We Were Giants

Chapter 33

I try to think about Cameron and how our friendship has changed, too. I think about how ambivalent I had been of him at first, but how I've grown to love him. How he's grown to be closer to me than Kayla ever has been. And how he was so quick to accept the person that I am. That I love Isaiah.

Before I can try to think of anything else, we're in the school parking lot. People are flooding into the school in their nicest clothes. Isaiah is waiting outside in his nicest clothes, standing next to his Dad, his several-years-older twin. Isaiah looks so handsome, I can't stop myself from kissing him the moment I'm with him, even with our families around.

"Ew," Thomas cries exaggeratedly. Our families chuckle.

"You look amazing," Isaiah tells me softly, sliding his fingers between mine.

"Nothing compared to you," I squeeze his hand.

I realize that this is the first time my Dad and Isaiah's Dad have been together, in this capacity, as the dads of boyfriends. At a big event. I wonder how uncomfortable they must be. I wonder if I'm the only person who's uncomfortable.

"Cole," Marcus Rosenthal says, extending his hand in a business-like gesture. "It's good to see you."

His tone isn't as formal as I would expect, considering the history between them and the circumstances surrounding things tonight.

"It's good to see you, too, Marcus," Dad smiles and pulls Mr. Rosenthal into a hug.

"Hey, can we talk real quick?" Isaiah pulls me away from our families as they catch up.

"My Dad told me," he says softly, wincing like he's in pain.

For a moment I don't know what he's talking about. And then I do.

"I'm sorry I kept it from you," I apologize immediately, hanging my head. "I didn't want to. I just. I didn't want to hurt you. I"

"No," he cuts me off. "I'm not mad."

I look into his honey-and-amber eyes.

"Thank you," he kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry you felt like you had to hold it in. I could have taken it. But I know you were just thinking about me."

Something in my neck loosens for the first time in millennia and my shoulders relax. I didn't realize I'd been carrying so much tension.

"In the future," he laughs. "You don't have to protect me. I can take it. Besides, I have to protect you. That's my job."

I don't argue with him. He has done an awful lot of protecting and saving me. Will he always be my knight in shining armor? I certainly hope so.

"Thank you," he says again, kissing my cheek. "You're the best."

I feel myself melt into a puddle. I run all over the ground, and glow with warmth and become lava. I synch with the turning of the earth. Being with him makes me this way. I hope it always will.

"Alright, you two," Dad jokes. "Break it up. Let's go inside."

I squeeze Isaiah's hand tightly and walk with him into the school. The hallways are buzzing with chatter and are packed with well-dressed families fawning over artwork. Other kids my age are presenting their portfolios to the families.

I see people proudly displaying their watercolor paintings, their charcoal portraits, their mixed media canvases. I see artists telling people about their oil paintings, their sculptures, their pastel works.

Everybody here is good. Everybody here is talented. Everybody at this show, like me, is the most gifted artist in their school. Everybody, like me, is proud of what they're done. Everybody, like me, is nervous about the outcome of their portfolios.