Jay's Not Gay, You Guys 11

Y'all know I'm not having fun unless I'm torturing some characters a little bit.

So I pass my fucking classes, and the only one I get a D in is Macro because I fucking bombed that final. In my defense, it was the one right after Dillon told me we couldn’t even fucking be friends, and that’s a crazy thing to say to me when I still have two exams left.

“Healthier for us both,” he said.

I’m so fucking pissed, man. Like, way to talk a big game about thinking about other people and being considerate and then do none of that when push comes to shove. And like, obviously I should never have called him a faggot, but Dillon said he believed that I was sorry. And that was before we fucked!

And Jesus, the fucking…Dillon turned into this, like, unhinged sex machine that only cared about getting off and feeling good. It was amazing, now that I thought about it, that the Dillon who basically begged me to fuck the cum out of him is the same one who is such an uptight goody two-shoes everywhere else. Is he like that with everyone he sleeps with? What if he has bad sex? If it's a two and not a seven-almost-an-eight, does he just lie there? What is a five? Is it different if he tops?

And why.

The Fuck.

Would he tell me.

That things got too “intense.” 

When I hadn’t even brought up having sex, not one time? He obviously wanted to forget it happened, so I was following his lead.

And it’s not like I have anyone to ask to about it. LeAndre’s whole family goes to visit him, Carter wouldn’t understand, Aaron wouldn’t mean to tell Viera but he totally would by accident. 

I do have to answer for a D when I get home, but a quick point to the noggin and everyone chills out. Maybe I should get a concussion right before every finals week. My parents are going from holiday party to holiday party with all their church friends, and one time I hear my dad tell someone, “Jay’s still figuring it out. Football was never going to be forever.” Which is pretty fucking rich, given that it was my main thing until my knee exploded this summer. Then we’re off to Hidden Valley like always. Snowboarding is good because there’s not a ton of time to, like, philosophize when you’re just trying not to run over all the noobs.

Dillon calls me on New Year’s Eve. I snatch up my phone so fast, going, “Hello? Are you okay?” but it just sounds like jumbled noise.

“Dillon! You butt dialed me!” I shout. Maybe he’ll hear me from his pocket. “Dillon!”

I can kind of make out his voice amidst all the sounds, but there’s no way to tell what anyone’s saying. About a minute in he laughs real loud, and then there’s that encouraging chant of “Ey! Ey! Ey! Ey!” and I remember that he’s probably in the Bahamas right now. Even if it would be funny to have, like, a thirty minute call logged on his phone, he said international data is expensive.

I hang up.

Listen. I’ll be fine. For real. Like, I do actually have other friends. Not to mention that when school starts up again, it’s like a whole new group of people to sort because all our classes change. I only know my classmates from Spanish 102 because we were together in 101, right?

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Taryn says in Black Feminist Theory in the Harlem Renaissance. She still hates me, I guess.

“Yeah girl, I’m tryna bundle sensitivity training and gen ed shit together,” I reply, taking a seat one away from her. I tap my forehead. “Smart.”

She snorts a little bit, but not in a mean way, so I guess I’m on my way back into her good graces. It’s not that I’m trying to treat her like Dillon. To do that, she’d have to tutor me, then sleep with me—and who wouldn’t want that; look at her—and then never want to speak to me again even if she seemed to like hanging out with me. No thanks. But I know she’s pretty smart, so it wouldn’t hurt to have someone I can talk to in this class.

Carter and I are both in Applied Mathematics For Non-Majors, which is going to be a fucking disaster, but we’re in different sections. Fucking Viera is in Principles of Visual Design with me, which may have way more math involved than I wanted in an art class. My knee is healed enough to be in spring training as long as the school nurse clears my head bonk recovery. Coming back after break just means new routines, and once I get a handle on my schedule it’ll be like last semester never happened.

I’ll be fine.

We’ve been at school for four days before Dillon passes me in the student union. He’s on the other side of the lobby, so we’re not close enough to say hey, but he doesn’t even give me a head nod. Next to him is that Swedish guy everyone was talking about because he had some bit part in a couple of movies when he was a kid, and so everyone’s all “Why is he here? Why not Hollywood or New York?” and acts like he’s a fucking celebrity. I’d bet good money that he likes hanging out with Dillon because he gets treated like a normal person.

Dillon looks darker, happier. His curls are braided down, his button-down looks sharp, and even across the room you can see that his eyes look even bluer next to his tan. He smiles at that tall blond motherfucker, and the dumbass Swede is probably wondering how to get those full lips onto his pasty dick. Suddenly my mouth is dry.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

"Are you going home for MLK Day?" I ask Carter, just to have a reason not to look at Dillon and Sven, or whatever his name is.

Carter shakes his head. "Going to Ashlyn’s. I would give you a ride on the way, but I don’t have to be back until Wednesday."

"I was mostly planning to be here, anyway," I reply. "Where's Ashlyn from, again?" Dillon either hasn't seen me, or he's being a total asshole. I can't tell which.

"Florissant. Hey, are you okay, man?"

I pull my gaze from my former lab partner. "What?"

Carter peers at me in concern. "You don't look so good," he informs me. "I mean, I know you've been super stressed, but you look like you're going to be sick."

"I just need sleep," I respond, rubbing my eyes. Sleep and a psych eval, probably. 

Later, I’m walking out of the nurse’s office when I run into the last girl I had sex with.

“Hey Abbie.”

Abbie blinks at me, then her expression gets more friendly. “Oh, hi! It’s Casey, right?”

“Jay.”

“Jay! Right. Sorry. What’s going down?” She seems to actually want an answer.

I hold up the note that I got. “I got a concussion last semester.”

“That would explain things,” Abbie says with a nod.

I cock my head. “What?”

“Oh, uh…” she backtracks, “I mean, when did that happen?”

Maybe I should be offended, but she’s clearly trying to be nice. I shrug and answer. “Just before finals.”

“Ah. That sucks. Um, are you okay?”

“Working on it,” I say.

“Cool. Well…” she trails off.

I almost let things end there, but this girl who I drunk fucked in a random room in a frat house seems like a genuinely nice person. I’ve learned that I want nice people to think I’m nice, too, and also she deserves an apology for the way I fucked off right after I nutted.

“Hey.” I stop her. “I just want to say, like, I didn’t mean to totally ghost you. I was really drunk, and in a weird place, and—”

Abbie laughs, “Oh my god, we are so good. Honestly, I should thank you. That whole night helped me accept that I’m not into men. Like, at all.”

“Wow. Then you’re welcome, I guess.” It’s not about me. My dick didn’t turn her gay. It’s not about me.

“Seriously. Like, I grew up assuming everyone was straight, right? So of course I would be, too. But I should have known when I absolutely could. Not.” Abbie claps her hands for emphasis. “Have. Sex. With. A man. Sober! And I always would end up crying to one of my friends that I’d never be loved, blah blah blah, and then wanting to, like, snuggle while we watch a movie. Make out a little ‘for practice.’ Say shit like ‘If I were a guy, I would totally date you.’ You know, real lesbian stuff.”

I blink. “Okay.”

Seeing my face, Abbie giggles. “Oh my god, sorry, that’s a classic overshare. I also just got diagnosed with ADHD, which is maybe why I can’t shut up even though we’re basically strangers.”

“Did that, like, help?”

“Coming out? Oh my god, yes. I—”

I interrupt. “No, I mean the ADHD thing.”

“Oh, like, one thousand million percent. Getting tested was kind of fun, actually. And now I get extra time on exams and regular therapy, and I’m about to try meds.” She does a silly little happy dance. “Everything’s coming up Abbie!”

I can’t help laughing a little bit. “Congratulations. Really.”

“Thank you, Clarence! Just kidding, I know it’s Jay.” Abbie points behind me to the nurse’s office. “Okay, I have to go see this lady about a flu shot. Bye, and good luck with your brain!”

I know she means the concussion, but…I think I’m fucked.