The last two swings at the end of the row is exactly where we met. As I sat in the last one, she sat next to me after she and Samantha got into a fight. And we swung together, as high as we could, until recess was over. I don’t think we said much, but we both loved it, and agreed we had to become friends. She was wild, fun and didn’t take shit from anyone.
“My mom got us the tickets for Saturday,” she said as we both spun in circles.
“Awesome. Thanks. I can’t wait to go.” I threw my legs up, spinning rapidly after twisting the chain as far as I could. “How much do I owe her again?”
“I don’t remember. But she won’t care if you forget to pay her back.”
“Ask her, though.”
“I won’t forget. Won’t it be fun next year to go on Senior Skip Day and not have to wait in the lines since everyone will still be in school?”
“I hope so. But do other schools do Senior Skip Day at Cedar Point too?”
“Does it really matter?”
“I guess not.” I shrugged.
“Where did you go after personal fitness today? I waited to walk back to our lockers.”
“Oh. I felt sick and ran to the bathroom,” I said. But that was a lie.
“Everything all right?”
I wanted to say no. But I nodded instead.
It was a good last day of school, until personal fitness ended and one of the lowerclassmen whispered, “I didn’t know Arab fags existed,” under his breath as he passed me. And there was no reason to talk about it with Dana. She would have flipped like when in sixth grade someone told me to go bomb myself. Wouldn’t you have flipped if you were my friend in those moments?
Those comments happened here and there, especially in fifth grade and when we entered middle school, not long after 9/11. But I usually ignored them. My mom would tell me those kids didn’t know what they were talking about and were repeating the words of their bigoted, uneducated parents. My mom isn’t Arab, but since her kids are, she found herself having to defend us.
“You sure something’s not up?” she whispered.
I nodded and shrugged in response. She could read me better than anyone else could, and I was hiding something—from her, my best friend. Why? I couldn’t put the words together to tell you. Her reaction to what happened with Thad and me might not be what I hoped, so I was scared to tell her. She didn’t officially know I was gay. I thinkIeven had problems admitting it to myself. What if she didn’t accept me? What would I do if my own best friend rejected me? But for the first time in my life, a guy wanted to be my friend. So it seemed. And I wanted that.
“Fine. I’ll tell you something, then. But you have to at least give me something in return when I’m done.”
“Fine.” I shook my head, frantically trying to think of something, flipping through responses like a rolodex.
Dana explained that she started seeing someone two weeks earlier, after our weekend at Movement, a music festival we both attended.
“Wait, hold on. The night you told me to go ahead and leave, and that you got a ride home?” I had driven us in my mom’s car.
“Yeah. I went home with him. Well, he had a hotel room a few blocks away,” she replied with an air of,Yeah, so. Who cares?
“Dana! You went home with and hooked up with someone you met at a festival?”
She winked, a sly grin appearing on her mouth.
“Are you kidding me? You could’ve been killed. Or worse,” I tried to continue, but she tilted her head and gave me theStop nowlook.
My secret seems way less important now,I thought.
“How old is he? Dana. We literally just turned seventeen. What if he’s a gross twenty-five-year-old looking to prey on you?”
“My god Étienne, chill out. He’s the same age as us and lives like ten miles away,” she replied, trying to ease my bewilderment.
“But how’d he get a hotel room if he’s the same age as us?” I sighed heavily.
“Étienne. Like any of us would. Just ask someone you know older than eighteen. Plus, it’s Detroit. No one cares.”