I forced a smile. “Excellent. Thank you.” I put the number in my jeans pocket.
“You don’t have to call him,” Bubba said hurriedly. “I just thought I ought to give it to you, you know, since he gave it to me. You can toss it. Now that I think about it, you should probably toss it. Stranger danger and all that.” He looked uncomfortable again.
“Why would I do that?” I said brightly. “Phil actually wants to be with me.” I grabbed my backpack and headed for the door. But Bubba stopped me by grabbing my arm.
“Sean, wait.”
I stood still, not looking at him.
“The thing is…I’m not gay,” he said awkwardly. “I mean…I really like you. And I really liked kissing you. So, I must be bi. But I’ve only ever been with girls, and I don’t know how to do…the other thing. Or be that guy. I mean, it’s okay for Rand. But that’s not me. That’s not big ol’ Bubba Merkofsky, you know?”
I nodded sharply. “I understand. People put performative expectations on us. And it’s easier to fall in line with those expectations than it is to break free of them. That’s human nature. We’re social creatures, after all. It’s in our genetic makeup to care what others think of us. Survival and all of that. So you have nothing to feel guilty about.”
I was babbling, but I realized that I meant it. And that I really could understand—and forgive. In fact, I felt a little sorry for him. For us both. I turned and offered him a smile. “I’d just like to be your friend.”
He looked at me as if he’d never seen me before. “I knew you were smart. But how’d you get to be so smart about, like, people stuff?”
I shrugged. “Oh, I know all about expectations. My parents expect me to be a genius and only focus on my work. And everyone else expects me to be a nerd and not have any love life. That’s why I decided, over New Year’s, to get fit. Because I was tired of letting everyone else draw the borders of my life. It wasn’t getting me what I wanted, so—” I spread out my hands. “—it was time to change.” Yes. It definitely was. And maybe I would even call Phil. “Good night, Bubba. I hope your weekend back home is a good one.”
“Thanks, Sean,” Bubba said quietly. “Good night.”
Chapter Twelve
Bubba
Pedal to the metal.
It was still dark as I pushed my old car down the highway toward Dodge County. My car was going straight, but my brain was flipping out because this guy, this big dumb ox from Hartsboro, Wisconsin, had just aced a test in Applied Physiology. I fizzed like somebody fed me champagne. Holy crap, I wanted to stop the car, jump out, and dance.
After Sean came over that night and taught me the self-explaining thing, I’d practiced hard, preparing for this big test I had Friday, aka yesterday, in my nightmare course, Applied Phys. I’d been dreading the test like a root canal since, half the time, I just didn’t get it in that class. But every day I’d sat on my bed or marched around the campus talking to myself using the technique Sean had showed me. I got a lot of looks since I guess I not only talked, I waved my arms, but holy crap, it worked. The professor said he’d post the test grades at midnight last night, so I set my alarm and woke up to look. I got a freaking A minus! The only A I’d ever gotten in physiology was at the beginning of a sentence.
As soon as the sun came up and I arrived at the garage and got it open and running, I was going to call Sean and thank him. It was like a gift. Not just that he’d taken the time to find the learning technique, but that he’d believed I could do it.
Hell, except for maybe lifting weights, nobody ever believed I could do anything. I snorted. That’s why I liked lifting weights. But Sean was different. It honestly seemed like he didn’t think I was dumb. And if Sean didn’t believe it, and Sean was the brightest person I knew, then maybe it wasn’t true. Maybe I’m not dumb as dogshit. I was so excited about my A, I’d even brought some books so I could study when the shop wasn’t busy. Hell, I was so thrilled that the pain in my chest—a pain I’d had every minute since I decided I couldn’t have Sean—only hurt a little. At least I had him as a friend, and that was a lot.
I turned off the highway and into the still-sleeping town. My hometown. Home? Yeah, no. Funny how I’d been born and raised there, but I never really thought of it as home. Maybe if I’d known my mom better and had those kid memories of being in the kitchen smelling cookies or decorating the tree for Christmas or something like that, I’d have felt differently, but as it was, Hartsboro was just a place to be from.
The town only had a couple main streets, and my dad’s garage was on a connector street between the two mains. It was a great location, and Merkofsky Auto Repair did good business because my old man knew his cars and charged an honest price. He didn’t win any personality contests, but people put up with it for the good work. And even though he didn’t exactly say it, I knew he was proud of his shop. That’s why he’d been so pissed when I went off to Madison instead of officially coming into the business when I finished high school.
I pulled into the back lot behind the shop and parked. Only a couple of security lights were on inside. Otherwise, it was quiet. I got out, my breath making ghosts in the cold dark. I opened the side door of the building with the key I always carried on my key ring and stepped into the familiar smells of motor oil and tire rubber. Man, it was the odor of my life.
Flipping on the overhead lights, I looked around the bays. Two cars were mounted on lifts, ready for work. In the small office, I turned on lights and fired up the computer. Everybody tried to keep the office and so-called waiting room—it was only four chairs—clean, but it was tough. Grimy hands touched everything, and it was hard to get it off.
For me, it was hard to get it off more than my hands. It was like car grease got under my skin. I was good at cars, maybe better than at anything else, even lifting weights, but I’d never wanted to run the shop or spend my life fixing cars. My dad said I didn’t want to get my hands dirty.
“Yo, Bub.”
I turned at the familiar voice. “Hey, Rog.” Roger Marsden had been a customer of my dad’s since I was little. He worked at the granary and had lived in town his whole life. He bragged that he’d only been to Milwaukee once, and that was because he was in the hospital.
He readjusted the ear flaps on his hat. “I was driving by and thought I saw you. You home for good?”
Funny how just that question made me shiver. “No. My dad’s helping out a friend today, so I’m minding the shop. I go back tonight.”
“Aw, too bad. We sure miss you around here.”
I just smiled and checked through the day’s work orders.
“But I guess you’ll be coming home soon, right?”
I looked at him, surprised. “Uh, no. I’m only a junior. I’ve got another year, and then I’ll be looking for a job, probably at a gym or something. No gyms in Hartsboro.”
“Oh.” He looked at me like I’d said the moon was made of blue cheese.
“Why’d you think I was coming home?”
“Your dad’s told everybody that you bombed out at Madison and would be back any day.” He shrugged. “Guess he got the wrong info.”