back of my throat. Maybe he did get it?
His voice softened. “But you’re not a burden, honey. You’re my best friend.”
“You have lives.” My voice came out as a whisper. “You and Claire. You have other friends.”
“You’re our friend. You’re family.”
The more he spoke, the more emotion rose in me. “I can’t handle people.”
He gave me a look. “And getting a job at a bar is going to help that?”
“It’s not the same.” There I’d be expected to do a job. Get a drink. Bring them their bill. Be nice. “Being around people and working around people are different.” They wouldn’t know or care about my name. “I saw Claire with her friends today, and the thought of sitting with them…” My voice faded. A pressure was pushing down on my chest. “I can’t do that, Jason. I just can’t.”
“Okay.” He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he approached me. “I get it. I do. I’m a loser, remember?”
I frowned. “You’re not.”
He shook his head and came to stand right in front of me. His hands came out of his sleeves to cup my arms. His touch was soft. “I am. I always have been. I’m gay, Taylor. People still hate people like me.”
I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to protest, but he was right. So many didn’t care, but so many still did. A tear fell down my cheek. “Those people are assholes.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah. Those people are assholes, but this isn’t about that. I’m trying to remind you that I understand what it’s like.”
I was on the outside at the moment, but he’d grown up on the outside. My hands turned to grasp his arms in return. I squeezed. “You’re not a loser, and you’re not on the outside anymore.” He shook his head. The old pain I always saw in high school bloomed over his face. I squeezed his arms harder. My voice rose. “You’re not. I hate the gambling stuff, but I know you have some good friends.”
He began to protest.
I cut him off again. “I know you do. People are always calling you.” I frowned. “Unless those are clients.”
“No.” He laughed. “They aren’t. You’re right. I do have a circle of friends at school.”
“I’d like to meet your friends sometime,” I told him.
His head moved back an inch. “You would?”
Then I thought about it, and my cheeks grew red again. “Maybe later, or maybe one of your friends. Just one at a time,” I added.
“My friends are better than Claire’s anyway. Her friends have their heads up their asses, smelling their own gas fumes and getting high.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
A half-grin formed, and he rolled his eyes, letting my arms go. He scooted back to lean against the counter across from me. “Claire’s lucky we deemed her our friend. If we didn’t, she’d lose herself. She’s drawn to those types of people because that’s who her family is. They all just think about how special and important they are. They’re like plastic—fake and breakable, honey.”
I relaxed. When Jason started throwing out the honeys , he was being himself. I didn’t hear that word too often anymore. “Don’t hold back,” I urged him. “Tell me what you think of Claire’s family and friends.”
He’d been staring off into the distance, but his eyes moved back to mine, and we shared a smile. Jason had always thought Claire’s choice of friends was poor. We were the exceptions, and in his head this was because we’d chosen Claire. That was the truth, sort of. Jason chose me. He saw me in seventh grade and told me I didn’t need too much makeup, as I was just what the guys liked. Then he saw Claire beside me, took in her heavy makeup, and raised his nose in the air. He sniffed at her. “You look just fine, too.”
Her mouth dropped. She wasn’t confrontational, but that day she sputtered out, “Fuck you.”
Jason had paused, stared at her, and a slow grin formed. It had been best friendship at first sight.
“We all know how Claire’s life
His voice softened. “But you’re not a burden, honey. You’re my best friend.”
“You have lives.” My voice came out as a whisper. “You and Claire. You have other friends.”
“You’re our friend. You’re family.”
The more he spoke, the more emotion rose in me. “I can’t handle people.”
He gave me a look. “And getting a job at a bar is going to help that?”
“It’s not the same.” There I’d be expected to do a job. Get a drink. Bring them their bill. Be nice. “Being around people and working around people are different.” They wouldn’t know or care about my name. “I saw Claire with her friends today, and the thought of sitting with them…” My voice faded. A pressure was pushing down on my chest. “I can’t do that, Jason. I just can’t.”
“Okay.” He stood, his chair scraping against the floor as he approached me. “I get it. I do. I’m a loser, remember?”
I frowned. “You’re not.”
He shook his head and came to stand right in front of me. His hands came out of his sleeves to cup my arms. His touch was soft. “I am. I always have been. I’m gay, Taylor. People still hate people like me.”
I wanted to shake my head. I wanted to protest, but he was right. So many didn’t care, but so many still did. A tear fell down my cheek. “Those people are assholes.”
He laughed softly. “Yeah. Those people are assholes, but this isn’t about that. I’m trying to remind you that I understand what it’s like.”
I was on the outside at the moment, but he’d grown up on the outside. My hands turned to grasp his arms in return. I squeezed. “You’re not a loser, and you’re not on the outside anymore.” He shook his head. The old pain I always saw in high school bloomed over his face. I squeezed his arms harder. My voice rose. “You’re not. I hate the gambling stuff, but I know you have some good friends.”
He began to protest.
I cut him off again. “I know you do. People are always calling you.” I frowned. “Unless those are clients.”
“No.” He laughed. “They aren’t. You’re right. I do have a circle of friends at school.”
“I’d like to meet your friends sometime,” I told him.
His head moved back an inch. “You would?”
Then I thought about it, and my cheeks grew red again. “Maybe later, or maybe one of your friends. Just one at a time,” I added.
“My friends are better than Claire’s anyway. Her friends have their heads up their asses, smelling their own gas fumes and getting high.”
“Say it like you mean it.”
A half-grin formed, and he rolled his eyes, letting my arms go. He scooted back to lean against the counter across from me. “Claire’s lucky we deemed her our friend. If we didn’t, she’d lose herself. She’s drawn to those types of people because that’s who her family is. They all just think about how special and important they are. They’re like plastic—fake and breakable, honey.”
I relaxed. When Jason started throwing out the honeys , he was being himself. I didn’t hear that word too often anymore. “Don’t hold back,” I urged him. “Tell me what you think of Claire’s family and friends.”
He’d been staring off into the distance, but his eyes moved back to mine, and we shared a smile. Jason had always thought Claire’s choice of friends was poor. We were the exceptions, and in his head this was because we’d chosen Claire. That was the truth, sort of. Jason chose me. He saw me in seventh grade and told me I didn’t need too much makeup, as I was just what the guys liked. Then he saw Claire beside me, took in her heavy makeup, and raised his nose in the air. He sniffed at her. “You look just fine, too.”
Her mouth dropped. She wasn’t confrontational, but that day she sputtered out, “Fuck you.”
Jason had paused, stared at her, and a slow grin formed. It had been best friendship at first sight.
“We all know how Claire’s life
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