I carefully read all the messages, trying to figure out exactly what the hell was going on. I don't know what I'd done. Derek and I had hardly spoken that night, and I hadn't done anything dangerous. I'd just done what everyone else was doing.
There were no gaps in my memory. The whole night, I'd stayed alert enough to be able to remember it later. I mean, so what my head hurts like a bitch now? I'm not that hungover. There was literally no space in there for me to have done something worth a bunch of mystery texts.
And what was with Jenna's message? "I'm sorry." What had she done to contribute to this?
I debate on who to reply to first, and decide that Mystery Texter Number Two is most worthy of my response.
??: I can't believe you did that.
G: One: who are you? and two: did what?
Nothing back, not even after ten minutes. I sigh and move on to a different person. Mystery Texter Number Three deserves some sass, or at least a stern talking-to. I don't know why I come to this conclusion, but I do.
???: Ew, who are you?
G: Clearly if you have my number, you know who I am. However, I do not know who you are. An appropriate response in this situation would be to tell me who you are, and why whatever it is I did deserves an "ew."
I'm not the best at sass, but thanks. I try. I don't even wait for a reply this time, instead going straight for another mystery texter.
????: I'm never going to forgive you for this.
G: Forgive me for what? I haven't done anything, nor apologized for it as far as I know. Especially not to you, a person of uncertain identity.
I don't know why I'm responding to rude unknown numbers instead of outright asking Jenna or Derek what exactly is happening and how I got involved with it. Maybe I should do that. Derek seems just as clueless as me, but he asked a legitimate question, so I reply to him.
D: Are you getting as many weird texts as I am?
G: Yes, in fact. How'd you know?
I wait a few minutes, and he actually texts back.
D: All my weird messages mentioned you.
G: Really?
D: Yeah. It was all shit like "Why Geoff, of all people?"
G: Honestly, yeah, why me? I have no clue what's going on.
D: I think I do.
Do I want to know?
Yes.
G: Tell.
D: Don't hate me.
G: I won't judge.
D: I slept with a dude last night.
I set my phone on my bedside table and take a deep breath, putting two and two together. All those mystery texters think I got with Derek. But I didn't, and Derek knows I didn't. It's hard to forget someone you fucked. Believe me.
G: And somehow, they think it was me.
D: Yep.
G: Have you told them it wasn't?
D: They won't fucking believe me.
That's when Jenna's text falls into place. She told them I like guys.
G: Give me a minute.
I switch to Jenna's message and think of what I'm going to say to her. I can't be too hostile, because hostility has never worked and will never work for me. So I pull the "disappointment" card, the same one I used when I broke up with Zakk. I made that asshole cry with that tactic.
J: I'm sorry.
G: Why would you do that to me?
She takes a while to respond.
J: You know?
G: I guessed. You told people I'm gay.
J: Well, I didn't say you were gay, just that you're into boys.
G: Same thing. But why?
J: I was drunk, and people were talking about Derek's sexcapades, and it just kind of slipped out.
I have to set my phone down and count to twenty to avoid sending something I'll regret, and by the time I reach twenty, I realize what time it is. It's ten.
Shit. I have a date. I scramble out of bed, leaving Jenna on read, and quickly pick out something to wear. I briefly consider just showing up in the clothes I have on, but I shoot that down just as quickly, remembering all those days I had to do that out of necessity and not laziness. No. I can't wear something twice without washing it.
I change as fast as I can, rush to the bathroom, and attempt to tame my hair one-handed. It's wild from last night, and man, I look like a fucking corpse. I didn't drink that much, did I?
After I get myself looking presentable, I hurry downstairs, nod to Rebecca on the couch, and run out to my car. The directions to Awsten's place are still on the passenger seat, where I left them. I know it's a bad idea to drive hungover, but how else am I supposed to get Awsten? Walk?
Surprisingly, I make it to Awsten's house in one piece. He is sitting on his front porch and stands up when he sees me. His sweater is white today.
He walks out to my car without so much as a word to his family that he's leaving. As he gets closer, I notice that his eyes are red and puffy, like he's been crying. I can't get out of the car to help him in, so I just sit, tensely waiting for him. He somehow seems even shakier.
"Hey," he says as he opens the car door. His voice cracks slightly.
"What's up?" I ask. "Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah. I'm good," he says. "Just had a bit of a fight with my parents."
"Are you hurt at all?" I ask instinctively, and instantly regret it. I sound too worried. He'll put two and two together too quickly, I'm sure of it.
"No, not physically," he says. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, no reason," I say, and start up the car again.
"You know, if we're being honest, you don't look much better than me," he says.
"Uh, I went to a party last night," I say. My phone buzzes, and I wince. Probably one of those unknown numbers sending me shit.
"Do you want to take that?" he asks, and I shake my head. My phone goes off again. "Are you sure?" he says.
"Yeah, I'm sure," I say. "To be honest, I don't want to know."
"Some serious shit must've gone down at that party," he says, his normal smile starting to creep back onto his face.
"Actually, yeah," I say.
"Really?" he says, smiling. "What happened? Tell Mom."
I laugh nervously. "I'll tell you once you stop comparing yourself to my mother." Don't think. "You're better than that."
"Okay," he says, thankfully not questioning further. "Tell Aunt Awsten your problems."
I smile. "Someone started a rumor that I slept with one of my guy friends."
"Did you sleep with him, though?"
"No!" I say. "But I'm gay, so I'm most likely to have. Except I'm not, because I can't have sex without..." I've already said too much.
"Sounds infuriating," says Awsten. "You'll set them straight."
"Uh, do you want to listen to music?" I say, in an attempt to change the subject. "I brought Viva La Cobra this time."
"Sure!" he exclaims, and I fumble with the CD before starting it up.
By the fourth song, we have arrived at our destination-the movie theatre. After a lot of swearing at the road, I parallel-park the car and help Awsten out because I'm a fucking gentleman.
"Oh, what are we seeing?" he asks, and I smile and tell him the name of the movie. Some manly action thing.
We enter the building and buy the tickets. The cashier is a girl with red lipstick and large tits, and she winks at me after I pay. I don't know what to do, so I smile awkwardly and try to act as gay as possible. I thought the way I dress is a dead giveaway, but I guess not.
Awsten and I pass the concession stand, and I gesture toward it.
"Do you want popcorn or anything?" I ask.
"Um, I'll pass," he says. Suddenly he looks very uncomfortable.
"Okay, cool," I say. He and I make our way into the theatre itself. The lights are already dimming, and the first preview is starting. We've made it at just barely the right time.
He heads straight for the front, and I follow him because he's cute. Also, he says he doesn't get out much, so I'm happy to do whatever the hell he wants. We take our seats a lot closer to the front than I would've liked, but it's not like I care. Awsten's gonna be sitting next to me the whole time.
The second preview starts, and I realize the theatre doesn't have air conditioning. By preview three, I am uncomfortably moist, and I suspect Awsten is too.
"Hey," he whispers, and I lean in. "If I take my sweater off, will you promise not to judge me?"
"Uh, yeah, of course I won't judge you," I whisper back. "I can barely see you."
"Good," he says, and pulls his sweater off over his head.
The first thing I notice is how skinny his arms are. They are widest at the wrists and elbows, which I assume is not normal, and I can make out the faint outlines of the bones in his forearms. The most striking thing is how surprisingly proportionate his arms are to the rest of his body.
He's so skinny!
The second thing I notice is the faint lines etched into his skin, the ones I recognize all too well. I look away, realizing I'm probably invading his privacy so much. Though, I did promise not to judge.
The third thing I notice is his Fall Out Boy T-shirt.
I smile to myself and turn my attention to the screen. The dude-bro movie is starting.
And I sure as hell can't afford to miss any of that, now, can't I?