Page 38 of Don't Let Me Go
I was only horsing around. But maybe I took things too far? I did knock the wind out of him with that tackle. And I haven’t heard from him all day.
Shit, do I need to apologize? If not for the tackle, then for something else I did?
By the time I get back to Aunt Rachel’s house and shut my bedroom door, I’m questioning every interaction that I’ve had with Riley over the past three days. Aside from a few stupid remarks that I made when we first met, I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong. Butif Duy’s concerned about my behavior, maybe there’s something I’m not seeing?
With a sigh, I flop down onto my bed and stare at the ceiling. There’s no way I’m gonna be able to sleep while I’m worried I’ve done something to hurt Riley. So even though it’s after ten, I shoot him a quick text. Nothing dramatic, justHow’s St.Augustine?, to see how he responds.
Almost immediately, my phone buzzes with his reply.
RILEY:I’m already sunburned and at dinner my grandfather asked me to explain what a throuple is. Other than that, I’m good.
My body relaxes. If there’s one thing I learned from dating Micaela, it’s that people who are mad at you don’t text back. And they certainly don’t text back with jokes. That means whatever prompted Duy’s warning, it’s not something I’ve done to Riley. It’s something they’re afraid I’ll do in the future. Like stop being Riley’s friend.
But since I have zero plans to do that, there’s no problem. Everything’s okay.
JACKSON:What are you up to now?
RILEY:Not much. Dad and grandparents are asleep. I’m sitting out on the balcony looking at the ocean and listening to music.
JACKSON:Sounds nice. Send me a pic.
RILEY:Of me?
JACKSON:No, dude, the ocean. I know what you look like.
Riley sends me the middle-finger emoji. Then a few seconds later, a photo comes through. At least, I think it’s a photo. It looks more like a completely black square.
JACKSON:What’s that?
RILEY:The ocean. At night. What’d you think it’d look like?
Ha-ha, I type. Though I can’t help smiling. Since breaking up with Micaela, I’ve missed having someone to text with before bed. It makes anice change from staring at the ceiling while my brain plays a highlight reel of all my greatest mistakes. Even so, I should probably say good night. I don’t want to bother Riley on his vacation. The guy’s gotta have better things to do with his time than entertain me. But before I can tell him that I’ll talk to him later, a new text pops up asking what I thought ofXanadu, and my decision to wrap things up goes straight out the window.
Oh, man, I think that movie BROKE my brain!I reply, feeling oddly excited at the prospect of keeping our conversation going.
JACKSON:Seriously. How did it get made? It’s SO bad.
RILEY:Some might say it’s so bad, it’s good.
JACKSON:That’s not a thing, dude.
RILEY:Actually, dude, that’s the definition of camp.
I have no idea what this means.
JACKSON:What do you mean camp?Like summer camp?
RILEY:What? No. CAMP. Like the queer art form.
JACKSON:Like cheerleading camp?
RILEY:Seriously???
I’m so lost, but I’m also shaking so hard with laughter that I’m afraid I’m gonna wake Aunt Rachel.
For the next ten minutes, Riley attempts to explain what he calls “the concept of queer aesthetics” before giving up and letting me change the topic to something that doesn’t hurt my head—movies. I try to convince him that Zack Snyder’s director’s cut ofJustice Leagueis a modern-day masterpiece. He then spends the next half hour explaining why I’m wrong.
Have you even seen it?I ask when he’s done typing out his exclamation-point-heavy tirade.
