Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m not just some delusional kid with a neck tic who scratches his palms whenever he’s nervous, favors everyone’s left side, tugs at his earlobe, and operates in evens. Maybe it’s like autofocusing a camera, where I’m zooming in on one thing and missing everything else.
“It’s been freaking me out a little bit, like I don’t know who I’m going to be in the future. I’m scared something can grow from this and turn me into a Griffin who’s too complicated for you to be friends with in a few years.” I can’t believe I’m unloading all this; it feels surreal, incredible, but I can’t stop. Maybe confessing everything will jinx any illnesses.
Theo scoots closer to me. “I have real things to be worried about, dude, like if the zombie pirates are going to know how to use grappling hooks and matchlocks or if they’re taking us down with teeth and nails. You don’t scare me, and you’ll never be too complicated for my friendship.” Theo pats my knee. His hand rests there for a solid minute. “And I’m sorry if I forced you to come out just now—wait, am I the first person you’ve told?”
I nod, my heart pounding. “You didn’t force me. Okay, actually, you did a little, but I wanted to tell you anyway. I just didn’t have the balls or some huge speech. I was also a little scared I was wrong about my instincts for you. Delusions run on my mother’s side of the family.”
“You’re not delusional,” Theo says. “And you’re not crazy.”
He reaches for my hand, and it’s not for a high five. I know the world hasn’t changed, what goes up still has to come down, but the way I see the world has shifted a little to the right, moving forward, and I can now see it the way I’ve always wanted to. I hope I don’t say or do anything that will force the world to shift counterclockwise again.
I squeeze Theo’s hand, testing whatever it is we’re doing here, and I feel like I’m answering a question I was never brave enough to ask.
“Stick with me here, okay?” Theo says.
“I’m not exactly about to walk off a moving train.”
Theo lets go of my hand. I sink in a little, like I’ve failed him. “I’ve never told anyone this, but I’ve been dreaming up alternate universes for a couple of years. You know me, I’m always asking myself ‘What if?’” He turns away for a second. “Lately I’ve been asking myself that more and more. A lot of the what-ifs are fun, but a lot of them are also really personal. Every night before I go to sleep, I find all the notes I’ve written on scrap paper or on my phone and I archive them in this journal. Dozens and dozens of alternate universes.”
The train stops suddenly; passengers leave and others get on, giving us a little more breathing space—but once the doors close, Theo has my full attention again.
“I wrote one on the inside of my arm earlier, during the gift hunt,” he continues. “I’m not going to show you yet. No spoilers. But it just reminded me of something. Every universe I’ve created lately, your face keeps popping up in it. And I thought that if you can’t be cool with that, then I wouldn’t hate you, but I might need some time for myself until we’ve had enough distance that I can imagine made-up worlds without you automatically appearing.” Theo turns and above his left elbow is his handwriting—not the usual perfection because even he can’t write on himself neatly—and he holds it closer. The scrawl reads, Alternate Universe: I’m dating Griffin Jennings and that’s that.
“I don’t know if that makes sense to you at all, but I want that to be real,” Theo says, still holding his arm out to me, as if to burn those messy letters into my memory. “If it can’t, I understand and I hope we can still figure out how to be best friends. I just can’t imagine never taking this shot.” He lowers his arm, finally. “You’ve got to say something now.”
I feel like someone has dropkicked me into an alternate universe of awesomeness. I can’t believe this is a conversation I’m having, I can’t believe I’m legit flirting with Theo and he’s flirting back. This universe is clicking with me just fine. I can’t tell him all these things, not yet, at least.
“I was going to,” I say.
“Okay, but only say something if it’s good. If it sucks, shut up.”
“I’ve been freaking out for a while about this same thing, dude. I don’t know when I would’ve manned up and said something, but it wouldn’t have beat your bit about the alternate universes. I would’ve just said I like you.”
“Were you going to at least mention how handsome I am?”
“Handsome seems like a strong word, but I would’ve talked about how you’re cool to look at, sure.”
“Good to know.” I should tell him how much I like the sound of his writing, the words he puts down in his notebooks when he’s hunched over his desk; I want to know what they are. I should tell him about the fantasies I’ve had where the next time I sleep over at his house and we share his bed, that we wouldn’t have to use separate comforters and could maybe share one blanket one day without it being weird. I should tell him how fun it is to watch him flip an hourglass over and see if he can complete a massive puzzle by himself, and how I’m always rooting for him to succeed because I know how happy he is when he wins. I should tell him how much I appreciate the way he’s been gravitating to my right lately. But I don’t say any of this out loud right now because maybe I can admit this to him when it’s happening in real time.