Page 50 of You Are Not Me

“Something like that.”

“Well, that boy needs to learn turnabout is always fair play, and if he’s going to keep a tart on the side, then you’re allowed to get your rocks off too.”

“Leslie isn’t a tart,” I said, picking at my fingernails. “She’s…Leslie. I like her.”

It’d be so much easier if shewasa tart. But no, she was a really good person. She’d stood up for me more than once last year when kids were bullying me, and she’d supported the only openly gay guy at Kingsley when he came out. Leslie was loyal, loving, and true. She didn’t deserve what we were doing behind her back. Adam and I were the assholes here.

“Uh-huh.” Robert’s skepticism rang through loud and clear. “Well, you’re kinder than me, baby. As far as I’m concerned, he has no right to be angry with you. Besides, are you supposed to believe he’s being a monk over in Italy? Dollars to donuts he’s livingla dolce vita.”

I blinked.

Adam had asked me to wait for him. Leslie was one thing, but surely he wasn’t messing around with anyone in Italy. Was he? His letter—with the lines about how well Italian men dress—seemed heavier in my pocket. Ruthlessly, I shoved the suspicions away. I already had too much to deal with.

“It wasn’t just about the sex. He was mad about everything—the drinking, the drugs. Not watching out for myself.”

“Well, of course, but it was mainly about the sex, wasn’t it?” Robert sounded so arch I could practically hear his eyebrow rising.

Barry’s voice rumbled in the background.

Robert sighed. “Listen, I’ve got to go, or I’ll make Barry late to his job at the library. You give me a time and place to meet your folks, and I’ll be there. Feel better, baby.” He blew kisses over the line and hung up.

I grabbed my hoarded film rolls and headed out to run my errands, eager to put my grief and worry aside for a few hours.

***

A seemingly endlessfreight train rumbled on the tracks across from Repeat After Me, a consignment clothing shop near the old Terrace Theater in the area of town known as Bearden. I peered in the dusty window of an antique shop as I walked along the row of stores, the scent of coffee wafting from a new café called Cuppa.

I didn’t have a lot of wriggle room when it came to money, so I was skipping the mall. I had car payments and insurance to consider, and I was trying to save as much as I could for whatever incidentals might crop up once school started in the fall.

I’d need money for gas up to UT and back, and if I went down to Atlanta to visit Adam I’d need to fund those trips too. My folks had agreed to pay for my books, and my tuition was covered, but there were all kinds of potential expenses I needed to be prepared for.

Might not be going to Atlanta if it’s over with Adam. That’ll save me money, at least.

I grimaced and ordered myself to focus on the present.

Inside, Repeat After Me smelled of lavender air freshener with a musty undertone. Racks and piles of pre-owned clothes were divided between sections for men, women, and children. I headed to the left, hoping to find a few items that appealed to me.

My understanding of the stereotypical gay man claimed I was supposed to find shopping for clothes fun. Either that was a lie, or I wasn’t living up to my end of the gay-man deal. As I sifted through piles of pants and pushed shirts around on racks, I didn’t see the fun at all. Maybe itwouldbe better at the mall, but I doubted it. There’d been a reason I’d been grateful as hell for the uniforms at Kingsley.

“Well, if it isn’t our sweet little knob-licker, Peter,” said a soft voice from behind me.

My gut clenched up, memories of fists and kicks gripping me. My lungs seized and I went cold as an unfamiliar hand pulled me around. My breath let out in a whoosh. The shock of white-blond hair and wide blue eyes belonged to Daniel’s friend Minty. The taller, dark-haired guy with him was Windy.

I darted my eyes around to see who else was in the shop and if anyone might have overheard him calling me a knob-licker. Though I guessed straight guys called each other names like that all the time. But there was no way in hellanyonewas going to think Minty was straight.

He wore a tight tank top underneath an equally tight cut-off T-shirt and a pair of black bike shorts. He had two gold bangles on his right arm and a red, glittery hair clip holding his skater-cut bangs out of his face. Windy, on the other hand, looked like he’d just stepped out of a boy band in his white overalls and purple T-shirt.

“Hey,” I said, feeling awkward and uncertain. Being called a knob-licker didn’t rank on my list of friendly greetings, but Minty was smiling and Windy’s eyes crinkled warmly. They seemed happy to see me. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying shoes,” Minty said, holding out a pair of green women’s sandals. “For my mom.”

I wondered if that was true. Minty seemed to wear women’s clothes often enough. “You’re buying your mom a present here?”

“Not everyone can afford new things, okay?” He sounded defensive, and I put my hands up.

“I get that. I’m shopping here too, aren’t I?”

Minty’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe you’re one of those rich kids from Kingsley who think it’s cool to slum it.”

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