Page 28 of Unwanted

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re confused.”

“Because I am,” I say truthfully. “You say things like I’m supposed to know what you mean. Like they’re obvious.”

“They are obvious,” she replies.

Irritated, I fall back into the seat. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“You might be here for Lennox,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean your relationship with Arlo isn’t in the spotlight now too.”

“Pfft. What relationship?” I sputter. “We’re practically strangers.”

Clem rolls her eyes. “Like I said, long and pitiful glances. Strangers don’t look at each other like that.”

“I think you’re imagining something that isn’t there,” I deflect. I’d be an idiot to miss how badly Clem has wanted me back home, so I shamelessly use that against her to stop myself from thinking, hoping that this morning with Arlo was something more than it was. “Something you want to be there.”

There’s still so much to be said between us, but his presence this morning was everything I needed. If I let myself think about it, there’s nobody else in the world, even with all our history, who could understand and support me in silence, the way Arlo did.

There is a time and a place for our issues, and to see that we have both grown enough to be able to recognize that gave me hope.

Hope that we can come out the other side of the hurt we have caused each other.

Hope that I can confidently call Arlo a friend.

Hope that I can leave LA with my family finally all in one piece.

“Tell yourself whatever lie helps you sleep at night,” she drolls. “But there is still something between the two of you.”

“It’s called history,” I argue. “And why are you always the one poking and prodding around in everyone’s business. What’s new with you lately?”

Clem squirms in her seat, a look I can’t decipher crossing her face.

“What is it?” I press. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“How did you know you were gay?”

My eyes widen. “Okay, that’s not what I was expecting. Is there something you want to say or talk about?”

“Did you always know?” she continues, completely ignoring my question. “Did something happen?”

Moving forward, I lean my elbows on the table and steeple my fingers at my temple. My plan to steer the conversation away from me has backfired as my mind settles on that defining moment between Arlo and me.

“I knew I liked Arlo,” I tell her. “I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t want to be around him. We were the youngest in the group home at the time, and after being moved around a million times, I was so grateful to have one person I could depend on, that I latched on to him without a second thought.”

“He didn’t mind?” she asks. “I remember Arlo being a hardass back then.”

His skin got thicker the older we got, and when Clem arrived two years later, he was well on his way to becoming a hardened man stuck in the body of a teenager.

“I think it was just a product of being in the right place at the right time, and in Arlo’s case, the right mood,” I explain. “We did everything together. There wasn’t a person in the world I wanted to be around more than Arlo. We were honestly too busy surviving to think of girls or boys, or labels. Or so I thought.” I feel my mouth widen into a smile I have no control over. “Until he kissed me.”

“For so long his boldness was my favorite thing about him. The way he just dove in head first, no care for the consequences. And one day we were loitering in a car junkyard, skipping school, sharing a joint, and the next thing I knew his mouth was on mine.”

Subconsciously, two fingers rest on my lips as I think back to that day, my mouth tingling at the memory.

Languidly, I exhale the smoke and let my body sink into the sunburnt leather. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes while holding up the joint between us, waiting for Arlo to take it.

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