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𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔰𝔬𝔡𝔢 𝔱𝔴𝔢𝔩𝔳𝔢 ✔️

Drawing of chris evans above

"You knew he was coming with Sonny?." 

"He did, I knew he wanted to. He followed him at lunch and after school and kind of forced himself on him. But..." 

"I see." He, still in that strange, artificial silence, scanned the crowd and saw Mikey walking towards them and Jack leaving their table. So he had seen it. They probably all had. Without a word to Brooklyn, he walked towards them and instinctively headed for the boys' toilet. 

It was crowded, and Jack and Mikey kept their remarks light-hearted while looking at him worriedly. 

"Did you see that suit?" asked Mikey, surreptitiously squeezing Andy's finger. "The front part must be held on with superglue. And what's he going to wear to the next dance? Cellophane?" 

"Handiwrap," Jack said. He added in a low voice, "Are you all right?" 

"Yeah." Andy could see in the mirror that his eyes were too bright and that a spot of colour burned on each cheek. He smoothed his hair and turned away. 

The room emptied so they were undisturbed. Mikey was now fiddling nervously with the sequined bow at his waist. "Maybe it's not such a bad thing after all," he said quietly. "I mean, you've been thinking about nothing but him for weeks. For almost a month. And so maybe it's just for the best, and you can move on to other things now, instead of ... well, pursuing him." 

Et tu, Brute? thought Andy. "Thank you so much for your support," he said aloud. 

"Now, Andy, don't be like that," Jack interjected. "He's not trying to hurt you, he just thinks -" 

"And I suppose you think that too? Well, that's all right. I'll just find some other things to get on with. Some other best friends, for instance." He left them both staring after him. 

Outside, he threw himself into the swirl of colours and music. He was as joyful as he had ever been at a dance. He danced with everyone, laughing too loudly and flirting with every boy who crossed his path. 

He called him to come up and be crowned. He stood on the stage and looked down at the butterfly-coloured figures below him. Someone gave him flowers, someone put a rhinestone tiara on his head. 

There was clapping. It all passed as if in a dream. He flirted with Emilio because he was the closest to him when he came off the stage. Then he remembered what he and Dick had done to Rye and he broke one of the roses off his bouquet and gave it to him. 

Brooklyn watched from the sidelines, his mouth tightly shut. Emilio's forgotten date was on the verge of tears. 

He could smell alcohol now along with the mint on Emilio's breath, and his face was red. His friends were around them, a screaming, laughing crowd, and he saw Dick pour something from a brown paper bag into his glass of punch. 

He had never been with this group before. He greeted them, admired them, the boys vying for their attention. Jokes flew back and forth, and Andy laughed even when they made no sense. Emilio's arm circled around heiswaist and he only laughed louder. He saw out of the corner of his eye Brooklyn shake his head and walk away. The girls were getting shrill, the boys rowdy. Emilio was nuzzled damply against his neck. 

"I have an idea," he announced to the group, hugging Andy even tighter. "Let's go somewhere more fun." 

Someone called out, "Where to, Emilio? To your dad's house?" 

Emilio grinned, a wide, drunken, reckless grin. "No, I mean a place where we can leave our mark. 

Like at the cemetery."