I’m a bad person.
I focus on my phone. I have an email, an itinerary for the day from Erin. Almost every minute of our day before the show is accounted for. In four hours I have an online chat room with fans, then another photo shoot, and then we’re meeting the winners of a radio contest. So I have a full day ahead. All with Ruben.
I’m not sure how I can see him again.
But I guess I’m going to find out.
In the lobby, I see Pauline, playing on her Switch. I bet it’s Animal Crossing; she’s obsessed.
“Hey, Zach,” she says. “What’s up?”
“Oh, nothing, I was just wondering if I could go for a walk? I’m craving a croissant. Like, a real one.”
She pauses her game. “Mind if I tag along? We’ll have to go out the back exit to avoid the fans, but as long as we’re quick it should be okay.”
This is why I love Pauline: obviously I’d never be allowed to walk out into the streets without security. But Pauline never tells me what to do, and she always asks.
“Sounds good.”
“Great, let’s go. Just don’t tell Chorus, okay?”
I zip my lips closed.
* * *
“Who does the best British accent?” asks Angel, reading one of the messages on the side of the screen.
We’re on video in a chat room with five hundred fans, the ones who got in based on a random lottery. Their questions are all sent via text, and are screened before we see them. This chat room was Angel’s idea, and Chorus loved it. I actually really like it; it’s one of the most pure, unfiltered moments we get to have with fans all over the world.
Now, I’m just waiting for it to end.
Earlier, I had to talk to Ruben to get my stuff from his room, after last night. I was really careful, texting him that I wanted to pick up my stuff rather than just knocking on his door—I thought it would be really unfair of me to show up unannounced, after I asked for a few days of space. I timed it well, so I couldn’t really stick around, because we both had to get ready for this. Now I can’t stop dwelling on the fact that I had to do all this work just to interact with Ruben, my best friend, for five seconds. It was a little awkward, but he mostly seemed like his usual self, and didn’t press me or anything.
“Not me,” says Jon, trying his best at an English accent and horrifically failing.
“What is that?” asks Angel. “I think you’re going more for ‘fancy a tea, poppet?’”
I can’t bring myself to join in. I mean, I’m never usually the loudest in these anyway (Angel obviously is), but right now I’m only speaking when directly asked to.
“I think I can do one,” says Ruben, before clearing his throat. “The rain in Spain stays mainly in the plains.’”
It’s actually pretty perfect. Figures. Of course he’d have a musical reference perfected and ready to go. I try to keep my eyes away from him. He’s acting like he’s already recovered from what happened last night, as he doesn’t seem any different than normal. Right now he’s smiling and looking directly into the camera, same as always.
Or maybe he has fully recovered. Maybe I think this is a bigger deal than it is. That does sound like me. It’s my first guy kiss, but it’s not his. Maybe this truly is a non-event to him. Maybe the hurt I thought I saw was all in my head. I do overthink things.
“So, clearly, it’s Ruben,” says Angel. “Unless you want to give it a go, Zach?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough.” Angel reads the screen. “Oh, this one is juicy: how do you all feel about the sexiest men list?”
The question has been put in bold, which means the Chorus assistant who runs these has flagged it as a question we have to answer. I’m not sure Angel would’ve read it otherwise. I wish this list could die in a fire. It has whipped our fans up into a frenzy, with each of our fandoms fighting each other over it, which is exactly what Chorus wanted.
“Sexiness is subjective,” says Jon. “Beauty really is in the eye of the beholder.”
“Says someone who made the list,” says Angel. “It’s rigged! Clearly rigged. Any fair list would objectively put me at the very top because I’m, objectively, perfect, don’t you agree, boys? Come on, Jon, you know you think I’m hot.”
“Oh, naturally,” says Ruben. “In fact, why put others on the list at all? They should keep the title the same, put in a full-page photo of you, and call it a day.”
“Exactly. Although, nah, I’ll let the three of you on my list, too. You’re sexy, too, Ruben. In a subjective sort of way.”
I scratch my arm and fidget in my seat.
“Thoughts on the list, Zach?” asks Angel.
“Oh, um, yeah. It’s probably rigged.”
“Hold up,” says Angel, clearly enjoying himself. “So you’re saying you don’t think Ruben and Jon are sexier than us? I thought we’d just established Ruben’s subjectively sexy!”
“I mean, I can’t really see it, but sure.”
Angel lifts his eyebrows up.
“Yikes. Okay, sore spot, clearly. Anyway, let’s go to the next question.”
Ruben is watching me like he doesn’t even know me. But cameras are on us and we’re live.
I look away.
SEVEN
RUBEN
The thing about your dreams coming true is that, for a gold-spun moment, you catch a glimpse of what life could be like. Then when you lose it, and you crash back to reality, it’s from such a great height, all you can do is lie there, winded and bruised, while you come to terms with the idea that a happiness like that isn’t meant for you.
It never was.
I don’t know how to adjust to this new world. Last week, Zach was my best friend. The one I locked eyes with whenever I laughed. The one whose side I gravitated to wherever we went. The one who always sought me out to check on me whenever I felt unbalanced.