Bromosexual

Before I knew it, I stood in front of his door with my dad at my side. My dad tapped the doorbell.

I waited for three eternities, sweaty, breathing jaggedly, and tapping my shoe on the ground.

When the door swung open, Stefan’s mom appeared, her long tangles of light brown hair cascading to her shoulders. She had a sharp, movie star jawline and bright blue eyes, just like Stefan.

The parents exchanged some annoyingly polite and sweetly apologetic words. Then we were invited inside. Stefan’s house was big—much bigger than mine—and it was blindingly white and clean. I don’t know what I expected, but it surely wasn’t this.

I noticed a toddler on the living room floor looking like he’s trying to suck the red off of a jumbo Lego. He glanced over at me.

“Upstairs,” his mother prompted me. “Third door down.”

My dad lifted an eyebrow. “You go and make this right, Ryan.”

I gritted my teeth and nodded, my face already throbbing red with humiliation. “Yes, sir.”

The stairs went on forever. Then the hallway went on forever. And then I was standing in front of a half-opened door, knowing that Stefan waited for me on the other side. My hands kept balling up into fists, then releasing, over and over again.

I realized I was angry. I hated that I had to apologize to him. Why wasn’t he coming to my house to make the apology? Instead, I would have to humiliate myself again, face the pompous kid, and watch his face as he decided whether or not to accept my apology.

I wasn’t going to like this one bit. But I had to do it. If I didn’t, I’d probably be grounded for life. Get it over with, I told myself, then put my palm to the door and pushed it the rest of the way open.

Stefan sat on the end of his bed with an Xbox controller in his grip, playing a game on a giant TV that sat on his dresser across the room. He wore a loose white tank top and black gym shorts that only came halfway down his thighs.

He didn’t even seem to notice me. He just kept playing, even though I was clearly in his line of vision.

“Hi,” I forced myself to say.

“Hey.” He kept playing, totally ignoring me.

I swallowed once, then straightened up my back and leaned against the wall right by his door, refusing to take more than one tiny step into his room. I folded my arms and stared at the TV screen. Even though I was watching him play, I wasn’t really processing what I was seeing; I was too busy being scared out of my mind and feeling like I could pass out at any second.

“So?” he prompted me, drawing my attention back to him even though he never pulled his own eyes from the screen.

I smirked. “So … what?”

“Why are you here?” he asked, mashing his thumbs into the controller as he played.

“I’m, like … supposed to apologize to you. Or something.”

“For what?”

“For calling you a name.”

“Alright. Go ahead.”

It was infuriating, how snotty and cool Stefan was acting. He wouldn’t even afford me the decency of looking my way, his eyes glued to his game like I mean nothing at all to him.

I took a deep breath. This wouldn’t be easy, but I was going to do it. “I’m sorry,” I grumbled, annoyed.

“For?”

I rolled my eyes. Really? “For calling you a faggot.”

“Alright.” He kept playing his game.

I was ready to throw my own mitt at his head if I had one. “That’s it? ‘Alright’? That’s all you got to say to me?”

“Yep.” His arm muscles kept dancing as his fingers worked the controller, mashing and twisting and tilting away.

I sighed and unhooked my arms from my body, over it all. “So are we cool? Can I go now?”

The explosive sounds of war coming from the TV ceased at once. Stefan set the controller down on the bed next to him and, for the first time since my arrival, looked my way. “Are you one?”

His question threw me. “What?”

“Are you one?” he repeated.

I frowned. “One what?”

“A fag.”

Coldness lanced my insides from one end of my bowels to the other at the sound of the word. I’d almost forgotten about the boner. And now we’re going to address it. “No!” I blurted out.

“I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend.”

“So?” My heart raced its way up my throat. My fingers tingled with fear. “I’ve never seen you with a girlfriend.”

“We’re going to the same high school next year.”

His shift in topic threw me yet again. What was he getting at? “Huh?”

“Morris High.” He lifted his eyebrows. “We’re gonna see a lot more of each other.”

“What’s your point?”

“My point is, we have to get along. We’re teammates, and we have a bunch of games to get through before we try out for the high school team.”