“Is it because you wanted to get back at me? For keeping a secret from you, about NYU?”
“What? No! It has nothing to do with that!”
“Because I’d understand if it was.” Gretchen’s voice is soft. “I know you’re probably still mad.”
“I’m not mad! I was never mad to begin with.” I reach around to scratch my back. The binder is itching like crazy. And it’s hot in here. How did I never notice how hot it is in here?
I lean back on the bed, resting my head against the wall. The hard masonry digs into my scalp. I’ll have to clean the smears of hair gel off it in the morning before Ebony gets back. I need it to ground me if we’re going to have this conversation, though.
Gretchen’s watching me, tears starting to form. Oh, God.
“Come here,” I say.
Gretchen lies down and puts her head in my lap. I pull strands of Gretchen’s hair between my fingers.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me,” Gretchen says, still in that soft, sweet voice. “I don’t want it to be, like, an obligation. It’s just, if you’re going to be not telling me stuff, especially the big stuff, then—could you maybe tell me up front that you’re not going to tell me? I don’t want any more surprises like that.”
“I didn’t mean to not tell you. I just—didn’t tell you. I guess. Does that make sense?”
“I don’t know.”
I wish I could see Gretchen’s face. I try to weave her hair into a braid, but my fingers are still fumbling from Nance’s damn punch. I settle for stroking it instead.
“I mean,” I begin, then stop. I don’t know how to explain this.
Usually I think about everything for a long time before I say what I’m thinking out loud to anyone. This time I broke tradition. One night when we were studying in the guys’ room, I looked up from texting with my sister about the essay she was writing for AP government and said, “I think I might like gender nonconforming better than genderqueer, actually.” Derek and Eli smiled. Nance rolled her eyes, gave me a thumbs-up and went back to her reading.
It was that simple.
Except nothing about this has ever been simple, really.
“It’s like this is all I think about anymore.” I don’t meet Gretchen’s eyes as I say the words. “Even when I’m not thinking about it, I’m thinking about it. I spend so much time talking about it, too. It sort of comes up naturally when I’m with Derek and my friends. It’s so normal, talking about it with him, that sometimes I forget what a big deal this stuff actually is. Wait, I’m messing up more pronouns, crap.”
“Yeah, you are. What was in that punch?”
“I don’t know, but you recovered from it a lot faster than I did.”
“I didn’t have that much. I was faking before so your friends would let us leave. Not that I don’t like them, but I’m not here for very much longer, and I want to spend time with you.”
“Yeah.” I nod and take Gretchen’s hand.
“Look, I understand what you’re saying. I think it’s great that this is all coming naturally to you. It’s just—please, remember you can talk to me, too, okay? Derek’s not the only one here who cares about you.”
Gretchen is crying. I want to cry, too.
“Come up here,” I whisper.
We kiss. A long, slow kiss. We aren’t frantic now, the way we were this afternoon. This time we’re kissing because we have something to prove to each other. To ourselves.
And because kissing is the easiest way to be close to each other.
And because we don’t know what else to do.
“I love you,” I say. That feels different this time, too.
“I love you, too.”
We kiss some more. Then we keep going until talking isn’t an option.
I’ve never kept anything from Gretchen before.
It isn’t only about the labels, either. That’s important, but it isn’t as important as some of the other stuff I’ve been thinking about. And talking to Derek about. And writing about in the privacy-locked journal I started a few weeks back.
It doesn’t mean I don’t love Gretchen. I do. I always will. Gretchen is a part of me. But that doesn’t mean Gretchen can understand all the other parts of me.
And. And. And what I said before was a lie.
I still can’t forgive Gretchen for what she did. No matter how much we love each other. I know I should. I want to forgive Gretchen, but that isn’t how this works. I can’t control it.
Thinking about it makes me want to cry some more.
“I love you,” I say again.
Gretchen says it, too, but I don’t know what it means anymore.
I don’t know what anything means right now.
8
NOVEMBER
FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE
1 DAY APART
GRETCHEN