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He finally meets my eyes. His are wavering, searching, like I might have an answer.
I dare to reach across the table and take his hand, not caring who might be roaming the library on the other side of those glass walls. He doesn’t pull away, but his gaze darts to the glass for a moment.
“You’re trying to run again,” I say. “I get it. You’re scared. You’re overwhelmed. And when you’re scared and overwhelmed you usually run. But please don’t. Give yourself a chance, Diego. You deserve this. And youdobelong. Do you not feel like you belong on campus? What about the drag show and the club? What makes you think you aren’t like everyone else? Let me show you. Please.”
I get that parts of the queer community have been academic concepts to him for a lot of his life, that his gaybar back home feels like a different universe than things like drag shows and psychedelic pop rooms in queer clubs, but hedoesbelong here just as much as me or anyone else.
“No one but you is chasing you out of here,” I say. “Study with me. Just one time.”
“Avery,” he says in warning.
“It’s just a study session. Come here with me one day. We’ll use one of these private rooms. All we’ll do is work. I swear. Give yourself a chance to belong here. Givemea chance. Challenge yourself to not run away this time, just to see what happens.”
“I can’t seem like I’m giving you any favorable treatment.”
“You won’t be. You’ll be acting as my TA, as my peer, my mentor. Those sources you sent me are fantastic, but I’m having trouble working them into my paper as seamlessly as I want to. Don’t laugh. I’m not lying. I really could use your help.”
The slightest of smiles graces his lips. I release his hand, forcing myself to sit back. If he’s going to stay, he has to make the choice himself.
“No one else even requests my office hours,” he grumbles.
“Slackers.”
He snorts a laugh. “Or maybe you’re an over-achiever.”
“Does that mean you’ll do it? We can have a study … meeting.” I wanted to say date, but I’ve finally made some headway in this conversation. I’m not going to ruin it.
Diego sighs. “How do you keep doing this?” he mumbles. “Yes,” he says louder, “we can meet to study. I’ll help you with your sources.”
I spring to my feet and gather up my stuff before he can change his mind. I could stay here longer, but this feels like a win and I want to bask in it. I want to show him that I can walk away and be normal and life will move on.
“Yes! Fantastic,” I say. “I’ll text you a time. I have to get to the café. But no disappearing between now and then, understand? No running.”
He rolls his eyes and waves me off. I go, but even though I smile, my heart is heavy. It’s been barely over a month and Diego has one foot out of the door. He’s trying to flee Montridge before I’ve even gotten a real shot with him. And I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to stop him.
Chapter Twenty
Diego
WE MEET ON Friday. No one has fired me or confronted me with accusations. It has been an entirely ordinary week.
That doesn’t mean I’m not nervous.
My stomach is fluttering when I wind through the nearly deserted library and head up to the study rooms on the second floor. Students aren’t eager to spend their Friday evenings here — except for Avery. They’re already in one of the little glass-walled rooms with books all around them when I tap on the door to announce myself. Their head pops up, eyes bleary from reading, and they break out into an enormous grin, waving for me to come inside.
That fluttery feeling in my stomach intensifies to a circus clown making balloon animals out of my guts.
I enter the study room, despite all my trepidation. It isn’t only about the school catching us. Ever since the call with my mom I’ve been thinking more and more about how long I’ll actually be here, how long I want to be here. I’m eating that fudge she sent as slowly as possible so I can cling to that piece of home indefinitely. But eventually it will be gone, and I’ll be here aching for anything familiar.
“Friday afternoon,” I say as I take a seat beside Avery. “Not a time when I assume students are sitting around studying.”
“Which makes it perfect, doesn’t it?” Avery says. “Barely anyone around. Even if we didn’t have this private room, there’s almost no one else here. So there’s absolutely nothing to worry about.”
Is that why they chose this time? I figured it was simply when they were available, but it doesn’t surprise me that they were trying to find a time when I’d be the most comfortable.
“That’s a reasonable point,” I say.
Avery is smiling over at me, clearly pleased with themself for this. A piece of me revels in the way they look at me, as though my praise is worth that much to them, as though I’m any kind of actual expert. In reality, I’m only a few scant years ahead of them. I can easily imagine Avery being in my position in a couple years, if that’s what they plan to do with their degree. They haven’t expressed any explicit desire to go to grad school, but it would be ahorrible waste if they didn’t. Someone as bright and curious as Avery should absolutely be enmeshed in this field conducting the kind of research that is going to change society’s ideas about gender and sexuality.
