Love Is the Higher Law by David Levithan Page B

and I pretty much confessed my crush on Peter Jennings. And maybe it was all the talk of Peter Jennings, but suddenly I was like, Why am I here on the couch with this seventeen-year-old Ewanish boy and totally keeping my hands to myself? Was it him or was it me that was stopping us? I figured he’d be into it, but I didn’t want to freak him out if he wasn’t. I decided to turn the flirtation up a notch, remembering that I’d said we weregoing to watch Cabaret . Once I put the movie on, I asked him if he liked the lights on or off—clearly code words for “Do you want to sit here like we’ve been sitting or do you want to start making out?” He said he could do either, which was no help whatsoever.
    The movie started, and I wasn’t remotely interested in it. I slid a little closer to him, but it was a completely missed signal. After a while I realized how late it was getting, and I wondered if Peter was planning on going home or staying over. Finally he pointed out that it was almost midnight, and it was really clear in his voice that he wanted to stay. I thought of him trying to get the subway all the way back, and I knew I couldn’t do that to him. But I also didn’t want him to think he had to stay, because I knew I was going to crash pretty soon. When I asked him if he was going to get in trouble with his parents, he told me he’d already made up an alibi for them. This got my attention—he was playing a little more of a game than I’d pegged him for. Still, he didn’t make a move. I figured we could start making out during the rest of the DVD, so we restarted it, and I realized too late that even though it has music, Cabaret is a fucking downer of a movie, as most things that end with the Holocaust tend to be.
    Soon Sally Bowles’s party was over, and it looked like ours was going to follow suit. I could barely keep my eyes open, and every time I yawned, Peter would echo it with another yawn. I tried to feel some kind of sexual current in the room, but came up with more yawning. Maybe my receptors were out of commission.I told him it was probably time to call it a night. And I realized that there was no way we were going to sleep in the same bed—that would lead him on too much, and I didn’t want to lead him on. The right thing to do was to leave him alone.
    I could hear the rain outside, and I opened my window and breathed a little of it in before I got the sheets for the couch. I could’ve given him my parents’ room, but I could imagine them making a late-night arrival at JFK, then cabbing home to find a complete boy-stranger in their bed. (It would be even worse if they found him in my bed … with me.) I knew I should have explained this to him, but I was too tired even for that. I figured he’d just go with it, and it would be fine.
    But he looked disappointed when he saw the sheets, and even though I told him the sofa was really comfortable, I knew it wasn’t the sleep that he was worried about. I felt like my blood was venom now, for ruining this kid’s night like this, but I wasn’t in the mood to be with anyone. At least not until I was back in my room with the door closed, trying to go to sleep. I’d made the mistake of hugging him good night, and it was odd how that stayed with me. It wasn’t meant as anything but friendliness. But I started to imagine him in my bed, us just holding each other, and that started to sound good to me. Outside, it was all thunder and lightning—real spooky-movie stuff. I could hear him shuffling around in the living room, watching the TV on low, trying to fall asleep to the news that was keeping us all awake. I had no idea what I wanted, only that I wanted something , which is the worst kind of wanting. I sat up in bed and stayed like thatfor a good fifteen minutes. Finally I decided I’d just go and check on him, and when I did, I found him completely awake. There was no place on the couch to sit, so I just sat lightly on his legs.
    “Hello,” I