The Footstagram

chapter four

I wish Romano hadn't noticed that the pic was gone. But, of course, he did, because he's Leo Romano, and that's just what he does.

I'm walking out to my car in the parking lot and he's there, leaning against the hood with his arms folded across his chest, looking cozy in the letterman jacket he paid way too much for. It has our school colors, black and green, and the back is covered in pins from our nearly four years here at Montrose High. It's funny though, because Romano has a soccer pin, but he's terrible at it. Most of these are from choir and orchestra.

"So you deleted the Asha and Emma pic?" he asks, right as a jacked-up truck squeals by.

A window rolls down in the back and someone chucks a Gatorade bottle out the window. It bursts on the ground, but it's honestly kind of anti-climactic. It doesn't even touch us, or my car. Still, whichever underclassmen threw it also shouts, "FUCKING HOMO!" as they drive off.

"YOU KISS YOUR DAD WITH THAT MOUTH?" Romano shouts back, but they're already gone. "Fucking freshmen."

"Wanna go follow them home?" I offer. "Find where they live, then TP their houses? Write 'love is love' on their garage doors in a rainbow of spray paint?"

Romano snorts, running a hand through his hair. He loves his hair. I also love his hair. It's thick, curly, floppy boy hair that he gels to look a neater kind of messy than it actually is. And he's the only person I've ever seen who can pull off highlighted tips like that. Not frosted, more like a light brown instead of his usual deep nutmeg.

"It's fine, I really don't care," he says. "Anyways, what were you saying about the photo?"

Leo, my best friend since I moved here in the fifth grade, knows me well too well to let me change the subject. It's something I do a lot, throwing things out there at such a rapid pace that most people can't keep up. I can barely keep up myself. But Romano has never had any trouble. I'm convinced that the world moves at a slower pace for him than it does the rest of us; mine moves too fast, and I try to match its speed, but Romano doesn't need to play like that, even with me.

"I just felt bad about it, y'know?" Such a lie. "Like, they probably saw it and feel really paranoid or something."

"What would they have to feel paranoid about though? It's not like you heard anything."

Right. Because I didn't want to tell Romano about the pregnancy scare thing I overheard, or the making out. I just couldn't. But I did tell him that Asha and Emma were whispering about something in the bathroom stall, and that I figured there might be trouble in paradise. I had stayed in the bathroom to give him the tea, yes. But, even though I love Romano, I couldn't bring myself to tell him everything. Not after I saw Asha and Emma kissing.

Maybe I should have mentioned that to Asha.

Oh well. Hindsight's twenty-twenty.

"What would they feel paranoid about?" Romano asks. "You didn't really overhear a lot."

Why do you have to question me? Just take my lies at face value, dammit. "I don't know, but I just, I feel bad. It just wasn't funny this time."

To my surprise, he shrugs. "Alright, whatever floats your boat."

Cool. Cool. That's done, then? I don't have to think about that again. Awesome.

"So what did you do for free period?" he asks.

Oh. I am not a great liar. Did someone see Asha drag me out of school, or me getting in her car? If so, then the jig is totally up.

But then Romano says, "Because I kinda wanna go study at Fonkey Monkey, but if you already went, then I won't force you to go with me."