Page 38 of If This Gets Out

I could be bi.

“Zach?”

I snap back to reality. An assistant is in front of me, holding out a jacket.

“Sorry, thanks.”

I take it and pull it on. It’s made of black leather but is cut like an oversized suit jacket, which makes it kinda punk and cool. My hair has been slicked straight back, and Penny has already done my face, including the trademark Saturday eye makeup. It’s a little more subtle for this upcoming album cycle promo, but it’s still there.

I glance at Ruben. I was hoping he’d maybe be looking at me; I thought I saw him looking out of the corner of my eye when I was talking to the assistant, but no such luck. He’s looking past me, at the set that’s been assembled.

Please, look at me, Ruben. Smile at me. Convince me this will work out okay, somehow. Make me believe I haven’t ruined everything.

“I’m not wearing that,” says Jon, interrupting my thoughts.

He’s holding a blue shirt made of a thin, mesh-like material.

“Come on,” says Viktor. “You’ll look gorgeous!”

“I’ll look naked.”

“I’ll wear it,” says Angel, poking his head through an off-white sweater, totally boy-next-door chic. It’s sleek and nice, but definitely not sexy. “Let’s be real, my grandma would wear this.”

Ruben has spun in his makeup chair to watch and is smirking slightly. Likewise, Penny is fully invested, her mouth hanging open. I forgot how much I like that playful smile of Ruben’s, and seeing it again, aimed at someone else, rips me apart. Who knows if he’ll ever look at me with anything other than cold disdain ever again?

“Boys,” says Erin, glancing up from her iPad. “Stick to your assigned outfits, okay?”

“You’re asking me to show my body,” says Jon. “We’ve talked about this. I don’t feel comfortable.”

Viktor frowns. “Don’t you want to capitalize off your spot on the list?”

“I don’t care about the list.”

“It’ll help the band, Jon,” calls Erin.

“I don’t have to use my body to sell music, Erin.”

“True,” says Erin. “But you’ll sell more if you do.”

“Well, maybe that sucks, and maybe we should do something to change it.”

Erin rubs her forehead and lets out a long, bone-weary sigh. “Can you please choose some other time to be a martyr? I’ve got so much on my plate right now.”

He offers her back the shirt. “Let Angel wear it if he wants.”

She sighs again. “Look, if you want to change outfits now, I’m going to have to talk to your dad.” She pulls out her phone and unlocks it. “I doubt he’ll be happy to be interrupted.”

Jon swallows hard, then bows his head. “Fine, I’ll wear it. But this is the last time.”

Ruben turns, and catches me watching him. He instantly looks away.

“Thank you,” says Erin. Jon puts the shirt on. It clings to him, and I can see each ridge of his abs through it. So he had a point. “See, you look great.” She turns to me. “Very nice, Zach. You’re always so easy, I hope you know I appreciate it.”

Once we’re all ready, we’re shepherded to the front of the set, which is lit by about a dozen lights. The only prop is a pleated brown leather couch, in front of a cream backdrop. We’re moved like dolls onto the set by the photographer,Alecia Mackenzie, who is wearing a flowy back outfit and has a peacock feather in her intentionally messy tumble of brown hair. I keep seeing Ruben rolling his eyes, so I’m lucky none of us are smiling in this photo (as part of our plan to carefully rebrand ourselves as slightly more adult). Not enough to alienate our younger fans, but enough to prevent the people who have liked us our whole career from moving on. Alecia asked us to pose on the couch like we’ve just gotten to a girl’s apartment and we’re waiting for her to leave the bathroom after freshening up.

It makes me think of that night. Ruben giving me his playful, confident smile in the seconds before we kissed for the second time. The sense of being overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips against mine. I picture pulling off his shirt, running my hands down his chest, feeling his muscles and the softness of his skin.

“Zach, focus!”

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