Heartbreak Boys

he was going to “keep it short and sweet so we can all get on with the main event of the night – watching Finn Walker throw up everywhere and claim it’s food poisoning again”. Finn Walker has dramatically thrown up at every party for the last two years and claimed he wasn’t drinking, it was food poisoning; and in a marvellous moment of serendipity, Finn wasn’t even in the hall to hear Nate say this, because he was in the boys’ toilets … throwing up.
I fiddle around with my bow tie and hair as Nate does the obligatory thank-you section to various teachers. Despite my bravado with Chloe, I’m not actually that confident of a win. At least, not from people voting for me. If anything’s gonna swing it, it’s the Dylan factor. He’s loved, so loved, there’s a chance the rest of the year might have backed him – and me, by default, although I’m well aware that would have been a very reluctant vote for most of them.
Dan and Beth have been dating since year seven, so are like this long-standing beacon of romance and loyalty (so obviously stand no chance because neither of those things are qualities any of this lot admire), but Chloe is a total backstabbing bitch, so is inexplicably incredibly popular and really does stand to take the crown, having been particularly vile for most of the year but going on a huge schmoozing campaign recently, so that people would feel so grateful she was being nice they’d actually vote for her, like some weird Stockholm syndrome type situation.
I turn my attention back to Nate.
“We’ve been through many ups and downs together. So, to every one of us who had to read a passage out in Science that contained the word ‘organism’ and said it wrong; to every one of us who couldn’t contain our laughter when Mr Higgins explained we’d be having a big discussion in class by saying we’d be having a ‘mass debate’; and to every one of us who discovered too late that if you do the high jump while wearing loose-fitting boxer shorts then there’s a high chance you’ll end up giving an unexpected anatomy lesson to some innocent bystanders – or maybe that was just me – I salute you. We made it. We’re here. So here’s to us, the graduating class of 2020.”
In fairness to him, there’s a lot of applause and a fair bit of cheering and, bless him, just for a second, he looks really proud of himself.
And now it’s time.
“Without further ado—” Nate begins, using a phrase that people only ever use in speeches, “I’d like to welcome the candidates for this year’s prom king and queen!”
More applause and cheering, and we troupe on to the stage, forming three couples, all to Nate’s right. Dylan’s already giggling and I give him a sharp dig in the kidney so he bucks up and takes it seriously. “This is so dumb,” he mumbles.
“Just smile,” I tell him, through gritted teeth.
Nate glances over us all, lingering slightly, but maybe I’m wrong, on me, before turning back to his lectern and microphone.
That’s when I notice how much his hands are shaking.
“Um, so,” he stutters, “I know the thing about prom king and queen is that it’s a vote, and lots of things can influence that, which aren’t always about who the most deserving winners are … how popular you are, that sort of thing…”
I like how he’s pre-empting a win by Chloe by throwing a certain amount of shade her way, but I’ve no idea where this is going.
“But also, I think prom king and queen is … should be a celebration of … well…” He swallows, really hard, like his Adam’s apple is stuck in his throat. “Well, it’s about being proud, I think. Proud of who you are, proud of your relationship, proud of your friends, of what you’ve achieved, proud of being you, and I … I think that’s something maybe we should all aspire to, and so what I think I’m trying to say—”
My eyes widen because I already know exactly how this is going to end (no one says “proud” that much without it meaning this), and I’m surprised, shocked, delighted, and I love him all at once, but also a little pang of sadness ripples through my stomach because, despite everything, this feels like something he would have shared with me first, once.
“I’m trying to say, am saying, telling you all, that … I’m gay.”
I turn to Dylan and reach for his hand because this is so cute.
“I’m gay and I don’t want to hide it from you any more.”
But Dylan is gazing out at someone in the crowd.
“If this is all about being who we are, then, this is me.”
I follow Dylan’s gaze. He’s looking at Tariq. Which is weird, because what’s this got to do with Tariq? And then he glances back at me. “Cool,” Dylan mutters, rubbing his nose.
Something feels off.
I move my hand back to my side.
“This is me,” Nate says again.
There are cheers and applause for Nate. Good for him. I join in, even though there’s a prickle of something unpleasant replicating through my veins.
“Something else,” Nate says, clearly taken aback, but also buoyed by the show of support in the room. “I am … seeing someone. And I really like him, and it’s Tariq, so, um…”
I glance down at Tariq again. People in his immediate vicinity are hugging him, and there are coos of support, a few “Ahhh”s and it feels like now is the moment Tariq needs to leap up onstage and give his brave boyfriend a kiss … but he doesn’t.
What he does do is shift his eyes, just for a second, to Dylan.
My breath catches.
And in that moment I know.
Nate gives Tariq a little wave from behind the podium. It’s awkward, heartbreaking in how sweet it is, and clear he wants him to come up and share the moment with him.
Nate swallows