Page 12 of Don't Let Me Go
Couples?
I shoot a quick glance at Jackson, fully expecting him to contradict her with a vigorous defense of his heterosexuality. It’s how every macho guy at my school would respond to even the slightest implication that he might be queer. Jackson, though, just stares at the ground and awkwardly clears his throat. I guess the fact that he’s not tripping over himself to assert his straightness is another indication that he’s not as awful as I first thought. Although part of me wishes he didn’t look quite so mortified at the suggestion that he might be my boyfriend.
“I think your crystal ball’s a bit dusty,” I shoot back at our hostess before pushing my way out of the musty tent and into the open air.
I don’t wait to see if Jackson follows. Between my swooning, the hand-holding, and him being mistaken for my boyfriend, he’s had a lot of queer shit thrown at him. I honestly wouldn’t blame him if he needed some space. Hell, I wouldn’t blame him if he disappeared for the rest of the summer and then showed up on the first day of school acting like we’d never met.
Actually, that’s not true. I would 100 percent blame him if he pulled that shit because no one’s masculinity should be that fragile. But a very small part of me would also understand.
“That was weird,” Jackson says as he hurries after me and once again falls into step beside me.
“Yeah. Weird,” I repeat, relieved to see he’s not as fragile as I feared.
“Fortune tellers always give me the creeps,” he adds, folding his arms across his chest as if fighting off a shiver.
“Really?” I ask. “Why?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “They’ve always freaked me out. All that talk about peering into the future and seeing doom on the horizon.”
“You know she’s notactuallya fortune teller,” I remind him. “I mean, if she could really predict the future, I’m pretty sure she’d be a millionaire lounging in her mansion in Hawaii instead of working in a tent that smells like patchouli and piss.”
Jackson chuckles. “Yeah, I know. It’s more theideaof fortune tellers that makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like thinking there could be someone out there who knows my future.”
“Why not?”
Jackson considers. “I guess because if someone knows the future, then that means nothing we do matters. Because our future’s already written. Which means we’re all just trapped in these lives that we don’t really have any control over because they’re not even our own. They’resomething that already exists. And we’ve just been slotted into them without any say in the matter. In which case, life is kind of pointless.”
I think it’s safe to say that when I woke up this morning, the last thing I expected to hear today was a rumination on free will versus predestination courtesy of a walking Ken Doll. Even more surprising, I think I actually agree with Jackson.
“That makes a lot of sense,” I tell him.
“Right?”
“Although, for the record,” I clarify, “if I was about to walk into some epicTitanic-level disaster, I wouldn’t mind a little heads-up from a psychic.”
“Even if you couldn’t change anything?” Jackson asks.
“Yeah, even if I couldn’t change anything.”
“How come?”
“Honestly, Jackson? I just really hate surprises.”
Chapter 5
Jackson
Aunt Rachel is sitting in the garage that doubles as her studio enjoying a glass of wine and the cool night breeze when I pull into the driveway a little before ten.
I’m not used to being home so early. Especially on a Saturday. Back in Tally, games and after-parties usually kept me out well past midnight. But those days are over. Now I’m a guy who goes to second-rate carnivals and chauffeurs his neighbor home in time for curfew.
“Thanks for the ride,” Duy chirps as they hop out of my Jeep.
“No problem. Thanks again for inviting me out tonight.”
“Of course! Also, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow, we’re all going to Rink-O-Rama around noon.”
“Rink-O-what?” I ask.
