verbomaniac (poetry + short stories)

untitled short story (gay romance!)

Well, I did the obvious thing and drifted towards Sara while Sadie and Makeup and all the others went for food and left one beautiful Sara, one gay Andrea and some dude with glasses standing by the bouncy castle.

I'm not great at math but I do know shyness and the desire to speak to someone don't add up I'm a very nonsensical equation.

Luckily Sara is clearly quite good at talking to people. The proof? She gives me a friendly-but-not-annoying smile and says, "Hey, Andi. Oh, is that short for Andrea?"

I manage a soft smile of my own. "Yeah. I actually prefer Andrea."

"Okay. Let's try that again. Hey, Andrea."

"Salutations," is my idiotic reply.

SHIT. That's something I say to make fun of my friends' casual hellos, or maybe it's just to be different, but it's the worst thing to say while trying to be cool and impress a cute girl. Dammit. Salutations? Really, Andrea?

Oh wow, Sara's so chill. "I like that," she laughs, and it's a laugh completely devoid of mockery — an alien sound to my ears. "I guess I should say 'greetings.'"

I twist some syllables into a decent, albeit dorky, phrase. "At this rate, we shall become well acquainted."

And we do. We get to talking, and for someone like me, who struggles with talking, it goes pretty well. The guy, whose dark hair makes us a trio of brown-topped heads and is thus named Brown-Hair is my mind, joins the conversation, but mostly it's Sara and I, connecting.

Her favourite colour is purple. Mine is black. She likes volleyball. Me: What's a sport? Her: Has a younger brother. Me: Has two. We both like pizza and we're both rather average in school. We both like weird indie pop music. We're both wearing pants despite the weather. We exchange anecdotes and I become more and more relaxed. This is real. This isn't pretending I like the nickname Andi and acting like boys are cute. This isn't the fake me hiding from Sadie and the others. This is pure, free, real Andrea.

This is nice.

It's been close to an hour when Brown-Hair looks at us with unreadable expression. "Ohhhhhhkay, there's my cue to give you two some space. I'm gonna go find the others." And he walks away.

Wordlessly, Sara brings me to a shaded bench, which brings relief to my black-legging-and-blue-hoodie-clad body.

She's not smiling as she tells me seriously, "Sorry about Nigel. He thinks I fall in love with every girl I meet and 'gives us space.' It's because I'm queer. Is...uh...you cool with that?"

I can't help but smile a little. "Yep. I'm gay." When I say the two words I've been trying to say since the age of ten, I don't falter. I've never felt so sure. And it's all coming from Sara.

Of course she goes and allows me to see her incredible gaydar. "I thought so." She's smiling now, too.

Whoa. I don't know if she's attracted to me or...I steel myself. There is one way to find out. "I guess we should...take our space," I tell her slowly.

"I suppose so," she agrees, her voice wavering with an uncertainty I never imagined fitting her during the single hour I've known her. Maybe she's as new to this as I am.

"So...you're out to Nigel?" I ask, then hastily add, "Sorry to probe."

"Nah, it's totally fine." She's also preparing herself for something. "And yeah, he's my best friend...the first one I told. Then Violet, who's not here today, she's my other closest friend, and my parents, and basically everyone who matters except the five non-Nigel members of this group." She proceeds to answer my question before I ask it. "No, they're not really my friends, and I don't know, I'm just too scared to tell them they. I don't trust them. But there's...there's something about you that makes me feel...less alone at this fucking street festival."

I nod, and then look down. This is improbable, impossible, unbelievable... "I feel the same way. I don't trust my so-called 'friends' and...you're the first one I've told."

So she's not new to this. She's experienced. I'm in the closet. She's probably dated people. I haven't. Great.

Still, I can't help but feel like this nice, real friendship can become...something of which I've only dreamed.

Our talk is suddenly growing less casual. "I can't believe it," Sara whispers. I'm still studying the pavement but sense her shift closer. "Andrea..."

She's about to say something important. She instead says nothing. We just train our gazes on something from a less confusing world, the sidewalk, our shoes, the dirt — anywhere — and let ourselves be screwed-up, real humans.

"I'm glad you're the first one I told," I murmur, finally looking up, and watching her beautiful shoulder show from her dark purple tank top. She pulls her eyes from her tights and meets mine.

I speak slowly, letting the importance of each word show, "I'm glad it's you."

There's another pause and we simply look at each other. Looks...I'm attracted to her now for so much more than her looks.

To break our balance of reality and fantasy, to destroy our nice little world, to stop our dreams from being that same shade of real, Sadie's voice calls, "ANDI! SARA! C'MON!"

Across the street, she stands with Makeup, Nigel and their group, along with Angela, Bianca and a few of the dropouts. Some of the many have ice cream; others, corn dogs or pop cans.

"ONE SEC!" Sara yells back, and then turns to me. Panic shows in her perfect eyes. "What do we do?!" she inquires urgently.

Just like that, I know. I reach for her hand and our fingers entwine. "We take a walk. Well call it a first date."

She nods, determination in those brown eyes. We rise from the bench, clutching the other's hand, and walk across the street, past our "friends" and away from the noisy festival, preparing ourselves for something real.