What happens when you tell the girls who trust and love you that you realized you sometimes look at them the way they expect boys to? Does everything—every borrowed lipstick and shared dressing room and innocent cheek kiss—become suspect, corrupted by some illusion of straightness?
My stomach churns, and I swear I feel my heart stop working. I’m going to be sick all over Agatha’s floor.
Illusion of straightness.
This isn’t an illusion; I am not an illusion. I’ve liked boys, plenty of boys, and all this with Talia is just … closeness.
The same closeness she had with Tori. No. Yes. Maybe.
Was it worth it? Was Tori worth it? Would Talia be?
“O?” Agatha tosses a container of glitter at me, which I narrowly catch before it can explode on her carpet.
“Huh?”
“All this glitter has me inspired.” She zips open the dress sleeve hanging behind her door and pulls out her pristine, almost glowing, white prom dress.
Linds and I look down at the glitter and fabric glue in our hands.
“No way,” Lindsay says, but she’s grinning. “I thought you were going to deck it out in beads for that extra umph.”
“What’s the saying?” Ags asks, turning to me. “‘?Por qué no los dos?’ Might as well finish off high school with a bang.”
I’m still at a loss for words as I recover from my tornado of thoughts, but I manage to smile and nod, ready to help.
While Agatha starts brushing the fabric with glue, Linds nudges me. “So, what was your damage anyway?” she asks. “Now that I know my shit wasn’t behind it, what was with the sad face at lunch?”
“I—um.” Tell them about Talia, Lucas, Jeremiah. “Cramps?”
Linds pats me on the shoulder, and Ags offers me aspirin, which I decline. I tell myself I don’t mention Lucas’s potential offer because they’d laugh it off as me looking too much into his words, or call me out for crawling back to my ex. It’s definitely not because there’s a chance they might tell me to go for it. Or because there’s a chance I might not want to.
TWELVE
Tuesday morning, I was ready to shed whatever residual weirdness I felt from yesterday and Saturday. But then Sammie whistled at Agatha and me when she leaned in to apply some of her lip gloss on me before class, Lucas ignored me in chemistry, and Lindsay snapped at me for hanging her posters too close to the trash cans. I abandoned the campaign efforts and headed back to the bench where Zaq, Talia, and Sammie were eating and watching over the rest of the posters.
“I think I just swallowed some glitter,” Sammie croaks. After tackling Ags’s dress and flowers, we had dumped the leftover glitter on the posters. Talia offers him a sip of water, but he shakes his head.
“Hey, Ophelia, Wes said you’re making corsages and boutonnieres for prom. How much are you charging?” Zaq asks.
“Oh, uh, nothing,” I reply, pushing the rice in my Tupperware around with a fork.
“Nothing? You know florists charge outrageous prices for those, right?” He grabs Talia’s water and takes the sip Sammie refused.
“Yeah, I know.” I put the lid on my rice, losing my appetite.
“We try to keep her humble,” Sammie says, apparently done choking on glitter.
“By not paying her for her labor? Don’t you want to do all that flower stuff professionally one day?” Zaq asks, a creeping edge to his voice. “You pay Agatha when she alters your clothes, right?”
“I mean, yeah, but that’s different.” I shrug. “Sewing takes time and money.”
“And all gardening takes is dirt?” he asks. “Look, Lindsay paid me for taking her photos. Let me pay for my and Talia’s flowers at least. I’m sure Wesley will pay for his and—” He cuts himself off when Sammie looks up from his lunch. “And Lindsay’s should be taken care of. By someone.”
I try to think of a way to thank him but still insist Talia’s corsage is a gift to her, without having to actually say that. I settle on mumbling gratitude and picking at the hem of my skirt.
“Hypothetical question, would someone taking Ophelia to prom have to pay for her corsage, then?” Sammie asks before coughing again. “Ugh, this glitter.”
“Jeez, just take some water,” Zaq says, uncapping Talia’s bottle and handing it to Sammie so forcefully that when Sammie refuses it again, he accidentally knocks it over. Onto me.
My light yellow skirt instantly soaks through with water, and I thank myself for wearing undershorts today.
“Shit, the posters,” Sammie says, using his sleeve to mop water off the now-bleeding ink.
“I’m so sorry,” Zaq says to me, digging around in his backpack for a napkin.
I exhale shakily. “It’s. Fine.” I get up to go to the bathroom and clean off, ready to tell Talia she doesn’t have to come. But she doesn’t offer. So I spend the rest of lunch by myself with my skirt under the hand dryer. I’m walking back to the bench as the bell rings, seeing Agatha, Lindsay, and Wesley back there already.
Everyone, Zaq and Wesley included, is laughing over something Sammie’s saying while Agatha braids a section of Talia’s hair. I go to government without waiting for Talia and spend the rest of the day saying as little as possible so I don’t bite anyone’s head off.
So when Wesley offers to give me a ride home so we can finish the last of our chemistry set on the drive, I take the opportunity to spend time with the one person who didn’t piss me off today.
I finish the set of equations while Wesley drives, grateful that I’m impervious to car sickness. He pulls up to my house as I put our names on the top of the sheet and shove it into my backpack.
“That was weirdly efficient,” he laughs, despite having contributed little to the work. I think being in a bad mood makes me better at chemistry.
“Mm-hmm. Thanks for the ride.” I’m gathering my stuff when Wesley reaches to stop me, pulling back halfway.
“Uh, are you … are you okay?” he asks. “You just, you don’t seem like yourself today.”
“How would you know?” I bite back too quickly. He flinches. “I’m sorry. That was bitchy.”
He shrugs, but I can still see the hurt in his eyes. “Is this about Lucas?”
“You’re more perceptive than I give you credit for.”
The hurt finally leaves his face, and he cracks a smile. “Thanks. But you also told me about him trying to ask you to prom. I haven’t heard Agatha or Lindsay say anything about it though. Which makes me think you didn’t tell them.”
I sigh. “It’s complicated.” Because it’s not just about him or prom, I want to say, thinking of my hasty departure from the kitchen when Mom came in for breakfast this morning.
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug it off, surely just as unconvincingly as he did. His phone goes off from where it’s sitting in the cup holder. I can’t help sneaking a peek. It’s a group text from Talia and Zaq, both of them asking when he’s coming.
Wesley and I look up at the same time. “We’re just studying,” he says quickly, almost choking on the words.