Page 72 of Exchanged

Dad nods. “I’d been wondering. You’ve both seemed pretty … close over the past few weeks. I suppose I should have asked sooner, but I didn’t know how to bring it up without making things weird. I’m happy for you guys.”

“Really?” Garrett says.

Dad lets out a laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be? And talk about a turnaround from the beginning of the year.” He scratches his beard and turns serious. “I know you’re both eighteen now, but I’d, uh … I’d appreciate it if you stuck to your own bedrooms.”

I feel my face grow warm and try not to look at Garrett as we exit the truck. “Now you are making things weird.”

That night, I let Garrett hear my music. He lies on his back on my bed, and I sit at my piano, playing each of the pieces I’ve written over the last few months. He listens with his eyes closed, hands cradling the back of his head, elbows splayed out wide.

I’m more nervous than when I submitted my portfolio to the conservatory, but he’s the perfect audience, smiling to himself at all the right moments, nodding appreciatively at the end of each piece, telling me what they remind him of. When I play the final piece, the simple piano sonata, he sits up, a strange look on his face.

“That last one,” he says. “It was … wow. I mean, they’re all great. But something about that one…”

“I wrote it after our first date. After the ice dome and falling asleep together. It’s us.”

He looks at me for a long while, then breaks into a grin. “If that’s what happens every time we make out, then you could compose a full-on symphony by graduation.”

“Not every time.”

Laughter bursts out of him. “Is that your way of telling me I need to up my game?”

“No. Your game is very, very good.” I turn fully around on my piano bench and watch him closely. “When we were in the truck today … Why did that matter so much?” I ask.

He sits up. “Why did what matter?”

“I mean, how my dad would feel about us dating. It’s almost like you cared more about it than I did, and he’s my dad.”

He looks at me for a long time, not saying anything, then lifts his shoulders, trying to appear casual. “I guess I just care what your dad thinks. That’s all.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he says, and I can tell he’s lying.

I move across the room and sit down next to him. “Well, either way, I’m sorry,” I say.

He frowns. “For what?”

“That you’re stuck in this town. That this”—I motion at him and myself—“us, had to be a big deal. It wouldn’t have been like that if we were at your school.”

For the first time, I get it, what it’s like to feel too big for this place, to feel stuck here.

“There are shitheads like Evan Hegge everywhere,” Garrett tells me. “Most people had no problem with us.”

“But those stupid basketball players,” I say, “and that look Peter Reese gave us…”

“Yeah,” he agrees. “They’re shitheads. But the shitheads are always more noticeable than the not-shitheads. There were plenty of people who were happy for us or who didn’t care at all. Tyler had our back when it came down to it.”

I think about this for a second, surprised that he’s defending Irontown and the people who live in it.

“We have every right to be here, Enzo,” he says, reading my expression. “Just as much as bastards like Evan. We don’t have to make ourselves small in order to belong in this town. Because when we do, when we stay in the closet, we’re saying that this place is theirs, that it belongs to bigots and assholes, and that anyone who’s different should get the hell out or make themselves invisible.” He shakes his head. “I’m done being invisible.”

I almost tell him I love him right there, tell him that he’s the bravest person I’ve ever met. Instead, I jump up on the bed, unpin the pride flag from my ceiling, and grab Garrett’s hand. Then we walk, flag in hand, downstairs, through the entry hall, and onto the front porch.

Dad and Emma pause their show on TV and follow us outside, watching as I remove the Packers flag that has hung in the flag holder on our porch for as long as I can remember. I replace it with the pride flag. The flag flaps in the cold night air, right next to the steps that every customer to our shop uses, visible to the busiest street in town.

I turn around. Garrett, Dad, and Emma stand side by side, their breath rising in clouds as they gaze at the flag.

Eventually Dad speaks. “About damn time.”