Wesley finally replies, “I don’t know about the phone thing. Maybe Agatha can ask Evan if he knows.” He rolls his eyes. Agatha spent half the afternoon dodging the affections of Evan Matthews, now that he’s truly given up his vindictiveness over his ex, Danica.
Agatha’s been trying to embrace her aromanticism though, even stopping by the center a few times since prom along with Sammie and Lindsay. So I did my part to distract Evan. Ags and I had enough gossip stored up over the years that it wasn’t hard for me to keep him busy, but I got so carried away that by the end, I was almost sharing that I once kissed a girl and liked it. Not that that’s much of a secret for me anymore.
I’m not the only one on a path to self-improvement though. With help from therapy, Sammie’s been a good sport about Wesley and Lindsay making things more official. Nothing is set in stone, but they’re giving it a try, taking it slow for both their sakes, even though they’ll be long-distance in the fall. Sammie even managed to compliment Wes on some of his drawings yesterday, so he’s giving it a try too.
We pull into the center’s parking lot. I almost asked him to let me drive today—I’ve been getting good since I started taking lessons—but we’re in a rush to get the posters into the office mailroom before closing. Plus after everything he’s done for me, I’d hate to crash his car.
Wes is heading down the long hall when he notices the front desk is empty.
“Hey, would you mind checking for Addy around back? I need her keys to grab the sweater Zaq left in the flag lounge on Saturday,” he asks before skidding around the corner, uncharacteristically frantic.
“Sure thing,” I reply, saluting to the empty hall and heading back outside, following the scent of paint and hum of rock music. I still haven’t met the infamous Addy since she’s been busy with college finals over the past few weeks, but when I spot the girl painting a mural of a rainbow on the back wall of the center, I get the feeling I’ve found her.
Long, sleek black hair. Skin a deep, warm brown. Angled brows that frame eyes lined with thick, black liner. I notice her in pieces before I notice her as a whole. Paint-splattered denim and a loose-fitting concert tee from a band I’ve never heard of but suddenly need to listen to. A pink, orange, and white lesbian pride flag pinned to her left jean pocket.
“Hi—uh, um, are you Addy?” I ask when she notices me.
“Addy Gupta, the one and only,” she says, tucking the thumb of her free hand into her front pocket. She tosses the paintbrush in her other hand into a bucket on the ground. “And you are?”
“Ophelia. Ophelia Rojas,” I manage to get out as I shake her now-free hand.
“Well, Ophelia Ophelia Rojas, what can I do you for?” she asks, and cocks her head to the side, her glittering eyes scanning me in one quick sweep.
“Hi—uh, um, Wesley—”
“Needs my keys, right?” she says, rolling her eyes. “Typical.”
“Yeah,” I say, still trying to get my mouth to work.
“Well, let’s go help the poor bastard, then.” She’s nearly around the building when she turns and sees me still standing before her mural. It’s a messy rainbow reflecting off a puddle. The paint bleeds down the wall, sloppy and unfinished, but the reflection is sharp, precise. A vision, a promise.
“You coming?” she asks.
I watch the way her eyes crinkle as her pouty lips part into a smile, the birthmarks lining her neck stretching out. She dips her head again, placing her hands on her narrow hips, flakes of dried paint scattering off her like confetti.
I don’t know when it happened and if the feeling will stay. I don’t know if there will ever come a time where I’m completely and unapologetically queer. Even now, I’m still learning and unlearning, figuring out what I want for myself and my future.
But as I stand there, watching this girl who I know I will text Agatha about the second I leave, I only have one thought circling my mind. And it has less to do with her and more to do with the way I know what this is: attraction to a girl. Attraction I’m not fighting anymore.
In this moment, and hopefully for many after, I don’t miss being straight. Not one bit.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Reading other people’s acknowledgments has always made me incredibly emotional, so it’s surreal to finally be writing my own.
Thank you to the team at Sandra Dijkstra Literary Agency, especially to my incredible agent, Thao Le, for all you’ve done to champion me and Ophelia. The first time you called Wesley a precious cinnamon roll, I knew you were the agent for me. Your insight, suggestions, and support have made a world of difference in my writing (Agatha and Sammie asking Ophelia to prom was all you). I couldn’t ask for a better person to represent me and my words.
Thank you to Rachel Diebel, editor of my dreams. You understood this story better than I ever could have hoped for and helped shape it into something magical. I’m so grateful you believed in me and Ophelia, and gave me a million reasons to believe in you too.
Thank you to my cover designer, Aurora Parlagreco, and cover illustrator, Nicole Medina, for creating the most beautiful representation of Ophelia imaginable. Thank you to the Feiwel and Friends family at Macmillan: Jean Feiwel, Liz Szabla, Rich Deas, Holly West, Anna Roberto, Kat Brzozowski, Dawn Ryan, Erin Siu, Emily Settle, Foyinsi Adegbonmire, Avia Perez, Olivia Oleck, Gabriella Saltpeter, Lindsay Wagner, and Ilana Worrell, for working so hard to bring Ophelia’s story to the world.
Thank you to my fellow authors who aided this journey: Brittany Cavallaro for giving me publishing advice and priceless feedback on an early draft of this book—while on vacation! Laura Taylor Namey for helping me with my query letter, and for offering to do so enough times to dismiss my anxiety over accepting. Sarah Hollowell for being the best agent sibling ever and always being down for an all-caps DM about publishing feelings—good and bad. Nina Moreno for perfectly capturing the heart of my book in a blurb I’d happily get tattooed across my forehead. I’ll settle for it being on my cover. Courtney Summers, Leah Johnson, Mark Oshiro, and Brittany again, thank you all for the absolutely lovely blurbs. Tashie Bhuiyan, Christina Li, Zoe Hana Mikuta, and Chloe Gong for our combined Gen Z chaos and for helping me feel less like a lonely, confused baby and more like a confused baby with informed baby friends.
Thank you to BookTube and the online book community I found sanctuary in for so many years for celebrating alongside me every step of the way. I really am Blonde With A Book now, huh?