Kings of B'more, page 17
“This was a good day,” Linus said. There was a distance to his voice that made Harrison nervous.
“There’s so much more left! Oh! What about that guy in the choir?” Harrison pointed to a teenager with a mass of curly hair and a yellow robe.
“I’m not kissing a stranger,” Linus said. But he kept watching the choir as they made their way past them and continued down the street, marching and singing and moving as one.
“You like him,” Harrison teased.
Linus’s tone was suddenly sharp. “I don’t!”
He looked at Harrison then. Sorry.
“I just thought . . . It would be cute if you met a boy in a gospel choir, since you like gospel so much,” Harrison said.
“I don’t like gospel so much.”
“You’re literally always listening to it on your MP3 player.”
“I just listen to one song.”
“It’s a gospel song, though,” Harrison said. He had the distinct sense that he was saying something wrong or rude, but he couldn’t figure out what. It was disorienting. It really can’t have been so disturbing for him to mention a crush on a boy to Linus, could it? They talked about this stuff. Was this part of the whole clean break? Linus would pack up his things and his MP3 player and his heart in the same box and move them all away from Harrison.
“It’s a song from the concert they recorded at church,” Linus said.
“What concert?”
“Remember, they made a CD?”
“I guess.” Harrison did not know anything about this.
“Your mom is literally on the song. She’s in the choir on the recording on the CD.”
This was news. “My mom?” These are true facts: His mom was in the choir and had been for years. But beyond that? Breaking news. He did seem to recall, possibly, something about a concert years ago, but it really hadn’t stuck out to him, and he didn’t see why it would stick out to Linus. Also, who buys a CD?
Linus was watching the choir as it marched into the distance. The crowd filled the gap in their wake; the music from the DJ down the street rose back up. Ugh, “Press the Sky Higher.” Again.
Harrison nudged Linus in the side. “It’s your stupid song.”
Linus turned suddenly. “It’s not my song. It’s my mom’s song. I don’t even know if she liked it. I’m trying to figure it out. Why are you being so weird about this?”
“About ‘Press the Sky Higher’?!”
“What? No, about the gospel song on my MP3 player.”
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about ‘Press the Sky Higher.’ ” Harrison pointed up in the air at the sound waves helpfully. Linus tilted his ear up to listen.
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, I do like ‘Press the Sky Higher.’ ”
“No, I mean, sorry for hitting a nerve,” Harrison said. He had no idea what he’d waded into or how to get out. “Um. Your mom likes the gospel song?”
“Yeah.”
Every time Linus talked about the period he spent living with Perfect Munro, his mood tanked. Harrison knew this. He wasn’t sure if this gospel thing was part of it, but he couldn’t afford the risk of asking more, as he normally would. Not on Ferris Day. He had to tread lightly. “Are you seeing your mom before you leave?” he said, absolutely failing to tread lightly.
“No,” Linus said. “We haven’t talked for a while. I guess I’ll see her when I visit.”
“When will you be coming back to visit?”
Linus was deflated. “I don’t know.”
And that was that. Harrison had asked his parents once about Linus’s parents. He hadn’t been able to find the words for his question, asking simply, “Are they okay?” This was after their divorce, after Linus moved from his mother’s house to his dad’s, after Mr. Munro and Linus stopped coming to church. There seemed to be a deep sadness that pervaded every mention of them, every part of that family, and Harrison didn’t understand it. They seemed so similar to his own family. They’d all been friends once, from what he’d heard. They went to the same church. But something was wrong.
When he’d asked about them, his mother had been thoughtful. It wasn’t that she didn’t seem to know what to say, rather that she was trying to figure out which piece of it to release to Harrison. He hated that. He could see something was happening; it was affecting his friend. Why couldn’t he know the truth?
Harrison’s mom decided what to say. “I think that in big ways and in small ways, life has been hard for them.”
“What does that mean?” he’d asked.
“It just . . . sometimes life is too much, baby. It just is.” She’d gone on to tell him that they both loved Linus a lot and they were doing everything in their power to be good to him, but her assessment of life was the thing that hung in his head. “It just is.” This was why he hated “Press the Sky Higher.” The chorus said that hard times ain’t coming round no more. But hard times don’t just go away. They wait for you, out in that hazy future, down here on Earth. What was stopping his life from being too much? Especially when he was so powerless to change the things that mattered to him the most. Linus was leaving; Harrison could not reach the sky. It just was.
Linus spoke out of the blue, suddenly checked back in. “I am so glad you did this.”
“Of course,” Harrison said. It had been his turn to be in some far-off space.
“And it’s not over,” Linus said.
“Nope. We have the pool.”
“And I’m so glad you got to meet Fab and Phil.”
“I like them,” Harrison offered. “Phil has so many opinions!” This sounded to Harrison like a read, but in truth he was impressed by anyone who was able to express themselves at an audible volume. Linus had that ability, too. Maybe that’s why he and Phil were friends. Harrison could always depend on Linus to put words to what Harrison felt.
“Phil is a trip,” Linus was saying.
“Is she going to be a sailor, or, like, what’s the deal with her living on a boat?”
“Oh my god, that’s my teacher!”
Harrison tried to determine who Linus was talking about. He wasn’t sure how he’d figure out which one of them was a teacher. Nobody was carrying a smart board under their arm.
“Should I say something?”
“Which one is it?” Harrison asked, following Linus’s gaze. Linus was already standing up behind his chair.
“It’s Mr. Mirepoix. AP History.”
Harrison did not tell Linus that this was not helpful information in locating said person.
“I’m going to go say hi,” Linus said. “Are you okay if I leave you here for a second?”
Harrison nodded. Was it possible that Linus was nervous about this? Harrison wasn’t looking forward to being left alone, and actually, as much as he’d heard about Mr. Mirepoix over the past two years, he kind of wanted to meet him. But then he thought better of it. He had no idea what to say to his own teachers on the rare occasions when they ran into each other outside of school. Some other person’s teacher? Nightmare. He’d just sit on this folding chair and look for someone for Linus to smooch.
Linus approached the book table and then, oddly, picked up a book and started looking at it. He was stopping to shop? Linus was performing? Harrison stifled a giggle. There were times when Linus seemed far braver and more grounded and ready for the world than Harrison felt, and there were times like this that reminded Harrison of why they were friends. Linus could be awkward as hell. Look at that nerd dad, fidgeting with a copy of Their Eyes Were Watching God. Bless his heart.
Okay, but for real, where was this Mr. Mirepoix person? All he saw was—what would you call it?—regular Pride people milling around the table and filing past. Harrison decided that an older white man with a shaved head was Mr. Mirepoix. He was wearing a button-down. This all checked out. But the man with the button-down paid for his book and then left. Finally, Linus put his own book down and approached a young, dark-skinned Black man in a bright green crop top with shorts and shoes in the same color. Linus tapped the man on the shoulder, the man turned, smiled widely, and called out Linus’s name. This was Mr. Mirepoix? He was . . . well, he certainly didn’t present himself like any teacher Harrison had, and that’s all he was going to say about that, even in his head.
Harrison couldn’t tear his gaze away, though. When Harrison saw guys in ads wearing crop tops, they usually had six-pack abs and the impossible bodies that all the fitness videos claimed came from just drinking a protein shake and doing a couple of crunches. The kinds of bodies Harrison saw piled high in human pyramids on the beach in those random Instagram accounts of happy strangers that he followed even though he knew that his life was nothing like theirs and probably never would be. But Mr. Mirepoix didn’t look like those people. He didn’t have a six-pack, for one. But, more importantly, Harrison thought, he looked comfortable. Yes, that was it. Mr. Mirepoix had looked totally at ease browsing for books, and he looked comfortable now, chatting it up with Linus. On one hand, this was perplexing. If somebody he knew from school caught him out in the street looking—okay, Harrison was going to say it—mighty good, he’d immediately evaporate from awkwardness. He would experience a total phase change and drift into the clouds, leaving behind a crop top and an apology for being. This did not seem to be happening. From what Harrison could tell, Mr. Mirepoix remained in a solid state.
On the other hand, though, Harrison wondered what there was to feel awkward about. Everybody here—some dressed in more material, some dressed in less—had whole lives and people that they knew from all kinds of places, and it wasn’t like Pride was some secret club with a password and a special knock. They were literally standing in the middle of Charles Street. The mayor was here. The jig was up.
Besides, a crop top was just practical. Who all wanted to be out here with a hot belly button? In this climate? Bayard Rustin didn’t fight for our rights so we could stand around and be humid.
Harrison fiddled with the hem of his T-shirt. He bunched it up a little with his fingers. He pulled it together at the middle. Maybe he’d twist it up into a little knot like Corrine sometimes did when the family went to the beach. He was not so sure about this. Was there enough shirt to do it? What kind of knot? He didn’t know any knots. This was why people joined the Boy Scouts.
He let his shirt drop back down to his waist. He plucked the fabric and fanned himself with it. It wasn’t so hot yet. No need for all of that.
He felt a brisk tap on his shoulder. Fab and Phil must’ve returned. Phil seemed to be all business.
“So, the pool?” Harrison said, turning in his chair.
“What pool?”
Fab and Phil were nowhere to be seen. Instead, Harrison found the person with whom he shared two parents and a lifetime of annoyance, his archnemesis, the queen of space. It was Corrine, speaking in all italics, leaning her face into his. Harrison shrieked and jumped up, knocking over the chair.
Corrine jumped forward to meet him. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice syrupy.
Harrison shrieked again. “What are you doing here?” he cried, holding his hands up like he was in the middle a bank robbery.
“Look at you, hanging out at Pride, skipping work. Well, well, well.” She righted the chair and sat on the edge of the table. She beckoned him forward with one finger. Corrine was clearly enjoying this. How did she find him? How was she here?
“Aren’t you supposed to be getting your hair done?”
“I think it’s very fascinating that you know my whole schedule for the day. Why is that, Harrison? Hmm?” She smirked. “My hair appointment isn’t until two. Can you tell me what time it is, please?”
Harrison reached for the kitchen iPad in his tote bag but stopped short. Corrine’s eyes followed his hand and then sprang back to look him in the face. There was a glint in her eye. What did she know and when did she know it?
“I don’t have my phone,” Harrison said.
“Oh? Where is it? Do you want me to use the app to find it?”
“No. It’s fine.”
“It’s no trouble,” Corrine said, pulling her phone from her pocket. “Let me just pull up Check In and see where my baby brother is.”
Harrison ran through Aparna’s schedule in his mind. He could hedge his bets and say that he left it at home and pray that Aparna was close enough for it to seem plausible. But it was already too complicated; he was thinking about ways to not get caught while actively in the process of being caught.
“Stop!” he said. “What do you want from me?”
Corrine puffed her chest out, haughty and dismissive. “I don’t want anything from you.” She stared at him then, a challenge. She was impossible! How could it be that his own sister had him feeling trapped in the middle of the street?
“Here’s the rules,” Corrine said suddenly. “No drinking.”
“But I’m thirsty!”
“I mean alcohol, bighead!”
“Oh! Okay. Sure.”
“Don’t meet anybody,” she said.
“When have I ever met anybody?”
“Well, today is not the day to spread your wings.”
“Are you my chaperone now?”
“I have nine million better things to do,” Corrine said. “I’m trying to enjoy my day. I’m trying to be at peace with the world. I’m not trying to hang out with you. This street festival ain’t big enough fer the both uv us.” She smiled, not unkindly.
“Definitely not,” Harrison said. He let out a small chuckle.
“So whatever you’re doing, wrap it up,” she said, whipping a circle in the air with her finger. “You need to go right home after this.”
Harrison nodded. He wondered if “after this” could technically be expanded to include this random visit to some pool. He thought to ask, but Corrine’s expression said that wasn’t going to go over well. It would be fine. She’d be getting her hair braided until late in the evening. They’d be home before she got home, and if she decided to tell on him, he could just say he was just walking back from work.
“Do Mom and Dad know you’re here?” he asked.
“I am an adult. They don’t track my whereabouts.” Big talk from someone who was still on the Check In app just like everybody else.
“Why are you even at Pride?”
“Famously, I love Pride,” Corrine said. “I’ve gone every year since I was fifteen.”
“Wait, then why—”
“We’re not talking about what I do. We’re talking about what you’re doing. Sneaking around all over creation. Not telling anyone what you’re up do. What if something happened?”
“Nothing’s going to happen.”
“Exactly. Go home!” Corrine said. “Don’t get into trouble. Don’t have an adventure. I’m watching you.” With that, she turned and plunged into the crowd, not looking back once before disappearing from view.
1:31 p.m.
“Is it okay that I said hi?” Linus asked Mr. Mirepoix. His teacher had been carrying a stack of books and a smoothie. Now he put them both down on the table and turned to Linus.
“Of course! I’m just browsing. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
“Not really. I just, actually, I came over to say hi. I, um, I’m glad to see you at Pride,” Linus said.
“Well, you know. One must make an appearance. Have you been to Pride before?” Linus shook his head. “Oh! Congratulations. Okay, okay—I need to know your assessment.”
“It’s nice,” Linus said.
“Excuse me?” he said. “Nice” was not allowed in Mr. Mirepoix’s class. “Fine” was also forbidden. There was a whole list of words he kept on a poster on the wall that were the enemies of persuasive communication. The man had a whole dictionary of words that didn’t mean anything.
“It’s . . .” Linus searched for a word that would capture what he was feeling. An impossibility, despite the fact that Mr. Mirepoix always said that the words we need are always waiting for us to find them, if we put in the effort. Linus pushed himself—he rummaged through the pile of words in his head, trying them on against some internal version of himself like he was clothes-shopping. The words are waiting for us, Mr. Mirepoix had said. What would that mean if it were true? “It’s dazzling,” Linus said, finally.
Mr. Mirepoix leaned back, impressed. “Wow. Okay. Don’t leave me hanging—tell me more. What’s got you dazzled?”
