(Unedited)

My room is my sanctuary, where I sit and collect thoughts about telling my Catholic - Jewish parents I'm gay. Additionally, as I think about their religious views, this is not the best thing to do. Their religious views are precisely the things keeping me from telling them. In addition to my father, a full Catholic, my mother, a full Jew, attended church with him. Over the years, I had repeatedly rebelled against going to church; if the Catholic Church did not support gays, why should I bother going?

Shortly after realising my sexuality at such a young age, I knew that I had broken the rule I was supposed to follow. Men cannot love, and women bring love to a relationship. With this brought to mind, I realised that LGBTQ teenagers and youth brought up in religious families often weren't accepted upon coming out when they identified as LGBTQ because their religious societies shun identifying as LGBTQ, which causes them to remain in the closet.

While I was in the middle of a class essay, I heard Dryden in the living room. No doubt on his mission to get me a homework assignment done. He, much like myself, didn't attend church, except for temple at least once a month, something I had gotten used to over the years. He finally got my attention when he stood in the doorframe, opposite a Twilight poster I had got on a dare with him in middle school. Said poster is something I often debate taking down or not.

"How was the bus ride?" Dryden asked, followed by a scoff as he crashed on my twin-sized bed. I should speak up and tell him how I got home. He was my best friend, and I was sure that I could tell him anything. What if I couldn't tell him, though? What if he also judged me, telling me that I shouldn't ride with Christian. On second thought, would he even give a shit?

"I didn't ride the bus. I found a ride," I told him half the secret I had been dreading.

'What's going on? You, Luke Bradyn Montgomery, asked someone for a ride home?' Dryden confused me as he used my full name, which he rarely used. I couldn't understand why I still allowed him to do so. However, now in senior year, I doubted telling him even so rarely not to call me by my full name would do any good.

I added before he could ask any other questions. "How was football?" I ask in place to change the subject. As he talked about football, I showed what little knowledge I had. He could explain for hours, and I still wouldn't understand a word he had been saying, another thing of the years he had gotten used to.

"Shouldn't you be doing homework instead? Isn't that what you came over here for instead of bugging me about events you weren't there for?" I integrated him again, knowing Dryden had shown up more than likely for anything but homework.

"I will do my homework when I get home. Gotta keep it clean for football, you know? If I want this scholarship, my grades need to be good. That is something you should know if you have acquired that homework," Dryden says with apparent authority.

"I do acquire it, though. I don't have a football scholarship waiting for me as you do, Dryden," I responded as a reaction towards what he had said. "I don't guarantee I'll have all straight A's, and I don't know if the college I plan to attend will accept me," I revealed to him, not knowing what he'd say.

It was the moment my phone sent me a notification notifying me of a new text message. Instead of answering it right away, I decided to do it later. Dryden suddenly eyed my phone as though he wanted me to respond to see what it was or if it had anything to do with him. I had a suspicion it was Christian. I didn't want the questions that would follow if it were.

After removing my history book from my bag and setting it on my bed, I tell Dryden that I am studying for a history test tomorrow. I was not sure if he would believe me because of his reaction.

Shortly after he left, I picked up my phone, where in fact, it had been Christian who had texted me. I felt relieved knowing that Dryden wouldn't interrogate me. I knew I should've been studying for my test as I told Dryden, but now everything seemed to be controlled by a blonde-haired boy on the other line.

Why were my heart rates ten times faster when I saw his name? I was sure this wasn't like my crush on Mitchell Corthell, the Priests kid in sixth grade. I avoided admitting the passion for reasons besides pride. Even if Mitchell's father had found out later, I was sure I would have been apprehensive about the outcome.

Christian:
We have a test tomorrow 🌄
Study at least three hours

Mr Olsten had stated nothing about a test. He was anxious about that; how could he know that? I wonder how to respond. Should I respond? Finally, speaking out of desperation, I did.

Me:
Are you sure? Mr Olsten hadn't said anything about a test.
Also, Why study for three hours?

My now abandoned history book lay beside me, alongside the homework I told Dryden I'd do, now a beacon of hope as I remembered I'd have study hall to do it. While it was technically last minute, I prepared myself for the wait.

It's not true. I just wanted to see how you'd react. Christian replied with a few geeky emojis, and I laughed again, unsure what to text back. I usually only text Dryden. Should I ask Christian something else to continue this conversation?

As for the question, three hours of study time is enough for you. It's senior year, the most studying you do in high school before college. Christian replied to me. If I asked him to help me study to help me raise my grades, what would his opinion be? Would he say yes, or would he say something else? Shortly after the thought, I leave it forgotten. He didn't need to know how I thought my grades were worth being brought up.

Is the information you provided factual, or is that something you just thought sounded nice on the spot? I text back, realising I had sent him another text message. It was more than an emoji or an impulsive message to Dryden or my parents.

In addition, I had wondered what would happen if either of my parents somehow found themselves in my bedroom at any given moment, something they regularly did. This would likely lead to them regret opening my bedroom and land me with awkward talk.

Christian:
Right now, I'm mastering the art of AP Government. Boring as hell.
Don't take this class next semester. You should be studying the art of Velocity.

As he brought up Physics, I wanted to clarify that Mr Olsten had not assigned us any homework. Did Christian have a point? Should I study a subject that has not yet been given?

Time travel, right? That's what velocity is about. I replied through my nervousness, wondering whether he might get upset with me because I may or may not have made a horrible joke. Dryden always reminded me that my jokes were terrible and that I shouldn't keep trying to make them. What might Christian think of my joke?

He responded with some geeky emojis. How could he be sure of that? Every science fiction novel or medium I had read had not mentioned it as such. Although, through research, it's been established time travel has plausible deniability. It's under those guidelines; no one believes until a prominent figure in the plotlines dies, and depending on the plotlines, restarts or different timelines are set according to how they died.

This would be laughed at by school society. Had I thought of such a theory? Could this velocity assignment Christian motivate me to complete the homework that Dryden and my parents had been pushing me towards?

Interesting theory. Now write and take some notes while reading. As for Christian, the boy I had seen shirtless earlier today, he had been redefined to be a boy with blonde hair and an emoji merely. Compared to me, he seemed fearless and confident. Would it be fair to consider him a friend? I had hoped so.

My parents entered the house below. I wasn't clear what they were discussing, likely trying to figure out if I was working on homework. I realised that texting Christian had been considered homework for Physics, though it was a debate over text messages. Would society see it that way, or would it still be deemed to be done by the certainty of handwritten proof?

"Dryden didn't stay long?" That's the opening line of my father's message as he and my mother walk upstairs. I knew what would happen, so I put my text on hold and thought about what to tell them if they wanted to know where he was. Often I had contemplated on telling my parents Dryden didn't hang around much since football started.

As my father stood inside the doorframe, half a foot taller than myself, I said to him, "He's decided to study at home." In the light, his light latte-coloured skin shimmered, and that was the only resemblance we shared; it was hard for my mother to accept since she probably wanted some other feature besides my hazel eyes.

"Dryden said he would have calculus homework," I say to my father in an applet tone. I was sure that calculus was another subject he wanted me to succeed in. My fathers' dreams were crushed when he learned I was not taking the class. My father looked as though he wanted to say something else but let it go. Like many parents who care for their children, I expected my mother to want to know what this conversation was about; but my words often failed me in my case.

My phone pings again before I can think of anything else to say. With my father in the room, I had forgotten about my phone and texts from Christian. I was sure he'd only think it was Dryden on the other end of the line. If he asked, what would my answer be? Will he be so understanding as to it being a physics partner? My father says nothing as he turns and walks away from my room.

I open the text message and find a selfie of Christian wearing shorts and a tie-dyed tank with his tongue sticking out and the caption Confidence Vibe. I get inspired to reply, but nothing comes to mind, so I stop and close the window.

Sorry. Studying. I text back, albeit it is the truth, as it should have been. Should I have added a selfie or emoji as well? Before I go forward with that thought, I send the message. Would Christian believe it?

My answer came out with a message a few seconds later. The reply was Sure. I'll quiz you tomorrow, Hemsworth. Shit. Would Christian do that? The only short quiz Dryden would give me was the one on grades, college, football, or a hot female athlete he was currently crushing on. I have avoided the latter, trying to be careful with whom I talk about having an interest within.

Me:
Seriously? I would fail to study gravity.

Even though I had no doubt, he would judge me as if I'd failed at gravity. Would that even be possible? I didn't know if anyone had ever failed at such things. Then again, I was sure someone besides myself had. The falling of an apple had discovered gravity.

Christian:
That's what notes are for. In case a test pops up.
Then you'd fail.

The clock showed one fifteen am. I was texting Christian for the longest time in my life. How would Christian behave later in school? Would he be like this? All talk and making sure I had notes to study with, or would he be someone entirely different?