chapter twenty-nine - i know

chapter twenty-nine — i know

SOMETIMES, I WONDERED IF I WAS EVEN GAY. I knew well enough by now that being gay didn't mandate anything, but sometimes it would creep up on me— the weird feeling that I was lying. Sometimes it seeped in with my morning cereal, other times late at night when the whole house was quiet and it felt like time had frozen over. Marco insisted it was imposter syndrome, but Marco liked throwing around his new vocabulary without knowing shit. Why would I feel like an imposter?

I was gay and I knew it, but I'd never felt gay. Is that imposter syndrome?

Back when I'd figured it all out, around the summer going into freshman year of high school, I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to do with myself. All the movies made coming out seem like a huge ordeal— some kind of rite of passage that was needed to become a functioning member of gay society.

But I never wanted to be the gay kid, Lukas.

I wanted to be Lukas. And oh, are you free tonight?

I knew Michael didn't understand it, he didn't want to. He had pins and stickers and markers and this burning need to make sure everyone knew that he'd finally done it— he'd finally figured himself out. Even with the realization that I liked dudes, I'd never for a second thought I knew myself. Deep down, I think Michael knew it too. He knew that he'd only cleared the first hurdle of adolescence and that there were more identity crises to follow, less about sexuality and more about everything else.

It was overwhelming but relieving in the strangest of ways. Kind of like Kieran.

"Times up, please bring your tests to the front."

I stretched, twisting my back until I heard a soft pop. I was always a straggler, always the last person to finish the test, but today I'd finally gone over every question and finished just in time. Roger beamed at me from across the room, a small thumbs up tossed at me because he'd handed his test in a good fifteen minutes before but was just as nervous.

I smiled, nodding back at him so we'd both relax a little, comforted by the idea that the test hadn't completely bulldozed either of us. Calculus had a way of murdering happiness, but the satisfaction of solving a problem smoothly was better than most other feelings.

"You can get your bags from the front now," The teacher motioned with one hand, stacking the papers in a thick pile before looking at it with disgust.

Soft conversations broke out the second the last paper slid into the teacher's hands, the volume swelling as friends formed swarms and compared brains like they were artisanal vases.

"That wasn't as bad as I thought it would be," Roger exhaled, heaving his backpack onto his shoulder and passing mine to me with a small smile. I smiled back.

"Yeah, I think—"

"—Of course it wasn't hard for you, Roger."

I whipped around, unsure of who'd casually butted into our conversation. A random head ducked by, leaving as quickly as they'd interrupted.

Roger laughed, his only acknowledgment of the stranger, before nudging me out of the classroom.

"You were saying?"

"Oh, yeah," I shrugged loose, sweatshirt string stuck under the strap of my bag, "I think we definitely over-thought the study guide."

Roger hummed in agreement. We'd spent the last few nights studying for the test, binging videos and practicing examples until calluses wore into the one finger that pressed against our pencils. I'd put a bandage over mine, flimsy stick already peeling loose since bandages never stuck that well on fingers to begin with.

We continued down the hall in silence, passing by the junior classrooms where I subconsciously turned my head. Kieran's hair was pretty easy to catch, messy and so dark it was almost black.

His head was almost never turned to the front of the classroom, either focused hard on his notebook or on the ugly window off to his right. Sometimes I'd catch him doodling on the desk. His hand would trace the squiggles carved into the laminate wood before he used the tiny little dollar-store pencil-cap eraser to get rid of the evidence. It never worked that well, but Kieran lost his erasers faster than it took for a bandage to fall off a finger.

Kieran wasn't in his seat, hadn't been for a week and a half though he'd showed up to every practice.

Practice had gotten harder, school too, and our conversations had been short, limited to a few game plans and menial talking about the weather. Maybe a small smile tossed here and there, stiff and uncertain, before I'd rush home to study and he'd hit the courts outside, adamant on getting practice in before the snow started to fall. Midterm season was fast approaching, and so were college-athlete sign-ons.

There was no time to just talk.

"He's not avoiding you, you know," Roger nodded at the empty seat and hurried me past the door, "He's probably meeting with scouts, or coach. Unofficially, obviously, but I know they've been hovering since our practices started in the summer."

"Every day this week though? The same time I walk by?"

"Coincidence," Roger shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, and maybe it wasn't.

"Coincidence," I echoed, walking a little faster.

"Or maybe he's in the bathroom and has the shits—"

"—Roger!" I spluttered, cracking a smile when Roger only grinned broadly, knocking his shoulder into mine before veering off towards the cafeteria. The hot foot line was always backed up, so Roger liked to get there first so he didn't spend half of lunch on a line.

"See you in Mr. Rodriguez's," He waved, and I just groaned, dragging my feet until I had no choice but to open the door to the art room.

I used my shoulder, leaning all my weight on the handle because my hand was cramping and I just wanted to shut my eyes. The room was empty, soft pre-holiday December light making everything quiet, and the door closed with a heavy kind of finality. My backpack slid from my shoulder and I grabbed a stool, leaning against the table so I could sit because I didn't feel the strength to hoist myself alone. I felt drained.

"Fuck," I let myself say, a little loud because the room was empty and I hadn't had time to myself in a while. Weird. I'd felt isolated, detached because Kieran wasn't around, but I'd never been lonely, not for a second. My family made that certain.

Elizabeth had seen me, the way my eyes were red-rimmed when I got back from Kieran's that night. She hadn't let me be alone after that. It was annoying, sometimes, how she knew everything without me needing to say anything.

The door eased open from the far end of the room and I kept my head down. There were little curls of eraser pressed to my forehead, and they stuck. Hushed voices, maybe not quiet on purpose, but naturally softer because the room was all frozen and the people were in their natural habitat.

"I submitted it to the journal," Michael's familiar tone, stressed and thin.

"I'm glad," Mr. Rodriguez smiled with his words, tupperware clinking against his desk.

The two of them exchanged a few more hushed words, the door swinging with a creak. Someone coming in or someone leaving?

"You okay, Lukas?" Michael.

I lifted my head, slow, turning it so it rested on my arm. Michael's lips were flat, not frowning but not smiling. He'd taken his contacts out, brown-almost-black stare a little too harsh in the undisturbed air of the classroom. Mr. Rodgriguez wasn't at his desk, wasn't in the room.

"Yeah," I swallowed, then smiled, "Just a little tired."

"Hmm," Michael stood ramrod straight, hands clenched tight at his sides, "I heard there was a test in AP Calculus today."

I waited for him to fidget, to pull at his fingers, but he just curled them into little fists, immobile.

"Yeah," I nodded as best I could, the conversation turning awkward before it had even started, "last test before winter break. It was ass."

Michael didn't laugh, just nodding in return. It was ass, I repeated in my head, wanting a reaction. A scoff, a giggle, even an eye-roll— anything.

"Who told you about it?" I tried to push the conversation, something old in me curling in disgust at the way Michael's eyes looked flat. Not sad like those first few months, not even angry like they'd been for the last year.

"Arrigo?" I guessed, "The football team is going to state finals over the weekend right? He must be more stressed than I am."

Something in Michael's face cracked, mouth softening into something different from the flat, emotionless line it had made before. His posture stayed stiff, and it reminded me of how bunched up he'd get before ordering at a restaurant: replaying the words in his head until he was sure he wouldn't stumble.

"Yeah, that idiot got five hours of sleep, but he makes it seem like the world is ending."

"The world is ending, Michael," I grinned, melodramatically splaying my arms out over the table.

Michael's face steeled back over and I physically withdrew, a pit opening at the base of my gut. Was it really that bad between us now? I couldn't pinpoint a time when it had started to sour between us, it just had. Maybe it had been that way since the beginning, our relationship dusted in just enough sugar to cover the incompatibility at first glance.

Maybe Michael and I were just destined to be on walled-off parallel lines, but—

"—Michael, can't we just be frien—"

"—No." The most decisive I'd ever heard him, Michael cut me off.

"I don't wanna be friends with you, Lukas."

I blinked, "Okay, um, ouch."

That got a smile. Sadist. I tried smiling back, but my face didn't follow commands and I ended up grimacing, ugly. I didn't get what was funny.

"I can't be your friend, Lukas," Michael amended, quick, almost apologetic, and something like comfort descended on the two of us. More relaxed than we'd been in years, years of caked on bitterness started to flake away with the remnants of whatever had been held stagnant in between us.

"It's not like I'm still hung up on you," He laughed, and I echoed it, sitting up a little straighter, "I just don't think I'll ever be happy only being your friend, and that's something I've gotta fix myself."

He took a deep breath, "But right now I just wanna be happy."

"I want you to be happy," I added, not sure what I could say. Michael and I had broken up a long time ago, but we'd never talked about it, never discussed it. This felt the same, like we were breaking up all over again, but far from being sad—

"I want you to be happy too," Michael beamed, and his smile dimpled.

—it just felt like we were breaking free.

Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ

Paisley Roberts had finally succeeded in moving up the high school hierarchy. She seemed happy now, less unsure, her arms happily slung around a fellow cheerleader's shoulder with a grin. They were both still in uniform, pompoms forgotten on the floor and limp-looking from being overused at the final football game a few hours before— States, we'd made it to the state finals, only for the undefeated football team to have everything wiped from under them. Massacred, Marco had laughed, mentioning how the parties would go on, undisturbed. That had felt weird, the idea of celebrating a bitter loss, but I'd changed into jeans and drove to Paisley's party because I knew he'd be there, the man of the hour.

And I knew how he got when too many eyes followed him.

I nursed a small cup of water to my chest, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar crop of messy hair. Where are you, Kieran?

"Where is Marco?" DJ frowned next to me, eyes bloodshot and words a little too slurred. He'd started drinking before I'd even shown up and it was unusual. DJ didn't like drinking, didn't like the taste of alcohol, but the way he held his tongue, heavy in his mouth, spoke of recent familiarity with André and his mixes.

"You said he would come a little later, remember?" I tried grabbing DJ's drink, pouring it out into the sink. He swayed a little, looking for his cup on a delay. I passed him my water, grabbing a bottle for myself before guiding him to the porch. The air was frigid, but global warming had blessed winter break with a warm enough evening that a campfire could be set up in the yard.

"Yeah, he promised," DJ nodded, sullen, "Doesn't mean he'll actually show, though."

I sighed, awkward, patting DJ's shoulder and pulling a porch chair out for him. He collapsed into it, head resting on the back as he almost immediately fell asleep. His chin pointed to the sky, he snored, soft.

"He's snoring? Must've drank too much, sillygoose."

I turned to face the familiar leer, throwing my water bottle at Marco as he caught it deftly. He smacked the side of my head, affectionate in a way only he could be and I did the same, shoving him back with a smile.

"Marco," I breathed out, relieved, "Where were you?"

"Why?" Marco laughed, pleasantly sober, "This crybaby make a scene?"

I chuckled, not answering directly because I wouldn't rat DJ out like that. Marco, with all his omniscience, just sighed knowingly, setting up camp in the chair next to DJ. The air was dry, cold, and he was only in a t-shirt and shorts, but he propped his legs up on the porch wall. Marco didn't look cold. Little goosebumps broke out on his legs though, disappearing down the length of his athletic socks, mismatched and uneven up his shins.

"Christmas is in two weeks, but it's still warm out," He smiled, "Oh, and Kieran's by the bonfire, loverboy."

"Shut up, Marco," I poked his shoulder, pulling my shirt to unstick it from my chest before heading inside. It was too cold to be outside without a jacket.

"Hey man, looking for Kieran?"

"Roger-fucking-Lee," I laughed, greeting him with a hug. He balanced his cup, water probably, carefully before punching me in the shoulder.

"Lukas-fucking-Schmitt," He shot me a look, "What's with the surprise?"

"Dunno," I shrugged, "You're usually too busy for this shit."

Roger laughed again, the most relaxed I'd seen him in a while.

"Handed in my last college application this morning, I'm gonna be free for a long while."

"I haven't even finished half of mine," I groaned, suddenly stressed.

"With all this fantastic free time came the realization that I have no life," Roger smiled, "I can help review your essays and stuff over winter break. Let's get all this shit done with."

"You're a lifesaver, Roger."

Roger brushed me off, nudging me to the side as a couple walked by, giggling and unsteady.

"Anyways, Kieran's at the bonfire in the back," Roger gestured over his shoulder, "Mush, Fido. Go find the boyfriend who's been ghosting you."

"Fuck you," I rolled my eyes, "Kieran made it very clear that he does not want to be my boyfriend."

Roger's grin dropped, face flat and annoyed. What? Maybe that had come out harsh, but I wasn't adamant about finding Kieran to beg him to like me back. No, I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Maybe make sure that we were okay.

"Roger, I can't lose my best friend."

I whispered it, soft, and Roger leaned against the wall before squeezing my shoulder with his free hand.

"Lukas," He started, breathing in then out, apparently over my bullshit, "Kieran might like you more than he loves basketball. Now, I'm not telling you to get your hopes up or even to confront him right now, but the guy looks fucking lost whenever you're not around."

I didn't respond, sinking against the wall a little, my previous excitement to go pretend like nothing had happened bleeding out of me slowly.

"Kieran's the kind of guy that needs time to think about everything," Roger made a circle with his cup, the liquid sloshing out onto his sleeves a little. Alcohol?

"He might take thirty minutes to decide on his pizza order," Roger turned my face towards him, and it would've been nice if not for the absolute exhaustion that riddled his face. Yeah, he's really over my bullshit.

"But once Kieran gives you an answer, you know he's giving you his complete and honest one-hundred percent."

I know. It dawned on me slowly, and with it, Roger's smile grew because it must've been apparent on my face. The realization made my stomach jump like a live wire had hit my skin and I felt like hiding, one hand slapping over my eyes with a frown. I know him. I know Kieran.

"I didn't give him any time to answer."

"You watch too many soap operas," Roger shook his head, "All of you, so dramatic, honestly."

"I—"

"Happy belated Hanukkah, Lukas!" Ahmed broke into our conversation, from out of nowhere, really, doubling back when he saw the stern look on Roger's face.

"And, uh, hi Roger!"

A kid with long hair reached for Ahmed's shirt, pulling him away with a laugh and an apology and steering him back to where they'd come from. Ahmed laughed as they joined a few other members of the basketball team in the living room. A few football players were sprinkled throughout the group, most looking a little less gray than they had after the game. I didn't see Arrigo though, and familiar faces were far few and in between. Senior year, huh? That was a realization for another time, all the nameless faces who'd been in my classes since kindergarten starting to take form as the promise of leaving started to loom closer.

Things wouldn't be the same after this.

"It's been more than a week," I mused, kind of to myself, kind of to Roger who I was quickly realizing was probably one of the best humans in existence. It probably wasn't common to pay friends, but Roger deserved a paycheck, definitely far above minimum wage.

"Kieran could have maybe, possibly, made a decision in a week right?"

"Maybe he made it five minutes after you left," Roger shrugged with a sneaky little smile.

"Roger, I can't just..." My breathing got fast and I thought back to that night, morbidly quiet as Elizabeth warded off the rest of our siblings and let me lay down in her room. Talk to me, Lukas. So I had. I'd spilled everything.

It wasn't like Elizabeth hadn't known about it: about me liking boys, about me dating Michael, about me liking Kieran, but it had never been something I said out loud. It had never really been something we talked about. It had never been something I'd wanted to talk about.

It felt a little like leaving the closet, and the movies all made started to make sense when the words started leaving me. It was scary. Even with the promise that Elizabeth wouldn't leave, wouldn't even be surprised really, it had scared the shit out of me to say it all out. To put it all in the air and never be able to reclaim it, to stuff it back down.

"Roger, what if it goes wrong?" I stared down my friend, wanting nothing more than to listen to the little, belittling voice in my head. Will you take the blame? I pinned Roger with my gaze, and I suddenly wondered if this was how Michael had felt for so many years. Panicked. Cornered. With no choice but to lash out when people got too close, too hopeful.

Roger smiled, grim but competitive, "Only one way to find out, isn't there, Lukas?"

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3315 words

A shorter chapter, but I finally got it out of the way! I believe this is the last Lukas POV, but I'm not too sure.

Three chapters left of BWBBv.2 (including an epilogue) and I'm really excited to finally wrap this book up and write out the ending I've been planning for a while now :)

How was this chapter?

Thank you all for your patience in this last stretch. I'm genuinely so happy that so many of you enjoy this story, and I'm going to try my best to deliver a solid ending to make all the waiting worth it (hopefully!).

I hope you're all doing well. Stay safe and enjoy your week!