(Summer, 1994)

 

            The house smelled like peanut butter cookies when I got home. My mom was an amazing baker, and I’d missed her cookies.

            “Welcome home, baby,” she said, ruffling my hair as I passed. “How was school?”

            I shrugged, “It was okay. Andy and I worked together in science class.”

            “Have you told him yet?”

            “…Not exactly.”

            She shook her head, “Michael, I’m so disappointed in you.”

            “Mom…” I tried to say, but she turned her back.

            “You can’t even tell him how you feel. Did you learn anything from me?” she asked, leaning against the counter.

            “Mom, it isn’t that easy,” I protested, staring at the ground. “I can’t just tell one of my best friends that I’m in love with him.”

            “You’re what?” When I looked up, my mother had morphed into Andy, and he spun around to glare at me. “So, what? You’re gay now?”

            “Andy…”

            “Faggot,” he spat, wrinkling his nose at me. I slid down in my seat, and he laughed, “Little fucking fairy, Mike. That’s all you are. A fucking fag,” he taunted, over and over and over until I wanted to scream at him to drown out the insults.

 

            I was shaking when I woke up, and Andy was staring at me, concern in his eyes. “I’m fine,” I said, answering his silent question, shrugging it off. “The bus jolted, it scared me.”

            “Are you sure?” he asked.

            “I’m fine. Stop worrying,” I told him, trying to remind myself of the way he’d mocked me in my dream. Telling myself that he would react like that if he knew how I felt. Forcing myself to ignore the way he was staring at me so intently. After a while, he shrugged and started to drift off to sleep again.

            I stayed awake for the rest of the ride. We were on our way to Slave Lake, an annual trip that our team made. It involved a day at the beach, followed by a bonfire where people told scary stories and complained about the sunburn stinging their backs and shoulders. I was the only one awake for most of the drive, but even when he woke up, Andy didn’t really say much else until we were at the lake.

            He dropped his bag and T-shirt on the ground and smirked at me, “Hey, Comrie. I’ll race you.”

            I laughed, stripped to my swimming trunks, and took a running start while he kicked off his sneakers. He yelled in protest, but I beat him to the water, snickering when he swam up beside me. “Cheater.”

            “Sore loser.”

            He grabbed my head and dunked it under the water. When I came up, he was splashing around, trying to get away. I chased after him in the thigh-deep water, leaping on his back when I was close enough. I tackled him to the water, and both of us were sputtering and coughing from the fall.

            “Dork,” he muttered, laughing.

            “Jerk,” I countered, challenging him with a smile.

            “You’re done,” he said, then picked me up at the waist and tossed me into the water a few feet away.

            When I rubbed my eyes clear, he was grinning at me, “Truce?” he offered, extending a hand.

            I arched an eyebrow at him, not fully trusting the innocent in his smile. Water dripped from his eyelashes and hair, and I slipped my hand into his. “Truce,” I repeated, though I had my other hand behind my back with my first two fingers crossed.

            “Okay, good,” he nodded and started to turn.

            “You’re so easy, Andrew,” I laughed, pulling his arm up behind his back. I flipped both of us down, and when we floated to the surface, he grabbed my wrists.

            “That wasn’t nice,” he said, coughing. He was smiling, though, and had one eyebrow cocked at me. The water was cold, but his hands were hot, and I couldn’t seem to get my vocal chords to work.

            He choked for a few seconds longer, then rested his forehead against mine. “I am going to get back at you, you know that?”

            I nodded, unable to think or speak or even breathe properly. His eyes focused on mine, and he slipped his fingers from my wrists to hold onto my hands. My heart was pounding in my throat, and my mind was racing, but I couldn’t stop him. My brain was begging me to move away from him before he leaned any closer, but I couldn’t make my body cooperate. I just let my eyes drift shut and waited for the inevitable.

            “Comrie. Ference. You’re out too far; stay close,” our coach yelled, and we broke apart, the moment gone. I wasn’t sure whether I was more relieved or frustrated.