Out of Nowhere (Middle of Somewhere 2)

The idea that I may not see them again—that without Rafe working at YA, I have no reason to be there—settles in my stomach like cement. It quickly becomes clear that Anders, DeShawn, Mikal, Carlos, and Mischa are all together because they begin to text me in a flurry of tangled responses I can’t keep up with.

Finally, they get irritated and call me instead.

“Dude. Dude. Yo, Winchester! Take the phone away from your ear, man, it’s Facetime.”

I pull the phone away and see them huddled together on a perfectly made bed. The green-and-white checked blanket and bright white walls dotted with framed pictures hung on green ribbons mark it as Mischa’s room, I’m pretty sure. Carlos waves at me and grins. Mikal claps excitedly. Anders and DeShawn are still and serious, leaning against the wall. Mischa walks in the door holding a bag of apples and a box of crackers and nods at me like I’m in the room.

Then they dive in with no preamble or pleasantries, all talking at once, and I can’t help but smile at the familiarity of them interrupting each other, elbowing each other, and nodding in approval.

The long and the short of it is that they’re devastated Rafe got fired, have a lot of questions about his past, which I evade, and are furious with the board. Not only because of Rafe but because, they assure me, all of the board members are lame to hang around with. Then they start giving me messages to give to Rafe, and my stomach clenches when I have to tell them that I’m not sure when I’ll be able to pass them on.

“Did you guys break up?” Mischa asks.

God damn it. Trust teenagers to cut right to the gossip. I just shake my head, trying to come up with something.

“Oh no!” Anders cries, sounding like he’s in pain. DeShawn turns to him immediately. “You can’t break up. You guys are, like, my OTP. If you can’t make it, there’s no hope for me!”

He sounds genuinely upset. What the hell is an OTP?

“Look,” I say, “the point is that I’m sure Rafe would want to hear from you, but there are, uh, protocols and things, so you’ll just have to wait and see.”

“That’s shit, Colin,” Mikal says in a bitter voice, rolling his eyes. It might be the first time he’s called me by my name instead of “sweetie” or “boo.” It doesn’t bode well. “Let me guess. You broke up because you’re still in the closet and Rafe finally lost patience, right? Well, fucking man up and get the job done.”

“That’s super sexist,” Mischa says.

“It’s bullshit,” Mikal insists. “You guys are, like, like, perfect together. You’re all—” He gestures wildly. “—and he’s all—” More gestures. “—and I can’t believe you!”

Then they’re all talking at once and there’s no way I’m wading into it. I should be pissed that I just got called out by a teenager, but I already feel so shitty and mixed-up about things with Rafe that I can’t even muster any indignation.

As they move from the shambles of my romantic life to ranting about how they’ll force the board to hire Rafe back, it’s Anders I can’t stop looking at. His hands are clenched in his lap, his skin and hair almost ghoulishly pale against his black clothes. He’s leaning into DeShawn’s shoulder just a little, and DeShawn keeps glancing down at him.

Watching them, I’m reminded of something Anders said when he came to the shop to see me. He talked mostly about not wanting his parents to be disappointed in him, but just before he left, he said that it helped to know maybe someone could still like you even if you couldn’t quite be totally open yet. I’d been embarrassed at the idea he was talking about me and Rafe. But now I wonder if he was thinking about DeShawn. If Anders was relieved to think that maybe they could have a chance to be something even if he didn’t out himself.

I’m still thinking about Anders days later. I know Rafe probably wouldn’t approve, but I texted Anders the night I talked with the kids and asked him how things were with his family.

He responded within seconds. I don’t think I can tell them. I don’t know what my dad will do.

I was furious for him and nervous for him and I told him that was fine. That if he didn’t feel like it was okay, then it was better to protect himself. That the most important thing was making sure he was safe. He texted back a Thanx and a smiley face, and I sat on my bed and stared at my phone for hours.

Because I already was safe. I could protect myself. Rather, there was no one in my life I needed to protect myself from. Not really. Not anymore.