David Levithan - Boy Meets Boy

This book started out as a story I wrote for my friends for Valentines Day. First and foremost, it still belongs to them. You should all know who you are, and how much you mean to me.

I want to thank the following people who inspired and encouraged me (either knowingly or not) as I wrote this story: Mike Rothman, Nancy Mercado, Eliza Sporn, Shira Epstein, Christopher Olenzak, Bethany Buck, Janet Vultee, Ann Martin, John Heginbotham, Edric Mesmer, and Rodney Bender. I am also indebted to all the writers, editors, and production editors with whom I have worked, from the BSC to PUSH. The source of this books dedication is the song Tony by Patty Griffin; whenever I needed motivation, all I had to do was press play and there it was.

I owe Shana Corey, Brian Selznick, and David Serlin for the pivotal moment that led to this story becoming this book. I am also very happy that Chris Krovatin came into my life while I was finishing it.

Many thanks to Melissa Nelson for her amazing design.

All the umbrellas in London couldnt stop me from showering my editor, Nancy Hinkel, with praise.

Billy Merrell brings me joy.

My deepest thanks go to my family and to my friends who are family. Cary Retlin, David Leventhal, and Jennifer Bodner mean the world to me. And I am proud to be the intersection of my brother Adam, my niece Paige, and all the Levithans, Golbers, Streiters, and Aliens I know and love. My parents are, quite simply, the best.

Thank you all.

9 P.M. on a November Saturday. Joni, Tony, and I are out on the town. Tony is from the next town over and he needs to get out. His parents are extremely religious. It doesnt even matter which religiontheyre all the same at a certain point, and few of them want a gay boy cruising around with his friends on a Saturday night. So every week Tony feeds us bible stories, then on Saturday we show up at his doorstep well versed in parables and earnestness, dazzling his parents with our blinding purity. They slip him a twenty and tell him to enjoy our study group. We go spend the money on romantic comedies, dimestore toys, and diner jukeboxes. Our happiness is the closest well ever come to a generous God, so we figure Tonys parents would understand, if only they werent set on misunderstanding so many things.

Tony has to be home by midnight, so we are on a Cinderella mission. With this in mind, we keep our eye on the ball.

There isnt really a gay scene or a straight scene in our town. They got all mixed up a while back, which I think is for the best. Back when I was in second grade, the older gay kids who didnt flee to the city for entertainment would have to make their own fun. Now its all good. Most of the straight guys try to sneak into the Queer Beer bar. Boys who love boys flirt with girls who love girls. And whether your heart is strictly ballroom or bluegrass punk, the dance floors are open to whatever you have to offer.

This is my town. Ive lived here all my life.

Tonight, our Gaystafarian bud Zeke is gigging at the local chain bookstore. Joni has a drivers license from the state where her grandmother lives, so she drives us around in the family sedan. We roll down the windows and crank the radiowe like the idea of our music spilling out over the whole neighborhood, becoming part of the air. Tony has a desperate look tonight, so we let him control the dial. He switches to a Mope Folk station, and we ask him whats going on.

I cant say, he tells us, and we know what he means. That nameless empty.

We try to cheer him up by treating him to a blue Slurp-Slurp at the local 24-7. We each take sips, to see whose tongue can get the bluest. Once Tonys sticking his tongue out with the rest of us, we know hes going to be okay.

Zekes already jamming by the time we get to the highway bookstore. Hes put his stage in the European History section, and every now and then hell throw names like Hadrian and Copernicus into his mojo rap. The place is crowded. A little girl in the childrens section puts the Velveteen Rabbit on her shoulders for a better view. Her moms are standing behind her, holding hands and nodding to Zekes tune. The Gaystafarian crowd has planted itself in the Gardening section, while the three straight members of the guys lacrosse team are ogling a bookstore clerk from Literature. She doesnt seem to mind. Her glasses are the color of licorice.

I move through the crowd with ease, sharing nods and smiling hellos. I love this scene, this floating reality. I am a solo flier looking out over the land of Boyfriends and Girlfriends. I am three notes in the middle of a song.

Joni grabs me and Tony, pulling us into Self-Help. There are a few monkish types already there, some of them trying to ignore the music and learn the Thirteen Ways to Be an Effective Person. I know Jonis brought us here because sometimes you just have to dance like a madman in the Self-Help section of your local bookstore. So we dance. Tony hesitateshe isnt much of a dancer. But as Ive told him a million times, when it comes to true dancing, it doesnt matter what you look likeits all about the joy you feel.

Zekes jive is infectious. People are crooning and swooning into one another. You can see the books on the shelves in kaleidoscope formspinning rows of colors, the passing blur of words.

I sway. I sing. I elevate. My friends are by my side, and Zeke is working the Huguenots into his melody. I spin around and knock a few books off the shelves. When the song is through, I bend to pick them up.

I grasp on the ground and come face to face with a cool pair of sneakers.

This yours? a voice above the sneakers asks.

I look up. And there he is.

His hair points in ten different directions. His eyes are a little close together, but man, are they green. Theres a little birthmark on his neck, the shape of a comma.

I think hes wonderful.

Hes holding a book out to me. Migraines Are Only in Your Mind.

I am aware of my breathing. I am aware of my heartbeat. I am aware that my shirt is half untucked. I take the book from him and say thanks. I put it back on the shelf. Theres no way that Self-Help can help me now.

Do you know Zeke? I ask, nodding to the stand.

No, the boy answers. I just came for a book.

Im Paul.

Im Noah.

He shakes my hand. I am touching his hand.

I can feel Joni and Tony keeping their curious distance.

Do you know Zeke? Noah asks. His tunes are magnificent.

I roll the word in my headmagnificent. Its like a gift to hear.

Yeah, we go to school together, I say casually.

The high school?

Thats the one. Im looking down. He has perfect hands.

I go there, too.

You do? I cant believe Ive never seen him before. If Id seen him before, it would have damn well registered.

Two weeks now. Are you a senior?

I look down at my Keds. Im a sophomore.

Cool.

Now I fear hes humoring me. Theres nothing cool about being a sophomore. Even a new kid would know that.

Noah? another voice interrupts, insistent and expectant. A girl has appeared behind him. She is dressed in a lethal combination of pastels. Shes young, but she looks like she could be a hostess on the Pillow and Sofa Network.

My sister, he explains, much to my relief. She trudges off. It is clear that he is supposed to follow.