Rick paced his second apartment. He had been warned by the landlord the dangers of coming back here while he was still at number 37, but he couldn't help himself. He hoped that allowing Dickie to invite Ben over, putting that wonderful paper boy through all that pain of rejection would have the desired positive effect in the long run.

Rick circled the second apartment in an endless loop. The room was dark, lit only by the faint glow of a single blue light. As his stomach burned from the afternoon's events, his mind flashed back to his own high school best friend. The kid he thought was his best friend, anyway. He had sat down with his best buddy, his truest pal, and confided in him that he thought he might be gay.

The friend didn't seem so much surprised as disappointed. He told Rick that the only course he could take was to stay closeted. Indefinitely. When Rick moved closer to his friend and told him he felt he could handle the scrutiny of revealing he was gay, the supposed friend looked him squarely in the eye and said three words. "Well, I can't."

The one boy Rick had chosen as his confidant was more concerned about how he might be branded by association than about Rick's own attempt at sincerity. The "friend" had no desire to see Rick be true to himself if it would in any way inconvenience him.

Rick was shattered. He leaned closer still as the friend tried to move away, and it was then, shaken and confused, that Rick had professed his love. He knew he felt more than friendship for this boy, and had for some time. He was in love with him. The boy leapt up, moving quickly to the door. "I didn't hear that", was all he said.

Calling after him, Rick was stopped in his tracks by the venomous stare from his friend's penetrating eyes. "I didn't HEAR that", he reiterated. "And I won't." And that was that.

The next day at school, Rick felt terribly alone. Whenever the inevitable questions arose among the students about Rick's sexuality, the former best friend's response was always the same. "Naw, he's not that way. I mean, would I ever allow myself to be seen hanging with a fag?"

Rick could still feel the sting of hatred, of confidence spurned, as he felt forced to walk along the halls at his high school with the boy he thought was his best friend. How he sat every day at lunch with the one who was so concerned with keeping up appearances that inflicting terrible pain upon a friend who adored him was an acceptable price to pay. And Rick thought of Ben storming out on Dickie, of the illusion of friendship and support shattered by harsh words and insinuation.

Rick felt torn, pulled from both sides by two different incidents of betrayal and heartbreak. He found it odd to feel the ravages of emotional turmoil that was so similar from situations so distinctly different.

Though it was late and he was tired, Rick made the trip back to number 37 to spend the night. His double-edged anxiety was too much to face while in the second apartment. He would crash on the bed at 37, taking solace in the knowledge that it was there that he watched the destructive Ben walk out of Dickie's life. Despite the pain, without Ben Dickie's life would change for the better. Dwelling upon that, Rick knew his own memories were soon to fade.

"You okay?"

I looked up from my desk at vocational class to see Gerald. I had not heard him approach. "Hmm?", was all I said.

"I asked if you're okay. You look like you just lost your best friend."

"No, I'm okay", I lied.

Gerald looked at the blank sheet of paper before me, the untouched pencil. "Two hours in, and you aren't on your usual third revision, and you're too quiet."

"Why? Am I usually disruptive?"

Gerald smiled. "No, you hum."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you always sneak in your walkman and listen to it while you work. You hum along. I missed it today, that's what tipped me off."

"I guess I didn't bring it today", I said absently. "And I'm okay, really."

"Well, you better get going on that assignment if you don't wanna have a ton of homework on it." He tapped my paper with the end of his pencil and winked at me.

I offered him a weak grin. "And I'll try to keep it down next time I bring in my headphones."

He looked back at me as he walked back to his drafting desk, his light hair catching the light from the tall windows behind us. "Don't." And as he took his seat, he smiled again.

He had a nice smile.

Rick told me he was able to reschedule the farmboy buddy shoot for a later time when he'd found a suitable second model. So I got to be a superhero the following afternoon, and I was a pretty awesome one, too. The tights were silver, with navy blue cape and boots. My yellow-and-gold chest insignia was something of a cross between a nuclear symbol and a starburst. I pretended to throw atomic punches, fire energy bolts from my fingertips, and flew while lying across a tabletop. It was fun. But that wasn't the only snug outfit Rick wanted me in that day.

Following our shoot, Rick sat on the arm of the couch, drumming his fingers impatiently. "How long does it take you to change, anyway??", he called through the door.

"I've been changed", I said back dully. "I'm not coming out."

"Why not?"

"You have to ask?! I can't wear this."

"This from the guy that happily dressed as a sewer worker recently. Come on. Let's have a look at you."

"Can I put something on over the top of it? My bibs are right here."

"Out. NOW."

I swung open the bedroom door and stood there, feeling like an absolute imbecile. I was wearing white, slightly shiny nylon (I think they were nylon) tights. Stress on the tight part. The top was a sleeveless, low-collar tanktop and the pants were shorts that ended above the knee. You could totally see my package. But the worst of it was the logo. In huge--and I'm talkin' huge here, from breast to waistline--black block letters on both the front and the back were two words. "I'M GAY".

"What the hell am I wearing, Rick?"

He made a circular gesture with his forefinger for me to turn around. I did, and he gave me the thumbs-up. "It's a wrestler's singlet."

"I can see that. WHY am I wearing it??"

"Why is not the issue. The important thing is where you'll be wearing it. You're wearing that to school tomorrow."

My face went as white as my tights. "Ohhh, no. I so am not. You cannot make me march through the halls with this--this pronouncement blazing across my chest. UNH-uh! Forget it. I'm changing back to my straight person disguise."

"Hold it, champion", he said. "Your outfit's not complete. This goes with it." He tossed me a plastic shopping bag. I looked inside, expecting something like a pink tutu, but was gladly disappointed. I looked back at Rick. "Go ahead. Pull 'em out." I did so, and revealed a brand-spanking-new pair of very nice dark blue, almost charcoal gray, jeans, and a simple black crew neck T-shirt. The shirt was almost entirely blank, but for a small tennis shoe logo over the left breast.

"I don't get it."

"Put those on. Go ahead, right now." I started to go back into the bedroom. "Ut! No need to go in there. Put them on right now, over the singlet. I'll get your shoes."

"But you said I couldn't wear anything on top of it."

"Not to model it for me, no. Go on, put your pants on. I want to see if I got the right size."

He had, of course. In less than a minute, I looked like your average high school senior, ready for class. It was impossible to tell I even had the singlet on under these clothes. I looked at Rick as he offered me a golf clap of congratulations. I furrowed my brow. "I still don't get it."

"Say what's written on your singlet."

"I'm gay."

"ARE you? Really?" He slapped a hand to the side of his face in mock horror. "My little boy model is a fudge packer!"

"Come on! I was just saying what was on the stupid tights!"

"And is that true? Are you gay, Dickie?"

I paused for a moment, then gave in, if only to see where this was going. "Yeah. I'm gay."

"And have you accepted that? Have you come to grips with it?"

I shuffled my feet. "Not entirely."

He seemed very excited. "ExACTly! Wear the singlet to school tomorrow, and wear those clothes over the top of it."

"But what's the point?! If you can't even see the damned thing--if no one can tell what's underneath--!"

"That is precisely why, champ. In the majority of instances, no one CAN see what's underneath, what's inside. But you know. You always know, and you have to accept and eventually embrace that. You have to be able to walk proud not just because of how you may be seen on the outside, but for who you are within."

I placed a hand on my chest. I could feel the singlet concealed underneath my new shirt. What Rick was saying actually made sense.

He took me by the shoulder and led me over to the mirror. My reflection did nothing to betray the hidden singlet I had on. Rick said, "Lots of people will say that once you come out to yourself, you have to come out to others. You have to become a rabid advocate, or start a newsletter, or whatever else they feel should be your personal agenda. I say no, not if you don't want to. Accepting yourself as gay doesn't mean shouting it from the rooftops or taking out a full page ad in the local paper. You don't have to get in other people's faces. You just have to get the guilt and fear out of your own."

He pointed to my reflection in the mirror. "Who do you see?"

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to answer. I never did well on oral tests. "Umm...a gay kid?"

"No", Rick corrected me. "I see you. Dickie. Just you. A great kid and a good person. That's who I see."

I smiled. "I am gay too, you know."

He patted me on the back. "You'd never know it to look at you."

I reached behind me and adjusted my pants. "It's not even rubber, though."

"Didn't want to give you an excuse to take it off at lunchtime, in case you got too sweaty. Have a nice day tomorrow."

The next day in school, I had never been so nervous. Before first period and all through home room I was unbelievably jumpy, waiting for some huge jock or popular girl to point a condemning finger at me, as if they somehow had heterosexual x-ray vision and could see the legend written across my singlet underwear. By second period, I was doing much better. No one noticed me, really. They were too caught up thinking about themselves. By the fourth class, I was chatting more than usual with other kids, friends, and classmates. I felt good. I knew who I was and no one else did, not really. By the end of the day, I realized the steadily growing feeling of euphoria I had was not due to my knowing something they didn't. It was because I knew who I was and it didn't matter if anyone else did. Being gay is an important part of my identity, yes. But it isn't my whole identity. I'm me, and that's that.

In his second apartment, Rick stopped making the sandwich he was building as he felt a rush of peace flood through his system. He smiled involuntarily, and muscles formerly tensed in his back grew slack and free of pain. He finished making his sandwich and put on an old record as he dined. The favorite lp was even lovelier than he recalled. The sandwich was delicious.

"Whoa. Is that you?"

I looked up suddenly to see Gerald leaning over my desk. I had been sitting in the vocational room before class, flipping through some of the copies of the prints Rick had given me from our sessions together. What lay before me were images of me as a superhero, some as the farmboy, even a handful of me working in the mock sewers.

"Um, yeah. This guy on my paper route does graphic art. I work for him sometimes. he uses me as a model."

Gerald gingerly picked up the print of me in hero tights zooming through the sky above a computer-generated cityscape. "These are awesome. I've never seen anything this sophisticated up close. You are so lucky to be able to do this kind of thing and learn about it firsthand."

"It's fun", I said lamely.

"It looks it", Gerald beamed. "Now this is pretty interesting." He picked up a shot of me in the sewer worker's gear, spattered with faux dookie. He flipped it around to show it to me. "Guess it's not all fun and games though, huh?"

I took back the print, grimacing slightly. "It was for an ad job he had. Or an article or something. Families who work dredging sewers, like that. It was a little gross."

Gerald said, "I don't know. That look kind of suits you."

I started to say, 'Yeah, right', expecting to see a smart alec expression on his face. But his face was passive, his expression straight forward. I opened my mouth to say something, realized I didn't know what to say, closed it. Then I looked at the print again. "You really think I look in this one? THIS one?"

Gerald stuck his tongue in his cheek. "I think it may be the shiny jacket. Even with the shit on it, it looks good on you."

"It wasn't really shit, it was mud", I confided.

"Even so. The jacket and those boots. The boots are cool."

I just smiled at him, not knowing how to comment. "Thanks."

Our teacher walked in and the rest of the kids in class began to file in. Gerald just looked at me for a moment, and I looked back. Feeling a bit uncomfortable, I busied myself with putting away the prints in my backpack. "If this guy on your paper route ever needs another model, let me know", Gerald said. I just nodded and Gerald went back to his desk. Twice during that day's lecture he looked over at me and smiled. I smiled back.

Rick rifled through old boxes and drawers in his second apartment, wondering where in the hell he had stashed it. It wasn't in the half-finished senior class memory book, it wasn't with the dust-covered yearbooks. Not in any of the photo albums, not in the hall closet, not downstairs in his storage area. It had been on his mind lately, especially since he knew young Dickie's own prom was fast approaching. Rick was just about to give up when he found the box under the bed.

It was covered in dust and a fair share of dust bunnies. But he remembered it upon seeing it. He'd shoved all manner of memorabilia in here with the intention of either burning it all or throwing it in the lake. In the end, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he shoved it under the bed, returning it there at each new locale, pretending not to notice it the few times he had to retrieve it when he moved.

Rick wiped off the dust and dirt as he popped open the folded-over flaps keeping it secure. It was filled near to bursting with items of a life long gone, of masquerades and subterfuge, of carefully maintained disguises not quite as effective as he'd once believed.

He fingered his way past old boutonnières, play programs, and snapshots, grimy from over a decade and a half of neglect. The dance he'd gone to with the boss's daughter as a favor to him after she'd wept for weeks when the other kids called her fat. The cheezy program from the museum's Reader's Theater he took the foreign exchange girl to because he liked her accent. Unfortunately, his attraction to her stopped there. Events, banquets, unbearably dull sporting events, all attended with smiling face, eager attitude, and complete lack of interest. Face after face of delighted young girls with big hair smiled back at him from a plethora of prints, all of whom glowed with joy at having been invited to formals when they'd already resigned themselves to a lonely night of staying home. Instead of wallowing in rejection or going stag, they waltzed across the floor, so to speak, with a perfect gentleman who doted with flair. And Rick was always a perfect gentleman.

At the bottom of the box, he found it. The photo from his senior prom. It was larger than the others, still in its shoddy cardboard frame that belied the cost of having it taken. He stood in his hideous baby blue tuxedo with his art class pal who actually looked good in her cream-colored dress, and had sufficient charm to add just enough blue trim to her ensemble so as not to leave Rick looking like a complete buffoon.

The photo did a fine job of capturing the spirit of the prom, up to a point. Kathy, the girl in the cream dress was the first one Rick had actually wanted to ask to a formal. And she had actually accepted. They were already friends, so the night was filled with laughter and fun with no awkward pauses and desperate moments of attempted cleverness. Dinner was great, the photo session went well (when Rick wasn't making his date burst into laughter), and she was less freaked out than he'd anticipated during his spastic boogie-convulsions during Flock Of Seagull's "I Ran". Everything went perfectly. Until the incident at the punchbowl. Even after all this time, Rick could recall it with frightening clarity.

Relations between Rick and his best friend had been strained ever since Rick's aborted attempt to come out to him. Their visits together were becoming less frequent, with the friend citing his part-time job as his main excuse. The two had met a couple weeks before prom, however, and Rick had suggested the two of them going stag, as neither one of them was dating. The friend reluctantly agreed, but later cancelled. Work.

So Rick went out on a limb and asked Kathy, who accepted. Now he and Kathy approached the punch bowl where other tuxedoed students were serving up drinks to their ladies. Among them was Rick's best friend. And his date.

"I thought you weren't coming", Rick said coldly.

"You thought wrong", his friend said.

The girl beside the friend looked at Rick. "So who is this guy?"

"Nobody. Just ignore him. Why don't you take the drinks to our table, honey."

Rick was incredulous. "You're here with HER?!" It was Amy Deross. A less attractive girl there may be, but if so Rick was unaware of her. "She's your date??"

"It was last minute", the friend said.

"Last minute?", Amy said, looking exasperated. "We've only been dating for like two months!"

Rick began to fume. "You've been seeing her behind my back?"

"Behind your what? What the fuck is the matter with you? Since when do I have to report to you for permission to have a social life? Should I be pissed off at you then? 'Cause I see you managed to get your own date."

"That's only because I thought you weren't coming!!"

"What is this guy's problem?", Amy said.

The friend grabbed her by the arm and led her away. "Who the hell knows. He's unstable. Let's get away from him."

Caught up in emotional overload, Rick called after him, "Why didn't you want to come with me? Just tell me that much!"

The friend roared. "Because I don't want to be your DATE, you lousy QUEER!!"

The room fell silent. Even the music had stopped playing. Everyone was staring at Rick. They had been for some time. He was stuck, trapped. Nowhere to run to, nowhere to hide. The friend knew if he was to make his final move, now was the time. So, loud enough for everyone to hear without sounding like the performance it was, he said clearly, "You can't keep following me around all the time. I don't care if you keep going on about how much you're in love with me. Get it through your head. I am NOT. That. WAY."

The friend took his date and departed into the crowd. The crowd that was staring at Rick. The girls were all shaking their heads in pity, the boys either laughing or sneering in disgust. Rick looked around frantically for Kathy. Kathy could save him. Her presence alone would stand as proof that Rick wasn't a fairy. He would leap to his date's side and show everyone there that he wasn't--

But Kathy was gone. She had left during the heated exchange so she would not be left to deal with the aftermath. Kathy was no idiot. She wasn't much of a friend, as it turns out, but she was no idiot.

Rick's high school career ended that night. He was met with jeers in the halls from then on, became the butt of all jokes, was even spat upon from passing school buses. Oddly enough, no one recalled the friend. Everyone remembered him differently. When mentioned, he was relegated to the title of "some poor guy that fag kid hit on". The one Rick had considered his best friend got away unscathed. Not so for Rick, who was branded as an outcast and a freak.

Back in the second apartment, Rick dropped the old prom photo back into the box. He let out a deep breath and said three words. "Not this time."