Chapters (44)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Julie Murphy
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
“I’m not saying the stakes aren’t high for you—they are, but take Bekah, for instance. She’s more than a baton-twirling blonde.”
I shrug and drag my fork through my food. “Bekah and I are not the same. Bekah is hot. I’m a fat gay guy who has a female alter ego.”
He takes a huge bite of food and keeps talking—which is somehow gross and adorable. Who have I become? “First—maybe there’s more to Pumpkin than you think. Maybe spending more time as Pumpkin might help you feel more like . . . you.”
It’s the first time I’ve really heard someone talk about Pumpkin like she was a legitimate thing and more than a silly nickname from Grammy. Like I could actually build a life around being Pumpkin by night and Waylon by day. And like maybe in order to fully be Waylon, I need to let myself be Pumpkin.
“And B of all . . .” He looks down at his near-empty plate. “You’re pretty hot yourself,” he says softly.
That should make me blush. I should feel a fluttering in my chest. I should be asking him a zillion questions right now. But the truth is his words make my stomach turn, and I lose my appetite faster than I can push my food away.
I’ve tried not to spend too much time thinking about the differences between me and Tucker, but this morning when I saw us both in the mirror in our matching outfits, it was more apparent than ever. We’re both tall, except he’s broad and trim where my shoulders seem to slope down like I’m some kind of penguin, and my gut pooches out to complete the whole look like I’m not just a penguin. I’m a penguin with a beer belly. I try not to think too much about my body, and the fact that I can’t confront that part of myself embarrasses me. It makes me feel weak, but honestly, I don’t even like to look too long at what’s underneath my clothes. So hearing Tucker call me hot doesn’t make me feel good. It makes me feel uncomfortable and patronized. At least with Lucas, there was less talking and more fumbling in the dark.
“We need to start on this homework,” I say quickly, and pull Mr. Higgins’s folder from my backpack.
He clears his throat, his cheeks flushed. “Right.”