True Letters from a Fictional Life by Kenneth Logan

bouncing group. When I looked back over my shoulder at him, he was still dancing and staring right at me. He smiled widely and shrugged.
    I nodded at him again, uncertainly.
    Kim mouthed “water” and pointed to the refreshments table. Squeezing through the crowd and ducking past flailing football players, I followed her. I pretended to pant and limp when we finally reached the table of sodas and chips. Kim made a show of laughing. The music was so loud it reduced talking to gestures.
    â€œAre you having fun?” she screamed into my ear, grabbing my arm.
    â€œYeah!” I yelled back and handed her a soda. “But I’m going to take a break from the noise! Come with me!”
    She nodded, put her hands over her ears, and grimaced.
    When we stepped out in the hall, my ears were ringing. We both cracked up at the sound of our voices once the gym doors closed behind us.
    â€œI used to feel like I had to say that I hated that music.” Kim laughed. “But, honestly, it is hilarious jumping around to Y-$ugar with a couple of hundred people.”
    I had to agree with her. For a little while, we talked about songs we were embarrassed to admit that we like, and then I edged us toward talking about the boy with the smile. “The kids from your school are super friendly.” I tried to soundas casual as possible. “Who are the guys dancing next to us? There are four of them.”
    â€œThe basketball players? The ones wearing white high-tops?”
    â€œNo, no. To our left. The ones that can actually dance. One of them is wearing a yellow tie. Scruffy hair? Smiles a lot . . .” I stopped myself from commenting on his eyes.
    â€œOh, that’s Topher. He is super nice. You guys would get along really well, actually. I should introduce you to him.”
    â€œHe goes to school here?”
    â€œYeah, he’s been in my class since we were in kindergarten. Two of those guys he’s with go to school in New Hampshire. They’re all in a theater group together.”
    â€œTheater, huh? That takes guts, I guess. I can’t imagine being on a stage with everyone staring at you. Terrifying.” I fished a pretzel from the stash in my pocket. “But you like this guy Topher, huh? Why have I never heard about him? Why aren’t you dating him?”
    â€œHa! I had a crush on Topher in eighth grade. I mean, I really liked him to the point where being around him was sort of wonderful and painful all at the same time, you know?”
    â€œI’ve heard about that kind of thing, yeah.”
    â€œBut we never dated. And then . . .” She hesitated and glanced at me as if unsure whether she should go on. “And then he told me that he’s gay. So, you know, end of story.”
    I felt like I’d just climbed too high up a tree, the same feeling of terror and joy running through me.
    â€œOh,” I said. “I don’t think I would’ve guessed that.”
    â€œNo, you wouldn’t know about Topher unless he told you. But he’s pretty up front about it.”
    â€œNo kidding,” I said. I could see my reflection in the glass of a trophy cabinet. I practiced standing and holding my Coke the way I’d seen a model hold his glass in a scotch ad, his weight back on one leg, the other stretched out slightly in front, as though he wanted to trip a passerby. The picture of nonchalance. “How did he work that into a conversation?”
    â€œTopher and I used to walk home from school together all the time. He lives just a few houses away from me. One day I was talking about how much I liked this new boy in school, and Topher let slip, ‘Yeah, he’s really cute.’ And then he went all red.”
    â€œOh, no!” I laughed.
    â€œYeah, it was adorable. But instead of making excuses for himself—I remember this so clearly—he picked an old crab apple off the road, handed it to me, and said, ‘Here. You can have