Openly Straight Read Online Free PDF Page B

actually, hurt her.
    Claire Olivia and I had been best friends forever. Our families were friends, and my first memory of her was my parents talking about her name. Her parents were typical Boulder loonies, sort of like my folks. My parents had met at Oberlin College, which is this liberal paradise in the middle of Ohio, and Claire Olivia’s had met at Reed College, Oregon’s Oberlin. The name they chose for their first daughter, Claire Olivia, sounded perfectly nice. But here was the deal: Her last name was Casey. Her mother spoke fluent Spanish for her job. They named her Claire Olivia so they could call her Claire O. Casey.
    Which was supposed to sound like “Claro que sí.” Which means, But of course .
    Claire Olivia rebelled — but of course — once she was old enough to realize her name was also a joke, and she insisted on being called Claire Olivia ever since. We now referred to the incident as an NWI: Naming While Intoxicated. Which should obviously be a crime.
    I would know, since I, Seamus Rafael Goldberg, was another victim of an NWI. I always got a lot of “Oh, is your mother Irish?” on the first day of school each year from my new teachers.
    “Nope,” I’d say.
    “Your … father?” they’d ask as a hopeful follow-up. I could see the combinations and permutations flutter through their minds. This was Boulder. It could easily be two moms. Two dads. A dad, a mom, and an orangutan. Three Amish hipsters and a transgendered Aboriginal mermaid.
    “Nope,” I’d answer. “My parents went to Oberlin.”
    And the teachers would nod, usually. Sometimes they’d creep backward, slowly. Often they wouldn’t respond at all, just go on to the next name. Everyone knew about Oberlin.
    So Claire Olivia and I bonded over horrible names as kids. We were inseparable through elementary school, junior high, and the first two years of high school. The spring of eighth grade, she was the first person I told about being gay. She was like, Wow, shocker .
    When I decided I wanted to go to Natick, she was in denial, while I just wanted to leave. So we never really talked it out until the good-bye party my parents threw for me at Barker Reservoir. We hadsnuck a couple bottles of Corona and sat on one of the concrete benches that faced the water.
    “You psyched?” Claire Olivia asked. She was wearing all black — mourning, she explained.
    I took a swig, swished the beer around in my mouth, and swallowed. “I dunno,” I said, rubbing my knees together. “Kind of psyched.”
    She snorted and gulped down more beer. “You’re abandoning me for kind of ?”
    “I’m psyched,” I said.
    “You don’t sound psyched at all.”
    “Well, it’s just weird, you know? I’ll be, like, the one new junior, and the rest of the kids …”
    “Guys,” she corrected, looking at me through narrowed eyes. To Claire Olivia, even the idea of an all-boys boarding school was misogynistic.
    “Guys,” I repeated. “The rest of them will already know each other, and I’ll be this outsider freak.”
    I hadn’t told her about the main reason I was going to Natick. I knew she wouldn’t understand.
    Claire Olivia put the beer bottle against her forehead. I wondered if it was still cold, so I did the same. Lukewarm. We were silent for a bit. I listened to the way the water lapped against the concrete barrier, the faint sounds of the party my parents were throwing.
    “Well, aside from the fact that I will be totally alone for the next two years,” she muttered, rolling the bottle back and forth, “I guess I’m glad for you.”
    “It’s only two years. I’ll see you in college. I promise.”
    “You suck,” she mumbled.
    We made brief eye contact and she quickly looked away. My gut churned. I put my hand on Claire Olivia’s shoulder, even though we were not touchy people. She looked over at it as if it were an exotic parrot. I took it off, and we sat silently, looking out at the reservoir. She sighed.
    “I’m just not