“We should go,” Wes says gently. “Everyone should cool off.” He reaches out for me, but I pull away because while he means well, his playing my knight in shining armor right now will only make things worse.
“No, I want to know why my friends seem to think all my problems have to be centered around boys,” I say, crossing my arms. “And why they think I can’t be friends with a guy without being in love with him. And why I can’t have, like, three days of being moody without it being the end of the fucking world.”
“I don’t think you want to do this,” Wesley mumbles, stepping toward me again. Maybe I don’t, but it feels too good to stop.
“We don’t think that,” Sammie says, voice more tender. “You and I are friends, and no one thinks we’re secretly in love with each other.”
Lindsay doesn’t soften though. “I’m just saying, Ophelia, you could’ve saved us all a lot of time and drama if you would’ve just talked to me.”
“So I could make your decision between Wes and Sammie easier for you? Take some of that responsibility off your perfect little shoulders?” I’m exhausted and infuriated all at once, every moment of jealousy I’ve ever felt for Lindsay pouring out, the anger over Talia supporting the flood. “You could’ve saved them plenty of time and drama by telling them what you told me and Ags, that you have no interest in them past graduation.”
She straightens instantly. “Fuck you.”
“Maybe we should just drop this,” Wesley tries, looking around for someone to agree. But Lindsay is still staring at me, taking deep, controlled breaths, like they’re the only thing stopping her from mauling me. Agatha can’t stop shaking her head at both of us.
“I think you’ve done enough, big guy,” Sammie says to Wes.
“Okay, you know what? Fuck you too,” Wesley says, hands immediately flying to clamp over his mouth. Sammie takes a quick step forward, but out of nowhere, Zaq jumps in and stands between the boys. I knew we were missing someone.
With a hand on each of their chests for equal measure, he asks, “Is there a problem here?” But his eyes are trained on Sammie when he says it.
“Not anymore,” Lindsay nearly whispers, looking at Wesley. My heart squeezes, and I want to apologize a million times over for getting him wrapped up in all of this so quickly. How did it even go this far? The vindictiveness that flooded me only seconds ago is gone, and all I see now is a friend group broken months before we were meant to fall apart.
All because I dared to change the way things were.
“You know, I finally figured you out,” Lindsay says.
I exhale. “Please enlighten me.”
“You’re not a hopeless romantic. You’re just desperate. You act like you’re better than everyone else because you pretend to be some cheesy optimist while the rest of us are just—”
“Disillusioned?” I offer.
She rolls her eyes. “And nothing ever happens in your life, so you’re obsessed with everyone else’s.”
“You’ve got me there,” I deadpan. The worst part is, I think she’s right.
She may as well be standing on a stage, waving with her prom queen crown atop her head already with the confidence she’s exuding. It’s a front, of course. I’ve always known it was. I just didn’t think our friendship was too.
“See you in fucking homeroom,” she says, storming away.
Agatha and Sammie head in the same direction. I can’t tell if they’re following after her or just going to class, but neither turns around to spare me another look.
“Anyone want to fill me in here?” Zaq asks, looking between me and Wesley.
I fight the temptation to tell him to fuck off too.
* * *
Homeroom goes … well, honestly not as terribly as it could have. Sammie pettily scoots his chair over to Agatha and Lindsay’s desk, burying his head in one of his encyclopedias. It’s like he completely missed my—admittedly pretty inappropriate and treacherous—exposure of Lindsay’s lack of interest in a romantic future with him, and is icing me out instead of letting that news settle.
At least that’s what I tell myself.
On the bright side, Talia just barely missed the big fight, so the only yelling of mine she witnessed today was directed at her. I guess that’s not actually very bright. On the substantially dingier side, Wesley’s also in a mood after everything that went down. I gauge this from the way he silently walks me to chemistry and doesn’t complain or even grimace when Lucas asks to be my partner again.
I work in silence as Lucas tells me about how soccer season has been going, how many teams recruited him back in the fall, and what kind of guy he hopes he doesn’t end up with as a roommate for training in the summer. When that topic veers toward not wanting a gay roommate, “Not because I’ve really got anything against that shit, it’d just be weird, you know?” I say nothing. I clench my fist, pressing my nails deep into my palm, until he changes the subject.
I zone out, thinking about how Zaq hasn’t once looked at me with the same anger that Lindsay did earlier, even after knowing I kissed Talia. I expected him to be standoffish at best and outright accuse me of trying to steal his girlfriend at worst. But out of everyone in our group, he seems to dislike me the least right now, even offering me a sympathetic smile during homeroom and when we pass each other in the halls.
I wonder if he knows I’d do anything to be him. To get to kiss Talia without wondering if it really is just a kiss, without having to talk myself into believing it. He gets to take her home to his parents without preparing a speech beforehand. He gets to love her without confusion or doubt.
I get why they’ve kept it all a secret. It’s actually astonishing I didn’t let their relationship slip while airing Lindsay’s dirty laundry. Though I’m grateful I didn’t, I still hate him a bit for it all.
But then I think about Talia’s family, how countless people would say they aren’t really pansexual or bisexual for being in a “straight” relationship together. I think about how Zaq is Black and Talia is a Black Latina and how they’ll always deal with intolerant bullshit regardless of who they’re dating.
And then I just feel worse about everything altogether.
So much so that I decide tuning back into Lucas’s new rant about the superiority of strapped shin guards over strapless ones, even if they’re childish, as he puts it, is miraculously less painful than my internal pity party.
* * *
I spend the rest of the day avoiding everyone, taking my lunch to the library and going to the nurse’s office afterward during government, claiming my food gave me a stomachache. The school nurse sees right through me, like they always do, but she still gives me a glass of ginger ale and lets me rest on one of the beds in the back.
By the time school is over, I feel as though I’ve aged ten years, which honestly would be a less depressing explanation for losing my closest friends. I head for the parking lot, pulling out my phone to call Dad and beg for a ride home when a hand plucks it from my grip.