My Queer Superpower

Chapter Twenty Three [Flashback]

Faith and Saylor were both sitting on my bed with their arms crossed, facing the door, when I came through it. They wore matching neutral expressions. I gave smiling a shot, but it failed to muster. I'd walked in on my own intervention. They were ready. They presented a united front, which made sense. They probably heard the garage door when I came in, if not, they definitely heard me stomp up the steps. I played dumb. I was good at that.

"Is no one going to hug me?" I asked, spreading my arms out wide, wiggling my fingertips. Saylor nearly stood up, but Faith squeezed his leg, right above the knee and he got comfortable. "No?"

I kicked off my shoes and walked across the room to my wood and metal writing desk to sit down. Sitting on the bed with them was out of the question, but I was too tired to keep standing. I couldn't sit on the floor and have them talk down to me.

The desk was my best and only option, and I was certain they knew it. It wouldn't have surprised me if they had played through the scenario in some sort of messed up 'how to gang up on your best friend' dress rehearsal. Even in my own home, they were in complete control. Might as well bend over and take it.

"You don't want to date me anymore," Faith said, clearing her throat, "That's obvious, but I want to know why."

Her glistening hazel eyes stunned me the moment I locked onto them. I had to look away. I felt horrible. I made her feel inadequate when there was nothing wrong with her.

Faith was always pretty, even back then, when she tried her best not to be. It was back when she thought bright-colored, corduroy overalls were the move. They weren't. She thought the only hairstyle that existed for her naturally lush brown hair was the ponytail. She had these self-induced breakouts by pounding down greasy foods and never washing her hands.

Her lips were always chapped and she was always sunburned until I changed her life with a tube of Carmex and a bottle of SPF-30. Her parents were loaded, but you'd swear she was an orphan by how little she knew about self-care. My stint as glow-up friend in eight grade was extremely short-lived, but Faith never forgot about it.

I pulled my left foot up on the chair and sat on it, a weird thing I always did in office chairs. I stared down at my hands and took a deep breath, held it for a five count. "Faith, I s—."

"No! At least look me in the eyes when you lie to me, puto," she said acidly.

Silence.

It took me forever to look back up at her. I'd expected her to grow tired of waiting and take over the discussion like she always had. She didn't. Making me do the talking was how she'd inflict maximum suffering.

"Are we going to be okay?" I asked, beckoning to both of them, "All of us."

"Don't," Faith said, narrowing her eyes. She knew all my tricks. "We're here, verdad?"

I nodded. Sadly, I couldn't agree to whatever she said, mean it, apologize and promise to do better. No, she wanted me to learn for myself, to find out where I went wrong and how to fix everything, all on my own. I'd been called to the front. It was Mrs. Wagner all over again, stern and patient, with the watchful eyes of a hawk as I screwed up the area of a triangle for the fifth time. Even she learned not to ask the impossible. I needed hints, guidance, but like shits, Faith had none to give.

Silence, round two.

I bounced my right leg while I thought about everything I had to be sorry for. There was how I treated Saylor before he left, missing his homecoming to stay at a hotel, not inviting them to the trampoline park, avoiding Faith and lying to hang out with Jerome. No doubt, I was a shitty friend, but none of that would've happened if Saylor hadn't left.