“I’m not saying I am, but if I was…what would you think?”

“I’d call Fr. Browne immediately and tell him to bring some shackles, a crucifix, and a bucket of Holy Water. Really, Alex. Of course, I wouldn’t care.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“I just want to know.”

“Well…has anyone else noticed?”

“Of course not. Our friends are idiots.”

“And…are you going to tell anyone? Like I mean, if anyone else, you know, knew, I wouldn’t care that much. Sure, my social life would be dead and I’d become a complete social pariah—”

“I gossip about useless shit and useless people. This isn’t something I’d gossip about. You’re my friend. But, yes. You’re right. You’d be fucked if anyone else knew.”

“Well, how do you know, then? And no one else?”

“Well, I’m not stupid, for one.” Connie rolled her eyes. “You’re a complete dork in school, it’s embarrassing. And maybe you think you’re being subtle when you stare at girls across the table at lunch but believe me, you’re not. And yeah, you’ve kissed a few guys, but you don’t date them. You barely even talk to them, let alone about them. But you never shut up about how smart this girl is, or how talented that girl is. You’ve got terribly low standards, you know. You could do better than the girls you stare at.”

“I don’t stare at anyone. But—better? How could I do better when there is literally no one? We don’t know anyone that’s gay.”

“I just mean if these girls were gay, they’d be beneath you. No, not beneath you like that, you perv! You’re the most popular girl in school.”

“No, I’m not. You are. I just happen to be friends with you, for reasons I’ll never quite understand.”

“And did you ever fancy me?”

“God, no. You’re not my type, at all.”

A long minute passed. I assumed Connie knew it was a half-lie. She wasn’t stupid; she had seen how I looked at her before, wanton desire barely disguised—she knew it was there. She had seen it, surely. Felt it in how we touched, sometimes, lingering hugs and brushes of hands.

Christ, I almost died with her in my arms only minutes ago.

“But you do think I’m attractive.”

“I’m gay, not blind, Connie.”

“And I know you want to kiss me,” she said, and my heart seemed to stop. There was a hint of teasing in her tone. I didn’t bother opening my mouth to deny it, just sat entirely still. She sounded so sure of it—too sure of it. “You wanted to when we were inside.”

“So?” It was all I could think to say.

“Why haven’t you? Tried to kiss me, I mean?”

“You mean—like, now? Or ever? Or inside—”

“Ever.”

“Because I know I shouldn’t.”

She looked away from me, then, and took another long drag. I wiped my hands against my thighs, wishing I too had something to hold, something to distract me.

“But you do want to,” she said carefully. Our faces were inches away from each other. The air felt a little heavier than it had before, and the nightclub—we could have been somewhere else entirely. I felt something catch in my throat. I could feel the alcohol rush to my head, a sudden spark of adrenaline in my blood, and I was dizzy, suddenly, sitting on that cold hard ground, and felt bolder than ever before in my entire life. Was it the alcohol? Or the night that was in it?