All Kinds of Other

The words just won’t come out.
I mean, I’m not much of a talker to begin with, but still. It’s not like I don’t know what I want to say. “Guess what, guys, I’m gay.” Easy. I can actually feel the words crowding around inside my mouth, pushing against my teeth, waiting to be released. When Dhyllin invited Gregg and me over for an end-of-the-summer hang, I was hoping to introduce them to this new-and-improved Jules, out and proud. I’d erase the memory of my pathetic coming out to my mother in the front seat of the family Subaru and replace it with something better, cooler. Reboot the second year of my high school life.
But I can’t. Partly it’s because I’m worried what they’re gonna think and partly, it’s that Dhyllin just won’t shut up. Yes, we all know Dhyllin has an exciting life, the best life, anyone would kill for a concert promoter father with a Hollywood Hills mansion, but if he doesn’t stop talking about traveling this summer with Smash Mouth on their official 2015 tour, I’m seriously going to need to drink bleach.
“I thought Lisbon was wild, but I’m telling you, Jules, when we hit Amsterdam, that place was off the chain….”
I mean, how was my news going to compare to that? Coming out just doesn’t measure up to groupies in Berlin and private jets. Not these days. But if I can’t tell friends I’ve known for years, how am I going to tell strangers? Maybe strangers would be easier. There wouldn’t be so much on the line, so many expectations–“Earth to Jules, hello.”
I jolt back to the present, start dribbling the basketball again. “What did you say?” I ask, trying to cover, but Dhyllin’s already given up on me and is checking out his Snapchat feed. Gregg’s playing on his phone, as usual. No one’s talking. It’d be the perfect moment. Each bounce of the ball leaving my hands is like a command: Tell them. Tell them. But I can’t. It’s tricky with Dhyllin. Not that he would punch me or call me out or anything like that. No, he’d just look at me with those sleepy blue eyes and say something casually sarcastic like, “Well, that was no mystery,” or
“That explains a lot”-which would somehow be just as bad. Without looking up, Dhyllin asks, “Are we going to keep shooting hoops or do you guys want to play Xbox?”
Gregg finally disconnects from his phone. “Hell YES Xbox.”
“Jules?”
I’ve never really been that into gaming. But everyone else is, so I shrug. “Whatever is cool with me.”
Dhyllin doesn’t move, though, and inertia sets in. We keep shooting hoops on the blue acrylic of Dhyllin’s dad’s basketball court. Well, I keep shooting hoops. Gregg’s camped out just outside the key, dodging any ball that falls near him and smashing aliens on his phone, his straight black hair covering most of his face as he bends his head down. Dhyllin’s off to the other side, texting, wearing some fresh Yeezy Boosts that look like they just came out of the box. I dribble and shoot around both of them, a moon orbiting two fixed planets in a sky-blue space.
We haven’t been in the same school together since fifth grade. We mostly see each other during the summer, old habits. I wonder if we have anything in common at all anymore.
Dhyllin looks up suddenly and squints at me, blond hair flopped over one eye. “You’re not going to like Earl Warren High,” he tells me.
“How would you know?” I say, pretending to throw the ball at him. He doesn’t even flinch. “Why?”
“It’s public,” Dhyllin says, as if that explains everything.