Page 65 of Whistle

Little did he know I was already miserable, so his hobby was a waste of time.

“There he is,” Ronnie crooned, pushing the door closed and turning to where I sat on my bed. “The roomie I didn’t want.”

“Just curious, but did you develop your personality in a car crash?”

“Funny,” he said, shooting a finger gun at me. “You’re funny.”

I didn’t bother to point out it wasn’t a joke. Closing the top of my laptop, I got off the bed to grab my bag and push it inside. His presence was my cue to leave.

Ronnie went oddly quiet, the kind of quiet that was noticeable, and I turned around to see him standing at the mini fridge with a water in his hand. He was staring at me with a confused but also disgusted look on his face.

“What is that?” he asked, eyes dropping to my shirt.

Uneasiness unfurled in my stomach, and I had to make a conscious effort not to shrink in on myself. “What?” I feigned stupidity.

He jabbed a finger at my clothes. “That.”

“Uh, my shirt?” Innocence was hard for me to pull off. But hey, sometimes confidence was too.

“Where’s the rest of it?”

Sighing, I abandoned my bag at the end of the bed and turned to fully face him. Cocking a hand on my hip, I said, “Haven’t you ever seen a crop top before?”

He scoffed. “On girls.”

“Clearly, you’ve never watched an eighties movie.”

His eyes narrowed. “It’s purple.”

“So?” I pressed.

“You a homo?” he demanded, slapping his water on the desk nearby. “I told you how I feel about homos.”

Honestly, I couldn’t believe there were still people like this in the world. “Yes, Chad.”

“It’s Ronnie.”

“Same difference,” I muttered. Freaking dude-bros were all the same.

He seemed confused. “What?”

I sighed. “I quite remember you telling me the moment I stepped into this room that you didn’t live with homos.”

He pointed at me again. “Your belly button is pierced.”

I glanced down at the diamond piercing. “Oh dear, how’d that get there?”

“I knew it,” he said, drawing up to his full height, which was unfortunately more than mine. “The minute you walked in here with all that hair, I knew you were a twink.”

I laughed. “I’m from California.”

“So you aren’t gay?”

Being gay wasn’t new to me. It was something so basic about myself that I’d almost always known. It was never anything I struggled with because it just was. People in Cali didn’t make a big deal of it, and I looked more “surfer” than twink, but I guess on the other side of the country, my style was a little more… controversial. Even still, this was who I was. I never shied away from it.

“Oh, no, I’m definitely gay.” I confirmed.

His face turned red. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

---