Autoboyography
Page 37
Thursday
Thursday
Thursday is three days from now, and when we’re going on our next hike.
“How would I know?” I ask. Casual. Unconcerned.
Maybe I should ask Sasha to prom.
Fujita makes the rounds, checking in on us to see how we’re progressing with word count, character arcs, plot development, pacing. It’s March 10, and we’re supposed to have twenty thousand words written, as well as our critique buddies picked out. I have more than forty thousand words written, but they’re all this—and I can’t turn this in.
Autumn didn’t want to work with me—everyone but me was surprised by this—so I lack a partner and am going to fly under the radar with this as long as possible. I should have known better though. Despite his hippie, messy-literary-dude vibe, Fujita is on top of the details.
“Tanner,” he says, coming up behind me so stealthily that I jump, slamming my laptop closed. Laughing, he bends in close, stage-whispering, “What kind of novel are you writing, kid?”
If I had my way, it would go from young adult to pornography, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. See also: secret, homeless relationship.
See also: must start new book ASAP.
“Contemporary,” I tell him, adding in case he saw my string of Thursdays, “I’m just a little stuck today.”
“We all have days when it flows and days when it doesn’t.” He says this loud enough for the benefit of the entire class, and then leans in again. “You’re on track otherwise?”
“Surprisingly,” I say, “yes.”
Depending how you look at it.
“Good.” Kneeling down, Fujita comes eye to eye with me. “So, it looks like everyone else is paired up for critiques. Since you’re on track but struggling today, I’m going to have Sebastian give you feedback.” My pulse trips. “I know he’s been talking to you a bit about your idea, and in the absence of an even number of students in the class anyway, that seems like the easiest way to go.” He pats my knee. “Work for you?”
I grin. “Works for me.”
“What’s this?”
Fujita and I both look up as Sebastian materializes at our side.
“I was just letting Tanner know that you’ll be his critique buddy.”
Sebastian smiles his easy, confident smile. But his eyes dance over to me. “Cool.” A pair of perfect, dark eyebrows rise. “That means you’ll have to show me what you’ve got so far.”
I lift my brows in return. “It’s pretty bare.”
“It’s okay,” he says breezily. “I can help you find the shape of it.”
Autumn clears her throat.
Fujita claps us both on the back. “Great! Onward!”
Sebastian slides a folder onto my desk. “Here are some of my notes from our last meeting.”
My pulse sprints out of the starting gate, and my voice shakes when I try for a casual, “Awesome, thanks.”
I feel Autumn’s attention on the side of my face the second he walks away.
Without looking over at her, I ask, “What’s up, Auddy?”
She leans in, whispering. “You and Sebastian just had an entire conversation in sexual innuendo.”
“We did?”
She goes quiet, but her intentional pause is a living, breathing thing between us.
Finally, I meet her eyes, and before I look away, I wonder whether she sees it all there. I know it’s written on my face as clearly as it would be on a banner in the sky:
SEBASTIAN + TANNER = A BOYFRIEND THING.
“Tanner,” she says again, slowly, like she’s nearing the end of an Agatha Christie novel.
I turn in my seat to face her. My skin is on fire beneath my shirt, chest hot and prickly. “I think I’m going to ask Sasha to prom.”
T,
How was your weekend? Did your family end up going down to Salt Lake?
This weekend at the Brother house was insane. It seemed like our doorbell was constantly ringing. We had a few Primary activities at church on Saturday. Lizzy and I were helping run it, and trying to get twenty six-year-olds into a single-file line is like trying to work with feral cats. Plus, I think Sister Cooper gave them candy when she finished her activity with them before ours, so they were wild.
I got home late on Saturday and went up to my room and thought about you for about two hours before I could fall asleep. Well, I thought about you, and prayed, and then thought about you some more. Both activities make me feel amazing—the more I pray, the more confident I am that what we’re doing together is right—but then I’m also lonely. I wish we could be together at the end of days like this, talking about it in the same space rather than through these letters. But we have this, at least.
And we have Thursday. Is it crazy I’m so excited? You might have to control me. All I want to do is kiss, and kiss, and kiss you.
When are you going to let me read the new book? You’re good, Tanner. I’m dying to see what you’re writing now.
I’m heading off to campus and will be in class for the Seminar today to give this to you. When you finish reading it, just know that I was thinking about kissing you while I was writing this sentence (and all the ones that came before it, probably).
Yours,
S
I read it about seventeen times before tucking it into the deepest pocket in my backpack, where I will hold it until I get home and can put it in a shoe box on the top shelf of my closet. (Now that I think about it, if I die today, a shoebox on the top shelf of my closet is where my parents will probably look first for clues about what happened to me; I should find a better hiding place.)
I let these meandering thoughts distract me from the uneasiness I feel regarding Sebastian’s curiosity about my book.
Don’t get me wrong: I actually love what I have so far. But I have to face reality: At this point, I’m not going to have a book I can turn in. So far, that truth has been this repellent magnet, and my thoughts bound freely away from it. I’ve told myself again and again that I can demonstrate that I did it, give Fujita some sample pages before Sebastian appears in the narrative—under the request of confidentiality—and ask him to grade me on what he sees. Fujita is a pretty laid-back guy; I think he’d actually do this for me. Or, I can admit to Sebastian that this book is still about us and have him press to grade some of the projects, mine included, under the guise of taking some of the work off Fujita’s hands.
But what if Fujita doesn’t go for it? What if he won’t give me a passing grade based on the first twenty pages or so? I’ve been writing in a fever. Since I crap-edited the first four chapters for Sebastian, I haven’t changed any details, not even our names. In the present version, it’s all there in stark black-and-white for the world to see, and I don’t want to change it. The Seminar. Bishop Brother. Our hikes on Y Mountain. My parents, my sister, our friends. I know Sebastian needs me to, but I don’t want to hide.
• • •
He’s waiting for me at the trailhead at three on Thursday. We have only a few more hours of daylight, but I’m hoping we can stay out later tonight, stretch this into the darkness. I know he doesn’t have any classes until after lunch tomorrow, and I’m happy functioning on little sleep.
“Hey.” He shakes his head, flipping his hair out of his eyes. My skin hums. I want to press him up against a tree and feel his hair slip through my fingers.
Thursday
Thursday is three days from now, and when we’re going on our next hike.
“How would I know?” I ask. Casual. Unconcerned.
Maybe I should ask Sasha to prom.
Fujita makes the rounds, checking in on us to see how we’re progressing with word count, character arcs, plot development, pacing. It’s March 10, and we’re supposed to have twenty thousand words written, as well as our critique buddies picked out. I have more than forty thousand words written, but they’re all this—and I can’t turn this in.
Autumn didn’t want to work with me—everyone but me was surprised by this—so I lack a partner and am going to fly under the radar with this as long as possible. I should have known better though. Despite his hippie, messy-literary-dude vibe, Fujita is on top of the details.
“Tanner,” he says, coming up behind me so stealthily that I jump, slamming my laptop closed. Laughing, he bends in close, stage-whispering, “What kind of novel are you writing, kid?”
If I had my way, it would go from young adult to pornography, but I’m pretty sure that’s not going to happen. See also: secret, homeless relationship.
See also: must start new book ASAP.
“Contemporary,” I tell him, adding in case he saw my string of Thursdays, “I’m just a little stuck today.”
“We all have days when it flows and days when it doesn’t.” He says this loud enough for the benefit of the entire class, and then leans in again. “You’re on track otherwise?”
“Surprisingly,” I say, “yes.”
Depending how you look at it.
“Good.” Kneeling down, Fujita comes eye to eye with me. “So, it looks like everyone else is paired up for critiques. Since you’re on track but struggling today, I’m going to have Sebastian give you feedback.” My pulse trips. “I know he’s been talking to you a bit about your idea, and in the absence of an even number of students in the class anyway, that seems like the easiest way to go.” He pats my knee. “Work for you?”
I grin. “Works for me.”
“What’s this?”
Fujita and I both look up as Sebastian materializes at our side.
“I was just letting Tanner know that you’ll be his critique buddy.”
Sebastian smiles his easy, confident smile. But his eyes dance over to me. “Cool.” A pair of perfect, dark eyebrows rise. “That means you’ll have to show me what you’ve got so far.”
I lift my brows in return. “It’s pretty bare.”
“It’s okay,” he says breezily. “I can help you find the shape of it.”
Autumn clears her throat.
Fujita claps us both on the back. “Great! Onward!”
Sebastian slides a folder onto my desk. “Here are some of my notes from our last meeting.”
My pulse sprints out of the starting gate, and my voice shakes when I try for a casual, “Awesome, thanks.”
I feel Autumn’s attention on the side of my face the second he walks away.
Without looking over at her, I ask, “What’s up, Auddy?”
She leans in, whispering. “You and Sebastian just had an entire conversation in sexual innuendo.”
“We did?”
She goes quiet, but her intentional pause is a living, breathing thing between us.
Finally, I meet her eyes, and before I look away, I wonder whether she sees it all there. I know it’s written on my face as clearly as it would be on a banner in the sky:
SEBASTIAN + TANNER = A BOYFRIEND THING.
“Tanner,” she says again, slowly, like she’s nearing the end of an Agatha Christie novel.
I turn in my seat to face her. My skin is on fire beneath my shirt, chest hot and prickly. “I think I’m going to ask Sasha to prom.”
T,
How was your weekend? Did your family end up going down to Salt Lake?
This weekend at the Brother house was insane. It seemed like our doorbell was constantly ringing. We had a few Primary activities at church on Saturday. Lizzy and I were helping run it, and trying to get twenty six-year-olds into a single-file line is like trying to work with feral cats. Plus, I think Sister Cooper gave them candy when she finished her activity with them before ours, so they were wild.
I got home late on Saturday and went up to my room and thought about you for about two hours before I could fall asleep. Well, I thought about you, and prayed, and then thought about you some more. Both activities make me feel amazing—the more I pray, the more confident I am that what we’re doing together is right—but then I’m also lonely. I wish we could be together at the end of days like this, talking about it in the same space rather than through these letters. But we have this, at least.
And we have Thursday. Is it crazy I’m so excited? You might have to control me. All I want to do is kiss, and kiss, and kiss you.
When are you going to let me read the new book? You’re good, Tanner. I’m dying to see what you’re writing now.
I’m heading off to campus and will be in class for the Seminar today to give this to you. When you finish reading it, just know that I was thinking about kissing you while I was writing this sentence (and all the ones that came before it, probably).
Yours,
S
I read it about seventeen times before tucking it into the deepest pocket in my backpack, where I will hold it until I get home and can put it in a shoe box on the top shelf of my closet. (Now that I think about it, if I die today, a shoebox on the top shelf of my closet is where my parents will probably look first for clues about what happened to me; I should find a better hiding place.)
I let these meandering thoughts distract me from the uneasiness I feel regarding Sebastian’s curiosity about my book.
Don’t get me wrong: I actually love what I have so far. But I have to face reality: At this point, I’m not going to have a book I can turn in. So far, that truth has been this repellent magnet, and my thoughts bound freely away from it. I’ve told myself again and again that I can demonstrate that I did it, give Fujita some sample pages before Sebastian appears in the narrative—under the request of confidentiality—and ask him to grade me on what he sees. Fujita is a pretty laid-back guy; I think he’d actually do this for me. Or, I can admit to Sebastian that this book is still about us and have him press to grade some of the projects, mine included, under the guise of taking some of the work off Fujita’s hands.
But what if Fujita doesn’t go for it? What if he won’t give me a passing grade based on the first twenty pages or so? I’ve been writing in a fever. Since I crap-edited the first four chapters for Sebastian, I haven’t changed any details, not even our names. In the present version, it’s all there in stark black-and-white for the world to see, and I don’t want to change it. The Seminar. Bishop Brother. Our hikes on Y Mountain. My parents, my sister, our friends. I know Sebastian needs me to, but I don’t want to hide.
• • •
He’s waiting for me at the trailhead at three on Thursday. We have only a few more hours of daylight, but I’m hoping we can stay out later tonight, stretch this into the darkness. I know he doesn’t have any classes until after lunch tomorrow, and I’m happy functioning on little sleep.
“Hey.” He shakes his head, flipping his hair out of his eyes. My skin hums. I want to press him up against a tree and feel his hair slip through my fingers.
