Right?
Here's more of this:
Dillon doesn't say a damn thing to me during lab on Monday, which is just as well. Actually, maybe not so well, because we're supposed to figure out how one of the cadavers died, and I get it totally wrong. Dillon figured it out super fast, and then just sat and played on his phone while I poked around the dead guy's chest cavity. Cardiac arrest. Did not get that, even though his heart was four times the normal size.
Am I really that dumb?
A small part of me is like, don't take it so hard; Dillon was just as drunk as I was. Then I get called into three different professor's offices. "You need to study." “This isn’t high school.” “You need to apply yourself." "You're wasting your parents' money like this." "Are you taking this seriously?" I'm only taking fifteen hours this semester. Freshman Writing, Human Biology, and Statistics were supposed to be blow off classes. I actually tried in Macroeconomics and Spanish. I should have gotten at least a C if I had studied, right?
"How'd you do?" I ask Carter when I see him at lunch.
He raises both his middle fingers. "B-minus for an hour of cramming. Fuck yeah, motherfucker! You?"
I'm going to shoot somebody. "Fifteen minutes before class got me a D," I lie. That was three hours wasted in the library, is what it was. Seriously, am I stupid? There's a sick feeling in my gut. Studying can be helped, but dumb is dumb. If I'm really not smart, I need a backup plan for this college shit. I gotta, like, start flipping burgers and work my way up the ladder. My dad's gonna kill me.
"Coming out tonight?" Carter asks, and I come back to the present.
"Nah, I got to study," I say, and add like it's no big deal, "I'm flunking four classes, so I gotta get my grades up."
Carter actually laughs. "Holy shit, man! How'd that happen so fast?"
"What do you think?" I reply with a grin. Why am I smiling? This isn't a joke. This isn't funny at all. "Too much time chasing pussy."
"So what are you gonna do?"
"I'm gonna fucking study, duh." I shake my head. "From now 'till the end of the year."
Carter claps me on the shoulder with mock sympathy. "The pussy will still be there when it’s over.."
"I hear that."
He puts his fingers together like he's describing a fine wine. "It will be, how do you say, matured. Ripe, and ready to be plucked."
I laugh. “A fine vintage from the early twenty-first century, perhaps of the Tri-Delt region, will be just the ticket.” I sound fucking ridiculous. “But I gotta figure out how to raise this fuckin’ GPA in the meantime.”
Carter shoulders his backpack as he stands from our table. “Bruh. Find the hottest girl in each of your classes and ask her to be your study buddy,” he says like it should be obvious. “Two birds with one stone.”
It’s not a bad idea, but a lot of the hottest girls in my classes are mad at me for—if I’m honest while I’m feeling down on myself already—good reasons. I try a couple of them, just in case. Nothing too obvious. “Hey, I’m tryna tear up these midterms. Wanna study together?” Chandra straight up tells me that I shouldn’t be allowed to be near women before I get sensitivity training. This day fucking sucks.
And here’s the thing: I know who that leaves me. Not my actual friends. I would rather flunk out than ever ask them for help. I got a reputation to uphold, you know? Besides, DIllion isn’t the first gay guy I’ve had to apologize to. Like, I didn’t know Aaron was queer when he called me out for being a bully last spring, but at least it makes sense why he was so protective of Viera. What I mean is that I’ve had that horrible feeling of having to make amends in person, and I know I can do it, and I know that eventually that feeling of wanting to crawl into a hole goes away. That’s fucking maturity, baby.
I find Dillon in the library, of course. He’s with fucking Viera, who notices me first and nudges Dillon to look up. I thought all his friends betrayed him by not telling him about the cheating boyfriend, but maybe…or maybe Crispin was the other victim…this really fucks with my plan, but I don’t have another one, so I dive in.
“What are you listening to?” I ask as my opener.
Dillon pulls his earbuds out with a disgusted look that nearly shrivels my spine. “Black Pumas.” He says it like a challenge.
“Oh, I like ‘Colors’ a lot,” I say, because I don’t just listen to white artists, okay? Nevermind that my one black friend introduced me to them. “Can I apologize to you real quick?”
The surprise on his face is worth the direct approach. “Oh…okay?”
I’ve already sat myself next to Crispin across from him. “This is gonna be uncomfortable, so just, like, bear with me.” It’s what the chatbot advised and, unlike with all my essays this year, I took the time to tweak the script so it sounds like me. “I’m really sorry I was such an asshole to you on Saturday. Yes, I was already drunk and on a mission, but that’s not a good excuse.”
Dillon’s expression barely changes, but Crispin’s eyebrows have shot nearly off his head as he glances between us. This could actually be good.
“Viera can cosign that I don’t have the best track record with like, thinking before I act,” I say like I regret it, then turn to the little queer kid in question. “Like, I was a total fuckwad to you in high school, right?”
“Um, pretty much,” Crispin replies.
“And I don’t expect us to ever be friends or anything,” I say quickly, just in case he’s about to make one of his sarcastic little comments. “All that was peak, like, gut-reaction shit.”
“And your gut is mean,” Crispin mutters.
Dammit, now I gotta apologize to this little asshole, too? Fine. “Yeah, and that sucks. I have a lot of—what is the word for it? Reverse education or something?”
“Unlearning,” Dillon suggests quietly.
“Unlearning to do. Yeah. Which I know is my responsibility. It’s slow going, because like you both have told me, my brian don’t work so good.”
The self-deprecation works; Dillon’s expression softens. “Jay, I didn’t mean that.”
I press on. “Nah, you were right. I’m desperately trying to find a study buddy, or a tutor or something, because I am close to failing my way out of college.” Here’s where Crispin actually comes in handy, because I turn to him. “I’d fucking pay at this point. Are you in Freshman Writing this semester? Or Macroeconomics? Statistics?”
“No,” he says. Little shit probably tested out of his entire first year.
I turn back to Dillon. “Are you?” I already know the answer.
“I have Writing with Professor Stadler and Macro with Dr. Valero,” he says, sounding wary.
Now I pretend to be surprised. “Wait, seriously? Sorry, this was not my actual plan here, but is there any way that you could help me study? Like, I will be your little fucking minion for the rest of the semester. For the year.”
Dillon leans back in his chair. “Do you remember the last thing I said to you on Saturday?”
“That you weren’t going to carry me anymore,” I quote him, trying not to get mad all over again. “And I swear to God you won’t be carrying me. It’ll be, like, accountability. I will both beg and pay you.”
Now Crispin stands up with one of his little huffs. “Take his money,” he advises Dillon. “It’s reparations.”
“What?” I ask, but Crispin walks away. Okay then, I guess he’s done.
Dillon doesn’t look happy, exactly, but he doesn’t go anywhere.
"Dude, come on," I finally say. "I'm sorry. Really."
His eyes narrow. "I'm over it already."
"Are you?"
"Yeah."
"Are you?" I ask again, my voice sliding playfully. I give him a knowing look, and Dillon's stony face cracks. He gives me a reluctant smile and nods.
"Yeah."
"Good." Really good, actually, because I'm going to fail this test if I don't get help soon.
Kayleigh struts up then, throwing a friendly arm around Dillon. “Hey, boo,” she says, ignoring me, “you ready for Sociology?”
He squeezes her back and says, “Yeah, hang on. Jay, let me get your number so I can text you when I’m free. The school app has been eating my messages.”
Kayleigh raises her eyebrows gracefully, finally looking at me.
“Yeah same.” I hand over my phone. “Seriously, thanks so much. And gimme your socials.”
“Fuck no!” Dillon laughs, “I don’t want you looking me up!”
“Why not!?”
“Because I’m your tutor, not your bro.”
Kayleigh pulls him away and I want to make a smart ass comeback so goddam bad but I want to look good in front of Kayleigh more.
It only takes, like, fifteen minutes to find Dillon’s accounts. Kayleigh’s profiles are all private, but she’s friends with Ellie who’s friends with Atsuko who I hooked with at the beginning of the year. I feel like a fucking detective when I find the right Dillon and his curly-headed profile pops up. It’s nothing incredible; lots of group photos, the only mirror selfies are silly costumes, all the videos are dumb inside jokes. He likes hiking, he’s close to his siblings, and he misses the family cat. I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I ask him if he’s been home to see Nugget lately. But then I see him in a shot with the LBTQIA+ Alliance and his arm is around this one dude’s hip, who’s the only one not tagged in the picture.
That’s gotta be the cheating ex. Okay, now I fucking have to find this guy. Takes me a little longer because the only other person in the group I know is Crispin, who blocked every account I have. But finally I find him. Marcus aka OnTheMarc is exactly the kind of gym selfie-taking narcissist you’d have to be to cheat on a nice guy like Dillon. He’s already got a bunch of pictures with the new guy, but he didn’t even bother to delete any of the stuff from when he was with Dillon. Maybe I found his finsta, because he hasn’t tagged anyone. (I’m a fucking genius.)
Then I scroll down enough to find a picture of Marcus and Dillon kissing and throw my phone down.
Holy shit.
I know I shouldn’t look at it again; Dillon would be pissed. But if I tell him how to find an account like this, so that he knows if the next guy is a piece of shit, then maybe…I pick up the phone. I’ve seen two guys kiss before. Maybe Aaron and Crispin were the first two guys I’d seen in person, but even Hallmark lets gay guys kiss now—I fucking made out with Brantley, even if he doesn’t remember it and I barely do. It’s not a big deal. But the feeling in my stomach, like the nerves I used to get before games, doesn’t go away.
It’s a regular old, like, a we’re-at-a-picnic photo. They’re on a blanket, Dillon looks like he’s going to laugh even if his eyes are closed, and Marcus is looking at the camera. Smarmy. I’m sure OnTheMarc here posted this one because neither of them look as weird as most people do with their faces mashed together. Staged. So cringe.
I scroll further down. I shouldn’t watch any of the videos. It’s fine, though, because there’s nothing sexual or romantic in any of the others. Dillon has his shirt off in one of them, but it’s with a bunch of people at the lake. And he just kind of runs past; I had to pause to make sure it was him. He wears his tight workout gear in the gym. So I already knew he had that body, though I’m a little surprised he doesn’t shave his chest. Maybe he’s filled out a little more since summer.
Swiping out of the app in a hurry, I turn on music as though it will override the images filling my brain. No need to think about Dillon kissing his ex. He’s going to tutor me. I got what I wanted, and it didn’t even take that much.
I shouldn’t have poked around that guy Marcus’ socials. Then again, it makes me feel good that I’m better looking than that piece of shit. And if Dillon ever asks, I can show him how to play detective for his future boyfriends. It’s fine.
It’s fine.
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