Page 93 of Saving Sparrow
Yeah, he admitted to kissing a boy once, and he liked to watch us, but that didn’t mean he was gay. Quentin wanted to ask, but I’d made him swear he wouldn’t. Elliott would bring it up when he was ready.
Sometimes I wondered if Quentin and I were wrong for doing some of the things we did in front of him. But we were physically ill when Elliott wasn’t around, so if he said he didn’t mind, that he wanted to stay, we chose to believe him. If at any time he stopped being okay with it, we’d adjust or go to a different room, be more mindful of how he felt. Untilthen, we trusted him when he said we could be ourselves. It made us care about him even more.
If it were up to us, we’d board up the doors, say screw getting an education, and never leave each other’s sides. We were that needy and dependent on each other. Quentin and I never imagined we’d meet someone who fit so perfectly in our bubble.
“Si, chica bonita,”I said, suddenly in the mood to mess with Quentin.
“Hey, that’s my name,” he exclaimed predictably.
“Oh,nowyou know Spanish?” I asked dryly.
“And that’smyname.” Elliott grinned.
“Yeah, butIgave it to you.” He caught the couch pillow Elliott flung at him before meeting us in the bathroom.
We showered and then decided to take studying seriously. Well, Elliott and I did. Quentin lay sprawled out on the sitting area rug, watching ESPN on his phone.
We’d moved the coffee table out of the way, and Elliott quietly quizzed himself using flashcards, his head resting on Quentin’s thigh. I went back to reading from my textbook, sitting cross-legged on the other side of Quentin as he rubbed my back beneath my shirt. I twirled a lock of Elliott’s hair around my finger as I flipped pages, memorizing the text.
About an hour had passed when, out of nowhere, Elliott asked, “What does sex feel like?”
“Whoa,”—Quentin removed his one earbud—“what the fuck is on those index cards?” He snatched one from Elliott, reading the front and back before tossing it aside and sitting up.
Elliott shrugged. “I’ve been wondering.”
“Since… when?” Quentin asked softly. He sounded like a parent who’d just found out their innocent kid wasn’t so innocent after all. Ironic, after all the things we’d done in front of Elliott. I was less naïve. I sat there wondering what had taken him so long to ask.
Elliott exhaled, sitting up too. “For a while now.”
“For a while now?” Quentin asked as if wondering if he’d heard him correctly. He sounded about five minutes away from locking Elliott up in the highest tower he could find and throwing away the key.
“You want to know what sex between guys feels like?” I asked for clarity because we weren’t experts on anything else.
“Yes.” Elliott fidgeted with a loose thread on his dress. Quentin gaped at me. If he was the parent who wanted to keep Elliott pure—our not-so-pure behavior around him considered—then I was the one who wanted him to have all the answers he needed to make whatever decision he wanted to make. That didn’t mean I wasn’t as anxious about it as Quentin looked, it just meant I needed to hide it, because freaking out would get us nowhere.
“Wait a second…” Quentin glanced at me as though checking that it was okay before asking Elliott, “Are you gay?”
I would’ve gone with a gentler touch, maybe something like,Do you think you’re gay?But this was Quentin we were dealing with, after all.
“I… think so. Maybe.” Elliott frowned. “I looked up a few other options, but those don’t feel right. I know I like boys for sure.”
“What do you mean you know for sure?” Quentin asked, or more like demanded. “Is it because you kissed Gideon, or because you like some dude at school?”
“Quentin,” I snapped, warning him with a look to drop the territorial crap. He crossed his arms, then uncrossed them, sighing before deciding to be more helpful.
“You take geometry with Stacey McNasty, right?” he asked Elliott.
“Mc… Nasty?”
“Stacey Trevolone,” I said, shoving Quentin’s shoulder. “No slut-shaming.”
“I’d never shame a slut.” He placed a hand over his heart. I glared at him, silently promising to make him pay for that later. He turned back to Elliott. “She’s in your class, right?”
“Yeah. Miguel’s in that class too.”
“Yeah, but we know Miguel likes dick. The are-you-gay questionnaire is for you.”
Elliott turned beet red, and I pinched Quentin’s bare nipple in retribution.
