Page 54 of Pride High 2: Orange
“Hey, I just do the sets,” Cameron said. “I’ll stay out of your way if that helps.”
Diego’s glare intensified before it disappeared with a shrug. “I don’t care.”
“Cool,” Cameron said, beginning to second-guess the entire idea. Then again, they were only offering an extended audition. “So do you want to try again?”
“Yes!” Ricky said. Then he looked at Diego, whose leather jacket creaked as his arms tightened against his chest. “Umm… Let me have a word with my client.”
“No problem,.” Cameron said. “You know where to find us.”
He turned around and went back inside, surprised that he wanted this to happen. Knowing the truth helped. Diego had lost his father to suicide. Cameron often feared losing his own parents to divorce. Which of course wouldn’t be nearly as bad. Sure, he’d have to decide who he wanted to live with—his mom, obviously—and need to split his time on holidays. His parents would still be around though. Diego didn’t have that option. Not only had he faced Cameron’s worst fear, but he’d gone through much worse. Sort of like a war veteran. That earned Cameron’s sympathy. And maybe even his forgiveness.
* * December 13th, 1992 * *
Anthony carefully finished drawing a looping daisy on Omar’s deltoid and leaned back to consider his work. In permanent marker, at his best friend’s request, he had written SILVIA in bold letters before surrounding it with decorative flowers.
“Are you done?” Omar asked, straining to see.
“Yup,” Anthony confirmed.
Omar pushed himself out of the canvas chair and rushed to the private bathroom that was connected to his bedroom. Anthony remained where he was. The weekend had been good so far. He’d hung out with his boyfriend on Friday night, Cameron cuddling up to him while they watched movies in Anthony’s room. The sexual tension between them was ridiculous. He might have given in to it, if he wasn’t so worried about being overheard. Which would be a terrible way to come out to his parents.
And it would eliminate the only idea he had for a Christmas present, which he still didn’t know how to deliver on. Where could they find enough privacy? Anthony had considered calling his oldest brother to ask if he would get him a motel room. Which would raise all sorts of awkward questions. Anthony would insist that he wasn’t going to party with his friends and trash the place, leading to the next assumption, but he obviously didn’t have a girlfriend. And besides, he didn’t want anyone in his family to know where he was. He needed one night, just for Cameron and him, that they could make their own.
Adding to the pressure was the “top secret” project his boyfriend couldn’t mention without blushing. Cameron had needed Saturday to work on it, which was fine, because everyone else was busy too. Silvia had stayed the night at Mindy’s house, and Ricky had hung out with Diego, who was apparently going to star in the upcoming play. Nobody but Anthony and Omar seemed to recognize how completely insane this was. Ricky was too blinded by infatuation, but even Cameron thought that casting him was a good idea. Mindy had signed off on it too, and she could usually be counted on to be reasonable.
Anthony shook his head. He had talked about the issue at length with Omar last night, during their own sleepover. They’d both agreed to forget about it. People would see for themselves when Diego blew up the auditorium or whatever.
“What do you think?” Omar asked, returning from the bathroom while brandishing his bare shoulder. “Should I get it as a real tattoo?”
“Why the flowers?” Anthony asked diplomatically, hoping to disqualify the art before they got into the really obvious stuff, like how it was a bad idea to tattoo someone’s name on your body after dating them for a mere three months.
“Girls like flowers, right?”
Anthony shrugged. “How would I know? Have you ever given her real flowers?”
Omar thought about it. “Shit! I better up my game. I’ll give them to her when revealing the tattoo.”
“Don’t you need to be eighteen to get one?”
“Dave says he can get me a fake ID.”
“Oh really?” Anthony said, not hiding his disbelief. “Doeshehave a fake ID? And if so, why doesn’t he ever buy booze with it?”
Omar narrowed his eyes. “He’s full of crap, isn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
Omar plopped down on the mattress next to him. “Then what I am supposed to get Silvia for Christmas?”
“I don’t know. Has she dropped any hints?”
“Nah. She wants me to interview my grandma. Like on video. Ask her about life in Iran and stuff. I can’t give that to her as a present though. Can I?”
“I guess that depends on how well it turns out.” Anthony stood and stretched. “It does sound interesting.”
“Then come help me,” Omar said. “Have you ever noticed on TV that people don’t look into the lens? They call that breaking the fourth wall. So when interviewing Mamani, I’ll have her talk to you instead of the camera.”
Anthony never minded helping him film things. They went downstairs to see if Mamani liked the idea. She was willing but insisted on checking her appearance before they began, tucking her white hair beneath the turquoise hijab she wore before smoothing it down. Then she poured them each a cup of tea, insisting it was the only proper way to hold a conversation.
