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1
September
Aseventeen-year-old girlonce told me I don't feelenough.
She waswrong.
Am I walking around with a flashing neon sign pointing at my heart saying, “Fuck me over. Here’s how”?No.
But heading into the grand auditorium at Vanier with a crowd of students my first day of second year, I feelplenty.
“The demo was great, and you know it,” I state into my phone, talking loudly to be heard above the noise of thecrowd.
“Ty, it’s not the right time,” Zeke answersflatly.
I rub a hand over my neck. It still feels strange not to have hair curling over a collar, but the black Henley suits me better than Oakwood’s tailoredshirts.
“Is it ever gonna be the righttime?”
“Some people wait a lifetime for a chance. You had a golden opportunity, and you fuckedup.”
My stomach clenches, but the record exec continues. “I could use you Thursday. The studio’ll reach out. You’re on my radar, kid. Don’t make the same mistaketwice.”
He clicks off, and I barely resist chucking my phone into the throng ofstudents.
“Smile, Ty. This is for posterity.” My roommate’s drawl shakes me back to theroom.
Beck wedges himself next to me, his phone screen trained on us as we make our way toward some seats midwayback.
“I’m Beck, and thank you for following my adventures at Vanier. We’re at twenty thousand subscribers, and I appreciate you. Today’s the first day of second year. For you math nerds, yes, that means final year for those of us in a two-year program, and it’s gonna beepic.”
He flips the camera outward to survey the scene. The auditorium’s a vast, sweeping space with a thousand upholstered seats. When you see it empty, it’s like a field waiting forbattle.
The stage could be mistaken for part of that battlefield, but itisn’t.
It’s theprize.
Beck’s narrative continues. “First day of a new year means assembly, which is a chance to remind us how lucky we are to live in dorms or rodent-overrun apartments with barely enough time to practice for the survival jobs we’re gonna need when wegraduate.”
His easy deadpan has me lifting a brow. Usually Beck’s a hundred percent optimism even when I’mnot.
“You’re cheery after the long weekend,” Inote.
“Came out to my parents. For future reference, Labor Day party in Southampton is a bold choice for announcing you’re bi.” He looks between the camera and me. “On the plus side, everything I own from home will be in our apartment by tomorrow. Including a kickass Bluetooth speaker. The bass will blow your mind… and almost make up for the fact that our fridge broke thismorning.”
I want to ask him about the coming out part, but the recording light’s stillon.
We turn down a row of seats partway back, moving past second years like us and the wide-eyedfreshmen.
I refuse to believe we were that naïve a yearago.
“Even if I gave a shit what my parents think, there’s no going back. Guys give better head,” my roommate goes on, tripping over classmates as we pass. “Girls are enthusiastic, but a dude knows how to treat adick.”
In the middle of the row, I grab his phone, hit the Stop button, and hand it back amidst his protests. “Beck. Seriously. Tell me you’reokay.”
His grin is lightning quick, but it takes a moment for him to respond. “I will be,” he says at last, clapping me on theshoulder.
I drop into a seat. He takes the one next tome.
