Tips on Having a Gay (ex) Boyfriend by Carrie Jones Read Free Book Online

can see it beating. I wonder if he’ll catch it.
    He raises his hands up. “Belle, um, now’s not a good time.”
    “Just tell me, Tom.”
    “Yeah, Tom,” Andrew says all snarky. “Tell her.”
    Andrew grabs Tom’s duct tape alligator and makes like he’s biting Tom with it. Tom bats him away.
    I wait.
    “Belle . . .” Tom swallows hard. His Adam’s apple moves down his throat. He extracts himself from the bench.
    I glare at him. Andrew uses the alligator to bite his own throat. All the guys laugh except Tom who stares back at me as hard as I stare at him. Finally, he grabs my shoulder and walks me to the Coke machine. Ian Falvey, a freshman, is there, trying to get a dollar bill to go through, but it keeps getting rejected. Tom hands him some quarters and says, “Scram.”
    The kid puts the quarters in, grabs his Coke, and throws a “Thanks” over his tiny shoulders.
    Tom leans against the machine. He watches me fume with my hands on my hips.
    “Belle,” he sighs out my name. He shakes his head. “You’re mad at the wrong person.”
    “I’m not mad at you,” I pull in a deep breath trying to calm down. “Just tell me what you know.”
    Tom tilts his head toward the ceiling. He moves it back down to meet my gaze. Nothing comes out of his mouth.
    “Tom, just tell me.” I’m ready to throttle him. To pull the words out of his mouth with my hands. I try to be civil and say, “Please.”
    But instead of sounding civil, my voice sounds weak. It sounds like breaking, like a fairy flower figurine that’s been knocked over by a dog’s tail, like a teddy bear that’s lost a leg during a rambunctious slumber party and because Mimi Cote likes to play keep away, like a heart of a girl who doesn’t know what’s what anymore, like breaking, breaking, breaking into pieces and trying not to.
    “Please.” I beg him.
    “I shouldn’t be the one who tells you this. Dylan should tell you this.” He grabs me by the shoulders to steady me, and then moves me behind him so I’m between the Coke machine and the wall. He’s hiding me, I think. He’s hiding me, because he doesn’t want the world to see me, the stupid girl, the Harvest Queen with the gay-boy king. For a moment, I wonder, maybe Dylan is in love with Tom and that’s how he knows. For some reason this crushes my heart against my spine even more than the thought of Dylan just being gay. What if Tom is gay too? They used to be best friends. They hate each other. Maybe that’s it . . . Maybe every guy I’ve ever lusted after is gay. My face scrunches up. I refuse to cry. I stare at Tom right in the eyes, an alpha-dog stare.
    He licks his lips. He swallows. “I saw Dylan kissing Bob. I know something’s going on, okay?”
    My mouth falls open. The Coke machine rumbles next to me. I lean against it. Not Tom. Of course, not Tom. Bob. Bob. Kissing Bob.
    “Belle?” his voice says. It comes from far away, down a long, long tunnel that I don’t want to go into, but what else can I do? Dylan is gay. He kissed Bob. There is no going back, the entire fairy tale life I thought I had has already been revised, the song I thought I was singing has moved into a different key and there’s nothing I can do, nobody I can get angry at. It’s just gone. It never was.
    “Belle?”
    “When?” I make my lips move. “When?”
    “Yesterday, at the mall. In the parking lot.”
    Yesterday, they were kissing while I was listening to Barbra Streisand, or telling Em. Yesterday, they were kissing while I was wondering how my life could have fallen apart, staring at his picture, trying to keep my heart beating, my lungs taking in air. Yesterday.
    I close my eyes. The world wiggles beneath my feet. I open my eyes and try to focus on Tom’s face. It’s so far away, so funny looking. I blink away my tears. I rub at my chest, trying to erase all my anger. Instead, I crumple.
    “Oh,” I say. “Oh.”
    Tom wraps his arms around me and someone nearby whistles.
    Tom wraps