Holy crap. What do I even say? I mean, it’s kind of skeevy. Why is this Cassie messing around with someone Ryan’s age? Not that he isn’t awesome. But still.
I’m guessing he interprets my expression correctly because he explains, “It’s not her fault. When we met last year, I told her I was eighteen.”
“So she thinks you’re nineteen now? Why aren’t you in college?”
“I’m saving up.”
“Wow. So your entire relationship is based on lies. And sex, I assume?” He looks so miserable that I don’t say more, even though I so could. I thought Ryan was better than this—he’d never lie to a girl to get her to sleep with him. But as it turns out, that’s exactly what he’s done. Hurt and discomfort pushes up toward my throat. I really want to yell at him.
But I won’t. I can’t.
“That wasn’t why,” he starts, but it’s a weak effort, and he gives it up.
“I don’t understand at all, Ry.” Then something horrible occurs to me. “Why do you put your arm around me so much at school? And walk me to my classes?”
“I never said we were going out,” he tells me quietly. “I just didn’t deny it when people asked.”
“To hide this … whatever it is. Did it ever occur to you that if you have to cover it up that maybe it’s not okay?”
“Yes.” He runs an agitated hand through his hair.
This … this is huge. It was one thing when I thought the misunderstanding about us just happened. Knowing he did it on purpose—and for such a shady reason—makes my stomach cramp. I can’t get mad at him. So I embrace pain and sadness instead; I can deal with that duo better. That only ever hurts me. And that’s fine. I’m used to it.
I swallow hard. “Why involve me? What’s the point?”
His dark eyes are pools of hurt. “You know how they are at JFK. If you’re never seen with a girl, they assume you’re a closet case, and you saw how that turned out for Jon Summers.”
“Damn,” I whisper.
Jon killed himself last year. He came out at school, which was a brave thing to do, but people didn’t take it well. They bullied him until he eventually left to be homeschooled, but that didn’t fix it. His house was vandalized repeatedly, until he got ahold of some of his mom’s pills. When I found out, I felt so horrible. I wished I’d done more, but he refused to see anyone after he left JFK, and sometimes, it’s impossible to know how bad somebody feels until it’s too late.
Ryan goes on, “Best-case scenario, they assume I’m not gay, but I’m such a loser that I can’t get anyone to go out with me. That doesn’t end well for me either, Sage. Or I can choose to be a douche and brag about the older girl I’m banging. Provided anyone believes me, that would hurt Cassie a lot.”
“So you threw me under the bus instead?” Maybe it’s wrong, but I don’t care at all why Ryan did this. Fury boils like acid in my throat. But hurt and anger war within me, so I choose the pain again and hug it close. The barbs sink in. Ryan has been my best friend for three years—the one person I trust. And now this.
“How did you see this playing out, exactly? You string her along until you actually are eighteen and then say, ‘By the way, baby, funny story, I’m actually five years younger than you’?”
Ryan can’t even glare at me, though I suspect he wants to. “It seemed simple at first. Age is just a number, right? But then we were hooking up, as she has time, because she works two jobs and she thinks I do, too. Then there was the sex—” He trails off, seeing that’s not a good tack to take with me. “And I thought I was in love with her, okay?”
“Thought?”
“It’s complicated. At first, it seemed harmless to let people think we’re together, Sage. It was easy. It gave both of us some cred, you know?”
The rage pushes. I shove it down, trembling as I listen.