“Cut the shit. Why were you at the Hideaway?” I ask.

He leans toward me and rests his chin in the palm of his hand and clears his throat. “It was an all-ages night.” He shrugs. “Sounded like something fun to do on a Saturday night.”

“So are you saying that you’re . . .” After almost two years of fooling around with Lucas behind closed doors and constantly wishing for something more, but knowing deep down that it wasn’t for me to pressure him, I’m not about to put myself in a similar situation with Tucker.

“I’m saying I went to a show at a bar on all-ages night.” He doesn’t say it quietly or loudly. He just says it.

“And you were only there for the fun of it? At a gay bar?”

He shrugs and smiles playfully. “I like the atmosphere.”

“Wait. You’ve been there before. What about Melissa?” I ask, trying to read between the lines.

“What about Melissa? She’s my ex-girlfriend. It’d be kind of weird if I took her out on a date. Don’t you think? If you’re wondering, though, she was a big Peppa fan, too.” He stands up. “I better get back out there.”

“So you’re not going to swear to beat the shit out of me if I tell anyone I saw you at the Hideaway?”

“I’m not trying to keep secrets.” He walks out the door to the garage.

I wait for the door to shut behind him before I let out an exhausted sigh. Did I wake up in the Twilight Zone today? I know that technically he doesn’t owe me any kind of answers, but I can’t get the image of him out of my head. His coy smile, neon lights blurring behind him.

I finish up my breakfast and shuffle out to the living room, unable to help how mopey I am. Mom sits in her recliner and is playing mah-jongg on her iPad while catching up on her DVR.

Dramatically, I spread out on the couch next to her recliner, daring her to ask me what’s wrong so I can tell her all about the way everything in my body right down to my guts is twisted into a knot and that I feel restless and aimless and just . . . less.

She doesn’t take the bait.

“Sweet of that boy to come over and look at the car. I told your father I’d take it in this week, but he insisted. He’s taken a real shine to that boy.”

“Maybe he can adopt him,” I say. “Swap me out for a more useful model.”

She chuckles at something on her iPad or at me and my endless misery. Probably both.

“Where’s Clem?” I ask.

“Hannah’s.”

Ah, yes, living her life without me. It’s like when we were in middle school and we both agreed to stay up late the night before a history test and blow off studying for reruns of Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Except when I passed out, Clem studied without me. Only one of us failed the test the next day.

“Are we going to Grammy’s for dinner?” I can feel my questions needling at her.

“That’s the plan.” She sighs, closes the cover on her iPad, and stands. “I need a pedicure. And you’re clearly emotionally afflicted in some kind of way.”

I moan. “Is it that obvious?”

“All right, up and at ’em! We’re getting these little piggies painted and you’re driving.”

I run to grab my keys. “I’ll meet you outside! But I get to pick your colors this time.”

She flips her hair. “Pea-green toes can be very elegant, thank you very much.”

As I’m running back through the kitchen after putting on my shoes, Tucker’s there washing his hands in the sink. He shakes his hands out, unable to find a towel. Sunlight cascades down his face, like a damn Instagram thirst trap come to life.

I reach into a drawer and hand him a fresh dish towel, breaking the moment and snapping myself back to reality. “Here.”

“Thanks.” He dries his hands and hangs the towel over the edge of the sink.

“I’m sorry,” I say, “you don’t owe me any kind of explanation about why you were at the drag show last night.”

He smiles, the lines around his eyes wrinkling. “I kept wanting to go up and talk to you.”

“Me?” I ask. “We don’t even know each other. Or even like each other for that matter.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Waylon, I’ve known you my whole life. And I’ve never said I don’t like you.”

“I mean, I guess we know each other in the small-town kind of way. But you haven’t exactly been friendly to me in the past.”

He’s so close. It’s so quiet. Dad is gone. Mom is outside. Clem is at Hannah’s. It’s just me and Tucker, this boy I’ve known for my whole life apparently, but who is still such a mystery to me.

“Oh, and you’ve never been a jerk before?”

I suck in a breath. “That’s not the impression you left me with.”

Tucker bites down on his lip. I think our rib cages might be made of magnets, because no matter how hard I try to pull back and knock some sense into my head, I can’t seem to stop myself from—

“Waylon! These toes are done waiting,” my mother calls from the garage.

I take a step back, gasping. “Be right there!”

Tucker doesn’t seem at all fazed.

“I better go,” I tell him. “You have to go.”

“After you,” he says smoothly.

I snatch the keys off the counter and march outside in my most awful cargo shorts and polo shirt. “Let’s go, Mom.”

“Oh, Tucker,” Mom says. “Thank you so much.”

“Yes, ma’am. Anytime,” he tells her, on his best behavior. “I texted Mr. Brewer the info on what parts we need to order. I’d be happy to install them for you when everything comes in.”

She cups his cheek. “You are such a wonderful help. I insist you join us for dinner tonight.”

“Oh, ma’am, I’ve, uh . . . I can’t this evening, but thank you.”

She points a finger at him as she gets into the passenger door of the truck. “You’ll not elude my dinner invitations again, young man.”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ll take a rain check,” he says as he closes the garage door behind him.

The moment my mother is fully seated in the car, I reverse out the driveway. “Well, now hang on a minute,” she says. “Let me put my seat belt on. And we didn’t even see to it that Tucker got on his way okay.”

“Mom, I guarantee you on a Sunday afternoon, there’s a wait at the nail salon, and if anything is wrong with that boy’s truck, you and I are the last people on earth who could offer him any help.”

In the rearview mirror, I watch as Tucker steps out into the street, his hands in his pockets, as we drive away.

Eighteen

I barely sleep on Sunday night thinking about the prospect of seeing Tucker on Monday morning in first period. But when Monday morning finally comes, Tucker is nowhere to be found.

I think about texting him, since we have a prom court meeting after school, but what am I supposed to say? I think you might be gay and please don’t bail on this dumb meeting we’re supposed to attend?

As I walk to choir, Alex bounces at my side. “Wasn’t Saturday night absolutely epic? And next Saturday is Kyle’s big party. You’re coming, right? Would karaoke be fun? Do our peers appreciate karaoke?”