I follow her, and she holds my hand and leads me to a beat-up leather love seat a few feet from the stage manager’s desk.
We sink into the sofa and without making a big deal of it, El swings her legs over mine. “Okay, talk.”
“Okay. I got mad at you for entering the pageant. And then you got mad at me for being mad at you. And then I stayed mad at you. And then you stayed mad at me.” I shake my head. “I know this was a long time coming. We’ve been drifting.”
She nods. “It scares me. I don’t want to feel apart from you. But maybe we’re not supposed to do everything together? Maybe we’re supposed to have some space.”
“It’s hard to accept.” I look for all the right words. “I want to see you be happy. And make new friends. Even if they’re people like Callie. I want to not be jealous of you.” I’ve never said it out loud. I think I’ve even been scared to let myself think it, but I know it’s true the second it leaves my mouth. “I don’t mean jealous in a weird stalkery way, but sometimes I think our lives are moving at different speeds and it’s hard not to feel like you’re gonna lap me.”
She laughs, and it sounds like a hiccup. “I’m not lapping you anytime soon. And if this is about sex . . . I love Tim, okay? But know that there’s been a learning curve.” Her shoulders bounce as she adds, “Maybe I’m jealous of you sometimes, too. You don’t care about people like Callie or any of the girls I work with. But I need them to like me. It’s the kind of thing that keeps me up at night. I don’t even think they’re that cool. My mind keeps this kind of tally of how many people like me and I care. I don’t want to.”
I smile, and the knot in my chest unwinds a little. “You’re my best friend. Even over these last two months, it’s always been you. And you never treat me any different. Not like other people do sometimes. And I know I’m good at being who I am. I’m good at saying, ‘This is me. Back me up or back the fuck out.’ Ya know? But—” Oh Christ. There’s so much I haven’t told her. I start at the beginning. “But I met a boy over the summer. Bo. Private School Boy. At work. And we kissed.”
“You didn’t tell me?” She smacks my arm. “The hell, Will?”
I shake my head. “I know. I’m sorry. But we kissed some more. And then it just kept going.”
“Oh my God. You had sex with him. Was it amazing? I’m still mad at you for not telling me.”
I laugh. “No. No. We didn’t. Have sex. But I liked the way being with him made me feel.” My head feels like a spool of thread unwinding. “But then . . . did you ever get freaked out when Tim would touch you? Like, at first?”
She drops her head against my shoulder. “Shit. Yeah, I did. He’d touch my waist or a spot of acne on my chin or something and I’d clam up like a total psycho.”
The warm relief of recognition spreads through me. “That’s what happened when Bo touched me. Like, I felt straight-up drunk when we would kiss. But then he’d touch my backfat or my hips and I would totally shut down.”
“I can’t believe you hid this from me.” Her voice is soft. “I should be so pissed at you.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. But, like, all of this was happening, right? And you’d told me that you and Tim were going to start having sex, and it made me feel like I might explode. It wasn’t all jealousy. It was more that I felt young and unexperienced. And I couldn’t—and kind of still can’t—imagine myself letting someone else see me like that.”
“Oh, Will.”