememberedhim, but not the pretty girl who—

“Hi guys,” said a new voice.

Mindy Beaumont. Back in the second grade, Omar had gotten in trouble for putting gum in her hair. He wondered if she still remembered that.

“Hey,” his best friend said. “I’ll meet you inside. We’re just catching up.”