Speechless(117)

                I nod and wonder what’s changed.

                “How’s the whole vow of silence thing going?” he asks.

                I shrug, and then I take out my whiteboard and write, How’s                         GSA?

                “It’s a lot of work,” he says, “but I think it’ll be worth it.                     My older sister, Dana, is actually the one who suggested starting it to me. She                     didn’t come out until college, but she told me she always wished there’d been                     something like that for her in high school.” He stops for a second, mouth                     turning down. “Were you…thinking of coming to a meeting?”

                I shake my head. I’m not stupid. I know where I’m not                     wanted.

                “Good,” he says, relaxing. “I mean, I wouldn’t stop you, of                     course, but I just think—I think it might be uncomfortable if you did. For                     everyone.”

                I realize Brendon’s probably right, but the implication still                     stings. I guess this shows how much he really thinks of me.

                I look down at where he’s touching me. He’s wearing this                     button-down shirt and a sweater over it, as preppy and clean-cut as ever. The                     sleeves are rolled up enough to show off his forearms. They look strong,                     muscular, not at all like Sam’s. And even now, in the middle of winter, his skin                     is all golden tan. He told me he spent Christmas vacation in Miami, and I acted                     jealous at the time, but really, I thought it was kind of ridiculous. I mean,                     Christmas is like the one time of the year where it’s nice to have snow on the                     ground. Christmas without snow is like the Fourth of July without fireworks and                     barbecues, or wearing leggings as pants. Just wrong.

                What’s really wrong is that I’m looking at Brendon’s sexy arms                     and all I can think about is snow.

                “Brendon?”

                A heavyset kid with glasses approaches, his hands twisting                     nervously around the straps of his backpack. He looks from me to Brendon…like                     he’s afraid he’s intruding.

                “Sorry,” he says, “I just wanted to ask you about something                     about next week’s meeting.”