“Oh. Um, no, I hadn’t heard.” I start examining my own latte for Elvis’s face.
“Yeah. Janet says that she heard from her cousin in Palo Alto (What’s with people and their freaking cousins all over the place?) that Jamie hooked up with some girl at this Stanford track-and-field camp she went to last summer. Like, Janet’s cousin was at the camp, too, and she says that Jamie had a roommate and they like, ended up being more than roommates. If you know what I mean.”
Oh. Yes, I suppose I do.
“Why are you telling me this?”
Reggie looks away, then directly at me. She sort of gathers herself and says, “So Janet says that you and Jamie are all, like, buddy-buddy all the time. Like you sit together on the bus, and she hangs out at your house after practice. Which is like, you know, totally whatever, right? Except then you like, kept staring at Jamie last night, you know?” I work on balancing the tiny bags of scones and muffins on top of Elaine’s and Hanh’s drinks so I don’t have to look at Reggie. “And then you went MIA for like, half an hour and you came back with Jamie all giggly and stuff, and, well . . .” She shrugs helplessly. “It just . . . it just seems like you might be, you know . . .”
“I might be what?” Which is a stupid thing to say, but some part of me is still desperately clinging to the hope that maybe she’ll say something I can truthfully deny, like, “. . . an alien.”
“ . . . a lesbian,” Reggie says. “You know, like, with Jamie.”
Ka-pow.
“What—no! I—I mean, it’s not like—aaack!” My coffee-scone-muffin tower topples, and as I grab for the pastries, I knock over my own drink and the table is flooded by a grande-size deluge of nonfat vanilla latte. As I scramble for napkins, I’m grateful that the next couple of minutes will be devoted to cleaning up my mess and not discussing my love life. Or Dad’s, for that matter.
“It’s totally cool if you are, you know.”
Man, this girl does not give up. I don’t know what to do. Admit the truth? Flat-out lie? Something in between?
The best I can come up with is, “If I said I wasn’t, would you believe me?” Ugh.
Reggie smiles. “Probably not.”
We toss the soggy napkins in the trash, apologize repeatedly to the poor guy who’s left mopping the rest up, and make our way out of Starbucks and back around the corner to the apartment complex in silence.
We turn left down the walkway to the building and Reggie reaches into her bag for the keys, then stops dead and demands, “So? Are you and Jamie a thing?” I think about kissing Jamie last night, how magical it felt, and how I can’t wait to see her again. I can’t help it. I smile. “I knew it!” cries Reggie triumphantly. I mean, she’s practically bursting with triumph. It’s coming out her ears. How long has she suspected? “Sana, this is epic! I’m so happy for you!” And she throws her arms around me, almost spilling the rest of the coffee in the process.
Wow. “Epic” was not the reaction I was expecting. I could cry with relief—in fact, I have to struggle not to. Reggie releases me and unlocks the door, and on our way up the stairs to the apartment, she says, “We have to tell Elaine and Hanh.” I don’t want to, but she is firm. “No point putting it off,” she says. “It’s best to be honest, especially about love—you have to have someone to talk to about it, right? Anyway, you’re one of us now. No secrets.”
Elaine and Hanh are slightly less prepared for the news than Reggie. Both of their mouths actually fall open and they sit there gaping like two beanbag-toss targets for a few seconds that feel like an eternity. Elaine is the first to speak.
“But you can’t be a lesbian. You’re Asian. Asian girls aren’t lesbians!”
I’m not sure what to make of this. But Reggie and Hanh laugh.
“Are you kidding? What does that even mean?” Reggie says.
“Well, do you know any Asian lesbians? I mean, besides Sana,” Elaine shoots back, crossing her arms.
“Margaret Cho. Jenny Shimizu,” says Reggie. She knows the most random things.
“Who?”
“Margaret Cho is a comedian. And Jenny Shimizu is like, this fashion model who used to go out with Angelina Jolie and Madonna.”
“Angelina Jolie and Madonna are gay?!” Crumbs of Petite Vanilla Scone fall out of Hanh’s mouth as she says this, and she puts them on her plate absently.
“I think they’re bi. So’s Margaret Cho.”
“Wow.”
Elaine and Hanh are impressed. I am, too.
But Elaine still wants more. “But I meant someone you don’t have to Google. Someone young. Someone like us.”
Reggie shrugs and grins. “I guess Sana’s the first.”
I haven’t said a word this whole time because I’m putting most of my energy into keeping my body from shaking itself into a heap of rubble. Which is weird, because coming out to my friends could not be going better. After the initial surprise, no drama. No freaking out. No awkwardness. Nothing I expected. Like, the next thing Elaine says is this: “You’re so lucky.”
What?
“Yeah, right?” says Hanh. “Think of how much easier it’s going to be for you to get into a good college.”
“What?!”
“Oh, come on. Asian lesbian? You can get in anywhere you want! It’s so unfair.”
“Oh, I know!” Elaine chimes in. “I mean, practically no one can write that on their college app. You’re a total shoo-in. And you get to have a girlfriend and your parents won’t even care if you go on a date because they won’t know it’s a date.”
“Yeah. You can go in your room and shut the door, but Elaine’s going to have to do it in the backseat of Jimmy’s car,” says Hanh, ducking a punch from Elaine.
Somewhere back in a corner of my mind I’m annoyed that they’re talking about my being gay as nothing more than bonus points on college admissions and secret dating possibilities, but mostly I’m relieved they’re taking it so well. “So you guys are fine? Like, with me?”
“Omigod, Sana!” Elaine says. “We’re totally fine! I mean, we’re surprised. But you’re one of us no matter what.”
“Yeah, come on. It’s the twenty-first century. This is Silicon Valley,” adds Hanh. “Nobody cares. Not even most old people.”
“You’re not in Kansas anymore,” Reggie says.
“I’m not from Kansas, I’m from Wisconsin.”
Reggie groans. “I know that. It’s a figure of speech. Like from a movie. The Wizard of— forget it.”
“Can we tell people?” asks Hanh.
“Um. Not yet.”
“Because, seriously, no one cares. I mean, they care, like, it’s news, but they don’t care, you know?”
“I have a gay friend,” says Elaine dreamily. “How cool is that?”