The stereotypical girl—or guy—saying “ping-pong” over and over again to a tune played on a flute while someone else tapped on a gong—the sort of music that’s normally played in the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet—had been replaced by Bing Crosby on perpetual repeat.
I pushed pieces of General Tso’s chicken around with chop sticks, trying to decide if I wanted to eat what was left on my plate or stand up and get something else to buy myself time to think. Corin was gay and it felt like my wildest dream had come true, but I was having reservations about the whole situation. It probably had something to do with his complete and obvious lack of experience.
I peered at Corin, sitting across the table from me, and the photo of him splashed across the front page of The Tidal Wave, our high schoo
