K Szpara: We're Here, We're Here

“I want to review some interview protocols with you. Nothing big, just a couple notes from the label.”

“Okay.” I lean forward until I can see the app on his phone. The one he uses to adjust our vocal implants.

“About what happened on stage tonight.”

“Okay?”

He rubs his hand over his evening stubble. “We want you to carefully consider how you answer questions about the incident.”

“Incident?”

“The kiss.”

“Oh, that.” I laugh. If I act like it didn’t mean anything, it won’t. “The fans loved it.”

“They did. That they did.” He disappears into his phone again, switching to a news app that streams video of the “incident” and photo on which someone has scribbled pink hearts with a stylus. I try to catch the website, but Jeff scrolls quickly before turning off his phone and looking right at me. “But is that really the image you want to cultivate?”

Is that a trick question? “Yes?”

“Let me re-phrase.” Jeff flattens his palms against one another and points his fingertips at me. “That’s not the image the label is hoping you’ll cultivate.”

“Zeke literally spanked me, on stage.” I’m smiling but Jeff isn’t. For the first time, I’m nervous.

“He’s a goofy guy,” Jeff says. “It was a joke.”

My smile goes stale. “Am I not funny?”

“You are, of course. You’re all good-humored guys. That’s why the fans love you. You’re easy going, approachable, you make them laugh.”

“But?”

“But you’re the one they always come back to, Tyler. The one they want singing ‘When I Kiss You’ to them. Whose last name they write on their binders. Who’s plastered on their bedroom walls. You’re the face of Back 2 Back. You’re…”

I know the word he’s looking for. “Wholesome.”

“Exactly!” Jeff nearly leaps out of his leather chair. “When I envisioned the band, I didn’t know who would comprise it, what your personalities would be, what you would look or sound like. But I knew I needed you. And I chose you over a thousand potential heart throbs because you’re smart and business savvy. And I trust that you can carry out my vision for the band. You can do that, right?”

I nod, pulling my knees up onto the chair.

“That’s good.” He smooths his tie. “If anyone asks about the incident, how about saying that it was Jasper’s idea. He’s got that bad boy thing going on.” Jeff tries to mimic Jasper’s smirk, but it looks creepy when he does it. “Anyway, I’ll let you get to the bus, celebrate with the guys. I think we understand each other.” He holds out his hand to me.

I’m on autopilot when I take it.

“Good man.” He pats me on the back and ushers me out, shutting the door behind me.

I stand in the cold hallway, staring at the painted cinderblock walls. I can still feel the imprint of Jeff’s hand on the back of my right shoulder. His assurance. And yet, I feel so unsure.

It’s almost 4:00 a.m. when I give up trying to sleep and wander into the back room on the bus. A reading lamp shines in the corner where Jasper sits sideways on the couch, wearing sweats and a clean black shirt. His sleeves rolled up, notebook in hand, pencil between teeth.

“Sorry, I—”

“It’s okay.” Jasper tucks the pencil into his beanie. “Stay.”

I walk over to the other end of the couch and slide onto the warm leather, pulling the bottom of his blanket up over my knees. “What’re you working on?”

He shrugs. “Had some lyrics in my head that I couldn’t get out. Nothing special.”

I’ve never seen Jasper write before—that’s Aiden’s thing. He’ll sit right there, too, curled up in a blanket and hoodie and spend hours writing and re-writing, pick his guitar up off the floor, play a few chords, hum, set it down, then write again. Zeke and I can play video games right beside him—nothing. None of us even try to get his attention while he’s in the zone.

“What about you?” His question startles me more than it should.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

But Jasper stares at me, his left eyebrow slowly rising.

“What? I couldn’t!” I whisper, eyes darting towards the door.

I can’t tell him I was thinking about the rush of kissing him in front of all those people. The heat of the lights, of his body, his mouth. I’ve never done that before—kissed a man in public since I’ve been one, too. It was just as terrifying as I thought it would be. And I want to do it again.

“Okay, Ty, um…” Jasper leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I know that kiss wasn’t a joke.” He dares to meet my eyes, but I can’t. I look away before all the blood in my body can rush to my face; it already is. “I’m guessing that’s why you’re still awake.”

I stand, looking at my feet. “Think I’m going to head back to—”

Jasper takes my hand. Stops me. “I know it’s awkward to talk about.”

“It’s not awkward.” I look him dead in the eye and remember what Jeff said—how I’m supposed to talk about “the incident.” “Because it was a joke. Sorry for making you uncomfortable.”

He laughs. Laughs. I curl my fingers into fists, even though he’s still holding on, pulling me towards him. How fucking dare he do this when I’m trying.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable, Tyler. You’re one of my best friends—you’re like my brother.” He pauses and I watch him think through the implications. “Whom I’d make out with, apparently. That’s weird. Sorry.”

I give in and laugh with him. My ears cool, or they’re so hot they’ve gone numb. “Glad I’m not the only weirdo.” I sit back down. Closer.

“Oh, I’m definitely weird, too. And I think Aiden might be weird? But it’s rude to ask, so I’m totally reading into his lyrics.”

We laugh again. My heart’s still beating fast, so I place a hand over it and take a deep breath.

“It’s okay to be weird.” Jasper takes both my hands in his. We can’t be this close again. I’m going to want to kiss him and we’re not on stage.

That’s the unwritten contract we have with each other and our fans. We’re freer when we perform. We can do things there we’d never do at an appearance or say on an interview. To some extent, it’s an act. We all know it. We can only dance if we’re mocking dancing, only touch and kiss if we’re mocking affection.

Jasper squeezes my hands. “But you can’t—”

“I know.” It hurts more than I thought it would, when he starts to say what Jeff already did. “We can’t…” Kiss each other on stage. “…do weird stuff during our concerts.”

“Well…”

“Well?” That wasn’t the response I expected.

“Tyler.” He sighs, then leans forward and kisses me for the second time. Lips chapped, smelling like pine trees and hops. He kisses me a third time—I’m counting, because I know we only have so many. My mother used to say the garage door only had so many ups and downs, because my cousins and I would play with the remote and she didn’t want us to break it. Same with the car windows. The computer only had so many startups and shutdowns. And Jasper and I only have so many kisses.

He catches my bottom lip between his teeth when he pulls away, biting. I gasp and grab on to his shirt.

“You can’t do weird stuff on stage. Because you’re the boy next door,” he says. “The heartthrob. Always single, always straight, always—”

“Wholesome,” I say to Jasper like I did to Jeff. “I get it. Zeke can grab my ass because he’s a joker and you can kiss guys because you’re the rule-breaker.” I scoff. “You’d think being trans would disqualify me—it’s not a secret.” I get asked about it during interviews all the time. “As long as I’m romantically available to our fan base, that’s what matters.” I pull my hand free of his and stand. “It’s not like any of them are going to fuck me, anyway, so it doesn’t matter what’s actually in my pants as long as the possibility exists.”