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1 pages, Audio CD
First published May 2, 2023
Tessa leans closer, just barely.
I almost lose my breath for a second. I can read every freckle on her nose. "Hi."
She pushes a wet strand of my hair aside to kiss my forehead. And then she kisses my lips.
━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━━━━━
If I were queer, wouldn't I at least sort of know?
"So you've never kissed a girl," Tessa said, smiling and breathless.
"No, I have."
"Wait-"
"Tonight," I say. "Right after we left the party. Really cute freckle faced girl from Philly." I touch her cheek.
Tessa touches my mouth. "How are you real?"
How do I explain the part where Tessa’s smile made my chest hurt?
(...)
Our eyes meet, and in my brain, it's like daybreak.
(...)
When did everything but Tessa start to feel like background noise?
"Can we go inside?"
"Only if you take the jacket," Tessa says with a flash of a smile.
"Fiiiiiiine."
She helps me into it, giving the collar a quick tug, and then we step back out to the courtyard.
It's like there's this idea that you have to earn your label through suffering. And then you have to prove it with who you date, how you dress, how other people perceive you.
"I want to be your girlfriend." It leaps off my tongue before I can stop it. "Okay?"
"Wait-" Her mouth slips open. "Really?"
"If you-"
"Are you kidding?" She springs out of the driver's seat and around the front of her car, closing the distance between us with one last bounce of a step. "Underlined, bold, giant-font yes."
I laugh and open my window. "Wow, you sound pretty sure about that."
"Tattoo it on my face."
"I can't wait for the part when you kiss me," I say.
And it's true: I can't wait.
I can't wait, so I don't.
━━━━━━━━━━━ ♡ ━━━━━━━━━━━
“Imogen.” She rolls back down beside me, scoops my hair back, and kisses me. “Do you need me to spell it out? I’ve been”—she kisses me—“losing my goddamn mind”—she kisses me again—“ever since that dog wandered over, and you just—boom”—another kiss—“dropped down and hugged her. The look on your face. And then you’re like, ‘My goat was named Daisy.’”
“She was!”
“I know!” Tessa laughs, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear.
Then she buries her face in the crook of my neck, and every breath she breathes feels like a love letter.
Tessa’s eyes catch mine, and her lips tug up at the corners, just barely. And the noise in my brain falls away.
All the times I said I’m straight. All the times everyone’s said I’m straight.
There it was, underlined and written in bold. How could I miss it?
Like finding Waldo and realizing he was never really hiding.
The way she’s looking at me gives me this liquid-gold feeling. I sink back until I’m sitting on the edge of her bed, pulling her down with me. She tucks a lock of hair behind my ear and kisses me again, until I can barely sit upright. She kisses my forehead, my cheeks, the crook of my neck, and I don’t know if I’m falling or blooming. The way our ankles overlap. The ache below my navel. I kiss her again, and my mind’s as quiet as snowfall.
“Oh! Oh no. Scott—Scotty. Hey.” She hugs me, and I bury my face in the spot where her chest meets her shoulder. “Don’t listen to the pink-haired girl, okay?”
I laugh tearfully. “I’m getting your vest wet. And I stole your blazer.”
“I love it on you,” says Tessa.
I almost lose my breath for a second. I can read every freckle on her nose. “Hi.”
She pushes a wet strand of hair aside to kiss my forehead. And then she kisses my lips.
So I cup my hands around her face and kiss her back. In the middle of the day. In the middle of Penn Yan’s beautifully deserted rain-battered Main Street.
Tessa’s so close, but I press in closer, and she lets out the softest-edged sigh. Her hands trail the hem of my waterlogged shirt, and I swear it feels like taking off sunglasses. Clarity and brightness.
It feels bigger than I want it to be. Do I really have to announce this? Can’t I just feel something and live inside it while it’s happening and not analyze it to death?
Edith lets out a startled laugh. "This is wild. I don't think I've ever seen you just, like, completely lose your shit like this."
"No, I always lose my shit like this. Just not out loud."
She looks at me. "So this is what your brain sounds like?"
"I mean. Pretty much?"
“bi. bisexual. lili, i’m bi. it feels bigger than i want it to be. do i really have to announce this? can’t i just feel something and live inside it while it’s happening and not analyze it to death?”
“‘you made space. you took it seriously. you know there’s not a script for this, right?’
i nod.
she pauses. ‘you know. if you ever had something you wanted to tell me, i could make space for that too.”
It’s like stepping into an alternate universe—sorry, but I’ve known Lili Cardoso since she was three years old, and parties are her personal hell. This is a girl who carried thick, dog-eared Tamora Pierce books all around camp every summer, just in case there was unexpected free time and someone tried to talk to her.
How do you know—how do you really know if someone likes you? Especially with girls. It gets so blurry sometimes. Two girls will hug each other right in front of you, and you’ll have no idea if they’re girlfriends or besties or what. Unless they’re actively making out, you need floating heart emojis and a movie score to interpret it.
“I’m sorry, no. Kara Clapstone doesn’t need to set her coming-out timeline according to your weird parasocial entitlement.”
“Totally agree! I’m glad she waited until she was ready!” Gretchen says.
“So stop discoursing,” Edith snaps, “and leave her alone!”
“I’m acting really straight right now, huh?” Lili laughs.
“What?”
“I just don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable. And I don’t want to blow your cover.” I peek through my fingers. “I know I’m not the most believable queer girl.”
*.*.*.*
“I just feel like I maybe overstepped a little this weekend.”
She tilts her head toward me. “How so?”
“Maybe overstepped isn’t the word. I just . . . feel like I was centering myself in queer spaces. Under false pretenses. I don’t know if that makes sense.”
There’d been a new Pride member that day—a junior named Dallas who had declined to give labels or pronouns. Gretchen found the whole thing discomforting.
“Like, I’m torn,” she’d said. “Because on the one hand, no one should have to share that. But on the other hand, I felt a little unsafe, and I think that’s worth acknowledging.”
*.*.*.*
“But how do you know they’re cishet?” asked Lili.
“Well, that’s what’s tricky about it! They could totally be closeted. Which is why I would never, like, kick anyone out or question their right to be there.”
Lili’s eyes narrowed. “But you . . . are questioning their right to be there.”
This is worse than normal lying. It’s queerbaiting. Or at the very least, I’m appropriating queerness. Not even just the aesthetics, either. Apparently, my brain thinks queerness itself is some kind of thought exercise. Me: a certified asshole straight girl who sees a lesbian existing and thinks it’s a love declaration.