Page 4

Sawyer and I were on the oversized sofa in her basement, or “the bachelorette pad” as she called it.

The home theater setup included a television so big it wouldn’t fit in my new bedroom and too many speakers to count.

It was perfect for hours of gaming and blocking out the rest of the world.

Even more so for our Whovian summer tradition.

“This scene makes me feral,” I said as the episode’s title sequence finished.

The annual rewatch of our top Doctor Who episodes had arrived at my number one favorite.

The start of series five held a special place in my heart.

The Doctor had just crashed his time traveling ship, the TARDIS, and emerged in his new form, the actor Matt Smith taking the helm as the eleventh version of the character.

He was so wet, so glistening, so disheveled that it had given me many emotions when I’d first watched it.

“No doubt this moment was my sexual awakening,” I added as he climbed out of the TARDIS.

“Amy Pond in her police costume was mine,” Sawyer said dreamily. She was referencing Karen Gillan, who played the Doctor’s new companion. “The red hair and short skirt were all the proof I needed.”

We’d started watching this show the summer after seventh grade when the internet had gone out because of a heat storm.

Unable to stream, her mother had dug out old Blu-ray seasons of the show, and we were immediately obsessed.

After we’d watched this specific episode, we looked at each other in awe.

Both of us had known we weren’t straight and shared this new discovery—that’s why it was so important to me.

Things had been simpler that summer. We’d made it a habit to patrol the streets, like the Doctor searches the universe to help people in need, to protect our neighborhood against threats.

Of course, we’d argued over who was the Time Lord, but I refused to be just a companion.

That sense of control still stuck with me too, and rewatching episodes was comforting.

It felt like we were back to being kids who could tell each other everything. So much had changed since, but maybe…

“I went out patrolling last night,” I said with forced casualness, casting a glance over at her. “Like we used to do.”

“God, I haven’t thought about that since eighth grade,” she said with a laugh, her phone chiming with a notification.

“You’d been worried about what would change when you finally told your parents you were gay…

” She fell silent, her thumb stilling as she checked the new message.

Her eyes went wide with realization as she looked up at me.

“They finalized their divorce, didn’t they? ”

I nodded, unable to speak. Unable to feel anything other than the same vulnerability I had back then.

“I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her phone to grab my hand. “I know it’s been hard on you, and the divorce news dropped out of nowhere.”

“Out of nowhere,” I repeated half-heartedly.

Only it wasn’t, not in hindsight. After she’d helped me find the courage to tell my parents, Mom hugged me while my father had only urged me to keep it quiet.

I never told Sawyer how he scared the hell out of me with hate crime statistics.

He’d warned me that nobody in Beggs would welcome me, that they would think less of our family.

His self-serving efforts had stopped me from coming out with Sawyer like I’d planned to do when we started high school.

She knew he was strict, but not the extent of his dominance.

All this time she’d thought I was the one afraid of what other people would think.

Getting back at my father after all these years was the real reason I’d suddenly joined the QSA.

Sawyer had been over the moon when I told her I was finally ready to be a part of her club, but what I’d really wanted was to show him I wasn’t the son he’d brainwashed.

“Now you can move on with your life,” she added softly.

“I’m trying.”

I risked a glance at her as the episode played in the background, and she was watching me.

Still waiting for me to pull my mask off.

I couldn’t tell her my reasons, couldn’t begin to describe how I felt like a big fraud for having an ulterior motive for helping with Pride and the QSA.

Guilt coiled in my stomach like a snake.

“So…uh…where’s your girlfriend?” I asked, avoiding her stare. “Thought she would be here by now.”

A beat passed as she shifted gears to catch up, but I knew she wouldn’t ever let it drop. “Kennedy is not my girlfriend,” she said, voice pitching as she grabbed her phone, and I was grateful she took the bait. “I haven’t worked up the courage to ask her yet.”

“ Why are you nervous?”

All I got in reply was a one-shoulder shrug, bright pink blooming across her cheeks as she checked her new message.

The crush on Kennedy had only strengthened since Kennedy had joined the QSA.

It’d turned into a slow burn of yearning in the hallways, dragging me to pep rallies to watch her cheer, mastermind-level outings where we’d accidentally bump into her… and unfortunately Cohen.

“It’s been a year, Saw.” The oversized sofa pulled me into its cushions as I paused the next episode. “You make out with her like every damn day. And other stuff. What are you waiting for?”

“You tell me,” she said with a sigh, gesturing toward me. “You have all those guys you’ve ‘other-stuffed’ but none of them are your boyfriend.”

“I’m just comfortable with my sexuality now,” I said over the roar of doubt, wishing it were true. “Plus guys love—”

“I bet they do.” She cut me off with an exaggerated eye roll. “But whenever they want something more, you do the Z-step.”

“First off, I can ‘other-stuff’ whoever I want,” I said, and stuck my tongue out at her. “And secondly, what does that even mean?”

“Yes, you can,” she began, holding her hands up in surrender, “and I’m not saying you can’t…but you do have a habit of dancing around their feelings before you bail.”

“Damn…” I trailed off, not denying it. Not explaining my reasons. “Wait, why are you bullying me right now?”

“Don’t you dare, ” she said haughtily. “I’m not a bully…anymore.”

I gave her a pointed look, pushing a strand of hair off my face. Her stint as my tormenter was still a sore subject. She’d get defensive and forget why she was reading me in the first place. Her temper at being called out was fleeting, though. She deflated as her eyes went distant in thought.

“It’s just that…I think Kennedy might be a Zasshole too.”

“Excuse you, I’m not an asshole about it,” I pointed out. “I make sure they always have fun—Wait, do people call me that ?”

She shrugged and twirled her hair, the blue tips spinning with her thoughts.

That focused look was back, and I knew her mind was moving faster than the TARDIS.

I wanted to tell her Kennedy wasn’t like me.

That all the guys I’d dated since January never knew the real me, just Zeke, who caused trouble.

It was easier to bail before disappointing them.

“Don’t go there,” I told her, leaning over to nudge her shoulder. “No doubt Kennedy likes you.”

“I hope so.” Another sigh, another glance at her phone. “Sometimes I get the feeling she isn’t comfortable being out. Not with all the crap happening in town.”

“Totally get that.”

I hadn’t been aware of how hard it was to be out, not until the Pride Day debacle.

The mayor had renounced his support after he’d caught hell for permitting the QSA to use the town square.

But he couldn’t stop us from doing it, not with Sawyer’s petition.

She’d gone through all the legal requirements, and I hoped my father saw us celebrating—saw me being the best worst type of gay person, or trying to be at least.

“Besides, the way she looks at you is pure thirst,” I added. “So stop flipping out.”

“Kinda the way you still look at Cohen?” she teased, pulling a me and changing the subject.

“It’s more like I want to set him on fire,” I corrected, throwing a pillow at her. It bounced off her glasses as she laughed. “And we agreed never to mention Extremely Shit-tacular Freshman Fall.”

“You’re the one who joined mathletes even though you hate math, because you wanted to flirt with him.” She laughed, throwing it back at me.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” I grumbled. “At least I won us the tournament.”

“I recall you were devastated, even lamenting about—”

“We’re sooo not discussing this. It’s over. Done.” She eyed me over the rim of her glasses, but I refused to encourage her whole Zeke-and-Cohen bit. She thought it was hilarious that I once liked him. “He’s the asshole-iest asshole there ever was. The end.”

But it was more than that.

I’d fallen for Cohen on the first day of high school.

We had known each other since we were kids, but he had changed over the summer.

His disheveled look reminded me of the Eleventh Doctor when I saw him in the hallway: pale skin splotchy from rushing to class, dark curls adorably messy, his boldness with the rainbow pin on his bookbag—all of it made my brain glitch.

I had wanted to be like him, to be near him so badly I joined the team.

A car engine sounded outside, and I inhaled deeply.

The breath pushed through my lungs as I mentally prepared myself to see him.

We might be forced to deal with each other again because of the QSA, but I made sure he knew I hated every second of it.

There were no more longing glances or bumping hands or hopes to be his boyfriend.

Only an immeasurable distance between who we’d been and who we’d both become.

“They’re here,” Sawyer announced, immediately smoothing down her hair. Checking her breath and double-checking her deodorant. “How do I look?”