Page 4 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar
second, I can’t tell if he’s on to me or not.
After school, Yami and I get a ride home from Bo. She usually only gives us a ride on Wednesdays since our mom works late
that day, but lately she’s been offering all the time. We don’t live anywhere near Slayton, but Bo will take any excuse to
spend more time with Yami, which is a development Yami is absolutely thrilled about.
“Wanna hang out at a park or something?” Bo asks once we start getting close to our side of town. I guess the forty-minute drive wasn’t enough quality time.
Yami agrees right away. I kind of assume the invite is just for Yami and that I’ll be getting dropped off before they go,
but Bo tries coaxing me into it when I don’t respond right away.
“We should invite Jamal too!” Bo offers when we start passing his neighborhood, which gives my heart a little tug. I know
Bo is Yami’s person, but having people in my life who want to be around Jamal makes me happy. I want my friends to like him,
almost more than I want them to like me. Actually, definitely more.
“Sure,” I say as I shoot Jamal a quick text inviting him.
We end up pulling into the park in Jamal’s neighborhood so he can walk over. Just like the one on our block, this one is a
little run-down. It’s not so much a park as it is an open field with a couple of aluminum park tables at the edge of it and
two makeshift soccer goals on either side. Still, we’ve been coming here since we were kids, so it has that nostalgia appeal.
Growing up, this field was our Wembley Stadium, and the park tables were the stands holding the imaginary roaring crowd.
Now, though, it’s not Jamal who walks through the field to meet us. I swallow the lump in my throat when I hear a familiar
laugh coming from behind me. I turn my head to see Nick and a few of his friends gathering in the field before starting to
kick a ball around. I forgot he moved into Jamal’s neighborhood last year.
I quickly turn my head forward again so Nick can’t see my face. He either doesn’t realize I’m here, or they’re all ignoring
us, so I want to make that option easier for them. Yami sees me tense up and puts a hand on my shoulder.
“Should we leave?” she asks, and I shake my head.
“It’s fine. I already told Jamal we were here.” I don’t mention I also really don’t want to give Nick the satisfaction of
thinking I’m running away from him. “Let’s just talk about something else.”
Bo quickly takes the hint. “I can’t believe it’s already January,” she whines, slumping her head on Yami’s shoulder.
“Ugh, I know. I still don’t know what I’m doing for my senior project,” Yami responds, fully committed to distracting me.
“Don’t worry, me either. We still got time,” I say, trying to sound reassuring, but she just looks even more exasperated.
“You’re forgetting I’m the dumb one,” Yami says humorlessly, and my chest tightens. Does she really think that? I know I should
probably tell her it’s not true, but since school is so much easier for me, she’d just think I’m lying.
“Don’t say that, babe!” Bo frowns and takes Yami’s hand, but Yami keeps going.
“It’s true! You still have time, Cesar, because you’re gonna come up with something brilliant at the last second without even trying, and
you’ll set the curve like you always do.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault my brain’s so sexy!” I say with a shrug, hoping to lighten the mood. She shoves my shoulder with a
laugh.
“You’re right, I guess only one of us can be sexy on the outside.”
“Hey!” I shove her back. “Are you calling me ugly?”
“Aww, don’t listen to her, Cesar, you’re adorable!” Bo says through a laugh.
“Adorable, exactly! Just look at him!” Yami gestures toward me as she goes to pinch my cheek. “Ay, mira que cute!” she says like she’s cooing over a baby.
I pretend to gag as I slap her fingers away from my cheek. I swear, I haven’t gone a day without her holding the fact that
she’s a whole ten months older than me over my head.
Finally Jamal walks up and joins us at the table. I’m relieved we can change the subject now, but of course Yami won’t miss
an opportunity to embarrass me in front of literally anyone.
“I bet he agrees with me, don’t you, Jamal?”
“About what?” he asks as he sits next to me, just close enough that it feels like we should be touching even though we’re not.
“About Cesar being adorable,” Bo answers, and Yami goes for my cheeks again, but I snap at her fingers with my teeth, and
she pulls her hand back to her chest with a gasp.
Jamal grins. “I can’t argue with that.”
“That’s three against one. Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” Yami says with a shrug.
I shake my head with a dramatic sigh. “When mere mortals gaze upon the face of an angel, of course they cannot grasp its true
nature,” I say, trying to sound biblical, which for some reason means I’m using a low voice and a British accent. Basically,
I’m channeling Chris Hemsworth’s Thor. “Clearly, you’re all mistaking sexiness for cuteness.”
Yami and Bo burst out laughing, and Jamal looks at me with a small smile. He doesn’t break eye contact when he speaks, but
his words are quiet enough that Yami and Bo don’t seem to hear over their laughing.
“You can be both,” he says, and suddenly he’s the angel my mortal eyes can’t bear to look at, so I look away, blushing.
I so badly want to say something back. To flirt with him or tell him he’s gorgeous too. His question of whether I want to
get back together comes to mind, and the answer is hard to ignore.
I definitely, definitely do.
Despite all the love-yourself-first advice out there, at least right now I don’t hate myself more than I love Jamal. That’s
got to count for something, right?
Before I get a chance to say anything, something whacks the back of my head, hard. I spring to my feet and whirl around as
Jamal catches the ball as it bounces from my head. I’m expecting a fight, but Nick and all of them are still on the field.
Nick has a smirk on his face like he kicked the ball at me on purpose, but other than that, he doesn’t make a move.
“Avery, go get it.” He points in my direction. Avery, being Nick’s right-hand henchman, obeys without question, jogging right
over to us.
I don’t know why I grab the ball out of Jamal’s hand when Avery approaches. Maybe part of me craves confrontation, or maybe
I just want to feel like I have any kind of power over the guys who used to beat the shit out of me.
“He did that on purpose, right?” I ask, and Avery sighs.
“I don’t read minds.” Avery holds his hand out for the ball, but I don’t give it to him just yet.
“Ask nicely,” I say, and Avery glances behind his shoulder like he’s checking how close by his friends are. Sure, he could
call them over if he wanted a fight, but they’re far enough away that Avery probably wouldn’t want to risk it.
Before I get a chance to milk it too much, Yami plucks the ball from my grip and throws it back to the field. Avery looks weirdly relieved as he runs back over to his friends.
“Do you have a death wish?” she asks me, but I just shrug.
“I don’t get what the big deal is.... ,” I mumble. It’s not like Nick would have his friends jump me with Jamal and Yami
and Bo right here. He’s always been a coward; he only ever picked a fight when he had more than a two-person advantage. Usually
when I was by myself.
I don’t think I’ve been truly by myself since before I went inpatient, but I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.
I know Yami was being sarcastic when she said I don’t really have to try to do well in life or get what I want, but it’s kind
of true. It seems like no matter what I do, I have support from Yami, my mom, Jamal, all my friends, all Yami’s friends... the list goes on, but I’m still not really sure how I got here.
Did I earn a single thing in my life? Do I even deserve any of it?
I grab a metaphorical shovel and smack the guilty feeling over the head, then bury it as deep as I can. Sometimes people are
lucky, and it’s a good thing. I’m lucky, and smart, and talented, and I can do anything I put my mind to. I deserve good things.
I’m a good person.
I’m a good person.
I’m a good person.
Maybe if I repeat it enough, I’ll actually believe it.