Dear B

by someofthissomeofthat310

What if Victor had a slightly different takeaway from Ms. Albright's story about Simon?

4. Chapter 4

~ Chapter 4 ~

Whoever thought Sundays were a day of rest never met my mom. Day of family togetherness, yes. Day of forced spiritual expression, yes. Day of passive aggressive comments about how she's the only one who cleans up around here and would it kill Adrian to make his bed, yes. Day of us attempting to help and her cleaning up behind us, yes. Day of us eventually giving up and spending the rest of the day entertaining Adrian, yes. But day of rest? Not a chance.

Pilar, Adrian, and I had our own tradition to help us get through the chaos of our Sundays, but this was our first Sunday in Atlanta. I wasn't sure how our routine would change. We hadn't talked about it, but I was confident our mom already found a church. She probably found a church before they'd found our apartment.

When I woke up, I was pleasantly surprised to see Adrian was already here. He was sitting cross-legged in my desk chair with a blanket draped over his head like a hood. "Morning."

Adrian looked up at me before he put a post-it in to mark his page. "Hey."

I sat up. "What are you reading?" He held up his book. I couldn't make out the title from here but saw a drawing of a dragon perched on a kid's shoulder. "How is it?"

"It's so good," he told me. "It's the first book in the series Mrs. Kay got me as a going away gift."

God bless Mrs. Kay. That's all I could say about that because she took a kid terrified to show up to school because of the shit other kids would say to him and turned him into someone that loved learning. "That's cool."

He put it down on my desk. "When did you start to snore?" he wondered.

"I do not snore," I protested.

"You do. I could hear you from my bedroom," Pilar said as she let herself in my room. I rolled my eyes. I did not snore. "He's always been like that. He's just usually up before you."

"What is this? Team up on Victor day?"

"Ooh. I vote yes," Pilar said. She nudged Adrian with her knee. "What do you say?"

Adrian chuckled. Pilar sat down on the other end of my bed and patted the empty space between us. He didn't hesitate before he took that space.

"I wasn't sure if we'd still do this," I said softly.

"Why? It's not like church is going to suck less in Atlanta," Pilar pointed out. I glared at her, and she sighed. "You know I'm right."

She was right, but I didn't want to influence Adrian either way. I thought he really believed this stuff, or he was at least interested in it. He had these books that were bible stories rewritten for kids that he seemed to like a lot. "Or maybe we'll find that it's way better here." I nudged Adrian. "Do you know if you're going to Sunday School afterward?"

"Yeah. I thought I'd end up missing a week, but mom met with a priest, Father… Something, on Friday and set it all up. She doesn't want anything to get in the way of me making my first communion."

I tried not to groan. That meant that she no doubt volunteered me and Pilar to do service around the church. That's what we've been doing since Adrian started Sunday School two years ago. All because our church was nearly twenty minutes from where we lived, and our parents didn't want to bring us home just to have to turn around to get him. We'd always been forced into boring, tedious work.

"You know that means she signed us up for youth group," Pilar told me. I hadn't hated youth group, but Pilar had from the moment she made her confirmation. The kids that were in youth group with us had been… intense. Most of them weren't in youth group against their will and they were so gung-ho about all this stuff. While I was on the fence about it all, Pilar knew where she stood with the catholic church. She had faith, but she didn't really believe in the whole religion thing. She felt like faith should be a private experience, and she treated it like that.

"Maybe it'll be fun here. This is a bigger city; there's more people."

"Maybe. I feel like church is church no matter where you are."

I steered the conversation to safer territory. I poked Adrian. "You know the drill."

"Every time," Pilar muttered.

"Roses or thorns first?" Adrian asked.

"Let's start with thorns," Pilar suggested. "My thorn is that we still have to do this stupid activity every Sunday."

"My thorn is that someone doesn't appreciate my genius," I tossed back.

I looked at Adrian expectedly, and he frowned. "I don't think I have a thorn."

Pilar and I exchanged looks. "Are you sure? There's nothing you can't talk about with us, you know." We started this whole thing so that Adrian would tell us about the bullying at school when it got bad; I think he found it easier to talk about what was happening when we were all sharing.

"I know," he told us. "I thought it was going to stink being the new kid, but I've made some friends in my class, and I kind of like Georgia." It took me a full second to process his words because they were so unexpected. I glanced at Pilar, but she was studying Adrian as if she was trying to find the lie somewhere in his body language.

"You made friends? Okay, roses time. Tell us about them," I insisted.

"I will, but you two go first."

"My rose is that… I met some really great people. I'm really happy here," I said. I knew I sounded surprised, but as confused and scared as I was, I was also really excited to see what would happen, and I felt like I finally had the space to figure my stuff out.

"My rose is that both of you made friends," Pilar said. That was her M.O. There had only been a handful of times that she'd actually taken this seriously. This whole thing was mostly for Adrian's benefit, so it usually wasn't a battle worth picking. "Now, tell us about yours."

"My teacher is sooooo nice," he told her. "Her name is Mrs. Applebee, and she made a joke that her great, great grandpa invented Applebees. She's pretty funny. And she let me pick our brain break on Friday."

"Your what?" I asked uncertainly.

"Every day, we do brain breaks in class. It was supposed to be Kaitlyn Bucher's turn to pick on Friday, but Mrs. Applebee let me pick because I was new. We do it in between math and science so we can take a break from learning."

"What did you pick?" I asked curiously.

"We watched a little bit of Frozen," he said proudly. "Kaitlyn says she's gonna pick that as her brain break on Monday so we can keep watching it."

"Is Mrs. Applebee the friend you made?" Pilar asked impatiently.

"Not the only one. I really like my classmates."

"Who?" she pressed.

"It's just the people I sit with. Joey, Kaitlyn, Elliot, and Fran. Fran's really funny. She moved here in October from North Dakota, so she knows what it's like to be new. Joey and Kaitlyn are twins. They actually turn eight on your birthday, Victor." It was always weird to hear that his classmates were almost all older than him. His birthday was September 1st, which meant he was always the youngest kid in his grade since that had been the cut-off in Texas. Technically our parents could have waited a year to enroll him, but they hadn't because he'd definitely been ready to start school. He'd just made it. While he turned seven at the beginning of this year, most of his classmates were turning eight during the school year.

"Aw, look at that. Birthday buddies," I said with a smile. "What are they like?"

We were still pestering Adrian for details when my mom came in to let us know that breakfast was ready. I couldn't help my excitement. Adrian had friends he wanted to talk about. This was a first, and it was a first that I wanted to memorialize.

I grabbed Pilar's arm before she could follow Adrian out. "Hey, are you okay?" I asked her. "You seem… upset."

"Eric broke up with me two days ago. Of course, I'm upset," she snapped. I closed my eyes. I hadn't found out until I'd gotten home from work yesterday, and I'd almost forgotten. Pilar refused to leave her room for dinner, so this was my first time seeing her. I was probably the worst brother in existence.

"Sorry. You're right. It's gonna take some time for you to get over him." I shook my head. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do I want to talk about how Eric's already getting with Giselle, so I've essentially lost everyone important to me in Texas? Pass," she said.

"You don't know that."

"I wasn't born yesterday. Giselle moved in on him the moment I was out of the picture."

"That makes her a pretty shitty friend," I told her.

"I know that now." She suddenly deflated. "Do you miss them?"

"Who?"

"Steph, Cassie, Keith, the losers you played basketball with. I haven't heard you talk about any of them at all since we moved."

I nodded. "I do a little, but I'm realizing more and more that we weren't really close; we were convenient. It's nothing like you and your friends. If you need anything…"

Pilar rolled her eyes. "Sure."

I stared at my door long after she left. At some point, we stopped knowing how to talk to each other. Sometimes, I felt like Pilar was practically a stranger, and she probably felt the same way about me. I didn't know what to do about that.

I quickly got dressed and joined the rest of my family for breakfast. Our mom made French toast, and the sight of it made my stomach growl. The only thing better than Sunday breakfast was Sunday dinner. My mom always went all out for dinner, breaking out a recipe that usually required her to start cooking once we got home from church.

For a few minutes, it felt like old times. Our parents weren't fighting, and we teased each other like we hadn't in a long time. It wasn't even this move or the couple of months we spent preparing to move; we'd been off for a while. Maybe this move was going to be a fresh start for all of us.

When we got to church, the priest greeted my mom like he'd known her for decades rather than days. He was able to greet each of us by name. That must've been some meeting. He told me and Pilar he was looking forward to our help after mass, and I gave Pilar so much credit for waiting until he turned away from us to make a face at me.

Father Lawrence tried. His homily was a full 30 minutes of him attempting to connect with younger people, and… bless him, he really tried to be relevant. His homily was all about Marvel which should have been really interesting, but somehow was making it difficult to stay awake. He tried to relate Marvel to having a spiritual connection with God, but it was a stretch and it kind of seemed like he'd Googled Marvel instead of getting his information by watching it.

Pilar looked like she nearly dozed off a few times, and Adrian kept poking her to make sure she was awake. She must not have gotten much sleep last night either. It was hard to say who was more relieved when Father Lawrence finally finished.

We mingled for a few minutes after mass ended. By mingled, I meant we lingered in the pew while our mom somehow managed to make friends until Father Lawrence asked Pilar and I if we were ready to help out.

Helping out meant that we were working in the food pantry that was attached to the rectory. Our mom been recruited to teach one of the CCD classes today – I wasn't sure which one; she'd told us one of the teachers was sick in passing, and I hadn't asked. Our dad was helping them paint something. He always ended up doing stuff like that.

Stocking the food pantry was tedious work; they got a ton of donations, and I wasn't sure if they were all donated through the church or if there was a community drop location. I had trouble believing that all of this came from the parishioners. About fifteen minutes after we got started, another guy walked in. He took up a position across from me and began to organize donations. "Hi," he said quietly.

"Uh, hey. I'm Victor. That's my sister, Pilar."

"Danny," he said. He shot me a shy smile.

"Did you get roped into helping out too?" I didn't remember seeing him at mass, but I easily could've missed it.

He chuckled. "Nah. I just really like organizing pasta." He held up a can of SpaghettiOs as if to prove his point."

I snickered. "Right."

"I help out at the Spanish mass," he explained. "I… work here. For the church, I mean." He looked down at the table like he was ashamed to admit it. "I don't usually have help, so I come in early to make sure everything's all set in here."

"That's pretty cool."

"Is it?" he asked uncertainly.

"Beats the glamorous life of making coffee." I wasn't sure if that was true, but it seemed to make him feel better.

"You work at a coffee shop?"

"Yeah. Brasstown."

"I love their coffee," he told me. He picked up his coffee cup to show off the Brasstown logo. He must live in a different part of Atlanta because his cup had little Santa hats all over it. I recognized the cups because there was a single sleeve of them in the back room at Brasstown, but I couldn't remember what Benji said about it. "Have you worked there long?"

"We just moved to Atlanta," I explained. "On Wednesday, actually. So, no. I haven't worked there long. Yesterday was my first day. I also work at the one in Shady Creek."

"That explains why I haven't seen you around. I thought I would've remembered if someone like you made my coffee."

"I am pretty unforgettable," I agreed.

He fully snorted before he clasped his hands over his mouth and widened his eyes with horror. My laughter blended with his. "How long have you worked here?"

"Since I was fourteen." He said it like it was such a long time ago, but he couldn't be that much older than me.

"How old are you now?"

"I just turned seventeen on New Year's Day."

"You're a New Year baby."

"Yeah, but not one of the special ones. I was like fifteen minutes shy of being born on the 2nd. How about you?"

"Definitely not a New Year's baby. My birthday's coming up in March. I'll be turning sixteen."

I wasn't sure how helpful I was with shelving the donations because Danny and I were working very slowly. We had a surprising amount in common. It turned out Danny had lived in Atlanta his entire life; his parents had moved here from Brazil when they were pregnant with him. He'd gotten his job here by accident. Father Lawrence had hired him because he assumed Danny spoke Spanish. It ended up working out because, according to Danny, there was a decent Portuguese population here, and he knew enough Spanish to still be helpful at the mass. He had two younger siblings as well (one who was a little older than Adrian age and one who was four), and he clearly loved them a lot. He couldn't fathom organized sports, so he relentlessly made fun of me for playing basketball. My mom poked her head in, interrupting my attempt to convince him that playing sports was different than watching the, and just because he didn't like watching sports didn't mean he wouldn't like playing them, and called, "time to go."

"Do you think you'll be back to help out next week?" Danny asked.

"Yeah. We'll probably do this every Sunday while Adrian's in CCD."

"Sweet." He smiled at me, and I couldn't help but return it. I didn't think helping out would suck as long as I had someone to talk to. I wondered if he did youth group too. Our mom hadn't mentioned it yet, but I was sure we'd be going as soon as she figured that out. I hoped James did it; it would be nice to have a friend there.

Pilar nudged me once we left. "You know he was flirting with you, right?"

"Huh?"

"Seriously, are you that oblivious? He's gay, Vic." I tried to get a read on whether she was saying that like it was a good or a bad thing, but I couldn't figure it out when panic was coursing through me.

"I… uh… what?" I thought my voice sounded squeaky and my face felt warm. Had he really been flirting with me? What if I'd been flirting back? I hadn't been thinking about it; we'd just been talking, but it had been so nice to talk to him. Had Pilar picked up on that?

"Chill, will you? You can be friends with a gay guy. Just maybe don't lead him on when you're not interested?" she suggested. "And let him down easy."

I stopped walking. She couldn't be right. She literally couldn't be right. But… what if she was? "I'll be right back," I said quietly.

"Be nice," she warned.

I thought I managed to nod before I returned to the food pantry. I stepped inside, and Danny turned at the sound of my footsteps. He was holding a can of soup. "You're back," he said surprised. "Did you forget something?"

"Um… yeah." I closed the door behind me. It had been propped open the entire time we'd been in here, and Danny fully took a step back. His eyes narrowed slightly as he crossed his arms. For an entire minute, we just stood like that. I realized he was waiting for me to break the silence. That made sense because I was the one orchestrating this whole thing. "I was wondering if you'd want to talk? Like, not inside here."

"About what?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I liked talking to you today, and I'm new to Atlanta. I'd just like to chill. Not that this wasn't great, but maybe you'd want to have a conversation when Jesus isn't watching? We could meet up at Brasstown after school one day? Get some coffee?" I thought I played it off pretty well. He didn't look like I'd made an outlandish claim.

"Some would argue Jesus is always watching."

"Do you believe that?" I asked quietly.

"Sort of." His voice was barely audible. He studied me so intensely, it made me uncomfortable. Finally, he nodded. "How about Wednesday?"

"That works."

"I could come to the one in Shady Creek," he offered.

"No," I said quickly. The very last thing I needed was for Benji to see us together and chance that he'd figure out who I am; I was already thinking about how I was going to explain this to him and the less overlap between real life and my penpal relationship, the better. "I don't work until six. I can meet you wherever."

We agreed to meet at the Brasstown in Midtown before I left. Pilar didn't ask when I climbed into our parents' car, and I was grateful for that. It hit me while we drove home that I'd really just done that. I tried not to panic. What if he thought it was a date? Was I ready to go on a date… especially with a guy? The thought both excited and terrified me.

Back in Texas, I always had trouble with this. I couldn't separate what I genuinely felt, what I felt because other people expected me to feel it, and what I felt despite other people. I hated this.

I tried very hard to act normal, but it wasn't easy, and I kept getting distracted. Adrian roped us into playing a game of Scrabble, and everyone was beating me without even trying because my mind kept wandering back to Danny. I was itching to get to my room, so I could write back to Benji. I hadn't been sure exactly what to say back to him when I read his note yesterday, but all I could think about was what he would say about this. Would he think it was a date too? Or would he tell me I was reading into it too much?

Maybe I was. I had no idea if Danny was even into guys. All of this was because of what Pilar had said, but she knew Danny about as well as I did, and I hadn't thought he was flirting. Over and over, I replayed every second of our conversation, and I felt like it didn't do anything but make me more confused and uncertain. I also couldn't help but wonder if it meant something that I couldn't stop thinking about this. At the same time, I felt like the only reason I was obsessing over this so much was because Pilar had put the idea in my head.

"Your room is talking," Adrian told me when he got back from the bathroom.

"Um… what do you mean?"

"I mean that there was a voice saying 'Victor are you there? Over'," Adrian told me.

"One sec." I ran to my room. It took a minute for me to fish Felix's walkie talkie out of my dresser. "Hey. Did you call?"

Felix must've literally been holding the walkie talkie because he answered me right away. "Hey, yeah. Over."

That was helpful. "What's up?"

"Do you want to do some homework? I have no motivation to do algebra right now. Over."

I snickered. For someone as smart as Felix, I found it kind of hilarious how much he hated to do most schoolwork. "You didn't finish your homework yesterday?"

"When was I supposed to? I think I'm still a little hungover."

"You can come over if you want. We're playing some Scrabble, but we can do some homework after dinner," I suggested.

"Dealio. Be there in t-minus five minutes. Over."

Felix was actually knocking on our door before I got back to the living room. "Who's that?" My mom asked. She was drying her hands on a towel.

"It's Felix."

I let him in. "I heard we're playing Scrabble," he said excitedly.

"We already started," Pilar complained.

"Oh. I don't have to…" Felix's face fell. I think that he was actually looking forward to playing.

"You can take over for me. I have to finish writing a paper for English anyway," I said. "Hope you don't mind starting in last place."

Felix laughed like he didn't believe me. That laughter dried up quickly once he saw my letters and the scorecard. "Jesus. What have you been doing?"

"Losing," Adrian said.

Felix cracked his knuckles. "It's all good. I've come back from worse."

I thought about writing back to Benji, but nothing made that risk worth it, and I really did have to write a paper for English. Since I'd essentially come in at the tail end of the book they were reading, Mr. Wise was making me write about what I'd done in sophomore English in Texas. I wasn't looking forward to it which probably meant I should get it over with.

I didn't get very far because watching Felix, Pilar, Adrian, and my dad play Scrabble was something else. You would've thought Felix was part of the family; he clearly did. He made a pretty good comeback and ended up coming in first by three points. My dad came in last but that was mostly because he definitely let Adrian win. We usually tried to get him in second – enough to boost his self-confidence but not enough that he always expected first. That apparently went out the window; I think Pilar honestly forgot as she got really competitive with Felix.

They were still arguing about the last word Felix played on a triple word score. Pilar had challenged it and it turned out to be some kind of Australian pepper. I didn't think Pilar was going to get over it any time soon. It didn't help that Felix kept saying, "what kind of Scrabble player doesn't know every word that has a q but no u?"

They kept up with it until my dad said grace. Otherwise, they probably would have talked about it all the way through dinner. "This looks delicious, mom." It was the truth. Her Sunday dinners were something special.

"Thank you, mijo."

As soon as it was acceptable, Felix and I excused ourselves to go do our homework. Felix did actually work on homework; I couldn't bear the thought of waiting one more second to write to Benji. If Felix thought it was weird that I needed to get homework from my closet, he didn't say anything. Part of me knew it was risky, but it felt strangely safe to write this even with Felix sitting next to my bed. Like, maybe if he found out, it wouldn't be the end of the world. At the same time, the idea of him knowing made nausea and dread curl in my stomach. I read through Benji's note two more times and each time, I felt like I unlocked a new facet of what he'd said.

Slowly, I began to figure out what I wanted to say.

Dear B,

I should be thanking you for writing back to me. It would have been really easy for you to write me off as a creep or something, and I'm so glad you didn't.

I hope you're okay with this, but I can't tell you what grade I'm in. Creekwood's big, but it's not big enough for me to be cool with that. All I will say is I am a pretty oblivious person, and I didn't know about Simon when it happened.

I'm kind of speechless with that peanut butter metaphor. I know exactly what you mean (I think). I don't think I would have ever thought to compare it to peanut butter, but it's kind of perfect. I think it's part of the reason that I'm having trouble figuring out if I might be "allergic to peanut butter". I always feel really self-conscious whenever I hear someone talk about this stuff. Especially with my family, I kind of feel like it's not an option, you know? Like, if it turns out I'm allergic to peanuts, I don't think they'd get too mad, but I think they would completely avoid talking about it, and their solution would be to surround me by nuts and hope I outgrow it.

I think that sometimes I hope I'll outgrow it too. Like, maybe I'll find the right girl that will prove I'm not allergic to all nuts and only walnuts. This metaphor is kind of getting away from me. It was better when you said it.

How do I know if I'm allergic to nuts? What if I do like this girl but I blow my shot because I wait too long to figure that out? The last thing I want to do is hurt her, but if I could like her, I don't want to hurt myself and lose that.

But also… maybe I don't like her. I think I might have met someone. A guy, if that wasn't obvious. It's so hard to say because I met him at church which is like the least sexy place on the planet to meet a guy, but my sister says he's into guys, and I asked him to get coffee with me. I still can't believe I did this. Part of me thinks I'm going to show up at the coffee place and find out that it all happened in my head. We're gonna meet up this week, so if you could tell me what I should do and say, I would really appreciate that.

I have no idea what I'm doing. How do I date a guy? Is that even what's happening? What if I'm wrong and he's straight, or what if I'm right and he's not interested, or what if I'm right and he is interested? All of those possibilities seem equally terrifying. I'm not sure if I like him or if my sister just got in my head because she thought he was flirting. I don't even know if I was somehow flirting back.

It's also like… we met at church, you know? If he is like that and if I'm like that, what chance do we have when we both come from religious families? My family… I don't think they'll be cool with it. I mean, my sister might be. She was pretty chill about that guy today, but my parents? I have no idea. The only time I've ever heard them talk about this was if they were making jokes about it.

I know I'm making this into a whole thing and we haven't even gotten that coffee yet, but I can't help it. If you could fix this and make it less terrifying, that would be great.

Thank you for writing back. It means a lot!

Sincerely,

Anon

I had to rewrite it three separate times because the first time, I accidentally said Pilar's name, and then I accidentally wrote about how I didn't live in Atlanta when Simon and Bram met, and then I just got nervous about including the specific day I was meeting with Danny in my note.

I felt empty when I finished writing back to him. Almost like knowing that I needed to write to him had been my adrenaline and now I was ready to crash. Unfortunately for me, I still had homework. Fortunately for me, Felix knew more about History than anyone I knew, so I essentially just had to transcribe his answers to our discussion questions. I managed to get through Algebra as well, but I knew Bio and English would have to wait. I hoped I'd have some leniency since I was brand new to Creekwood.

I kicked Felix out around midnight, knowing we were about to have a miserable day ahead of us. Fortunately, when he met me outside my apartment, he was the one to suggest that we grab some coffee.

I dropped off the note when we went in. Benji's shift started before mine because I could only work a few hours on a school night for the next few weeks, and I wanted him to grab it before I got to work. I was hoping that would just be an extra step that would make him think it couldn't possibly be me. Though, if he hadn't figured it out by now, he probably wasn't going to at all.

I hoped. Or maybe it was just the lie I was telling myself so I could justify writing back to him despite how risky it was. The potential for me to slip up while we were working was pretty substantial, but I already looked forward to hearing back from him.

When we got to lunch, I spotted Mia and joined her. She was hunched over a piece of canvas. "What are you working on?" I asked curiously.

She jumped. "Haven't you ever heard of saying hello?"

"It's not my fault you're so jumpy," I teased. "Wow, you scare easy."

She rolled her eyes, but the smallest smile settled on her face, so I knew she wasn't upset. "I do not. You're just really quiet. Seriously, make a sound."

I chuckled. "I'll keep that in mind. So, what is this?"

"It's supposed to be a landscape," she explained. "I didn't have much time to work on it this weekend, so I'm trying to get more of it done before class."

"The sunset is so detailed," I said surprised. There had been a few people good at art at my old school, but it seemed like Mia was in a world of her own.

"I've done better," she said with a shrug.

"That's hard to believe."

"I'll show you my portfolio sometime."

I remembered Mia telling me at the party that she preferred sculpting. I wondered if drawing stuff like this made her sad. It didn't seem like the time or place to ask her in the middle of the crowded cafeteria. "Where do you keep your sculptures?" I asked curiously.

"Some of them are in the art room."

"I'd love to see them."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I mean, if this is what you can do with colored pencils, I'd love to see more."

"What do you say that we have lunch in the art room then?" she asked hopefully.

"Let's do it," I agreed.

I followed her to a room I'd never been to before that was so bright and colorful compared to the rest of the school. She led me to a corner where there was a cabinet door with her name on it. "Wow. You have your own closet."

She chuckled. "All of the advanced art students do. We all have a specialization. Mine's sculpting, and I need a place to store the stuff that the other art classes shouldn't be using."

"Like what?"

She pulled out something that looked like thick wire. "Like this. And my dad's crème brûlée torch. It's not the same as a welder, but it's the closest I can get outside of class." She pulled down a sculpture that looked like she'd meticulously twisted different colored metal together. "I had this in the showcase last semester. I haven't been able to bring myself to dissemble it."

"It's incredible." I didn't know much about art, but I could have spent the entire lunch looking at this sculpture. It was so intricate.

"We had to recreate a famous sculpture. I picked this one. My favorite sculptor, Gertrude Barnstone, made the original. Hers is so much better."

"Yeah, well, she was a famous sculptor. I'd like to see her make something this amazing with the tools you have," I pointed out.

"That feels like a backhanded compliment."

"I just meant… you know what? I'm gonna quit while I'm ahead."

"Smart," she agreed. She sat on top of one of the tables, and I took my place on one across from her.

For a moment, we're both quiet. She's working on the same landscape from earlier. "Is that an actual place? Or are you just drawing a sunset?"

"When I turned nine, my mom, dad, and I went on a road trip to Vermont with my dad. He had to visit a school on Friday, but they paid for us to stay the weekend. We stayed in this cabin on a lake. I don't even know where we were, but it was beautiful, and it was just the three of us in the middle of nowhere. It probably should have been boring, but my mom and I painted the whole weekend, and my dad was just there to be with us. We made grilled cheese on a panini press my dad brought and one night we had our own random dance party. It's one of the last times I remember feeling like I had a family."

"That sounds really nice. You must miss that."

"I do." She blinked several times, and I got nervous that she was about to cry. I didn't mean to bring up something that made her so sad. "Are you close with your family?"

"Yeah." This didn't seem like the time to explain whatever weird tension had been popping up with my family. In comparison, there didn't seem like anything to complain about.

"Can you tell me about them?"

"Are you sure?" She nodded. "My mom plays piano. She used to give lessons back in Texas. She and my dad met when they were juniors in high school, and they've been together ever since."

"Your parents are high school sweethearts? It must be so sweet to have parents that have been in love that long."

I thought about what she'd said; I'd never known anything else. "They can be a lot some of the time. It's like they're still going through their teenage, can't stay apart from each other phase. They used to joke that they needed to give us something to talk about in therapy. I don't think it's because they were high school sweethearts though; it's just who they are. Were your parents ever gross like that?"

"I don't remember ever seeing my parents affectionate toward one another. I just always figured that's was normal because Lake's and Andrew's parents aren't like that either." Mia sighed. "I don't know. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe they weren't happy together."

"Not everyone is like my parents. People can be happy without being all over each other."

"Maybe. You're still really lucky."

"Yeah. Really lucky," I agreed. Our conversation faded after that while Mia worked on her landscape the last few minutes of lunch. I wasn't sure if I'd told Mia the truth. In so many ways, I was grateful for my family, and I was lucky to have them, but they could be suffocating. I had no idea if I would have been able to figure out my stuff if I'd had the space to do that without worrying about whether they'd be able to accept me for who I am.

I was still thinking about our conversation when Benji pulled me from my thoughts in the middle of our shift.

"Hey, Vic?" Benji quickly shook his head. "Sorry. I don't know if you have a nickname."

"I like Vic," I said quickly. I was trying very hard not to think about how right it sounded coming from Benji.

"Can I ask you a question?"

I felt like my heart started beating faster. This was it. I'd given something away in my last note, and he knew it was me. That had to be it, right? "Uh, yeah. Sure. Why not?" I was so bad at this.

"You're Catholic, right?"

"Yes," I said slowly. Had that been enough to blow my cover?

"My friend is too, and he has really religious parents. He's struggling right now. He's kind of figuring out who he is, and I think that he's having trouble with it because who he is might not be someone his church would be cool with." Benji frowned. "I know almost nothing about church, but would it really be that bad?"

"It depends on what you're talking about," I told him. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to tell me. I knew because I'd written that note, but did this mean he was talking to other people about me? The thought made me feel nauseated. "Who's your friend?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "And I wouldn't tell you if I did."

"Huh."

"I haven't really told anyone about him," Benji said after a minute. "I don't think he'd like it if he knew, but I don't really know how to help him with this. How do you figure out who you are when the church might hate you? I'm just trying to understand what that's like."

"Well, the Catholic way is to kind of pretend it doesn't exist and hope it eventually goes away."

"Does that work?"

"No," I laughed. "If it worked, it probably wouldn't be the Catholic way." Benji snickered.

"If it's not something that will go away, then maybe your friend really needs to consider what's more important. Being true to himself or being true to a religion that would turn its back on him." I pretended to clean the counter. "It's easier said than done, but if this is something important to him and it's part of who he is, then maybe it'll be worth it." I frowned. "Or maybe he'll lose everything. I don't know what's going on with your friend, but there's a long list of things that the Catholic church has a problem with."

"That sounds complicated," he muttered. He looked up at the ceiling. "So, let's say, someone like me went to church. What could happen?"

I looked at him. "So many people use religion to justify their hate, and unfortunately, a lot of them go to church. If someone like you went to church and people could tell… say you brought Derek, there's a good chance it wouldn't be pretty. People who don't even know you would judge you for what they think is a choice. The sad thing is, I really think the people who are okay with you would probably outnumber the ones who aren't, but they're not the loud ones. Then again, it might be different here. You hear stories about these really religious people loving and supporting people like you, so who knows?"

"That happens a lot now, right?"

I frowned. "Not as often as it should, and not often enough that a lot of people don't have a good reason to be afraid. Maybe you'd go to church, and nothing would happen, but I think it's way more likely that someone you've never met before will try to make you feel like shit because of who you are."

"So how does anyone ever come out if they're Catholic?"

I couldn't help the humorless huff that escaped me. Wasn't that the million-dollar question? "My guess would be not easily."

"Thank you. I think I get this a little bit more now."

"So, what's your advice for your friend?" I asked.

"I think that I understand why he's so scared, but I want to tell him that he's not alone. I could be wrong, but I don't think someone should hide themselves because they're afraid to be who they really are. At the end the day, he can't live his life to please other people or a God he may not believe in because they don't believe in him. He's the one that has to live his life. No one else can do that for him, and I think it would be better for him to live his life authentically."

I shivered. "That's pretty good advice."

He grinned. "Thanks."

"Your friend's in good hands."

"I hope so. I feel like I'm the last person he should be coming to for advice."

"Why?" I asked curiously.

"You weren't here, so you couldn't know this, but… I haven't always been the super confident, super proud guy you know?"

"Really?"

"Yeah. Um… when I was in the closet, I was deeply in the closet. I dated a lot… of girls. I'm not proud of it, but I really didn't want to be gay. Like, at all. So, who am I to help someone else figure out their sexuality?" His eyes suddenly got wide. "Shit, please forget I said that."

"I won't tell anyone," I promised. "Maybe that's exactly why he reached out to you instead of someone else. Maybe the fact that you haven't been on board with being into guys your whole life means that you can understand him a little better."

"Maybe," he said quietly.

"Give yourself some credit." We both watched as a guy knocked over his coffee, looked around to see if anyone was looking, and then literally booked it from Brasstown without even attempting to tell us about the mess he made. "And maybe stop making me clean off all the tables while you're at it."

"I'm training you," he said.

"On what? How to clean up spills?" I tossed him the towel. "It's definitely your turn. I'll man the register."

"It's your second day. You are not ready to man the register." All signs of our earlier conversation disappeared as his frown lines did the same.

"I think I can handle it. I can ring up someone's crappy croissant."

"Don't knock the croissants," he protested.

"Let me guess. They're your favorite baked good?"

He snorted. "Not a chance," he said. "But they're not bad. I have too much of a sweet tooth to go for croissants."

"What's your favorite dessert?" I asked curiously.

"In general or on the menu?"

"In general."

"I like cheesecake," he told me. He stared at the wall. "My mom and I used to make one together for my birthday every year. We haven't done it in a while, but I loved making it almost as much as I love eating it."

"Huh. Cheesecake," I said surprised.

"Don't knock it," he said. "Cheesecake is amazing, and there is something especially delicious about eating something that takes five hours to make."

"Five hours?" I asked incredulously.

"The recipe we used always took an hour to cook and then like four hours in the fridge."

"That is a really long time."

"It's worth it. It's the best cheesecake I've ever had." He sighed happily. I made a mental note about the cheesecake just in case. "What about you?"

"Mine's pretty boring. I could eat anything ice cream. Ice cream cake, milkshakes. You name it."

"Mmm," Benji said. "Ice cream's cheating."

"How is it cheating?"

"Because only psychopaths don't like ice cream."

"That's fair. At least you know I'm not a psychopath."

He snorted. "Do I know that?"

I threw the towel at him. "I think you have a spill to clean up."

He took the towel with an eye roll but did clean off the table.

Things were smoother after that. We stayed on safe topics as we closed. I stopped in Brasstown after school the next day, hoping that he might've written back to me, but the top of the espresso machine was paperless.

I spent most of the night trying to convince myself that tomorrow wasn't going to be a complete disaster. It was just coffee, after all. Just coffee. Then why did it feel like so much more?