Page 6 of Pride High

Anthony dutifully did the same. “How’s it going, future self?”

“We hope you’re still best friends,” Omar continued. “If you’re not, you fucked up and you better do everything you can to course correct.”

Anthony wagged a finger at the lens. “That’s right. Stop fighting over which of you is the handsomest.”

“Because it’s obviously me.”

Anthony thought so too, but he successfully resisted the urge to nod. Instead he asked. “So what have you guys been up to?”

“Good question,” Omar said. “We’ll tell you whatwethink you should have done by now. I want to finally shoot a short film. No more excuses, like how you’re building up to it with the sketches. Write the script and get the damn thing done.”

“Help him with that,” Anthony said, already familiar with this dream. “And start going to concerts. I don’t care if you have to sneak out. You’re turning sixteen soon. It’s embarrassing that the only live music you’ve seen is at weddings.”

“Or the marching band at school,” Omar interjected.

“Exactly. Twenty years from now, you’ll be crying that you never got to see Morrissey while he was still alive. Or even if he is—”

“Wheelchairs are a mood killer,” Omar said. “At least on stage when everyone is trying to rock out. My grandma is cool though. Oh fuck… I hope she’s still alive next year!”

“Let’s not go there,” Anthony said.

“No. Definitely not. You better help him get to those concerts, Future Omar. And speaking of stuff that you haven’t done yet—”

“Sex,” Anthony said. “We expect to be rolling in it.” He thought his friend would back this demand with enthusiasm but was surprised at how somber his response was.

“Or at least go on a date, you know?” Omar said dejectedly. “With someone who actually likes you back.”

“We’ve both had girlfriends before,” Anthony said, wanting to build him up.

“Yeah, but that was in junior high when we didn’t have a clue. I want a real connection. I guess it doesn’t have to happen in high school, but man, I sure want it to!”

“Same here,” Anthony said while still staring at him. He caught himself, swallowed, and turned to the camera. “But we both know it’s not going to happen.”

“Come on now,” Omar said with a nudge. “We’re not completely hopeless.”

That wasn’t what he meant, and he sure as hell didn’t want to clarify, so he turned it into a joke. “We’ll start saving up now just in case we need to pull aRisky Business.”

“Hire a super-hot prostitute who looks like an elf?” Omar’s nod picked up speed. “Yeah! If you haven’t gotten anywhere by the time we watch this video, break that piggy bank and get yourself some honey for money.”

This made them both laugh. They kept filming, making predictions about what the future would be like, before Omar grumbled that the battery was about to die. They switched to playing video games until close to dinner time.

“I better get home,” Omar said. “That weird kid wants me to call him tonight. He better be willing to do an article on killer robots. What are you and Mindy writing about?”

“Water.”

Omar grimaced. “Wow. That plan of ours sure worked out great.”

They bumped elbows before parting. There wasn’t any need to see him out. Omar was basically part of the family. That’s how Anthony was treated at his place too. He did listen for the front door though, and once he heard it shut, he went to where the polo shirt had been left on the bed. Anthony carefully folded it and placed it beneath his pillow, refusing to let himself think about the reason why. He already knew he’d pretend to forget about it, and once he had rested his head on the pillow and took in Omar’s familiar scent, he’d tell himself he was too tired to put it somewhere else. Just like he’d done with the Mötley Crüe T-shirt.

— — —

I know what I am.

Anthony was supposed to be writing down ideas for the article that he was working on with Mindy. When talking on the phone after dinner, they’d agreed it would be plagiarism to use a single article as their only source. They decided to include how their own lives would have been different if women in Kansas had to haul water home each day. On foot. His own mother had always worked full time as a hairstylist, as far as he could remember, so his family would’ve had less money. They probably never would have gotten the house. He could think of otherconsequences, but his thoughts kept being invaded by the events of the day, and all he’d managed to scribble down were words that cut to his core with a jagged blade.

I know what I am.

Everything had been so much easier over the summer. When it was just him and Omar, Anthony could almost forget that he didn’t fit in—that he constantly found himself watching others so he could emulate their behavior. Guys were supposed to obsess over girls and do everything possible to get their attention. Except that didn’t come up as much when they were alone. They joked and talked about sex all the time, endlessly fascinated with the subject, but the tone was different. At school, even his best friend tended to brag and boast more, despite neither of them having managed to do anything aside from speculate and hope. When it was only them together…

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