“What is it?” asks Jon.
Here we go …
“Um, so, yeah, there’s this thing I think you two should know about.”
That finally gets Angel’s attention. “What’d you do? Hook up with a prostitute? I’ve got it, you shoplifted, didn’t you?”
“What? No, nothing like that.”
“Damn,” he says, then he peers at me. “Holy shit, you like guys?”
Well, that’s one way for this to go down.
“Um, yeah, actually. I’m bi.”
“Called it,” he says, then takes another bite of his sausage. Jon goes really still.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you two sooner, I was just figuring stuff out, and then … well. Jon, you’re being really quiet.”
“Am I? Sorry, I’m just listening.” Something must cross my face, because his eyes widen. “You know I love you no matter what, right?”
“Yeah. I love you, too.”
He grins, then lightly punches me on the shoulder. “This is great. Good for you, Zach.”
Angel glances at me, and then at Ruben, who’s pointedly avoiding eye contact with him. “No.”
“What?” says Jon.
“They’re hooking up.”
Jon whips his head around so fast I’m worried he’s going to hurt himself. “What?”
Ruben asks me a question with his eyes: Can I tell them?
I nod. Here we go.
“Angel’s not off base,” he says.
“Holy shit,” says Angel. “This is huge.”
“Keep your voice down,” hisses Jon. “Have you told Erin?”
“Not yet, but we kind of have to,” I say. “Keegan caught us last night.”
“Scandal!” says Angel. “Ugh, I love this. You two got busted having sex by security, the drama of it all.”
I start blushing.
Jon frowns. “That means they’re basically forcing you out, Zach.”
“No, I mean…”
“That’s what it sounds like to me.”
“Agreed,” says Angel. “It’s bullshit.”
“I’m okay with people knowing,” I say. “Seriously. Sure, maybe this isn’t the timeline I would’ve picked for myself, but it’s fine. I’m not ashamed of being bi.”
“You shouldn’t be,” says Ruben.
“You do know that Dad’s going to freak out about this?” says Jon, glancing between Ruben and me. “But I’m happy for you, though. I promise. You make a cute couple.”
Ruben goes red. “We’re not a couple.”
“Friends with benefits, then, whatever,” Angel jumps in. “It’s still cute.” He stands. “You know what this calls for, right? Group huuugggg.”
“Do we have to?” Ruben grumbles, but as Angel tugs us up, a tiny smile breaks through.
It’s funny. Group hugs used to be such a thing with the four of us. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them.
I knew Angel and Jon would be supportive, but it’s so cool to know that’s not just a theory anymore. My instincts have been proven correct.
Across the restaurant, I see Erin walk inside. Soon, I need to tell her, too. But I can wait a few seconds.
I can have this moment just for me.
THIRTEEN
RUBEN
“Well, obviously, this is wonderful.”
Out of all the things I expected to hear from Geoff on this call, this ranks somewhere down the bottom, smack between “We’re passing complete creative control on to you, boys” and “I’ve decided to become the fifth member of Saturday.”
On the chair beside me, Zach’s face lights up. I’m not sure he has a suspicious bone in his damn body. “Really?” he asks.
“Of course!” On-screen, Geoff leans back in his chair, his already wide-set features spreading further into a smile. It’s a dangerous smile. The smile of someone watching their opponent make a fatal move in chess. Of someone watching their enemy sign their own death warrant.
Or—or—I’m paranoid as hell after growing up in a house of dangerous smiles, and it’s impossible for me to trust that an authority figure is genuinely happy for me when I, personally, feel like I’ve gone against their wishes. One or the other.
Erin is perched on the edge of her bed so we can take the two seats by the table. She gives us a thumbs-up, and her smile definitely doesn’t seem dangerous. So maybe I should relax.
“Young love is a beautiful thing, boys,” Geoff goes on, a regular romantic poet now, apparently. “Although, I’m sure I don’t have to impress upon you the importance of maintaining a professional working relationship, no matter the outcome, here.”
I wish he hadn’t used the word “love.” This is all feeling a little intense. But I nod firmly, shoving my embarrassment aside. “Absolutely. The band comes first, for both of us.”
“I’m very glad to hear that.” There’s that smile again. My arms pull into my body against my will, like they’re putting up reinforcements.
Zach straightens, putting his hands on his knees. “Um, I need to let you know, though, I’m not ready for … there’s a lot of people who don’t know. Like, my parents. Can this stay on a need-to-know basis, for now?”
For once, Geoff looks sincere. “Zach, of course. I wouldn’t dream of overstepping like that. Your private life is your business.”
Zach seems to melt into himself, and he flashes me a relieved smile. I try to return it, but my lips are weighed with lead.
Then Geoff continues. “In fact, I think you should take your time. This isn’t the sort of thing we want to make public right this second, anyway.”
“No?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light.
The thing is, this is all feeling like déjà vu. From the fact that interviewers who must be aware that I’m gay never seem to ask about this, as though they’ve been instructed not to, to the “insider sources” who continually “leak” stories about my latest girlfriends, to the dozens of gimmicky articles they’ve run with us where we’re encouraged to share what our ideal woman is like. It doesn’t take a genius to read between the lines to the implication. In public, you’re straight. In private, your life is your business.