Mason shrugged and mumbled, “I never worried about little things like that before. Half the time, I don’t even wear a seat belt.”
“That’s because you’re an idiot,” Gael said.
But behind his rebuke, there was the weirdest thing—happiness for his friend. Mason actually cared, legitimately cared, about a girl. Not just because she was hot or because he wanted to hook up with her, but just because she was her. Mason, who Gael had often feared would grow up to be a total womanizer, sacrificing any chance of real happiness in the name of perky boobs, had somehow stumbled upon the real deal.
For a fraction of a second, Gael was proud of his friend.
(And I was, too. Mason was a natural Drifter,4 but for once in his life, he had no inclination to run.)
Gael pushed his sympathy away. How Mason had gotten to this point was still utterly unforgiveable. “So what exactly do you want me to do?” he asked.
“Is this normal?” Mason asked. “To worry like this?”
(Boys. Yes, it’s normal! Your mother was telling the truth when she said she worries because she loves you.)
Gael’s patience had run its course. “I have no idea what normal is for people like you,” he said with disdain. “Now can you get the hell out of my room, please?”
Mason paused for an agonizing moment, but then he reluctantly grabbed his bag and headed out. Gael waited until the door was shut behind him before he unpaused Skyrim, wandered through the woods, and shot the first stranger he could find in the back.
It didn’t feel as good as he’d imagined it would.
* * *
4. Drifter: One who primarily seeks solitude and freedom from “being tied down” in romantic trysts. May result in missed opportunities, “ghosting,” general douchebaggery, and perpetual bachelor-or bachelorette-hood. May also result in a high level of self-awareness and confidence in relationships they don’t immediately flee.
throwback to the first “i love you”: mason edition
All right, all right, Gael and Mason had never actually said “I love you” to each other (unless, of course, you count that one time Mason had a few too many beers, and Gael had to hold his shaggy hair back), but even without the official words, their love had been sealed since they were about eleven years old.
That was the year that Gael, cursed with oily skin from his stupid dad, got his first real breakout. And we’re not talking a clogged pore or two like the models on the Clearasil commercials. We’re talking legit, mountainous, impossible-not-to-look-at zits. So big you couldn’t even call them pimples.
It didn’t take long for the über-creative minds of Gael’s middle school to think of a few names to use instead of “Gael”—think “pizza face,” “crater face,” and the only one that was actually a little clever, yet still completely cruel, “Orion.”
It all came to a head (sorry) the day Brad Litcherson turned to Gael in first-period language arts and said, “Dude, are you wearing makeup?”
Gael’s face turned beet red (at least the parts that weren’t covered up by the concealer he’d borrowed from his mom). Gael stormed out of the room before he could even hear Mason tell Brad to “shut the eff up” or their teacher, Mrs. Jackson, try to calm them all down.
The next morning, Gael walked into language arts feeling especially vulnerable, with a face free of concealer and his zits on display for all to see. But all the kids were crowded around Mason’s desk.
Gael pushed through them to grab his seat.
Mason was sitting back in his chair—like it was no big deal—in full makeup. Foundation. Concealer. Powder. Blush. Eyeliner. Bright blue eye shadow with sparkles. Mascara. (Mason had an older sister who’d helped him go to town.)
Kids were laughing, taking pictures on their phones. No one even looked at Gael. Barely anyone even remembered that Gael had been caught wearing concealer only the day before. Brad freaking Litcherson sat slouched in his desk, defeated.
Mrs. Jackson told everyone to sit down and ignore “Mason’s obvious ploy for attention” (she later got scolded by administrators for pushing traditional gender identities on her students), but Gael could only whisper to Mason, “You’re such a weirdo.”
“And you’re best friends with a weirdo,” Mason said.
“Thanks, man,” Gael said.
“Anytime.” Mason batted his eyelashes at him.
The kids called Mason “Cover Girl” for the rest of the year.
And no one said anything about Gael’s acne after that.
of all the bedrooms in all the towns in all the world she had to walk into mine
The text from Mason came almost immediately after he’d left Gael’s:
p.s. sammy got hotter since i last saw her, u should ask her out
Not a moment later, Sammy opened Gael’s door.
Embarrassed, Gael shoved his phone deep under the covers and went back to focusing on the game, where his character stood over the man he’d just killed.