Page 5 of Caden & Theo
So I sit here, warm beer in hand, heart doing backflips, and try not to read into things.
I absolutely fail.
TWO
CADEN
Sitting here next to Theo,I feel relaxed for the first time tonight. Which says a lot, considering prom was supposed to be the big moment. The culmination of senior year. Fancy suits, twinkly lights, catered desserts that ended up tasting like sadness. None of the details really hit me until Theo showed up.
Now we’re out here, parked in a pair of half-rusted lawn chairs on the edge of the yard, warm beers in hand, stars overhead, and Theo’s voice rolling on about his summer job. I should be listening. Iwantto be listening. But my brain? Absolutely refusing to cooperate.
Because Theo’s mouth is moving, and I’m too busy staring at it.
It’s not even what he’s saying. It’s just… him.
That look he gave me earlier—when I told him he was the highlight of the night—I can’t get it out of my head. I meant it as a joke. Sort of. Okay, maybe not really. But when he looked at me like that, all wide-eyed and quiet and hopeful, something in my chest flipped.
Now he’s going on about some gig at the rec center, coaching kids through chaotic games of foam-ball dodgeball, and I swear, I haven’t heard a word in the last two minutes.
Because I’m thinking about what it’d be like to kiss him.
And that’s… new.
Likereallynew.
I’ve never thought of myself as anything but straight. Girls have always been the thing. Or at least Ithoughtthey were. I’ve had crushes, dated a couple here and there, nothing serious. But lately… lately it’s like my brain’s rewiring itself every time Theo walks into a room.
And I havenoidea what to do about it.
Theo’s always just been Theo. My best friend. My ride or die. Since we were barely out of diapers and my family moved next door, he’s been the center of my orbit. Every birthday, every scraped knee, every game, every late-night shootaround—it’s always been me and him.
Most of the street are white families, but the Brookses and the Norths had been side by side for over a decade. Cookouts, shared lawnmowers, backyard basketball—it made us a kind of island, but not a lonely one.
When he told me he liked boys, he was thirteen. We were in my room, playing video games, and he paused the match mid-battle and just… said it.
“I like guys,” he blurted. No buildup, no explanation.
I remember turning to him, blinking. “Cool,” I said. “You wanna switch to two-player?”
That was it. I didn’t think twice. Why would I? Theo’s my best friend. Him being gay didn’t change anything. Until, apparently,now, when I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to grab his jaw and pull him in just totastehim.
I don’t even know if Iaminto guys. Maybe it’s just him. Just Theo. The way he laughs, the way his curls bounce when he’s excited, the way he always seems togetme in ways no one else ever has.
I haven’t told anyone. Not even him. Especially not him.
People in town wouldn’t get it. Gomillion’s not a terrible place, but it’s small. Small enough that everybody knows your business. Narrow enough that anything outside the usual gets side-eyed. Folks still whisper if they think somebody might be gay—and for two Black boys like us, people already watch harder, like we’ve got to walk softer just to keep the peace. And don’t even get me started on what it would mean if what I’m feeling got out in the sports world.
I’ve heard the locker room jokes. The offhanded slurs. Coaches turning a blind eye. And if that’s what Theo could face from classmates, I don’t even want to imagine what a pro team—which is where I’m on a mission to land—would do with a player who doesn’t “fit the mold.”
Still… Istronglysuspect he’s into me.
It’s in the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not paying attention. The way he gets quiet when I mention dating. The way he lit up when I said he was the highlight of prom and then tried so hard to play it cool. He always brushes against me—his hand on my shoulder, knee bumping mine, his stupid little smirk when I tease him.
It’s not nothing.
And yeah, maybe I should be careful. Maybe Ishouldn’tflirt back. I don’t want to ever hurt him.
But God, I want to kiss him.
