I’ve been in love with my homeboy—technically my best friend—for as long as I can remember.

But if I ever called him that to his face, it would be one-sided as hell. I still tell other people he’s my best friend, just never when he’s around. The second I do, his whole face tightens like I’ve insulted his bloodline. He says I’m “too much,” that I don’t act “girly” enough, that I’m always “acting like a stud.” Whatever that means.

I never confessed ten years ago in ...