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

old-fashioned block-style lettering that says, “Postum, Instant Hot Beverage. Original. Full-Bodied Taste. Naturally Caffeine Free.”
Postum mixing is an exacting experience. If you submerge the spoon into the hot water, the brown grains adhere to the metal becoming a brownish sludge reminiscent of dog diarrhea. I do not ever think about what it does to the lining of my esophagus and stomach. Some things you are better off not knowing.
You must tip the spoon, wait a moment, and then stir. Do not think about passing out in front of the cafeteria. Do not worry if it’s some new kind of seizure.
Sip and enjoy the combination of water, wheat bran, wheat molasses, and maltodextrin (from corn).
Fend off the curious who gawk and say, “What the hell is that?”
Hide beneath the cafeteria table and finish your drink away from the demanding crowds.

    The first time I ever had a seizure was right after I started dating Dylan. We’d been just hanging out in the family room in the basement, watching Survivor, this reality show where they live in nasty places and vote each other off and whoever wins gets really skinny from only eating maggots, and they also get a million dollars. I was drinking my 509th Pepsi of the day and he was snarfing down nachos.
    Somebody on Survivor was crying because she missed her husband and Dylan snorted. “God, what wusses.”
    I started to agree, but the Pepsi can in my hand was shaking. I tried to put it down. But then my fingers let go. They straightened out all rigid and shook, shook, shook and I opened my mouth to say something but before I could, I was gone.
    I woke up with my head in Dylan’s lap and Pepsi all over the floor.
    “Dylan?” I was totally confused.
    He kissed the top of my forehead. “It’s okay, Belle. You’re okay.”
    Everything in my body hurt like I’d run a marathon. My head looped around against itself. I started to cry. “What happened?”
    Dylan shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, sweetie, but I’m right here. I’m right here for you.”
    “You swear?”
    He nodded again. “Swear.”

    But he won’t be anymore. He won’t be and I can’t handle that. I want to hide. It’s like everyone in the whole cafeteria is staring, staring, staring at me. Em keeps talking, trying to pretend like everything’s okay, but it isn’t. It isn’t at all.
    “I’ve got to get out of here,” I say to her.
    “What?” she cocks her head. “The bell’s going to ring in like two minutes.”
    I gulp the rest of my Postum and then I just get up and take off out the cafeteria door. I slam past everyone at a speed-walker pace and then sprint across the parking lot, heading toward the softball field. I race so fast that no one can stop me.
    When I left, Em stood up and yelled my name. I hope no one heard her. I hope no one saw.
    Tom saw though. Tom sees me now and he runs faster on those soccer legs. He grabs hold of me behind the old green dugout, by the words EASTBROOK ROCKS. We’ve both escaped the high school lockup, sprinted in school clothes (me) and soccer uniform (him) past everyone and everything, past gray walls with scuff marks on them, past linoleum floors and people’s concrete eyes, past the stares. Now, we’re out here under the big sky, with our backs against the dugout, barely panting, just a little.
    “Life sucks,” he says to me.
    I can’t say anything, just wipe my hand against my face, which is all wet from tears and sweat. I can’t tell which is which.
    “Life sucks and then you die,” I mumble.
    He coughs out a laugh. A squirrel chitters at us from the top of the dugout. We’ve invaded his space.
    My back slides down the dugout wall. My bottom plops on the cold ground. My legs turn to straight sticks in front of me. Dylan told me they were pretty legs. I choke on my own breath and start to sob, just sob, because there isn’t anything else I can do.
    My shoulders shake. My eyes turn into mountains releasing all the melted snow,