Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(10)



“No, Dante, you shouldn’t do that. You’re too good. You can’t quit.”

“Yes, I can.”

“Don’t, Dante.” I was thinking that he just wanted to spend more time with me—especially because we didn’t go to the same school. I didn’t want to be responsible for Dante holding himself back. “You’re too fucking good to quit.”

“So what? It’s not as if I’m going to the Olympics or anything.”

“But you love swimming.”

“I’m not giving up swimming. I’m just leaving the swim team.”

“What did your parents say?”

“My dad was okay with it. My mom, well, she wasn’t very happy. There was yelling involved. But look at it this way—this gives us more time to be together.”

“Dante, we spend plenty of time together.”

He didn’t say anything. I could tell he was upset. Then he whispered, “I even told my mom I wanted to go to Austin High School. Just so we could spend more time together. I guess you don’t feel the same way.” He was trying to hold back his tears. Sometimes I wished he wouldn’t cry so damned much.

“It’s not that. It’s just—”

“Don’t you think it would be a lot more fun if we went to the same school?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You agree with my mother, don’t you?”

“Dante—”

“Ari, don’t talk. Just don’t talk. I’m too angry with you right now.”

“We can’t be together all the time.”

“Ari, I said, ‘don’t talk.’?”



* * *



As we walked toward his house in the silence of Dante’s anger, a silence that I was not allowed to break, I wondered why Dante was so unreasonable. But I knew the answer already. Dante may have had a brilliant mind, but emotions ruled him. And he was stubborn as hell. I didn’t know how to deal with that. I guess I would have to learn.

We reached his house—and we both stood there, saying nothing.

Dante didn’t say bye; he didn’t even face me. I watched him walk into his house and slam the door behind him.





Eighteen


AS I WAS WALKING HOME, I was as confused as I had ever been. I was in over my head in this relationship with Dante. Relationship. That was a vague term if ever there was one. It could describe just about anything. I mean, Legs and I had a relationship.

I loved Dante. But I didn’t really know what that meant. Where was love supposed take you?

And besides, we were beginning our last year of high school. And then what? I knew that Dante and I weren’t going to go to the same college. I hadn’t thought about college very much, and I knew Dante was always thinking about it. Not that we’d talked about it much. But there was this school that he’d talked about when I met him. Oberlin. It was in Ohio, and it was, according to Dante, just the kind of college he’d like to go to.

And me? I knew I wasn’t going to go to some private school. That was for sure. Not in the cards for a guy like me. I was thinking maybe UT. Mom said Austin would be a good place for me to go to college. My grades were good enough, I guess. Not that the good grades came easy. Hell no. I had to work hard. I didn’t have Dante’s giant brain. I was a workhorse. Dante was a thoroughbred. Not that I knew anything about horses.

Dante really was my only friend. It was complicated to be in love with your only friend. And now there was an anger from him that I hadn’t expected—that I didn’t even know was there. I had always assumed that there was no anger in him. But I was wrong. Not that anger was such a bad thing. I mean, it could be a bad thing. Oh hell, talking to yourself was no good. You just went around in circles.

What did “Aristotle and Dante” mean?

I was depressing myself. I was good at that. I had always been good at that.





Nineteen


THE FRONT DOOR WAS OPEN when I got home. My dad had put in a new screen door, and my mom liked to keep the door open. Even when the air conditioner was on. “It airs the house out.” My dad was always shaking his head and muttering, “Yeah, we’re trying to cool off the entire neighborhood.” My dad, he liked to mutter. Maybe that’s where I got it from.

When I walked into the house I heard two voices talking. The voices were coming from the kitchen. I stopped and realized that I heard Mrs. Quintana’s voice. I froze. I don’t know why. And then I heard my mom saying, “I’m scared for them. I’m scared the world will beat the decency out of them. I’m scared and I’m angry.”

“Anger’s not going to do us any good.”

“Aren’t you angry, Soledad?”

“I am a little angry. People don’t understand homosexuality. I’m not sure I understand it either. But you know, I don’t have to understand someone to love them—especially if that someone is my son. I’m a therapist. I have gay clients and gay friends. None of this is new to me. But it is new to me because now we’re talking about my son. And I have no idea what’s in store for him. And for Ari.”

Then there was quiet, and I heard my mom’s voice. “Ari, he’s so full of self-doubt already. And now this.”

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