Okay, so I’m a lying, flimsy, weak-willed bastard.

Okay, so when Everett found out I would die.

Okay, so I promised I wouldn’t tell.

But I had to tell her–how could I not? She would’ve beaten it out of me sooner or later.

Right now, Cindy Raleigh was regarding me across a yellow-speckled table, strawberry-blonde hair hanging in random swirls and loops from constantly moving about. Her elbows were on the tabletop, fingers forming a steeple that she looked over at me from.

“So what you’re telling me is that Everett basically pushed you down and molested you in the back of a populated theater?” She repeated for the third time sounding skeptical. I could understand; I was telling her that yes, her brother had pushed me down and molested me in the back of a populated theater, for the third time over. And even after hearing it three times she still seemed to be taking it in.

“Yes, Cindy, that is what I’m telling you. Nothing more, nothing less.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and then she clapped her hands brightly and said, “Well!”

“That clears that up. So what are you going to do about it?” Cindy asked, splaying her hands on the table. I frowned.

“I don’t know,” I admitted, staring at the table. “I don’t know where to go from here. I’ve never–never, like, really–”

“Done anything like this?” Cindy finished for me, and I nodded. “I guess I’d say give him your opinion, whether or not you want him to stop, stuff like that.”

“But that’s the thing!” I blurted out, leaning forward. “I don’t know if I liked it or not! God, I don’t even know if I’m gay or straight!”

Cindy grimaced. “That’s all?” she asked, wrinkling her nose at me. I gaped–that was all? That was huge! This was a life-changing decision here and all she could say was ‘that’s all’?

She must’ve read the expression on my face, though, because she elaborated quickly. “I can tell you right now if you’re straight or not.”

“How?” I asked dubiously, raising my eyebrows. Surely it couldn’t be that easy–

–But, just like that, Cindy leaned over the table and kissed me.

I froze like a fish in a frying pan before shrieking and pushing her away. A waitress passing by gave me a weird look and hurried on, but I could care less. What the hell?

“What the hell?” I voiced, thoroughly disgusted. I wiped my mouth making a face. “What was that?”

“Yeah, you’re gay,” Cindy said, satisfied. I sputtered and coughed, but she was right–that realization struck me like a pancake flying at high speeds from a rogue spatula. That hadn’t fazed me; in fact, I’d given a negative reaction. But the mere thought of Everett’s mouth on my neck made my heart speed up and my mind haze over.

So the problem I’d been worrying myself sleepless over for months now could’ve been solved by kissing my best friend?

That sucked.

“I think you’re right, Cin,” I sighed, letting my head make friends with the table. “But that still doesn’t solve my other problem: what if he’s just, you know, playing me? What if he’s been dared to do this or it was all just a joke or something?”

“What if...” I couldn’t stop myself now that I’d begun that last one; I had to finish, albeit quietly. “What if I fall for him and it wasn’t anything in the first place? I can’t decide maybe this is real and put my heart into it and find out that...y’know, that...” I clutched at my hair, feeling unsure and uncertain. I was on the brink of something weird here, something really, really weird.

“That’s such bullshit,” Cindy said loudly, confidently. I started, looking up. Her eyes were closed, her mouth in an odd, smiling kind of frown. “You’ll never find out if you don’t commit. You have to throw yourself into it, Garrett, or nothing will ever happen. Good or bad.”

“And Everett, that..perplexing little bastard, he’ll either make it or break it. But you have to be there no matter what happens in the end.” She opened her eyes and fixed me with a determined blue gaze. I had to marvel at how insightful she was sometimes; it reminded me why I really loved this girl.

“You’re wonder girl, Cinny,” I said fondly, leaning across the table to hug her. She smiled, but her tone was sarcastic when she said, “Just find me my rope of justice and I’m ready to fight crime.”

“Don’t you know it,” I said. “So what do I do when I see him again?”

“Let him do what he will,” Cindy advised, ducking her head as she pointed at me. “But don’t let him go too far, you know; keep it light so far, let him know you’re not that easy. Play hard to get.”

“Simply amazing,” I declared, raising my hands in surrender. “I give in to your wisdom, Cindy Jennifer Raleigh.”

“Most people do after a while,” she replied, grinning cockily.

I love my best friend, you know, just not like that.

“And now, my dear gay boyfriend, we’re going to go make a fool out of my brother.” She stood up, sliding out of the booth, and held her hand out to me. I took it, smiling; armed with Cindy’s advice and Cindy herself, I was up to anything.

“Sounds like fun. How’re we gonna do it?” I asked as she led me from the coffee shop we’d been occupying. We were holding hands still; I didn’t mind. Since the day I’d met Cindy she told me she liked to hold hands, and I told her I did too. No matter how straight–or gay, really–I looked right now, I wasn’t going to let go. I could care less about what people thought of us.

“We’re going to go back to my place, and we’re going to flaunt you. Obviously. Right there. In front of his face,” she said, grinning devilishly. “I’m going to kiss you–”

“The boyfriend-girlfriend show again?” I said, rolling my eyes. We’d pulled this stunt so many times that, no matter how disgusted I acted earlier, I’d become immune to kissing and generally acting lovey-dovey with Cindy.

“Yes, the boyfriend-girlfriend show again. And Everett will be jealous, and it will be spectacular!” She flung our arms into the air dramatically, ignoring looks from passerby. I smiled; Cindy was so crazy sometimes, but I loved her for it. Just not in a romantic way.

“Indeed it will,” I replied, and she bowed to an imaginary audience before straightening up and leading the way down the street where we’d parked. Or, more accurately, where I’d parked from the passenger seat because Cindy couldn’t parallel park to save her life.

“We’ll kiss and hold hands on the couch while he sulks about and acts all jealous and possessive and we’ll get him into awkward situations,” Cindy predicted, jabbing enthusiastically at the key fob she pulled from her pocket. She swung around the hood and slid in smoothly; I followed as well, making sure the seat belt was safely buckled. Cindy was a maniac on the road. I was surprised neither of us were dead yet.

“And then he’ll get all pissy and pretend like he wants to leave but he won’t because he’s a masochist,” Cindy added, starting up the car. I reached over to take the wheel and steer us into the street, where Cindy took over.

“He is?” I asked, somewhat intrigued. Cindy nodded.

“He is, actually. I punched him once and he asked me to do it again–in all seriousness,” she added quickly, waving one hand. “I bet you’d like to test that, huh?”

I rolled my eyes and looked out the window. The fact that Everett Raleigh, who seemed normal, got off on pain didn’t fit with what I guessed everyone else’s image of him was. Now, my image of him–yeah, that fit. I could see my Everett as a masochist.

Well–I blushed at my phrasing–not my Everett. Just in a matter of speaking. I meant the Everett I knew, not that he was mine or anything.

“Hey–hey, earth to Garrett,” Cindy called, waving her hand in front of my face. I jerked back to reality, blinking at her fingers.

“Houston, we have a problem,” I muttered, turning and raising an eyebrow at her. “What?”

“Ground control wants to know what movie you want to watch when we get there.”

“Oh...” I looked out the window again, noting the scenery; I knew we were close to Cindy’s house. I’d been there enough times to memorize the route from everywhere in town. “How about...‘The Ring’? We can scream like girls–”

“Or homosexuals,” Cindy put in seriously, and I waved her interruption away.

“Or homosexuals,” I acknowledged, “and annoy the hell out of everyone within a radius of about a block.”

“Sounds like fun!” Cindy yanked the wheel hard right; my face made friends with the window.

“It would sound like more fun if I was alive to watch it, Cinny,” I warned her, peeling myself away from the glass. I rubbed at the facial smudge with my elbow as I spoke. “Be careful!”

“Right, right,” Cindy said absently, making another turn. This one wasn’t as sharp so I was able to stay upright.

But it didn’t really matter because in the end my head made a friendly visit to the dashboard anyway when Cindy stopped abruptly in her driveway. Stupid seat belts don’t work at all, do they...

I got out of the car, wobbly but alive. Cindy was beating me to the front door, so I regained my balance and jogged after her.

Inside the house was dark. Like, horror-movie dark, so both Cindy and I crept forward tentatively. It was all too quiet; Cindy gripped my forearm hard. I suppressed a girly squeal of pain.

I couldn’t quite suppress the girl shriek that left me, however, when the front door slammed behind us and all of a sudden a hand landed heavily on my shoulder.

I twisted around sharply, flailing in terror, and Cindy and I both put our twin telepathy to good use.

“What the hell–” was as far as we got, though, because then the lights flickered to life and Everett was standing there, grinning like an idiot. A very sexy idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. Some part of my subconscious was going to beat me for thinking that, but that was the part that was being squished by my irrational fear.

“Jesus fucking Christ in a miniskirt!” I panted, hand over my heart and glaring like nobody’s business. “What was that?”

“A joke,” Everett answered innocently, eyes wide. Cindy was glowering beside me and aimed a kick at her brother’s leg from where she’d fallen on the floor. I stuck my hand out and she took it, and hauled herself upright.

“You’re an assface,” Cindy said matter-of-factly, and Everett nodded just as simply. I rolled my eyes and pushed past him to the kitchen. I’d been here enough to know that nobody cared who took what from the fridge as long as nobody starved, so I grabbed a coke for myself and an orange soda for Cindy.

“And a fucktard,” I added helpfully, tossing the orange soda Cindy’s way. She caught it, and I could tell she was tempted to chuck it at his head. But that was a waste of good orange soda, so she contained herself and settled for viciously popping the table and taking a swig as she migrated to the living room.

“Okay, I’m an awful person.” Everett held his hands up in surrender, lowering his head. “You win.”

I was somewhat offset by his casual attitude so far. I had to change my mind, though, because when he passed me to go into the kitchen his fingers brushed oh-so-lightly against my thigh. Light enough so he could pass it off, but intentional enough for me to notice it.

I growled to myself–he was one sneaky bastard–and went to join Cindy in the living room, sitting on the couch beside her. She’d already put the movie in and was holding the remote for the DVD player, waving it around like a katana.

“Ready?” She asked, thrusting it in my direction. I flinched away to avoid being hit and nodded, making myself comfortable. Cindy took this as her cue, curling up and placing her head on my shoulder. I looked back as discreetly as I could; Everett was watching the display with an air of disinterest.

“Always, darling,” I said, filling my role of the affectionate, cheesy (coincidentally gay) boyfriend. Cindy just grinned and pressed the ‘play’ button.

It was just like always; whenever something even remotely frighteningly came onscreen, we would scream and jump like the idiots we’d always been. Everett came into the living room to watch with us during the first thirty minutes, and laughed at us when we go scared like he usually did when he saw us.

When the movie was done, Cindy turned to me and winked. I knew it was time to put on a show.

“Oh, I was so scared,” Cindy wailed theatrically. Internally I rolled my eyes; if this was a movie, it would be the worst ever. Not even a sappy chick flick.

“It’s okay, baby, I’m still here,” I soothed, sounding equally as bad. Cindy’s eyes lit up fakely and for a second I was afraid she would pretend to cry, but she didn’t. Much to my relief.

“Oh, Garrett!”

“Oh, Cindy!”

Yes, people, that actually just happened. We are the worst actors ever, but when she leaned in and kissed me with the kind of passion you found on the back of a cereal box Everett radiated some kind of angry energy that made me want to piss him off. It was just so tempting, the way he looked all pissy like Cindy had predicted when I pulled away, and his face made me want to see a true reaction.

“Oh, Jesus!” Everett cried in an amazingly accurate impression of Cindy, complete with hands clasped to his chest and fluttering eyelashes and God, he looked adorable.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, flinging a couch pillow at him. He yelped when it hit him, giving me a mock-hurt look, and flung it back.

Soon enough, this escalated into a pillow fight and then I had the idiocy to tackle him. Fully with the intent of not only killing him with feathery pillows, but also with getting him a little bit ‘agitated’ too. Our tussle was filled with accidental brushes: my knee against his thigh, his hand on my stomach, and in a particularly daring move, my hand against his crotch. That one made him suck in his breath and flush, and damned if I didn’t want to ravish him right there. I swear I would’ve too, if Cindy wasn’t there (okay, even if Cindy was there I would’ve done it) and if Everett hadn’t chosen that moment to cover up his problems by attempting to suffocate me with the stupid pillow.

I coughed and spluttered and flailed until he let me go, rolling onto his side to let me up. But I, being the stubborn retard I am, rolled on top of him and ended up with my knee between his legs and his wrists in my hands.

He was pink in the face and I felt so in control that it wasn’t even funny. Forget Cindy–she loved this kind of thing anyway–I leaned close, put my mouth near his ear and whispered, “What do you want?”

I pulled my head back a fraction, waiting for a response. Everett’s eyes met mine slowly and he whispered right back: “Touch me.”

Just what I’d wanted to hear; only when there were less people around and I wasn’t so distracted myself. I let him go, sitting up and off of him, and said, “Maybe some other time.”

He just grinned crookedly, endearingly, and my stomach did a backflip.

What have I gotten myself into?