Page 37 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

I spend all of Saturday in bed being depressed. Hunter texts me wanting to hang out again, and I ignore it. He calls me. I

ignore it.

I can’t bring myself to get my poetry notebook out of my desk, but I find myself really wanting to get out my pent-up shit

about Jamal. So, I type it in my notes app instead.

J is for just a friend. Just a test from God, or the devil. Just the reason I’m going to hell. Just the reason I’m still here.

A is for attempt. I tried to be good enough for him, but I’m not. So I tried to forget instead.

M is for magic. Enchanting and bewitching in the best way, until I disappeared in a puff of smoke. Maybe I was the illusion

all along.

A is for always. Always understanding. Always on my mind. Always without him.

L is for lost. L is for light. L is for laugh. Love. Lost. Lucky. Lost.Lost.

An email notification finally pulls me out of my brooding. I haven’t checked my email since I got that message from my dad, but I doubt I’ve missed much other than spam. This subject line and preview, while still Bible related, feels a lot less earth-shattering.

Subject: horoverse of the day

Moni and I had a nice talk about...

When I open up the Gmail app on my phone to read Abuela’s message, the email from my dad taunts me. It takes all my willpower

not to click and fixate on that instead. I haven’t been able to bring myself to delete his message, but I know if I open it,

I’ll go spiraling again. I finally force myself to click on the one from my grandma instead.

Subject: horoverse of the day

Moni and I had a nice talk about the horoverse from today, and I thought you might like to hear about it. I got your email

address from your mami since I haven’t heard from you yet. I’m sure you’re busy so I won’t keep you long, but I wanted to

share today’s scripture as it made me think of you.

Can a fig tree, my brothers, bear olives, or a grapevine produce figs? Neither can a salt pond yield fresh water.

Ha! Maybe we’re just a couple of fig trees trying to make grapes. Silly, isn’t it? We beat ourselves up over not being able

to make grapes when we could be enjoying the free figs! Your mami actually told me something like this when she was younger,

and I brushed it off.

For years, your mami was stuck on milk and wouldn’t drink anything else. She absolutely loved oranges, so I thought if I tricked her into trying orange juice by saying it was milk, she’d realize how much she loves it and be able to branch out.

I should have known that was a mistake. Not only did she lose trust in me, but she was repulsed by orange juice for another

decade. She may love orange juice now, but it took her so long to warm back up to it. She later told me she would have loved

orange juice if I hadn’t pretended it was something it wasn’t. That it was the expectation, not the taste that ruined it for

her.

I want you to remember this when you feel pressured to be anything other than your natural self. We may not be able to control

what others expect from us, but we can start by accepting ourselves for who we are, and enjoying whatever fruit we happen

to bear (however forbidden it may be).

At first I can’t help but wonder if Abuela knows I’m bi. If that’s yet another thing Dr. Lee or even my mom snitched on me

about. Is she trying to encourage me to accept my sexuality? Does she know about Jamal? But then logic resurfaces, and I realize

she’s talking about bipolar. Which would be much more relevant for me and Abuela.

Before I can read too much into it, there’s a thump on my bedroom window, like a small bird flew into it or something. I’m

too depressed to get up and check it out, so I just roll over in bed.

Another thump.

The hell?

After a third thump, I finally get up and go to my window, opening the blinds to see Hunter standing outside with a few pebbles

in hand. I open it.

“Hunter? What are you doing here?” I ask, my manners completely missing in my depression haze.

“I’m gonna break you out of here,” he says with a determined look.

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re grounded, right? What kind of friend would I be if I let you stay cooped up in your house with no contact with the

outside world for months ?”

Guilt swirls around in my chest again. He thinks that’s why I haven’t been answering his calls or texts. And yeah, I am kind

of grounded, but I have my phone. I have access to the outside world. I just don’t have the energy to enter it.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m okay, really,” I say.

“The world hasn’t stopped turning, bro. I’m not gonna let you waste away stuck in here alone when I could be taking you to

your first-ever college party. I’m officially kidnapping you.” He smirks and puffs out his chest.

I laugh, and Hunter steps toward me, grabbing my wrist and practically yanking me out the window.

“I’m not ready!” I protest, but he doesn’t stop.

“You look fine. And I’m kidnapping you, remember? You don’t have to be ready.”

I let out an actual giggle as he pulls me out the window. You know what, why the hell not? I could use a drink or four.

We rush into Hunter’s car and drive. I expect us to be heading to downtown Tempe near ASU, hence the whole college-party label, but we end up going closer to where I have therapy.

“This is your first college party, right?” Hunter asks.

“Yup,” I say, a small amount of excitement admittedly coming out in my voice.

“Glad I get to be the one to pop your cherry.” Hunter grins as we pull up to a neighborhood I recognize from the last time

I was in his car. “So, I have a surprise for you.”

The excitement vanishes.

“You invited Avery?” I ask as we watch Avery sneak out his own bedroom window.

“Yeah, I invited your whole group! I thought you’d have a better time if I wasn’t the only person you knew at the party.”

He grins earnestly, and I do my best to keep the dread from showing on my face. “Besides, I really like Avery! We went to

that concert last night.”

“Oh, that’s cool,” I say in the most this-is-incredibly-uncool way, but Hunter doesn’t notice. I don’t think he’s the type to go running his mouth about me, but you can’t trust anyone these days.

Avery climbs into the back seat, and I do my best not to show how annoyed I am that he’s even here.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest or something? Pretty sure a party doesn’t count as stopping for food,” I say, hoping

maybe Avery just hasn’t realized how stupid an idea this is and backs out last minute.

Instead of answering, Avery grabs his leg by the ankle and raises it in the air above the center console. It’s somehow bracelet

free.

“Got moved to unsupervised probation, so I’m not on house arrest anymore. As long as I keep meeting with my PO and stay out of trouble, I can go wherever I want.”

“Any chance you took your lawyer’s advice about Nick?” I ask, hoping Avery grew the balls to snitch, but he just scoffs.

“Do I look like I have a death wish? No.”

“Who’s Nick?” Hunter asks.

“Oh, Avery didn’t tell you about Nick? Huh, wonder why?” I know I shouldn’t be antagonizing Avery now that he’s got a little

more freedom, but I can’t help it. For a second, Avery almost looks nervous. Like he’s afraid I’ll tell Hunter I’m his best

friend’s favorite punching bag. For some reason, I end up choosing peace. “He’s Avery’s friend.”

Luckily Hunter’s phone buzzes, which distracts him from talk-ing about Nick. He glances down at his phone, then back at the

road.

“So, uh, heads up,” he says in that weird voice that feels both super serious but also pretends to be nonchalant.

“What?” I ask when he takes too long to finish his thought.

“Um, Sasha just told me he brought Jamal to the party.”

“Cool,” I say, trying not to sound tense at the insinuation I’d have a problem with Jamal going to the party with Sasha. Not

because I don’t have a problem, but because Avery’s literally right here. I don’t want Avery to put together that Jamal was the one I wrote

that note to back in sophomore year—the whole reason Nick decided to put a target on my back. He doesn’t say anything, though,

so hopefully it’s safe.

I reach forward and turn up the music so I don’t have to pretend not to feel weird about any of this.

Sasha brought Jamal to the party. Which means they’ve been hanging out, probably ever since that open mic.

Was Sasha the one who gave Jamal that hickey?

Are they together now? Not that it’s any of my business. ...

I spend the rest of the ride trying so hard not to think about it that it’s all I can think about. Soon enough, we’re pulling

up to a street with cars parked along the sidewalk. We hop out of the car, and Avery and I awkwardly follow Hunter inside.

It looks like the rest of my group-therapy friends haven’t made it yet, so Hunter introduces us to a few of his friends. But

before long, he turns to Avery and me to say, “I’m gonna see what they have to drink. Be right back,” and then walks away,

completely unaware of the tension he’s left behind.

And then my stomach tightens even more when Hunter’s heads-up warning comes straight toward us.

Sasha comes up first, with Jamal stumbling right behind him. Sasha waves at me, and I nod back.

“Anyone seen the money shot? I promised this one I’d find it for him,” Sasha says, gesturing at Jamal like he’s about to win

him a giant teddy bear at a fair.

“Money shot?” Avery asks.

“Every time Ethan throws a party, he hides a money shot somewhere. I don’t think anyone’s ever actually tried to find it, but I’m here to break generational curses,” Sasha says

before looking from Jamal to me, like he can smell the tension. “It’s Cesar, right?”

I nod, fully at a loss for words. Jamal seems to be too.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” Sasha says to Avery next, like he’s trying to diffuse the awkwardness. Does he know about me and Jamal? Thankfully, it seems like I’m the only one who remembers Avery was at that open mic.