Page 33 of I Can’t Even Think Straight

Meet the Author—Lunchtime—The Library

The Author is selling and signing books

in the library at lunchtime,

but I feel too embarrassed to wait in line

in case he remembers me as one of the boys

Mr. Ndour pointed out as acting up.

The Author’s book is on display

with the other LGBTQ+ books.

Something about this makes me feel

uncomfortable on his behalf.

I spot Jyoti in line, so I ask her,

“Will you get one signed for me?”

I hold out a ten, one-quarter of

my pocket money, at arm’s length.

Jyoti turns to some younger kids behind her

and says, “You don’t mind if Kai joins me, do you?”

It’s not a question and we all know it.

They shrug and go back to chatting.

“Can you just get it signed?” I ask again.

“I’m too embarrassed from assembly.”

“But you’ve said

you want to be an author,

and you’re gay.

And here’s a gay author.

You’ve got to take the opportunity

when it’s in front of you.”

I take plenty of opportunities, I think.

I took the opportunity to come out to The Boys.

I took the opportunity to ask out Obi.

“What’s the opportunity here?” I ask Jyoti.

“You can ask him to read your work,”

Jyoti says, like it’s obvious.

“You can ask him to mentor you

or introduce you to his agent.”

The line shuffles forward

and so does Jyoti.

She feels a million steps ahead of me.

“I’m not ready for any of that,” I say.

“I just want a signed book.

I haven’t even read this book.

It might not be any good.”

I laugh and so does Jyoti.

It makes me happy to make her laugh.

She’s a sweet person,

if a little try-hard sometimes,

and a massive gossip.

She remembered that I wanna be an author,

but I’ve no idea what she wants to be. So, I ask her.

“Do you wanna be an author, too?”

“I’ve always thought I wanted to be

a journalist because I love stories.

Stories about people in particular,

and I like to know what’s going on.”

I can’t resist teasing her a bit.

“You mean you like to gossip?”

“You could call it that.” Jyoti smirks.

“I call it gossip,” I tell her,

“because that’s what it is.”

For a moment I worry I’m being too harsh,

but Jyoti laughs again.

“Anyway,” she continues,

“I was about to say I found it interesting

when The Author talked about

his relationship with his editor.

I like the idea of helping

someone to tell their story,

to make it clear and compelling.

It was fascinating to me

when he said sometimes reality

is less convincing than fiction.”

“Yes, I bet it was,” I say,

with a bombastic side-eye

as I kiss my teeth at her.

We both laugh.

The line shuffles forward again;

we shuffle forward, too.

Jyoti gives me a wry smile.

“You know, if you’re looking

for an editor for your writing,

I’d be happy to take a look.”

I’m warmed by Jyoti’s offer,

but I’m not ready to take her up on it.

I’m not sure I trust her yet:

I could happily hand her a ten-pound bill,

but I couldn’t imagine

handing her my notebook.

I guess my face shows it.

“No pressure,” Jyoti says, smiling

but crestfallen.

“I just thought I’d put it out there.

I’m going to ask The Author

if he can arrange for me

to do work experience with his editor.”

We shuffle forward for a third time,

and now there are only two students

between us and The Author.

Mrs. James takes my ten,

and gives me my change:

one pound and one penny.

She writes my name on a sticky note,

to make sure The Author spells it correctly.

Then the same again for Jyoti.

I decide to stay in line with her

to meet The Author.