Harry has been kissing Craig for forty-seven minutes, and he’s amazed how easy it is. To be kissing Craig again, but without the drama of being boyfriends. It’s so much more comfortable now. Much less fraught. He’d known all along that they’d get here, that they’d have this. When it was ending—when the boyfriend part was ending—he had been very deliberate about choosing his words. He didn’t want to say Let’s just be friends or I hope we can stay friends, because that made friendship sound like a consolation prize, the blue ribbon to look at distractedly while someone else walks off with the gold cup. No, what he said was: “I think you and I will be even closer, and that we will be even better together and more to each other if we’re best friends, not boyfriends.” He knows it still hurt Craig, and he knows it took some time for Craig to adjust, but he’d been right, hadn’t he? They would have never attempted this if they’d been boyfriends. They would have never lasted long enough to get here. And he wouldn’t have lasted even forty-five minutes if he’d wanted to do anything more than kiss Craig, if Craig turned him on anymore. Maybe there was something at the start, but now it’s leveling off. He’s glad Craig can’t read his mind, because he knows it might be taken as harsh, but really it’s a compliment. There are moments where Harry is so revved up, is so horny, that he’d sleep with just about anything. It takes a lot of restraint to realize the damage this can do, and to not venture places where you shouldn’t go, even if you’re revved up. He and Craig had fun, for sure, but it was never about sex. And now Harry needs to stop thinking about sex, because his body is starting to … react. So he thinks about something else—about whether he should ask for a sip of water. They’re allowed to have some, but only if it’s through a straw, and the lips are still touching. Tricky, but it can be done. The problem is, if he drinks now, he runs the risk of having to pee later. And he really wants to avoid that. This is another of the rules: no diapers, no cheating in the bathroom department. If he has to go, he’s either got to whip it out and pee on the grass—or just leak a little into his pants. Neither option is really attractive, and the horny edge is totally off his mind now. Craig squeezes his arms, sensing that he’s drifting off. Good call. He has to focus on the kiss. Not letting go of the kiss. The worst thing he can do is drift off. There are people all around, but he can’t turn to look at any of them. He has to focus on Craig. And maybe the people over Craig’s shoulder. That’s it. He loves Craig, it’s true. And the number one reason he doesn’t want to mess this up is because he wants Craig to have this achievement. He wants to do this for Craig. Because it means more to him. Harry doesn’t know why—maybe because it was Craig’s idea, or maybe because he just needs something like this more. Yes, that must be it. Craig needs something like this more.
A small crowd is starting to form. People from town walking by, wondering what’s going on at the school. Kids from play practice—some knew this would be happening, but others are learning about it for the first time. Mykal is organizing their friends and other people they know to get the word out, to get some cheering going. Some people—mostly adults—are curious enough to come over and look, then are disgusted when they find out what it is.
“Do their parents know?” one woman, walking her poodle, asks. “How could they let something like this happen?”
“His parents are right here,” Mrs. Ramirez answers fiercely.
The woman shakes her head and walks away.
Other people—mostly kids—are asking how they can help. Lots of pictures are being taken on lots of phones.
One of the kids who asks to pitch in is eleven years old. His name is Max, and his dad brought him to see this.
Max is a marvel to us. He will never have to come out because he will have never been kept in. Even though he has a mom and a dad, they made sure from the beginning to tell him that it didn’t have to be a mom and a dad. It could be a mom and a mom, a dad and a dad, just a mom, or just a dad. When Max’s early affections became clear, he didn’t think twice about them. He doesn’t see it as defining him. It is just a part of his definition.
What does Max see when he looks at Harry and Craig? He sees two boys kissing. But it’s not the two boys part that gives him pause. It’s the kissing. He can’t imagine ever wanting to kiss anyone for that long.
Just wait, we want to tell him. Just you wait.
After pancakes, Neil and Peter convince Peter’s mom to drive them to the Clinton Bookshop. There are closer bookstores, but they’re in the mood for a drive. Along the way, they don’t say much, but their relationship has reached that stage where silence is comfortable, not threatening. Silence only harms when there are things that aren’t being said, or when there’s the fear that the well is empty and there’s nothing left to say. Neither is the case here. They still have plenty to say to each other, just not anything right now.
At the bookstore, Neil looks for a doorstop biography to give his father for his birthday while Peter peruses the Young Adult section. It is there that Peter’s phone buzzes, and he finds a message from his debate friend Simon. There’s a link attached.
Peter takes a look, then tracks down Neil. “Want to see something awesome?” he asks, showing Neil the message, then clicking the link. “It’s two boys in Millburn. They’re trying to break the world record for kissing.”
Neil looks at the grainy feed on the phone. “Do we know either of them?”
“I don’t think so. But isn’t that cool?”
Neil thinks it’s cool. But his mind is stuck on something he doesn’t think is cool at all.
“ ‘Hey, beautiful’?” he asks.
Peter doesn’t get it. “What?”
“That’s how Simon started his text to you. ‘Hey, beautiful.’ ”
“That’s just the way Simon talks.”
“I’m just making an observation.”
“Riiiiiiiight.”
“Don’t dismiss me like that.”
“Do we really have to have this conversation again?”
“Why don’t you tell me, beautiful?”
“He’s just a flirty friend. We both have flirty friends.”
“Yeah, but mine are female.”
“Clark? Clark is female?”
“Clark isn’t flirty. He’s too scientific to be flirty.”
“He thinks lab partners should have full marriage rights.”
“The only thing Clark has ever called beautiful in his life is an algebraic equation.”
“Oh, but he’d love to see how his x corresponds to your y.”
“Wait—how is this about Clark? I seem to recall it’s about Simon.”
“Simon is harmless.”
“Simon is calling you beautiful and sending you a link to two guys kissing.”
“Really? Of all the places to go, you’re going to go there?”
They are a bit too loud. They don’t notice the bookseller behind the counter, smiling. He knows firsthand that every relationship falls into this groove at some point.
Neil doesn’t really think Peter is cheating on him. He doesn’t think Peter would ever cheat on him. That’s not what this is about. It’s about Neil’s fear that Peter will want to cheat on him, that he will someday realize there’s someone better out there.
Peter is young enough to not really understand this. He thinks Neil is being foolish, slightly paranoid. He has done nothing wrong, and resents being attacked, anyway.
“Look,” he says, “I think we need to step away for a sec. I’m going to go down the street and get coffee. Do you want anything?”
Neil shakes his head.
“Okay. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Which is hopefully the amount of time it will take for you to realize that even if a million other guys say ‘Hey, beautiful’ to me, it doesn’t change what we are, not one little bit.”
“A million? Who said anything about a million?”