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How often would I get to see Bryson Keller squirm?
How often would I get to see Bryson Keller squirm?
I love my sister, and aside from weekday mornings, we generally get along. I can’t say that I’d kill for her, but I might be willing to help her bury a body. Right now, though, Yasmine Sheridan is the one I want to murder.
I love my sister, and aside from weekday mornings, we generally get along. I can’t say that I’d kill for her, but I might be willing to help her bury a body. Right now, though, Yasmine Sheridan is the one I want to murder.
Siblings are annoying
Yazz is thirteen years old but has the personality of a middle-aged woman who yells at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn. “When you head to college in a few months, you won’t have me to help you. So let’s work on that, shall we?” She taps me on the shoulder as if to encourage me.
Yazz is thirteen years old but has the personality of a middle-aged woman who yells at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn. “When you head to college in a few months, you won’t have me to help you. So let’s work on that, shall we?” She taps me on the shoulder as if to encourage me.
I like her
Yazz is thirteen years old but has the personality of a middle-aged woman who yells at the neighborhood kids to get off her lawn. “When you head to college in a few months, you won’t have me to help you. So let’s work on that, shall we?” She taps me on the shoulder as if to encourage me.
I like her
“He got the oversleeping from you, dear,” Mom says to Dad. “Well, I have an excuse. My body hasn’t adapted to this time zone.” “It’s been twenty years. I think that excuse is over.”
“Well, I have an excuse. My body hasn’t adapted to this time zone.” “It’s been twenty years. I think that excuse is over.”
Priya adopted us several days later, insisting that without her, Donny and I would be lost little sheep. We’d never admit it to her, but she was probably right.
It doesn’t matter that Eric is a state champion in chess or even that he’s the vice principal’s son. Those are all second to his sexuality. That’s the thing with labels: they tend to stick to you like unwanted gum. It’s why I’m so careful not to be labeled. More than anything, I do not want to be Kai Sheridan, “the gay one.”
I’m envious of them. I close my eyes for a second and picture Isaac walking with me to my locker—doing normal, everyday things that straight couples get to do.
“I’m not joking,” I say. “Date me, Bryson Keller!”
Being a gay teenager stuck in the closet is so lonely and isolating.
Which is sort of a lie, considering I put on a performance every day. I’ve lied about crushes that I’ve never had, kisses with girls who don’t exist. I’ve acted out my own dramas.
It’s all so unfair: because you’re so-called different, you need to stand up and say that you’re so-called different. What makes everyone else normal? Who gets to decide that?
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who blushes as much as you. It’s fun.”
“Huh, so that’s your type?” Bryson’s brow is furrowed, and his eyes are looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t think I have a set type,” I say. “I just liked him.” “Past tense?” Bryson quirks an eyebrow. It’s annoyingly cute.
But I just mean in general, why are you so sure that the guys you like are straight?”
Fingers crossed that Bryson Keller is not straight
“I won’t tell, but on the off chance that anyone does find out about you being gay and gives you crap about it, call me.” “My personal bodyguard?” “A friend,” Bryson says with a wink.
We leave the café, with my thoughts preoccupied by Bryson.
You guys didn't discuss anything about the assignment!
It’s not as large as the homes of some of the other kids at school, but it’s special because we put the time into making it ours.
Even though it’s fake, I’m dating someone—a boy. Holy shit, I have a boyfriend. And it’s none other than Bryson Keller.
You are not panicking enough lol
Mom’s wearing the WORLD’S BEST CHEF apron that Dad, Yazz, and I got her as a joke one day. In retrospect I think she missed the humor of the gift and sees it more as encouragement. We will never make such a mistake again.
“Other children try to encourage their parents.” “Mom, please, I’ve been encouraging you to stop all afternoon.”
In fact, dear family, I am very interested in dating—just not girls. Give me an Adam’s apple and some stubble, and let’s set the date, shall we?
Being mixed race is tough—it’s like being caught between two races. I’m expected to look a certain way or act a certain way or like certain things. It’s like there’s a list of things I’m meant to be, and if I’m not, then I’m not authentic enough. I’m not Black enough for some and not White enough for others.
Living your truth is important, but sometimes living the lie is what keeps you warm, fed, looked after … breathing. Which is something a lot of people looking in from the outside don’t get.
I know that my family loves me, but I’m a puzzle that’s incomplete. If they ever see the full picture, will they feel the same way?
“You’re too young to be this cynical,” Mom says to Yazz. “Life is still meant to be about unicorns and rainbows for you.” “It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there, Mom. Don’t you read the news?”
Well, I’ll cook for you sometime.
I love it when friends or lovers say this.
When, if ever, will I be given a chance like this? Yes, this relationship is fake, but for a few days it can feel real. For these five days I am allowed to act cute with my boyfriend. A boyfriend who wants a selfie of me.
See. I shall make a boyfriend out of you yet. It’s followed by a stream of confetti-cannon emojis. And I know that it shouldn’t, but my heart catches on the word boyfriend.
“Don’t fall for me for real, Bryson Keller. I’m quite charming.” “Hahaha. I’ll keep that in mind.”
That’s why you can trust my words. Besides, I’m a really bad liar. In part because I just suck at it but also because I hate lies. They can ruin things that were once perfect.
It’s well past midnight by the time we both say good night. As I plug in my nearly dead phone to charge, I realize that I can’t fight the smile from my face. I climb into bed and find that I can’t sleep. Maybe it’s because for the first time in my life I’m actually fully awake.
Crushes, fake/real relationships do that to you
Mom asks as she sips her coffee—black with no sugar. I often wonder who hurt her so much that she needs to torture herself by drinking such bitter sludge.
Hey we don't have to be hurt to enjoy this.
I kind of hate Leonardo DiCaprio.”
Okay valid but Leo is such a sweet guy and an incredible actor
It’s the first time Isaac has spoken my name to me. And the sound of it from his lips thrills me. He holds out my pen and the sign-up sheet. I reach for it slowly. Bryson sits down louder than necessary and plucks the pen and paper from Isaac’s hands. He’s studying me like I’m some math problem that he can’t figure out. “What’s wrong?” Isaac asks. “Nothing,” Bryson says. But it doesn’t sound that way, and before either of us can ask anything further, he turns to me. “When would you like to practice?” I glance over his shoulder and meet Isaac’s eyes. He shrugs and smiles again. I feel heat
...more
Oooooooooo is someone jealous?????
A small part of me, the one that lives in fantasyland, can’t help but ask: Is Bryson Keller jealous? It’s an absurd thought, so I choose to ignore it.
I think it's totally totally true
He smiles like he’s happy to see me. Is he?
“For me?” He smiles, showing his dimple. “Yes.” He takes his lunch just as the bell rings. “I always try to give as good as I get,” I say.
He pauses and whispers, “What’s the point of having a tall boyfriend if you aren’t going to use him?”
“Mango,” Bryson says. “Apple, orange, and grape are the only three juice flavors that deserve to exist in this world.”
Kai Kai Kai, why are you like this?
“Actually, I hardly ever saw any of them outside of school.” He looks at me. “You’re the first.” “Well, it’s only for school.” “Right.” It’s one word that I know I will spend countless hours trying to decipher.
He nuzzles closer to me, his head finding the perfect spot to rest. While he sleeps, Bryson’s totally oblivious to the effect that he’s having on me. I watch the rest of the movie trying to stay still with Bryson tucked against me.
Little things but criminally cute
Bryson settles into the driver’s seat and makes a show of taking my hand in his once more. This time he even interlocks our fingers. Bryson Keller and I hold hands the rest of the way home. And I take my first step into quicksand.
Cute kids
I’m so used to being late because of the girls I’m dating,”
That is a bit prejudicial.
“Bryson sticks to his rules. Nothing physical, not even holding hands, between him and his dare dates.” I think back to yesterday—to him holding my hand. What does that mean?
Okaaaaaaaaaaaayyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!!!!!!
I expect to smell soap, but instead, it smells just like Bryson does. When he faces me, his lips are pulled into a small smile—like he’s holding back a secret. Did he see me? I look from Bryson’s face to the car and catch sight of my reflection in the window. I pull on my blazer and try to ignore the reddening of my cheeks.
Both of them stare at each other too hard
