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Chapter Nineteen

Avery

EVERY TIME SOMEONE enters the library, my head pops up from my laptop. It’s never him, but it always could be, and I can’t stop myself from checking.

I have a free afternoon, and I dragged myself out of the house and to the library in the hopes of making some progress on my research project for Diego’s class. I wanted to do this at home, but it quickly became clear that the only thing I would do at home is chase my thoughts in circles, just as I have been since Sunday. I was hoping being at the library would force me to focus, but so far it hasn’t been much better. I can’t stop myself from looking for him every time someone enters the building. I know he comes here sometimes, but I also know we’re supposed to be playing it cool. It’s been a couple days and nothing has happened, but when I texted Diego he said he’d feel better waiting a little longer.

It doesn’t help my cause that working on this research project reminds me of him. He helped me find so many good sources. With the materials he guided me toward, the drag show, and the resources I found on my own, this is shaping up to be a huge paper. I’m worried I’ll have too much material, which is kind of wild in a field where primary sources can be tricky to come by.

Even so, there’s a couple difficult sections that I’m not sure how to iron out. Like those first-hand accounts from the ‘80s and ‘90s that Diego steered me toward. I’m not sure I’m using those the best way I can. They’re not exactly scientific, and sometimes the source is dubious, but I’m determined to weave them into the paper regardless.

There’s someone who’d have good advice for me about how to use those documents, someone who would be able to mentor me from experience. But I’m currently supposed to be acting like I barely know him.

I sigh at my laptop. I’ve managed a few paragraphs, but it’s been like walking through waist-high sand, every bit of progress a struggle.

More people enter the library. I tell myself not to look up, not to bother checking when it definitely won’t be him. Am I really that desperate and pathetic, chasing some guy after only two days of separation?

I give in and look up, bracing for disappointment.

But this time it’s him.

He meets my eyes and holds them for a moment. But then he turns away, heading off into the library. I can’t tell if there was more to that look than simple recognition, but I start packing up my things anyway. Two days is long enough. Nothing has happened. No one has said a word about seeing us or suspecting anything. As Diego himself said, if the department thought there was some ethical violation going on here, they wouldn’t wait to bring it up.

I nearly drop books in my haste to bundle them up and get them into my bag. I keep looking up to see where Diego went. At one point, I lose track of him amid the stacks in the library. Then I spot him on the second floor, moving toward the study rooms in the far corner. He doesn’t look back at me, but a little piece of me wants to interpret that as an invitation. The study rooms are private. Why go there after meeting my eyes across the room unless you wanted me to follow?

I get my things in my bag and throw it over my shoulder. I scoop up my laptop as well, the cord for the charger dangling as I hurry to gather everything. My bag is hanging open as I take off across the library, my disheveled state garnering more than a couple curious looks from students attempting to study. If my goal was to be stealthy and low-key, I am failing spectacularly.

On the second floor, I take a breath and pause. The study rooms are behind the stacks, a couple glass-walled cubbies that contain a table and a couple chairs. They’re meant to be even more private than the rest of the library, a place to hunker down and work in total silence. Today, they’re mostly empty, except for the one where Diego sits with books and a laptop around him.

He notices me coming toward him and straightens up in his chair. I get the impression he isn’t thrilled to see me headed his direction, but I let myself into his study room anyway, out of breath from the short walk through the library.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

His guarded tone withers some of my excitement at seeing him. It’s only been two days, but I was hoping to get more from him after the way we left things on Sunday. He opened up so much to me. What could have happened since he walked out my door to make him shut down again?

“Studying?” I say.

“Yeah.” He waves at the books and laptop around him.

“Me too. I mean, I’ve been here for a while, but I was studying. I was working on the research project for your class, actually.”

“You don’t need to be working on that already. It’s only October.”

“I know, but I want to. Whenever I have free time I do a little bit on it. That way I won’t have to stress out at the end of the semester. It’s not all that often I have free time between classes and the café.”

“And you just happen to have free time right now,” Diego says.

“Hey, I was here first,” I point out. “You’re the one who showed up to my study session.”

“I didn’t sit at your table,” Diego says, but a hint of a smile tugs at his mouth.

I roll my eyes. “No, but you could have. You don’t have to run away like you don’t even know me.”

“Don’t I?”

The question hangs between us. I take the seat across from him. The door is closed, but I lower my voice anyway.

“It’s been two days, Diego. No one has said anything. We’re fine.”

“Two days isn’t that long.”

“I think it’s long enough to know if the whole department is having a meltdown over an illicit…”

I almost said relationship, but bit it back just in time. This isn’t a relationship, obviously. It’s one hookup and a lot of making out and longing. Not that it couldn’t be a relationship. I could have spent all of Sunday working on essays while Diego sat there reading in my living room. I could have done all those normal, couple-y things without a bit of hesitation. But he had to go. He had to play it safe. And I understand, but I’m about at my breaking point when it comes to “safe. ”

Diego sighs. Before he can tell me why we shouldn’t even sit in a library together, I cut in.

“I understand why you need to be careful,” I say. “I do. But do you really think it’s fair to treat me like a stranger?”

Diego’s warm brown eyes watch me. Something moves in his jaw as he chews over his response.

“No,” he says. “But it’s still dangerous for me to spend too much time around you on campus. I like you too much. It’s going to be obvious.”

All of my frustration deflates in a rush. Diego really needs to stop doing this. Ever since Saturday night, he’s been casually lobbing out these declarations like they’re nothing. He’s so blunt that he could be describing the weather, but hearing him say, again, that he really does like me almost rocks me out of my chair. How can he simultaneously be so forthright and so withdrawn?

“And,” Diego goes on. It takes me a second to pull myself back into the conversation. “And I’m … I’m not sure how much I belong here. I don’t know if I’m cut out for a place like this. I want to get my degree, but I miss home. I miss my small town. I miss the crappy gay bar and the fudge shop and my parents’ house. I don’t want to promise you things I’m not actually sure I can give you.”

Just like that, any surge of joy I might have felt drops away as my stomach plummets into my shoes.

“You’re leaving?” I say.

“No. Not right now. I have to at least give it a semester, right? But after that … I’m not sure.”

“You’re not sure? Don’t you want your grad degree? What’s the point of all this if you don’t even finish?”

Diego is looking down at the table, refusing to meet my gaze. The air in the study room suddenly seems thinner, and I can’t get enough of it into my lungs.

“You can’t just give up,” I say. “You worked so hard for this. You said yourself that there aren’t enough people in your field. How can you throw this away so easily?”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Diego says. “I just … don’t belong here. This place is so different. Maybe it’s best if I do my work back home, where I belong.”

He finally meets my eyes. His are wavering, searching, like I might have an answer.

I dare to reach across the table and take his hand, not caring who might be roaming the library on the other side of those glass walls. He doesn’t pull away, but his gaze darts to the glass for a moment.

“You’re trying to run again,” I say. “I get it. You’re scared. You’re overwhelmed. And when you’re scared and overwhelmed you usually run. But please don’t. Give yourself a chance, Diego. You deserve this. And you do belong. Do you not feel like you belong on campus? What about the drag show and the club? What makes you think you aren’t like everyone else? Let me show you. Please.”

I get that parts of the queer community have been academic concepts to him for a lot of his life, that his gay bar back home feels like a different universe than things like drag shows and psychedelic pop rooms in queer clubs, but he does belong here just as much as me or anyone else.

“No one but you is chasing you out of here,” I say. “Study with me. Just one time.”

“Avery,” he says in warning.

“It’s just a study session. Come here with me one day. We’ll use one of these private rooms. All we’ll do is work. I swear. Give yourself a chance to belong here. Give me a chance. Challenge yourself to not run away this time, just to see what happens.”

“I can’t seem like I’m giving you any favorable treatment.”

“You won’t be. You’ll be acting as my TA, as my peer, my mentor. Those sources you sent me are fantastic, but I’m having trouble working them into my paper as seamlessly as I want to. Don’t laugh. I’m not lying. I really could use your help.”

The slightest of smiles graces his lips. I release his hand, forcing myself to sit back. If he’s going to stay, he has to make the choice himself.

“No one else even requests my office hours,” he grumbles.

“Slackers.”

He snorts a laugh. “Or maybe you’re an over-achiever.”

“Does that mean you’ll do it? We can have a study … meeting.” I wanted to say date, but I’ve finally made some he adway in this conversation. I’m not going to ruin it.

Diego sighs. “How do you keep doing this?” he mumbles. “Yes,” he says louder, “we can meet to study. I’ll help you with your sources.”

I spring to my feet and gather up my stuff before he can change his mind. I could stay here longer, but this feels like a win and I want to bask in it. I want to show him that I can walk away and be normal and life will move on.

“Yes! Fantastic,” I say. “I’ll text you a time. I have to get to the café. But no disappearing between now and then, understand? No running.”

He rolls his eyes and waves me off. I go, but even though I smile, my heart is heavy. It’s been barely over a month and Diego has one foot out of the door. He’s trying to flee Montridge before I’ve even gotten a real shot with him. And I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to stop him.