Page 34 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

“Okay, you can do this,” I say to myself in the bathroom mirror. I pat my pockets to triple-check that I have at least two

condoms in one and a mini bottle of lube in the other. I spritz myself with a few sprays of the cologne Jamal got for me.

The irony is hard to ignore, both for the fact that the cologne is meant for single guys, and for the fact that it was my

ex-boyfriend who got it for me, all while I’m using it to try to impress my girlfriend. I let out a slow breath. “You can

do this,” I repeat.

Just as I’m about to open the door to sneak out, the door leading to Yami’s room opens. At first, she looks concerned, but

only for a split second. Like she forgot she’s supposed to hate me, and she thinks I’m just having insomnia again. But then

she looks me up and down, and she must realize I’m fully dressed and ready to go out.

“Where are you going?” she asks. It’s the first time she’s spoken to me since the day I came home from Abuela’s.

“Out,” I deflect, and it’s then that I realize she looks about ready to leave the house too, hoops on and everything. “Where

are you going?” I throw the question back at her.

“To Bo’s.” Yami lets a small smile slip for just a moment before she glares at me again. “Where are you going?”

I want to laugh because Yami and I aren’t new to playing this game. We deflect and keep asking the same question until one

of us caves, but I’m not caving today.

Then my phone starts buzzing from its place next to the sink, and Bianca’s name lights up the screen. Yami’s eyes dart to

the phone, and I jump into action and grab it, silencing the call, but it’s too late. She saw the name.

“Are you serious?” she hisses in a loud whisper.

“You’re not gonna snitch, are you?” I ask. I’m used to Yami bending over backward to protect me from my mom, not snitching.

But I’m on her bad side now. Who knows what she’ll do?

“I should,” she threatens, hands on her hips.

“I’ll tell Mom you’re sneaking out too, then,” I shoot back.

Then we have a glaring contest for what feels like ages before she finally turns and heads out the door. I wait as long as

is reasonable before following her. Bianca’s call means she’s waiting for me. I thank God we’re neighbors, so she doesn’t

have to pick me up. Seeing Yami and Bianca run into each other in the driveway would not be pretty.

I watch out the window until I see Yami get in Bo’s car, and they drive off. Once they’re gone, I quickly slip out the door

and jog over to Bianca’s. I call her instead of knocking on the door, half thinking if I knocked her mom would answer or something.

But of course she’s home alone. She answers the door instead of the phone.

She’s wearing a mesh black robe, see-through enough that the outlines of her black lace bra and underwear are visible underneath.

“Wow... ,” I say breathlessly, and she smiles like my reaction is exactly what she was going for.

“Get in here.” She grabs my hand and pulls me inside and toward the living room.

I haven’t been in Bianca’s house since she and Yami were still best friends. She’s clearly cleaned for me, since I remember

this house being a lot messier. It’s not pristine or anything, but the floors are swept and the clutter is gone.

Coming back here reminds me how much of a betrayal this is. But when Bianca drops her robe to reveal her near-naked body,

the thought vanishes from my mind.

“Wow... ,” I say again, and she grins.

“Aren’t you in AP English? Could have sworn your vocabulary was a little bigger.” She laughs, but it’s warm.

I return the laugh, nervously, while she pulls me over to the couch and makes a show of pushing me down on it. She straddles

me and leans forward, planting a few kisses on my lips, jaw, neck. Her hands travel down my chest while mine discover hers.

She scoots up so her breasts are right in front of my face, and I hope Bianca can’t feel the quiver in my lips when I kiss

them. All I can think about right now is how this should be easy. This should be second nature for me. It should be fun.

And to an extent, it is. I like the feeling of Bianca’s lips on mine. Her breasts in my palms. Her hand between my legs.

But as fun as it is, it doesn’t feel right .

Jamal felt right. But according to Father John, those thoughts were wrong. According to Father John, this is what’s right. This is what I should be doing.

This should be easy.

Then Bianca kisses me harder and pulls away, looking deeply into my eyes. Usually I feel like I can read people pretty well, but I can’t place her expression at all.

“I love you,” she says as she unzips my pants and sticks her hand under my boxers.

My breath grows heavy, but it’s not because she’s got her hand wrapped around my now deflating boner. My chest gets tight,

and the air gets thinner, and every breath comes out ragged and strained.

I think I’m having a panic attack.

“I have to go,” I blurt out, then push her off me and make a run for the door.

When group comes around again and everyone’s sharing their good news from the last week, I keep quiet like I always do. But

I do pay attention this time since I’m trying not to think about all the unanswered texts I have from Bianca, who’s been trying

to get ahold of me since Friday.

Avery usually doesn’t say much unless prompted either, but today he’s the first to volunteer something. “That lawyer who’s

trying to help me found another angle, so I might actually be able to get this stupid thing off soon.” He gestures to his

ankle.

I’m not proud to admit the news deflates me. I mean, I’m not super into the U.S.’s punitive justice system, but I was kind

of hoping Avery would cave and snitch on Nick to get free.

After a few others share their good news, Dr. Lee moves on to the topic of the day: relationships.

So of course everyone uses that as an excuse to talk about their love lives.

I know I should be talking about my girlfriend and how I’ve been avoiding her since she told me she loved me, but all I can think about is Jamal and how I’m going to have to spend more time with him for that fucking astronomy project that for some reason counts for half our grade.

I end up blurting out something about having to do my senior project with my ex to get Dr. Lee off my back about never participating.

I’m careful not to gender Jamal, only calling him the ex, since I don’t want anyone here knowing I’m bi just yet. Or ever.

I push the thought down that Avery knows. When I look up at him, he doesn’t look away this time.

“At least you have an ex,” he says in a tone I can’t quite place. “I never even had a first kiss.” Is he trying to make nice

with me or something? I glare at him to let him know it’s not working, and he looks away.

“I just had mine yesterday!” Aaron says excitedly, grinning so hard his lips might fall off.

“Ooooh! With movie-theater girl?” Zo asks, leaning forward in amusement. Maybe I should pay attention in group more often, because I don’t remember Aaron talking about a movie-theater girl.

Aaron blushes and nods. “Yeah. It was our fourth time going on a movie date, so I decided it was time. Apparently, she’s been

waiting for me to kiss her for ages.” He laughs. “But don’t worry, Avery, I’m sure you’ll get your first kiss soon!”

“I seriously doubt it.” Avery laughs humorlessly. “I did my, uh, residential treatment when I was thirteen. Kind of put me

off from the whole thing.”

“Wait, why would going inpatient put you off kissing?” Aaron asks what I might have, if I cared to know.

Avery stares at the ground while he answers. “Uh, I didn’t go inpatient. More like, me and some other kids had to stay somewhere for a while for, um, like, a treatment program.”

“You mean like sober living?” Aaron asks.

“Not really, I don’t know....” Avery shuffles a hand through his hair. “Can you just tell the new guys, Zo? I’m getting

a little...” He trails off as his eyes kind of lose focus, and he doesn’t finish the sentence.

“He’s talking about conversion therapy,” Zo says, and that finally has me interested. Avery did conversion therapy... and

it worked? I didn’t even know people still did that.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry,” Aaron says. “I didn’t mean to push it.”

“It’s cool,” Avery says, but he still doesn’t look up.

“So, we were talking about relationships, right?” Zo asks, and Avery looks relieved for the subject change. “Congrats on kissing

movie-theater girl!”

“Thanks,” Aaron says, back to smiling.

“I’m proud of you.” Dr. Lee smiles. “See, a lot of people think that people with SMIs can’t be in successful relationships,

but look at our diverse experiences right here!”

“Well, she doesn’t know I’m borderline...,” Aaron says, slumping in his seat. “I don’t know how to tell her. Or when.

If I ever do.”

“Don’t feel pressured to tell her before you’re ready.” Zo leans over and squeezes his shoulder.

“Anyways, what about you, Zo? How are things going with you and your man?” Aaron asks. He sure has a lot of questions. I’m

just glad they’re not directed at me.

“Ughhh,” Zo groans. “He thinks he’s straight .” They put finger quotes around “straight.” “But he can’t be straight if he’s attracted to me , right? I’m not a girl !” They throw their hands up in frustration, and now it’s Aaron’s turn to squeeze Zo’s shoulder.

“Have you talked to your partner about your frustration?” Dr. Lee asks, all therapist-y.

“Yeah, but he just doesn’t get it!”

“You know,” Dr. Lee says, “your partner thinking he’s straight may have nothing to do with you at all. It can be difficult

to come to terms with your own sexuality. You can’t force someone to realize they’re queer before they’re ready. Maybe it

just takes some time.”

Dr. Lee glances at me for some reason, and I immediately look away.

It’s not like I haven’t come to terms with my sexuality. I have the opposite problem from Zo’s partner. I know I’m not straight.

Not yet. If Avery’s experience is anything to go by, maybe I can be. Maybe it just takes some time.