Page 9 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

This whole week and into the weekend, it’s been the same every night. The Thoughts creep their way into my brain while I lie

in my bed desperately covering my ears with my pillow. But like every other night, The Thoughts bleed through the fabric.

If I don’t hurry up and think about something else, I might do something I can’t take back, so I take a deep breath and think

about solutions instead of focusing on the problem, just like therapist number three suggested. Jamal said he understood,

so I should take him at his word. And I can’t date him again, so I might as well move on, right?

I just need to find a girlfriend to get all this guilt off my back.

But I don’t want a girlfriend.

I want a Jamal.

But I also can’t want a Jamal.

I need a girlfriend.

Ugh.

I try a different approach, plugging my ears with my AirPods and playing Olivia Rodrigo.

It’s easier to listen to breakup music and imagine that Jamal did something wrong so I can get over him. Maybe one day I’ll find myself an Olivia Rodrigo to run away with. Maybe I won’t have this empty hole in my chest forever.

I’m still awake when the sun comes up on Monday, but I eagerly jump out of bed and put on my Slayton uniform. It’s a lot easier

to shake off The Thoughts when the sun is up.

I go to the bathroom and find myself staring at the Mayan Code of the Heart, In Lak’ech Ala K’in, on the mirror. I typed the

famous poem out underneath it and put it up there after my dad got taken away, and I haven’t been able to touch it since.

In Lak’ech

Tú eres mi otro yo / You are my other me.

Si te hago dano a ti / If I do harm to you,

Me hago dano a mí mismo / I do harm to myself.

Si te amo y respeto / If I love and respect you,

Me amo y respeto yo / I love and respect myself.

When I first put it up, it was my way of trying to reconnect with my dad since he was obsessed with that poem. Him being the

reason I put this up makes me want to tear it down, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Over the years, it’s kind of taken

on a life of its own, and it’s more of mine and Yami’s thing now than my dad’s.

I shake off all thoughts of him and check myself out in the mirror to make sure I don’t look as sleep-deprived as I am.

My bloodshot eyes are the only things that really give me away, so I splash some water on my face and put in some eye drops.

Voilà. Looking at my bad self, you’d think I would’ve had at least eight sweet and dreamy hours of beauty sleep.

The door that leads into Yami’s room opens, and she groggily walks into the bathroom. Yami, on the other hand, looks like

she slept a good twenty, but “beauty” is not the word I’d use here. Her hair’s all disheveled and one eye is still half closed.

“You look like if a mop and the chupacabra had a baby on your head.” I offer her a brush, then wipe the eyedrop tears from

my cheeks. Her mouth twitches into a smile, and she shoves my shoulder.

“I know it can be overwhelming looking at such unfiltered beauty, but you don’t have to cry about it.” She takes the brush

from my hand and starts working on her hair.

I just laugh, rolling my eyes as I reach for the toothpaste.

“Anyways, you sleep okay?” she asks through a yawn. I stick my toothbrush in my mouth instead of answering her straight, and

shrug. She must have noticed something’s been off with me lately. I think this is her way of asking if I’m okay since she

knows it makes me less prickly than outright asking.

I spit into the sink just as my second alarm goes off.

7:00 a.m. take meds

Yami keeps working on her hair, and I head over to the kitchen, where my mom is waiting for me with a plate of chorizo and

papas. I reach for the pill counter and take out the pill for Monday, staring at it for a bit before doing anything.

Something in me is resisting going back to the routine hard, even with my mom back.

It’s like, everything in my life feels so far out of my control right now.

I don’t have a choice but to go to school every day.

I have to do my homework and ace every test to live up to everyone’s high expectations.

I’m forced to go to therapy every single week.

I don’t even get to date who I want. But this, I have control over. This, I can choose.

I put the pill in my mouth and pretend to swallow, then go to the bathroom just as Yami’s walking out. I close the door behind

me and spit the pill out in the toilet.

At school, it’s more of the same boring shit I’m used to. Every class is almost impossible to stay awake in. I’m acing them

anyway, so it really doesn’t matter if I’m awake or not. I’ve got a practically photographic memory, so as long as I skim

whatever chapter we cover in the textbook later, there’s not really any need to take notes.

The teachers and I both know I’ll get all my homework right and do great on the tests. Some of them don’t even care if I sleep

in class anymore as long as I keep my grades up. There’s really only two teachers who have actually tried to do anything about

it. Mrs. Perry, the English teacher, never fails to give me a detention if she catches me, but I’ve gotten sneaky. Then there’s

Mr. Franco. He catches me almost every time, but I never get in trouble. He usually just wants to talk. Still, it’s best to

be stealth if I can help it.

It’s not that I don’t try to pay attention, but even when I do, it’s all so boring. Mr. Franco has this slow, soothing, almost melodic voice. It’s like

he wants me to fall asleep. Luckily Jeremy’s the tallest guy in this class, so sitting behind him is about as safe as I can get. My

eyes grow heavier and heavier, and finally I give in and close them....

“?Oye maricón!” someone calls out. I flinch, not because of the word but because of who’s saying it.

I turn around to get a look at Nick and see he’s with all of them. Avery, Marcos, Antonio, Joseph, and Daniel all stand behind

Nick like his little henchmen.

I don’t wait to be called that word again. I swing and hit Nick right in the nose. He hits back, but I dodge him all right.

There’s a reason they always come at me all six of them. Before I know it, Avery has my arms pulled behind my back while the

rest of them rush me. I flex my stomach, preparing for impact.

Nick wipes his bloody nose, then swings for my face.

BLAM!

My eyes shoot open to the sound of a textbook being slammed on my desk, making me fall out of my chair. Everyone cracks up,

and I force myself to laugh with them, letting them believe my flushed face is from laughter and not that dream flashback.

“Asshole!” I playfully yell at Jeremy, who’s wheezing and wiping a joyful tear from his eye. I make myself get up and sit

back down, even though my fists are still balled from the dream fight, and all I want to do is punch someone . It takes everything in me not to lash out. Instead, I laugh along, heat heavy in my ears.

The only person not laughing is Mr. Franco. “Language, Cesar,” is all he says before getting back to his lesson.

Everyone stops laughing when he goes back to teaching, but my ears ring so loud they all might as well still be mocking me,

and those laughs might as well be coming from Nick and them. I can barely hear the bell signaling the end of class over the

sound of my ears ringing.

“Cesar, will you stay a moment?” Mr. Franco asks, just when I stand to leave.

I pack up my bag and walk over to his desk, but he waits until everyone else is gone before saying anything.

“Didn’t sleep well last night?” he asks.

I shrug. “You know how it is,” I say casually.

“No, I don’t, actually.” His eyebrows knit together in a concerned expression, which I hate. “Is everything okay at home?”

“Everything is great,” I say truthfully. My mom and Yami are more supportive than I could ever ask for. Jamal is still my

best friend, and he’s amazing. I have friends and straight As and I’m lucky enough to be here on scholarship and... and,

and...

And I’m miserable.

The fuck is wrong with me?

“Are you sure? Everything all right with your mom and dad—”

“I don’t have a dad,” I interrupt, surprised by my own firmness.

Mr. Franco doesn’t stop with that pitying look. “I hope you know my door is always open if you need to talk. And if you don’t

want to talk to me, we have a school counselor here who would be happy to—”

“Can I go now?” I cut him off, but when his eyebrows knit together again, I force a smile. “My next class is across campus.

Don’t wanna be late.”

He finally smiles back. “All right, Cesar. Go ahead.”

I turn around, immediately putting back on my usual persona. I’m obviously doing completely and totally great and anyone who

says otherwise is getting sued for slander.

Between second and third period, the first thing I do is find Yami and her friends in line. We have a fifteen-minute break right now where we can get cookies and coffee, but I never have any money. Yami, on the other hand...

“Buy me a cookie, my sweet, beautiful sister?” I say as I walk up to Yami, who’s already standing hand in hand with Bo. Next

to them, David stands behind Amber, hands resting on her hips. Their other friend, Emily, looks relieved to see me, probably

because we’re the only two single people in the group. Yami stares at me deadpan despite my puppy face and pouty lash fluttering,

so I add, “I’ll pay you back.”

“No, you won’t,” Yami says but still picks up two cookies when we get to the front of the line.

I thank her with a big smile, not walking away after she hands me the cookie. She doesn’t ask questions, either. Most of my

friends were seniors last year since I was in a lot of the senior classes, but this year they’re all gone and I’m in tiny

classes with just the other “gifted” seniors.

Sure, I have lots of acquaintances. Lots of people who would call me a friend. But I don’t know, I prefer hanging out with Yami’s group. I’ve kind of been hovering around them all year. None

of them seem to mind, and Yami’s never said anything, but I still feel a little out of place. Like I’m intruding on her life

and being a big fat burden.

I don’t know why I feel so attached to them. Maybe they just feel safe because they’ve already been vetted by Yami. Plus,

besides Hunter, Jamal, and my mom, they’re the only ones who know I’m bi. For a long time, that felt like a comfort, but now

I’m not sure how I feel about it.

“How’s your ass, bro?” David asks me out of the blue. He doesn’t call me bro in the way some guys call each other bro, but because everyone literally thinks we’re twins since we’re two short-ish Brown guys at a mostly white Catholic school.

“What?” I ask.

“Jeremy told us you fell out of your chair,” Bo fills me in, chuckling.

Well shit, news travels fast around here. I put on that laugh again. The one no one can ever tell is fake. “Oh. My ass is

fine.”

“You’re damn right it’s fine,” David says, miming himself slapping it, which brings a real laugh out of me. I don’t know how

to explain it, but it’s like, there’s that weird way straight guys like to pretend they’re gay, right? Like, pretending to

hit on other guys and making jokes about being into each other. But they usually only do it with other straight guys, in situations

where everyone knows they’re straight, but I don’t know. There’s something euphoric about a straight guy pretending to hit

on me when he knows I’m bi. Like he’s not going to treat me any different or be weird around me just because we’re both guys

and one of us isn’t straight.

And maybe I’m doing some Olympic-level mental gymnastics here, but David pretending to hit on me means I definitely give off

straight energy, right?

We all laugh, and for just a moment, I forget that this isn’t really my life.

That these aren’t really my friends.

Then I catch a glimpse of Father John walking to the chapel, and the laugh gets sucked out of me.

I catch Yami glaring at him from the corner of my eye, and I know she hates him because of me.

Even if she won’t say it, I know she blames him in some way for my spiral last year, since it happened after my penance of breaking up with Jamal.

She doesn’t know about our most recent conversation, and I’m definitely not going to tell her.

When Father John looks at me and nods his acknowledgment, I’m suddenly aware of how gay my laugh might sound. I could give

off all the straight energy in the world, but it wouldn’t matter. He would still know. The smile is wiped from my face, and

my heart falls to my gut.