Page 2 of I Can’t Even Think Straight

On a Sun Lounger in Larnaca

“Oh my God, they’re here,”

my best friend Vass whispers in my ear.

Their long, flowing hair tickles my shoulder.

Vass’s fresh application of sunblock

invades my nostrils as their pale, long, lean body

invades my personal space as usual.

“It’s the last day of our holiday.

You gonna talk to Local Boy today?” I ask.

I don’t look up from the book I’m reading:

Gay Club! by Simon James Green.

I don’t need to look up to feel

Vass’s eyes roll.

I know what they wanna say:

Don’t assume their gender!

But if Local Boy isn’t cis,

I don’t know who is.

We’ve been referring to him as Local Boy

because we don’t know his name.

He’s tall, tanned, toned, and has six-pack abs.

He’s so comfortable in his olive skin,

it’s hard to look at him

without making comparisons,

so I don’t look at him.

Vass does enough for the both of us.

Since Vass first saw Local Boy

on the second day of our holiday,

we’ve abandoned our mums

to return to this specific spot

on this specific beach every day.

I’ve missed out on weeks

of mum-and-son quality time.

I guess I shouldn’t complain.

While Vass has been swooning,

I’ve done a ton of reading,

and written some poems in

my new sky-blue notebook.

My old notebooks at home

contain more poems, short stories,

and the start of a novel.

I dream of being an author,

but I’ve no idea how to

make that dream come true.

Mum will be reading right now, too.

She has a huge reading list for her master’s degree.

Mum works full-time, studies part-time,

and has a market stall side hustle.

Mum will be at the private beach.

A treat from Theía Estélla, Vass’s mum,

who is a literal angel to us.

Vass and I could be there with them,

but we’re at the public beach

because Vass has a crush on Local Boy.

“Don’t look now,” says Vass.

“I’m not looking.” I laugh.

“I want you to look,

but be discreet about it.

Check if Local Boy

is checking me out.”

Vass snatches the book I’m reading

and reclines in their sun lounger

under a sun umbrella.

They pretend to read

like a spy with a newspaper.

The book is upside down.

The angel on my shoulder tells me

to tell Vass to turn the book around.

The devil on my shoulder tells me

to take a photo to tease Vass with.

My phone makes the camera shutter sound.

“Τι κ?νει?? Μαλ?κα!” Vass hisses.

They drop the book and grab my phone.

I lean over to watch Vass zoom in

to the background of the photo.

Local Boy is either looking directly at Vass

or directly at the camera: at me.

It’s hard to tell because of the angle.

“I think this is the first time you haven’t

zoomed in on yourself in a photo,” I tease Vass.

“I think you’re right,” says Vass,

“I have to talk to them today.”

“I didn’t say you had to,” I reply.

“I asked if you were going to.

It’s fine to have a crush

without having to act on it.”

Vass waves away my words

like a fly that’s bothering them.

“Should I wave at them from here,

or be bold and go over there?”

A cool shadow looms large over us.

“Did you just take my photo?”

Vass and I scream, startled.

Local Boy smiles, friendly, pleased.

“Παναγ?α μου!” Vass laughs.

“What a way to make an entrance.

You frightened us.”

Vass bats their mascaraed eyelashes

and passes my phone back to me.

I pinch the screen to zoom out,

and hold my phone up defiantly.

“I was taking a photo of my best friend

and you just happened

to be in the background.”

I look around for Local Boy’s minions,

but he seems to be on his own today.

“Well, I’m still in the photo,”

says Local Boy,

“so, technically I was right.”

Local Boy pronounces all four syllables

of “tech-nic-cal-lee,”

as if it’s his word of the day.

“Do you like being right?”

Vass flirts with Local Boy.

“I can be wrong sometimes,”

Local Boy flirts back.

I roll my eyes and tut.

I snatch my book from Vass’s lap.

“I’m Vass, by the way.”

Vass puts out a hand,

which Local Boy takes

and slowly shakes.

“And my pronouns are

they, them, theirs.”

Local Boy eyes up

Vass’s long, aurora-manicured nails,

like Vass is an exotic

sea creature washed ashore.

“Nice to meet you, Vass.

I don’t think I’ve met

a nonbinary person before.”

“There’s a first time

for everything,” says Vass,

stretching out on their sun lounger

like a relaxed cat.

“So, what’s your name?”

The devil on my shoulder tells me

I should be angry

Vass hasn’t introduced me,

but my angel tells me

this is Vass’s moment.

“I’m Adonis,

and my pronouns are

he, him, his.”

Adonis turns to me

with an expectant smile.

“And you are?”

For a moment I forget I’m really here,

beside my best friend,

on a sun lounger in Larnaca,

and not watching this through a screen

or reading it in a book.

The way Adonis looks

directly at me, into me,

I wonder if this could be

my moment.

“Me?” I say.

“Yes, you.” Adonis laughs.

“Who are you?”

His “who” and “you” in his Cypriot accent

sound like the hoot-hoot-hooting of an owl

that echoes in my mind,

and reminds me of something I once read.

I remember it’s Skellig ,

my favorite book in primary school

and possibly my favorite book ever.

But unlike Skellig,

Adonis doesn’t appear to be

any kind of angel.