Also by Simon James Green: Noah Can’t Even Noah Could Never Alex in Wonderland Contents Cover Also by Simon James Green Dedication Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Acknowledgements Copyright For everyone who is trying to find the courage to be true to themselves CHAPTER ONE JACK “Is this a joke?” OK, it’s not the reaction I’d hoped for, but coming from Dylan, it’s practically a compliment. I wave my hands up and down my tuxedo in the manner of a game show hostess. “It’s Italian tailoring, one hundred per cent pure wool, with satin trim details.” He crosses his arms and gives me unimpressed eyes. “Is it the shoes?” I ask. “It is not the shoes.” “Dolce and Gabbana.” He shakes his head and steps inside like the shoes are nothing, and closes the front door behind him. I blow my cheeks out, really giving it some serious thought. “Oh!” I say, feigning suddenly remembering. “Do you mean” – I twirl around on the spot, the rainbow flag cloak that’s around my shoulders billowing out like some fabulous gay tornado – “THIS?!” Dylan still isn’t smiling, which is weird because this has to be the most spectacular thing ever. “Very funny.” He grimaces. “Thank you, I think, but this is actually my outfit. So.” Dylan glowers at me. I’m pretty sure this is meant to be one of the most romantic nights of my life, the sort you look back on if you’re lucky enough to make it to eighty, and sigh, and remember it all in gorgeous sepia, but my boyfriend literally looks like he’s going to murder me – and not with something clever and glamorous like cyanide in champagne (surely the weapon of choice for any homosexual with a shred of self-respect?), but violently. With an axe. “I thought we agreed—” “I know, but I wanted to—” “It can’t always be about you, Jack.” He stomps through to the kitchen. “Can I get a glass of water?” “Sure,” I mutter, staying in the hall while he disappears. So, it’s going well. “You look nice!” I shout through to him. And he does. He looks fricking gorgeous. The sound of a tap running. “There’s a bottle of Evian in the fridge if you prefer not to drink piss water. I know it’s environmentally less friendly but since we’re all going to die in the apocalypse anyway, I say DRINK THE GOOD STUFF, BABY!” Silence. He’s pissed off with me, but year eleven prom is, quite frankly, the end of five years of near total hell at secondary school and I’m not going to mark its passing quietly. Hell, no. This shitshow is going out with a bang. And turning up in the same shiny polyester suit that all the other year eleven boys will turn up in is not anywhere close to being “a bang”. Screw that. If I’m not going to fit in, if I’m going to stand out, then I’m really gonna stand out. Speaking of which, he didn’t even mention the glittery eye make-up. Do I need more? I walk through to the kitchen, where Dylan is finishing off a glass of chocolate milk. “Sorry,” he says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He knows the chocolate milk is mine, and he knows it’s precious to me. “The eyeshadow,” I begin. He licks the last of the milk off his lips and looks across at me. “Uh-huh?” “Do you love it?” He stares at me, then his face breaks into a smile. “Well, you … I mean, you certainly look gay.” “I am gay!” I say. “So are you!” He doesn’t deny it, but he ever so slightly flinches, and I know I’ve said the wrong thing. “Besides,” I continue, “you don’t win prom king and queen without going to some effort.” He scratches his tousled dark brown hair. “You really think they’re gonna give it to a gay couple? Really? Our school?” He has a point, of course, but he must clock the look of disappointment on my face because he quickly adds, “Hey, but who knows? Maybe things are changing.” I nod at him and smile, although I know he was probably right to begin with. “I want to have a nice night, so I’m sorry I was a dick about your outfit,” he says. “That’s OK.” “I’m a bit tense.” “Why are you tense? Do you need a massage?” “No. I mean, yes, I do, but—” He gestures to his bow tie. “It’s real. I don’t know how to do it back up again if I untie it.” I laugh at him. “Were you dressed by your mum?” “Practically.” I know why he’s tense. He prefers me to be “straight acting”. He told me that when I turned up to one of his matches in a Some people are gay. Get over it! T-shirt. I was just trying to do my bit to challenge homophobia in football, but apparently some of the other boys found it distracting and that’s why they lost the game. I don’t know, it’s almost like some people have a lame excuse for everything. I sigh. “Do you want me to lose the rainbow cloak?” “No.” “I want them all to see it, Dylan. I want everyone who made my life hell for the last three years to see they haven’t won. I’m here. And I’m gonna shine so bright I’ll blind the fuckers!” “I know.” “Aaaaand I’ve only gone and bagged the hottest guy in the school. Also worth celebrating.” He flicks his eyes down to the floor, embarrassed, I think. “You look really good, Jack. You’ve maybe got a whiff of gay vampire about you, but it works.” He smirks at me. “Now make a joke about what gay vampires suck.” I roll my eyes. “I’m classier than that.” He holds his arms out wide. “Come on.” And I go in for a hug. Dylan. I one hundred per cent, truly, madly, deeply, unreservedly, from the bottom of
