Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137572 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 688(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 459(@300wpm)
“Wow.” I’m still picking out details as I take it all in. “Well … that’s … that’s pretty dang big.”
I don’t realize Vann is studying the side of my face. “The truth is, Toby, what you said that one night at Biggie’s was right. All of my work is colorless. Something’s missing.” Vann turns me to face him. “That something is you, Toby. You’re the person who gives my life color. Without you, I’m just marks on a piece of paper, no matter how big that paper is, no matter if it covers the whole wall of a building.”
One top corner of the big display suddenly lets go of the roof, curling over to cover a sixth of the artwork. “Dang it, Benji!” calls out someone up there. “I told you to tie it off better!”
Ignoring them, I smile at Vann. “Your work is beautiful. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me. But …”
Vann’s brow creases with worry. “But …?”
“I don’t want you to change everything about yourself for me. You are who you are, Vann. You’re impulsive sometimes. You’re … sensitive. You are fiercely committed to anything you care about.” I put a hand to my chest. “I’m not perfect either. But if we’re going to give this another chance …”
His eyes light up at once. “We are?”
“… I just need to know you won’t lose yourself in trying to ‘be better’ for me. It wasn’t a well-thought-out plan when I suggested we take a step back and be friends. You are so much more to me. And as for this whole color metaphor you’re conjuring up …” I move my hand to his chest. “It’s just a bunch of aimless cerulean, crimson, violet, or emerald paints on a canvas with no meaning … not without your sketches for these colors to live in.”
Another corner of the banner lets go of the roof, curling up on itself. “Dang it, Julio! That was your side!” “No it wasn’t, bro!” “It was!”
Vann gnaws on his lip, fighting off a laugh, then eyes me. “I … kinda expected this to go worse than it did. With a bunch of football players trying to coordinate an ex-enemy’s attempt to get his boyfriend back, it’s a miracle we were even able to get that big thing up on that wall.”
The last of it lets go, and Vann’s big work of art drops to the ground in a booming, papery, slow-motion crash. “Oh, there goes the whole dang thing now. You ruined it!” “Bro, I did my side good! You’re the one who needs to go back to rope-tying school!” “Benji, I swear …”
When I bring a hand up to Vann’s face, the shouting stops.
“I’m not saying this fixes everything,” I tell Vann, whose eyes are locked on mine, clinging to my words. “This may not work out after all. Maybe you know that, too. Maybe you’re afraid of it. But we’ll …” I take a breath. “We’ll never know unless we try.”
“So you want to try?” All attempts at acting cool and collected are out the window with Vann. He’s a puppy at once, desperate for me to believe in him again. “You want to try this again, Toby? You and me?”
From the roof, I hear: “C’mon! Kiss him already!” “Shut up, Benji! Let them do their thing!” “Just say yes, Toby! Say yes!” “Oh my god, you idiot, this isn’t a marriage proposal.” “I know, you doofus!”
And while the football players continue to fight, and with a papery mountain of Vann’s greatest work at our sides, I decide to answer his question with a kiss. Shouting and cheering from the rooftop of Spruce High cascades over us like unexpected rain on a sunny day. Despite our future together being a blank canvas of possibilities—and a whole lot of uncertainty—I know the most important fact to be true: I’ve got my man in my arms once again, he’s got me in his, and my whole world feels complete.
Five and a half frickin’ months (or so) later.
EPILOGUE
- VANN -
I pull up to the curb and cut the engine. After taking off my helmet and hooking it onto my bike, I take a deep breath, then let myself smile—despite the nerves dancing around in my stomach. I walk up to the door boldly, run a hand down my suit jacket and tie to smooth it out, then lift my fist for a knock.
The door swings open before I’m able to. Standing before me is a man with stubble for a beard who reeks of motor oil. He gives me a looking over, his brow furrowed critically.
I give him a reserved nod. “Mr. Michaels.”
The man meets my eyes. Then he nods at me approvingly and says, “You’re lookin’ mighty sharp tonight, Vann.”
“I hope so. You only get one shot at prom night, right?”