A plate of chile rellenos—battered peppers stuffed with meat and cheese—was placed before Ben. He “oohed” and “aahed” over the meal and thanked Tim’s mother graciously. Her mouth relaxed into attractive lips that smiled in appreciation. Mr. Wyman remained unimpressed, studying Ben evenly before folding his hands. He led his family in prayer before they ate. Ben was prepared for this. Tim had tutored him multiple times on the ritual and what to say. Ben seamlessly intoned grace along with the Wymans as if he had long since been a member of their family.

There was no lull in conversation. Ben had done too much research for there to be. He started with Mexico City, Mrs. Wyman’s birthplace. After pouring through encyclopedias for hours, he had learned it was nicknamed the City of Palaces, that it was built by Aztecs in 1325, and boasted more museums than any other city in the world. He worked through these topics, claiming to have recently written a paper about the city for history class. Mrs. Wyman became animated, adding to his knowledge with great enthusiasm. Occasionally the topic of religion came up, ninety percent of Mexico City being Catholic, but Ben gently steered the conversation away every time it did.

Next he turned his charms on Mr. Wyman. This was much more difficult since the topic Ben had chosen to use was football, something he knew nothing about. Tim had coached him here too, teaching him the basics of the game before moving onto specifics involving Mr. Wyman’s favorite team, the Kansas City Chiefs. It would have been too blatant for Ben to claim to like the same team, so he chose instead to playfully attack a few of their players and games while defending the Dallas Cowboys. Ben felt fake during his conversation with Mr. Wyman, since he had absolutely no interest in sports, but Tim’s father didn’t seem to pick up on his insincerity.

“It is so nice to finally meet one of Tim’s friends,” Mrs. Wyman said in perfect but exotically accented English. “He’s been so protective of his social life since Kansas.”

“Not protective,” Tim contradicted. “I just like going out instead of staying home. I’m too old for sleepovers you know.”

If only they knew, Ben thought merrily.

“Do you know his other friends? His girlfriend?” Mrs. Wyman asked.

Ben quickly wiped his mouth with his napkin in order to cover the frown. Girlfriend? Her name had better be a codename for him, like Benita, Benjamina, or something along those lines.

“Of course he knows Krista,” Tim said, staring a hole into Ben’s head.

Krista Norman. Of course. “She’s really pretty,” Ben forced himself to say. “Popular, too.” He wasn’t happy with this deception, but he wasn’t about to let it ruin the evening.

“And what about you?” Mrs. Wyman inquired with a smile. “A fair-haired boy like you must also have a pretty girl.”

“Well, actually,” Ben began before his leg was kicked from under the table. He didn’t spare a glance for Tim as he kicked him back. If he wanted to stay in the closet then that was his problem, but Ben wasn’t going back in for anyone. “I have a boyfriend.”

Mrs. Wyman smiled and shook her head as if she had misheard, while Mr. Wyman cleared his throat nervously.

“He’s really great,” Ben continued, filling in the silence. “Goes to the same school as us, too.” He knew what to do next. He had to make it a nonissue. If he tried to explain who he was, or even defend his sexuality, they would instantly perceive it as weakness. He wanted to be as casual as if he had just declared his own eye color or favorite song. Time for the next topic.

“If I could find a restaurant around here that served authentic Mexican food like this,” Ben said, gesturing to his nearly empty plate, “I would eat there everyday. Everyone else would, too. Such a place would make a fortune! Maybe you should open one.”

Mrs. Wyman accepted his compliment, but it was clear that she was still confused. Ben distracted her by asking about her own career. Within minutes, the cloud formed by the revelation of his orientation had blown out the window like so much smoke. By the end of the meal, Ben was sure he had both of Tim’s parents eating out of his hand.

When they left for the movies as planned, there was a marked change in Tim’s behavior. He was more optimistic than ever before, having seen that the gay issue hadn’t caused his parents’ heads to explode. He even held Ben’s hand in the theater, something he was usually too nervous to do.

This was, Ben felt, the beginning of something grand. Once home, he enjoyed fantasies of both families being present and accepting at the wedding. He wanted nothing more than to share these hopeful visions with Tim, but they had decided to spend the night apart. It wouldn’t do to be caught sleeping together and destroy the delicate bridge that had been built.

Early the next morning, before Ben had even poured his ritual bowl of cereal, Tim was at his front door. Ben greeted him with a victorious smile, but the gesture wasn’t mirrored in Tim’s face.

“They don’t want me to see you anymore,” he stated bluntly.

“What?” Ben made him repeat the sentence, not believing what he had heard. “What happened? I thought they liked me?”

“They did, Benjamin, but Jesus Christ, they’re Catholic!” Tim’s voice was rising, threatening to attract attention, so Ben stepped outside and closed the door. “They aren’t going to ignore their religion just because you can bullshit about sports or geography!”

“Maybe they just need some time to--”

“To what? Call the Pope and ask him to change the rules for you?” Tim scowled at the concrete walkway. “I told you this would happen. I told you they would get in the way. How could I have been so stupid?”

“Nothing is in our way!” Ben said, trying to calm Tim but beginning to feel panicked himself. “So they aren’t going to invite me to dinner again. Big deal! We just go about things like we did before.”

“Do we?” Tim demanded angrily. “We just keep screwing around until the day they find us together? Jesus!”

“I think we can definitely leave him out of this,” Ben joked.

“This isn’t funny! My parents are going to be looking at me differently now. Questioning why their son is hanging around with someone like you!” If Tim noticed Ben’s startled reaction, it didn’t stop him. “Gee, honey,” he said, mimicking Mr. Wyman’s voice, “how come our son brought a gay guy to dinner and not his girlfriend? Hm. I fucking wonder!”

“Stop it,” Ben said, desperately suppressing his own anger.

“That’s exactly what we should do!” Tim spat before storming away.

Ben wanted to chase after him, but not to comfort him. He wanted to knock him to the ground and beat some sense into him. Instead he screamed, “Don’t ever come back!” and stormed back into the house and up to his room, where his anger turned to tears.

Late that night, when the moon was high and the lawnmowers and luxury cars had all fallen silent, Ben crept through the streets and into Tim’s room. Wordlessly, he took off his clothes and slipped into the sheets. They made love, violently at first, expressing their frustration with each other and the world before they slowed and their touches became gentle and apologetic.

* * * * *

Normally, with only four weeks left in the school year, Ben would be counting the days, but he and his friends were too preoccupied. For Ben it was preparing for the talent show. Allison had dragged Ben to Ronnie’s garage one day, where Ebony and Ivory played their song. The music was perfect, but Leon’s stoner voice didn’t do it justice. Ben and Allison were soon sharing the mic. They had found their duet.

Tim’s attention was focused mostly on his baseball games. The next two games could bring the school’s team to the state finals. Ben managed to attend some of these events, watching Tim from the bleachers while pretending to be the wife of a famous Major League player. Or maybe the mistress of one, considering that their relationship was shrouded in secrecy.