He rose off the bed, left the house, walked and walked, until dark, and after dark. A restlessness ate at him. Did Judson think this was a date, did he think something was going to happen? Was something going to happen? They could go somewhere quieter. Somewhere safer. Not fair to use poor Judson like this. But anyway, Ben probably wouldn’t go to the bar. Kathy didn’t like bars that much. He would probably cuddle up with her in her apartment, or in his room, and they would talk and giggle and she would kiss him on the mouth and they would do all that stuff, snuggly and cute; Ronny was heartsick thinking about it, burning more and more in his gut, and the chorus played again, that Ben had called Kathy, that they had been together this whole semester, probably, and why couldn’t he stop thinking about it? He wanted to stop, didn’t he?

When he reached the bar he was hungry, his stomach was empty and the beer hit him hard. He was sitting on a stool and Judson slid in beside him. His nice, open face, a sweet smile, nervous, eager, shy, all at once. He ordered a beer. They tipped glasses. “This place is packed.”

“People come here after a game. I guess.”

“Yeah, that was pretty cool. I hear we won.”

“Fuck Duke,” Ronny said, and they touched glasses again.

Judson was trying hard to show some energy, looking around. “I’d rather come here anyway. Gay bars get on my nerves. Unless I’m feeling cruisy. You come here much?”

“Not really,” Ronny answered. “I guess I don’t get out a lot.”

“So you don’t have a boyfriend?” Judson lowered his voice a bit for that.

Nevertheless the question unsettled Ronny, because of the chorus, the thought of Kathy; and he glanced around. “I thought I had one,” he said after a while.

“Breakup?”

“I guess that’s what it was.”

“I shouldn’t be nosy. It’s none of my business.”

“What about you?”

Judson had ordered the cheapest beer on tap, foam on his upper lip. “I had a girlfriend. Up until a few weeks ago. But, you know. I knew what I really was. So I called it off with her. That’s when I started, you know.” Pitching his voice lower. “Coming out.”

Talk was easy, like two old pals. Turned out Judson really was a nice guy, friendly if a bit tense. Moving to a table when one came open. Judson ordered food. Ronny just drank. He was tipsy and talked freely, and so did Judson, about growing up, feeling different—but everybody feels different, don’t they? Does anybody really think he’s normal?—especially in high school. “But we are different, aren’t we?” Judson asked. They had ordered a pitcher and were drinking it fast. Judson was refilling their glasses. Trying hard to make eye contact with Ronny. Hands fluttery on the edge of the table, like he wanted to play fake-drum or fake-piano.

“What kind of guy do you like?” Ronny asked.