After Bud's performance in the cafeteria, things get dicey--group dynamic wise. It's not that people take sides, but Bud and I are eating lunch in his car every day to avoid 'drama'. Tom finds us there after two days and joins us, because Ali continues to scare the crap out of him. And because he's on our side. Kendall stops by Bud's driver's side window every day to shake his head and sigh wistfully about what's going on with everyone, but then goes back to the cafeteria to sit with Lilliana, Joshua, and Ali.
Whatever. It is what it is.
* * * * *
It's been over a week, and I know Joshua's pattern by heart.
Get brave. Take the leap. Catch yourself in mid-air. Back pedal. Cower. Come out with your tail between your legs. Beg for forgiveness.
So even though I'm technically in the art room after school today to repeatedly erase and redraw Michaelangelo's David's junk unsuccessfully, I'm ninety percent certain Joshua is going to walk through the door any minute wanting to talk. And I'm ready for him. David's eraser smudged crotch will back me up on this.
But the footsteps coming through the door aren't Joshua's. They're Tom's.
"Hey," he says, joining me at the table. "What are you doing to that poor guy's penis?"
I laugh and flip the drawing over. I'd rather look at Tom anyway. He looks sad, but also strangely amused. "So," he says, "Marcus turns eighteen next week."
I grab his hand and squeeze it. "I know. That's really good. Are you guys ready?"
"Sort of." He furrows his brow. "Marcus told his dad he wanted to move out already."
My eyes widen. "He talked to him alone?"
"Yeah," Tom nods. I'm still baffled by the look on his face. The news he's about to give me could be good, bad, life shattering. I'm clueless.
"What did he say?"
"Oh, he said no," Tom laughs ironically. "That's not happening."
Why is he smiling? Did his brain break? His heart must have. I squeeze his hand harder.
"What is happening?"
"His dad wants to get him evaluated by a psychologist," he says, like Marcus's dad is taking him shoe shopping.
"Seriously?" I stammer. "Now? What's the point?"
"I think he's hoping they're going to find enough wrong with Marcus to make him a lifelong dependent. So, he can't leave home."
My heart drops and I'm staring into Tom's face, waiting for him to burst into tears. But he's not. Why isn't he more upset about this?
"Tom, I'm so sorry," I say. Maybe if I cry, he'll take the hint and emote like a human.
But he's smiling again. "It's okay," he says. "If Marcus is the guy I want to love forever, this is what forever is going to be like for us. It's never going to be easy. I know that. But I don't care. It's worth it to me. It's worth the setbacks and the bullies and all of Marcus's hang ups and all the jerk-off marathons I have to go through when I can't see him for weeks at a time."
I shove him playfully, then pull him back so I can kiss him on the cheek. I'm still crying, but I can't be sad. I'm too proud of Tom, of how he's handling this. Like a grownup.
"I know we're going to get there," he says. "Even if we have to wait for his douchebag dad to kick the bucket. I can see us there, holding hands at the funeral, and we're fifty, and we're ready to go, and we just ... go. And we get there."
"Maybe his dad will die young," I say hopefully.
Tom laughs and his eyes finally tear up a little bit. "Aw. That would be awesome. But, in the meantime..." His smile could light up a football stadium. "Marcus is coming back to school. He has to be here be so his teachers can help with his evaluation. He'll be back Monday, and he's going to finish the year, and he's going to graduate with us, Dot." He's starts crying and he lets me hug him. "It's not going to be perfect," he sniffs, "but it's something. I'll get to see his face and hold his hand every day."
"You guys can have sex in the art closet," I blurt out.
He giggles. "Thanks. I'll have to ask Marcus how he feels about paint fumes in our romantic space."
"Oh, hey. Sorry. I can come back if you guys are busy."
Tom wipes his face on his sleeve. "What do you need, Jameson?" he asks without turning toward the doorway, where Joshua is waiting with his begging face on.
"Nothing. I was ... hoping to talk to Dot."
Tom meets my eyes and whispers, "Want me to stay?"
I put my hand on his cheek and shake my head. "I'm good."
He stands up and collects his bag. Then he leans over and plants a swift, no nonsense, kiss on my lips. For an instant, I'm transported back to the dark corner of that sixth grade make-out party. Only Tom has upped his kissing game considerably since then.
"Make sure the next one is with someone who really cares about you," he says. "Tell Bud I said hi."
I blush and let the kiss, his smile, and the reminder of Bud fortify me. Because that's what Tom wants it to do.
He starts toward the door. "Wait," I say. "How did you know what's happening with Marcus? I thought you couldn't even text him because his dad screens his phone."
"He does," Tom says over his shoulder. "He's been talking to me through a friend."
"What friend?" I call out before he reaches the door.
"Dorothea," he calls back with a smile in his voice. He shoulders past Joshua without acknowledging him.
My heart jumps in my chest. I want to run home and call Bud. Ask him about his solo DGLS mission to keep Tom and Marcus in communication for the last month. And I want to hug the living daylights out of him for being such a good friend. God, Bud is such a good friend.
But I can't run home.
Not yet.
* * * * *