“Liking boys?” he asks, taking a turn sharply but safely. “Liking Talia doesn’t take that away. You don’t have to pick one gender if your heart feels something for more than one. And you definitely don’t owe it to anyone, least of all yourself, to hide the way you feel just because it would change things.”
“But that means I lied to them. All those times I said I was straight and liked boys and couldn’t imagine kissing a girl, I lied.” I tug at the hem of my dress, suddenly feeling the need to rip something. The lack of control feels dizzying, like the most painful kind of relief. Like stepping barefoot off icy concrete and onto carpet, feeling the heat tingle back into your body.
“It wasn’t a lie if it’s what you thought was the truth. And, okay, let’s say it was a lie. Who cares?” We’ve pulled into a random parking lot, but I’m too focused on his words to stop and look around. “You don’t owe anyone consistency. We’re graduating, Ophelia. Things are going to change, no matter what. Hiding from how you feel isn’t going to stop that.”
“That advice is a bit ironic given that we’re hiding from school and all our friends right now.”
He laughs and digs around in his backpack. “Oh, we’re definitely hiding from our friends, but we’re not hiding from school.” He pulls out calculus homework. I groan, but pull out my government notes too.
And as we settle into our work, I realize that this moment in itself is a change. A new friendship, an honest conversation, a rebellious act—minus doing our homework.
It doesn’t do much to alleviate my stress, but it does feel kind of nice.
* * *
Wesley drops me off hours later. The skin around my eyes is puffy, even though we dropped the emotional talk and spent the remainder of the afternoon studying and watching DIY corsage videos on my phone.
I get home before Sammie does, but I’ve got half a dozen texts from him and Agatha asking where I’ve been all day, which I delete as I unlock the front door.
“Mija,” Dad says as I shut the door behind me. He’s shuffling through the mail but stops to kiss me on my forehead. “Baby’s breath is in the fridge.”
Sexualities and kisses aside, I have corsages and boutonnieres to make. It’s ironic that the only thing that’ll give me a semblance of normalcy centers on the exact event I’d like to ignore right now. But prom is only a few days away, and if I don’t get disowned by everyone I love for one reason or another by then, I’ll certainly be hated for not pulling through on my promise to provide the floral accessories. Especially if they follow Zaq’s lead and actually pay me.
I head outside with the fresh baby’s breath and a bag of supplies that’ve been shoved in the back of my closet since homecoming. To the playlist of the afternoon birds and emerging crickets, I eye roses from around the yard.
I’ve neglected this. The browning white blooms, the bruises in yellow petals, the dry leaves adorning every bush. They stick out like sore thumbs in what was once a prized garden. Photographing this feels embarrassing, and preemptive humiliation warms my cheeks like a shameful fever.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to a Lady X bush, one of my newer plants. When I bought it on a whim over the summer, the lavender shade reminded me of the sunsets that signal the start of autumn, my birth season. The plant’s leaves are now riddled with holes from caterpillars, the petals dried around the edges. I’ve never granted myself my own rose, but I realize that if I had to, I would choose this one. I know the least about it, have no idea what the discovery year is or what the technical strong suits are. I couldn’t describe the scent with the same certainty I could a golden Voodoo or rusty Caribbean. But maybe that’s why it’s more me than any of these other roses are.
Because maybe I don’t know myself with the same certainty I’ve always claimed.
NINETEEN
The next morning, my luck in avoiding Talia runs out. She’s waiting at my locker, picking at her nail polish.
“Hey,” she says softly.
“Hi,” I reply, inputting my locker combination with more attention than necessary.
“How are you?”
I take a deep breath and try to force a smile, but it just reminds me of our day at the photography studio. “Great!”
“That’s good,” she breathes, nodding to herself. “That’s really good.” Heavy silence. Her earthy, minty scent invades my senses as she leans closer. “So, have you talked to anyone about Friday night?”
I step back and close my locker but refuse to look at her. “What’s there to talk about? What happened was meaningless, right?” I force out a laugh, but it comes out like a cough.
She blinks once, twice. “‘Meaningless’? Ophelia, you kissed me.”
“Shhh!” I immediately cover her mouth with my hand, pulling it away almost as quickly. Her lips felt just as soft against my palm as they did against my mouth. “Believe me, I know. It was ridiculous and weird, and you know what? I’ve already forgotten about it.” My smile returns as I mentally bat away everything Wesley said to me yesterday. “Poof, gone from my memory!”
“But—” she starts, but I cut her off when I spot a familiar mop of blond curls walking in the opposite direction behind her.
“Lucas!” I shout. Talia and Lucas both spin around to face each other. He looks between the two of us before approaching, a slight swagger to his walk.
“Hey,” he says, nodding to me and smiling at Talia, though I doubt they’ve ever spoken.
“Did you end up finding another date for prom?” I ask.
“No,” he says slowly, confusion plastered on his beautifully carved face.
“I’d like to go with you. If you still want to.”
“What are you doing?” Talia hisses to me, under her breath, but I ignore her.
“Seriously?” Lucas asks, looking both offended and pleased at once.
“I think it would be fun,” I say, shrugging like I couldn’t care either way. But I do care; I need this.
“Yeah.” Lucas’s complicated expression eases into a relaxed grin. “Yeah, I’m down to go together.”
“Perfect. You can pick me up at my house on Saturday, two hours before the dance,” I say. “Don’t worry about a corsage; I’ll be making my own. But try to find a lavender tie if you can.”
“Lavender?” he scoffs, and my stomach clenches.
“Or whatever. We don’t need to match.”
“Sounds good.” He smiles, looking me up and down briefly, without shame or discretion. “I’ll text you.”
“See you in chemistry,” I reply, and wave as he exits the building, more swagger in his step than before. I watch him go, trying to ignore Talia’s face out of the corner of my eye. But without meaning to, I shift my focus, and her disappointment hits me hard.
“What was that about?” she asks, hands on her hips.
“I decided going with him would be fun after all.”
“You said it didn’t seem right to go with him.”
“And now it does,” I say. “I always dreamed of going to prom with a cute boy, and now I can. Things are going exactly the way they should.”
“The way they ‘should’?”
I look around for Lindsay’s hair and Agatha’s undoubtedly bright outfit; any beacon of refuge. I don’t know how they’re going to take the news of me going with Lucas after all, but I’ll cross that bridge when I get there.