His Paper Doll

I'm constantly being asked about Han and me. People don't ever get that we’re just friends. The closest we've ever come to doing anything
was hanging all over each other, sweaty and rolling in a pile, at this one rave.

They don't see that Han needs someone who won’t screw him over, who will be true if that word even means anything anymore. He needs a friend, one who won't care if he does something stupid or wrong. I tore off a strip of clear tape and added the arm to the pretty little Frankenstein in my hands. I needed Han as a guide through queer teen
life, as someone who I could share all my thoughts and feelings with.

"So why the doll?"

"I told you, it's a voodoo doll. I read this book on them. Sympathetic
magic, they call it."

I looked up to see him giving me that sad smile.

My creation had the face of a blond angel perched on the torso of a
tasty bare-chested jock. I sighed. "Does he look like a personal portable wishing well?"

"That's going to get you a boyfriend?" His eyes squinted a moment
at the doll, then shook his head. "We def need to get out."

"It's Tuesday. There's nothing to do."

"Let's go somewhere." He leaned over and made a playful grab at
the doll. "You could bring your date along."

"Be serious." Now that I had finished, I felt sorta silly holding it.