Read Online The Great American Whatever by Tim Federle - Free Book Online Page B

work,” he says. “Can we not make a big deal out of this? Unless, I mean, you want to.”
    â€œGeoff , for real ,” the girl goes. But I realize she’s not a girl. She’s a manager. She’s still training Geoff.
    â€œOne sec, Venessa. This is important.”
    â€œI mean,” I go, hoping the song will get even louder. Bring on the cymbals. “I’m not sure if I’m gay or what. I might be bi.”
    Geoff snort-laughs and punches my shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, “and I might be European.”
    I don’t totally know what this means, other than: Geoff is not European.
    He puts his hat back on. “Quinn, I’ve known for, like, ever. Unless you’re confessing that you’re in love with me—” He stops. His face goes a little white. “Oh God, I mean—if you are, I’d be flattered, but—”
    â€œEw, Geoff. Please. You name your farts. Seriously.”
    We laugh. We laugh hard. He heads back to the counter, just as his manager gets a call on her cell. When she crouches behind the seasonal drink display in order to take it, she thinks that nobody’s watching her, but I am. I see everything. It’s haunting. It is not a gift to see everything, believe me.
    â€œOkay, I guess I’m . . . heading home, then,” I say. Turns out this is a very minor scene. Might even end up on the cutting-room floor. I like that.
    â€œNo,” Geoff goes, after he rings up another customer, “you’re getting a phone at the Verizon store and then you’re texting me which foreign film we’re seeing tonight.”
    I hate foreign films. “Who said I want to see a foreign film tonight?” I don’t want to have to read at a movie.
    â€œMy bad,” Geoff says, resting his elbows on the counter. “I thought all gay dudes were, like, obsessed with foreign films.” He is teasing.
    â€œGeoff, keep your voice down.” I look around again. “Relax.”
    â€œ You relax, you big queen,” he says. I gasp again. He is totally poking fun at me. He is totally the best.
    I turn to the parking lot, shaky, but then: “Hey,” I say, back to Geoff, “what happened to your mustache?”
    Okay, imagine the theme music to Jaws , because his manager is BACK. She takes a rag and wipes down the counter, and when she sees that Geoff isn’t busy, she literally puts his hand on the rag to take over, and then she looks at me like I’m in her living room ruining Christmas morning.
    â€œThe mustache ,” the manager says—to me !—“wasn’t professional-looking.”
    Geoff gently puts his head against the refrigerated food case and closes his eyes like he’s really embarrassed. I take a step toward him. He looks up. The manager turns to the next customer. Geoff winks at me.
    â€œSee you later—girlfriend,” he says.
    â€œGeoff. I’ll kill you.”
    But there we go again. Laughing.
    I pivot away, and hold the icy cup up to my neck in preparation for the smack of heat outside. But just before I’m out the door, Geoff goes “Psst!” like we’re seven years old, making a couch-cushion fort in his basement. Back when our parents were friends and our big sisters took ballet together and we weren’t gay or straight, we were just Quinny and Geoffy.
    â€œYeah?” I say.
    â€œAmir Turani,” Geoff says, louder than Annabeth would have directed him to speak, “thinks you have a cute butt.”

CHAPTER NINE
    I ’m late for Staring Practice.
    â€œLike I said,” my therapist goes, adjusting her laptop screen and giving me a nostril view that one could describe as “vivid.” “We can use your remaining time however you’d like, Quinn.”
    We’re thirty minutes into our regular forty-five-minute Skype session, but we’re really just three minutes into it; see, it wasn’t till