“New good,” I say without hesitation.
“I didn’t know you were into girls,” she says as we remove our shirts, as my hands slide hesitantly over the side of her body.
“I didn’t, either,” I say, and when I look at her, she smiles.
When we’re both in just our underwear, we sit on the edge of her bed for a while. Just looking at each other.
“You can touch me,” she says.
And I do, because it’s odd that I’ve been around other girls my whole life and never felt like this. So many gym periods and sleepovers spent changing in front of one another and I never felt this urge. The citrus shower gel I’ve smelled on her since our first morning at Dinsmore is different now. It is so distinctly her and it is the best thing I’ve ever smelled and I keep dipping my head toward the space between her collarbone and her neck to fill my nose with the scent.
My hand shakes as my fingers skate across Iris’s skin—her incredibly soft skin. I slide my fingers across the smoothness of her stomach and linger around her breasts until she exhales and kisses me again. After a few moments, she takes my hand in her own and holds them both over her heart.
“I’ve been with other girls,” she says. “I’ve only been with girls.”
“I know.”
“But—do you feel that?” Her heart. It’s beating as fast as my own. “None of them have done this to me.”
I move her hand to my chest. “No one has ever done this to me.”
She gently pushes me back on the bed and we start kissing again and when her hand moves between my legs I don’t stop her. When my breathing changes, when she asks if I want her to stop, but it is so clear she doesn’t want to stop, I say no. And when we’re lying there, after the space around us has transformed from a small, dark dorm room into an explosion of fireworks only I can see and then back again, she asks if it was okay.
“That was amazing,” I say, breathless and wondering if I should feel more embarrassed about what just happened. One of the boys I kissed back in L.A. had tried to put his hand down my jeans and I got too nervous, so I pushed him away. He seemed to know what he was doing up to that point, but I can’t imagine anyone ever making me feel as good as Iris did.
“Lily and Bianca would be losing their shit right now,” she says, kissing my shoulder.
Should I be losing my shit? Maybe, but the only thing I feel nervous about is how inexperienced I am, how I don’t know if Iris expects me to return the favor tonight.
“Lily and Bianca need to get laid,” I say, and Iris laughs with me.
“Really, though… how much do you think they’d freak out if they knew about this? About us?” she says in a serious tone.
“I don’t know, but… I’m not sure I want them to find out. I mean, not yet.”
She’s quiet. I wonder if I’ve said something wrong.
“I like you,” I say, turning on my side to face her. “But—”
“But new good is still new. I get it.” Iris pauses. “Are you okay with what happened?”
“I am. I just…” I put my hand over my heart to see if it’s still beating so rapidly. It’s slowed, but not much. “I need some time to figure out what this is… what I am, before we tell anyone, okay?”
“Sure,” she says. And she doesn’t sound any different than she normally does, but I wonder if she was hoping I’d say we should ignore the girls on our floor and figure out whatever this is without hiding.
Or maybe that’s what I was thinking. Because I’m tired of not being my true self around here. I’m tired of hiding things—secrets about me and secrets for other people. And I know better than anyone how dangerous it is to start any kind of relationship based on secrets.
sixteen.
Echo Park Lake isn’t a proper lake, but it’s the first lake I ever saw and one of my favorite places in the city.
It’s just around the corner from home, so I find myself there whenever I need a hit of nature. The day before July Fourth, I’m there with Lionel. This is not the sort of lake people swim in, but you can rent pedal boats and admire the lotus flowers that are so beloved they get their own festival each year. The water is surrounded by golden medallion trees, little bursts of sun sitting among the bushy groups of green fronds. There’s a boathouse that serves coffee and snacks, and an enormous fountain that looks like magic from afar as it shoots up higher than the spindly palm trees and the buildings of the downtown skyline in the distance.
Lionel and I edge down the small embankment that leads to the paved pathway. We just finished breakfast, lox and cream cheese on bagels from the place Saul says is the only bakery in Los Angeles with any integrity. Lionel complained that the meal felt heavy this morning, that he wanted to walk it off, so I invited myself to come with him, even though his reason makes no sense. We have that exact meal once a week, a tradition from Saul’s childhood, and Lionel has never complained before.
I breathe in the smell of the water. “You look happy.”
He shrugs, as if the bounce in his step isn’t new and noticeable. “I guess I am happy. See? Told you I’d be fine. Better than fine.”
My heart speeds at the tone of his voice. It’s overconfident, more assured than the Lionel I’ve heard in a while. I start to say something but there’s a lecture on the tip of my tongue and we’ve only just started our walk.
“Do you think…” He pauses and glances at me, then looks straight ahead before I can make eye contact. “Do you think people can be like medicine?”
“People?”
“Like, being around someone.”
I smile, thinking of what my mother said, that me being home is good for him. I wonder if she said something to him, too.
But before I can ask, he says, “I’ve never felt better than when I’m with Rafaela.”
Different parts of my heart crumble for different reasons.
“I just feel like… not like she’s the one. We’re not old enough for that. But she gets me. She likes me for me.”
“Lots of people like you for you.”
“Not like Rafaela. She says I have a gorgeous mind.” His voice is inflated with pride.
“Does she know you’re off your meds?”
“No.” I look at him just in time to see his face closing off—his eyes turning a stony blue, his freckles somehow disappearing more into his skin. “I want her to like me for me, not some doped-up version.”
“Lion…” But I don’t finish and he doesn’t prompt me to continue.
We walk without talking for a while and stop when we’re halfway around the lake. I sit down on the grass. I can see his knee jerking, like he’s itching to keep moving, but he plops down next to me after a few seconds.
“You want me to go back on them,” he says, so matter-of-fact that it disturbs me.
“I’m worried about you.”