Page 106 of Hunter's Hidden Camera
Oscar is sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at the carpet.
“Oscar?” I say.
Oscar looks up. “Your parents let me in. I hope it’s okay. They went to dinner and a movie. They let me wait here.”
I nod. “Yeah, yeah, no problem. You been waiting long?”
“Nah. Just a few minutes.”
Oscar looks back down at the carpet. I shift my gaze to the wall.
Neither of us say anything for a very long time.
Then, Oscar says, eyes still on the floor, “Can we, like, talk?”
“Sure.”
“Can you close the door?” Oscar asks. “It’s, like, private and shit, and I don’t wanna be interrupted, in case your family comes home.”
I shut the door and lock it.
Once Oscar is sure it’s safe, he says, “Sorry I ghosted you, bro.”
“It’s okay,” I say. “I get it. I got you involved in some real fucked up shit. I almost got you killed. I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.”
“Nah,” he says. “It’s not because of that.”
His eyes meet mine again. He’s so handsome.
He purses his lips. He’s having a difficult time trying to say what he wants to say.
Then: “I backed off ’cause I was confused about my feelings. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have backed off. That’s not what best friends do. I wasn’t being a best friend. I wasn’t being any kinda friend. I was being shitty.”
“No,” I say. “It really is okay.”
He says, gently, “Just shut up for a second, Hunter. I’m trying to talk about my feelings and shit.”
I nod.
Oscar gestures to the space on the bed next to him. I sit there. He avoids eye contact.
“I told you. I’m not gay. I’m not bi. And I’m not saying all this ’cause I’m in the closet or some shit. I’m not. You can look at my history on Pornhub, I swear to God.”
If anyone else protested about not being gay as much as Oscar does, I wouldn’t be inclined to believe them. But I actually believe Oscar. And I’m struck by his sincerity, his openness towards me.
Oscar continues, “But with you, somehow, it’s different, I don’t know, it’s crazy. I’m kindathat wayforyou.”
I say, “Society wants to label people, wants to shove people in a box, force them into a category. But it doesn’t have to be like that. You don’t have to be anything other than Oscar.”
“Okay,” he says. “Now that that’s clear, there’s some other things you gotta understand.”
“All right,” I say.
Oscar says, “I’m not the kinda guy who’s gonna march around in a Pride Parade. I’m not gonna join the Rainbow Club at school. I’m not gonna hold hands with a dude in public. It’s not something I’m gonna tell my mom, gonna tell my sister. I’m not saying it’s always gonna be like that. But for now, that’s where I’m at. I mean, where I’m from, guys like me don’t do something like this.”
“Something like what?” I ask.
Oscar connects his eyes with mine. He holds my face in his hands and leans in. He brushes his lips across mine. I shudder with pleasure.
