by Zack Smedley
This was the double-edge sword with Lily: I loved how full her heart was, but she never heard you when you asked her to go small. Lily didn’t do small, ever.
So I said, “I’m not going to tell anyone for now.”
Her face fell a little, and I could tell she was disappointed that I wasn’t on board. But she said, “Whatever you want. Just think about it.” Then she pulled me into a tight, strong hug—the kind she knows I like—and murmured to me, “Hey. I’m really proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me too,” I quipped, and she giggled. “So we’re good, right?”
“One condition,” she said, then whispered in my ear, “We watch the rest of that video together later.”
I felt my jeans tighten at the zipper, and made a noise that got her to beam.
“Uh,” I verbalized, “yes please.”
As we got up to head back, Lily tilted her head and said, “Huh.” “What’s up?”
“Just thinking. This is the same table where we used to do homework together.”
I grinned, loving that she remembered that. “And?”
“That’s it. I was just thinking about that.”
She leaned forward and used her finger to write in the snow on the table:
Owen likes butt sex :)
As I cracked up and kissed her, she said, “Look at us now.”
“I am,” I told her, drawing comfort from the old line.
“I am too.”
Sincerely,
O
EIGHTEEN
VIC IS QUESTIONED A COUPLE OF DAYS INTO MAY.
Nailed right after AP exams start. Beth and Lily have their turn the next day. They confirm that the incident was definitely sexual assault, but that’s about all they get from it.
“The questions were really vague. Every answer was basically ‘I don’t know,’” Lily tells us at our next gym session. I resist the urge to snap my bracelet, but she doesn’t seem hung up on it. In general, Lily has been more easygoing the past few days … earlier in the week, she got the news that she’d been accepted to Lanham for next year. Obviously I went through the motions and congratulated her along with the rest of the group, but secretly, I hate how mixed my feelings are on the subject.
Six months ago, I would’ve been ecstatic knowing that at least a piece of the group—the most important piece—was going with me. I couldn’t imagine a future without Lily in it. But now, everything between us feels condemned. All of it is hinged on us avoiding honesty; not talking about why it feels so slimy when she tries to touch my hand, or other parts that I used to love her touching.
My last exam of high school is my AP English final. I walk out of it with my head held high, twirling my Finals Pen. (My special pen that—you guessed it—I only use for final exams.) I’m so absorbed in my relief at being done with it that I trip on the doorjamb and drop the pen.
“I got it, man,” says the guy in front of me. I start to tell him, “Not like I need it again anyway—” but then he turns to face me, and I freeze.
It’s him.
“Whoa. Hi,” says Luke. He looks as stunned as I feel. The sound of his voice sends me back in time. My jaw locks. Behind me, a cluster of people bitch at me to get out of the way.
I book it down the hall.
“Can we talk?” Luke calls after me. His footsteps follow me until I’m forced to say over my shoulder, “No.”
I’m boiling over, but I can’t articulate anything.
“Two seconds. Just two seconds!” he says. I wheel around to find him raising both hands, his eyes huge with concern. He stares right at me, like it’s important he say all this to my face. “Whatever you need to call me, or tell me, is completely, 100 percent fair.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, regroup, then open them. “Just tell me this: Did you report it yourself? Or did you tell a classmate, and they did it?” My anger kicks into overdrive the longer I look at him. It feels like the only thing keeping me from knocking him out is my need to get information.
“Wh—of course I didn’t tell our classmates. Why would I do that, Owen?”
“Why would you tell the school?”
“I shouldn’t have. I thought I was helping you—but you’re absolutely right. I screwed up.”
He’s trying to sell it—his eyes are sad, maybe even a little teary behind his glasses. His chest heaves with panicked breaths. What makes me want to strangle him isn’t even the violation of trust. It’s this oh my God, I didn’t realize this would backfire routine. It’s aggressively ignorant, and I don’t feel like explaining that. I don’t know what I want from him, but I know I’m not done yet.
“Owen,” he says. “I get that nothing’s going to fix this… . Hate me all you’d like. You have every right, no question. But I just need to tell you: I’m so, so sorry. For whatever that’s worth—”
“So, nothing.”
“I figured.” He brushes a strand of black hair out of his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “I’ll leave you alone now. I can tell you’re angry.”
“Like that’s the worst crime in the world.”
“No one—”
“Like I don’t have excellent reasons to be fucking angry these days.”
“No one‘s saying you don’t.” He takes a half-step toward me. “If you want to beat the hell out of me because it’ll make you feel better, you have my full permission to go ahead. I’m serious.”
I raise my fist and swing it at his head, faking out at the last second. He winces, and his arms twitch, but he keeps them low. I do it a second time, and he stumbles backward, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor on his butt.
Now I’m done.
NINETEEN
March 9th—Senior Year
Journal:
I’m sitting here on Lanham University campus, looking out at all the buildings with all their lights, and I can’t believe how peaceful it is. How to describe this feeling? I hate that my words always fail me when it feels like I need them the most.
(Some screenwriter I’ll be, indeed!)
This morning a bus took me and fifty other kids from the senior class to visit campus during our spring break. That’s right: We’re on break, and voluntarily spending it by visiting another school. We are nerds incarnate.
Normally this would be something exciting—typing up my little personal itinerary the night before, laying all my clothes out. But I spent the whole day on edge because of the plan Lily and I put together: Today, I was coming out.
Lily noticed how quiet I was being during the campus tour and asked, “How’re you doing?”
The other three were within earshot, so I took Lily’s phone and typed out for her to read: Nervous about later.
She gave me a warm smile, squeezed my hand, and typed out: You’ve GOT this. You’re going to do great!!
By the time our group was eating dinner in the dining hall, I was checking my watch every two minutes. My heels hammered against the floor. No one seemed to notice except Vic, who raised an eyebrow and asked, “You good? You seem like you’re trying to achieve liftoff.”
I felt Lily’s eyes on me. I sent her a quick text under the table: ASK THEM NOW!!
She rolled her eyes at her lap, and I got a reply within seconds: Chill out, my dude. I heaved a dramatic sigh in her direction.
“So apparently there’s this really chill rock garden on the north side of campus,” Lily eventually said to the group—offhandedly as we ate dessert—and I realized she was doing it. “We should check it out when we’re done eating.”
“We have to be back at the dorms,” Vic said. “Not until later, though.”
“I was going to get my phone charger,” Beth said. I felt my stomach plummeting, silently screaming at Lily to get a handle on this.
Like always, she had it under control.
“So let’s do this. We check out the rock garden, chill there for a bit, then we’ll have time to head back afterward. That sound good?” Lily asked.
Everyone answe
red, “sure,” including me. I told her thank you with my eyes, and she put her shoe over mine to quiet my nervous foot.
As we made our way outside, I felt myself relax a bit. A breeze followed the five of us as we wove through the rows of buildings, up the stairs toward the highest point on campus: me, Lily, Austin, Beth, and Vic. All of us in our spring outfits, making our way through my future home. And as we reached the top and took pictures of the sunset, it was time.
I remember I watched everyone chattering about nothing—Vic lounging on a bench as Austin and Beth leaned back against an enormous rock—and the thing happened where you’re trying to say something big but can’t find a good opportunity without talking over people. I clenched my teeth, counting, trying to find the courage to open my mouth, and I felt like I was falling when Lily said, loud and clear, “Hey, guys.”
The others quieted down. Then they looked to me and I was seized with the sensation of being at the end of the diving board, unable to take the plunge. All I could do was awkwardly turn to Lily and say—with a hopeless laugh to break the tension—“I don’t think I can do it.”
“Yeah, you can,” she said.
“Do what?” Austin asked, swinging himself around on the rock.
“Don’t think so,” I told Lily with a manic grin, just desperate to get out of this. “Owen,” she said.
“Are you okay?” Beth asked me, her eyes apprehensive. “He’s good, just—” Lily hissed in a hushed voice. Then she said to me, “Would it help if we turned around?” I shrugged. “Sure. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize—I get a killer view!” Austin said to the rock in front of his face.
There we all stood for the next fifteen seconds, in complete silence: everyone facing away, and me, working my empty mouth.
I tried once, twice, three times, then choked it out: “So I’m bisexual. That’s it. That’s literally it. Yeah.”
All four of them turned around.
Lily said, “There we go.”
Beth said, “Oh, wow,” in a neutral voice.
Austin belted out, “Dude!” as he grinned behind one hand.
Vic, completely unsmiling, walked up to me and said, “I’m just going to hug you now …”
“That’s fine!” I yelled, way too loud, and she just said, “Seems like the thing to do. Get over here, yep.” I started laughing as I hugged her, exhaling at the feel of it. Mountains moving off my back. A net lifting itself off my limbs. Lily joined our embrace, then Austin and Beth, and I started to tear up.
“I … this isn’t like, sad crying, okay!” I insisted, a little pitifully, collapsing onto a bench and laughing into my hands once our hug broke apart. “It’s just, I like, I … I love you guys.”
The girls cooed, “Aww!” as Austin said, “We like-love you too.”
“And I was so, so nervous about this, and this feels so nice, and—” More noises. Then I yelled as loud as I could, right into the sun. “THIS FEELS SO GOOD!”
(Yeah. I was a mess.)
Beth said, “Would a picture help? Let’s take some pictures. Let’s do that,” and the five of us all piled into each other.
Cut to: now.
It’s dark out, the sky is sparkling with stars, and I’m alone on this rock overlooking my new home. The others went back to the dorms, but I told them I wanted to stay for a bit and write this down. Moments ago, I sent my parents a text I’ve had typed out and saved in drafts for weeks now:
Hi Mom and Dad. I’m sorry if this is random, but I just wanted to let you know a thing about me, and that thing is that I’m bisexual. We can talk once I get home. Love you.
Then, just before powering off my phone, I posted a portion of that—specifically the second sentence—on all my social media profiles. No going back.
Here I am.
I’m fixing my eyes on the top of the library building in the distance. It has a red ring of lights lining the roof, casting the whole area in a warm glow. I can’t believe how peaceful I feel—completely at ease. Is this what college will be like? Shit, if so, I can’t wait. Just me being able to sit looking up at the night sky, totally alone with my thoughts and feelings.
It’s so quiet.
I wish I could stay here longer, but I just got a text from Lily saying that Austin is over at Beth’s room, so she and I have the dorm to ourselves. I’ll try to enjoy all this night air on my walk back. With all this beauty, how could I not?
Sincerely,
O
TWENTY
THE ARTICLE GOES LIVE DURING THIRD PERIOD AND IS circulating by fifth. Beth posts the link in our group chat with several exclamation marks.
A twelfth grade student in Middleham County, Pennsylvania, has accused a fellow classmate of sexual assault during a school event.
The alleged incident reportedly took place this past March during an annual overnight trip for the senior class. While SRO Matthew Hewitt confirmed to WTOP that an investigation into the matter is ongoing, he emphasized that the questioning of any one student is in no way indicative of their ties to the allegation.
“We’re talking to everybody, plain and simple,” Officer Hewitt stated.
Due to the ages of the students involved, none of their names have been made available for public release. No arrest has been made at this time.
It’s only a tiny piece—a few paragraphs buried on a local news site that six people read—but it’s confirmation. It’s talk about me, in print.
I cut the rest of my classes for the day. I debate faking sick so my parents can pick me up, but I don’t want to raise any red flags. So I just hide out in different study halls.
The front office calls for me over the intercom about ten minutes before the final bell. When I get down to the admin office, Mat With One T is waiting for me.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Going to cuff me for skipping calc?”
“Not today, bud.” He tries a smile but doesn’t quite pull it off. “Principal Graham wants to see you.”
“Should I call my dad?”
“Already here.”
TWENTY-ONE
NOT ONLY IS DAD IN PRINCIPAL GRAHAM’S OFFICE, HE’S already in the middle of a speech.
“There’s this saying down in Texas … are you from Texas?” Dad asks her.
“No, I’m not.”
“How about you?” he asks Mat With One T as we step into the office. “You from Texas?”
“No.”
“Yeah, me neither; I’m from Missouri. But there’s this saying down in Texas.” Dad holds his hands in front of him. “It goes like—the saying goes, They couldn’t pour water out of a boot if instructions were printed on the heel.” He shakes his head at Principal Graham. “Now, I’m not saying that’s the case here … but, well …”
“Mr. Turner.”
“—I’m just saying, if the boot fits.” He folds his arms. Without looking at me, he continues, “Owen, I’m going to take the wild guess that you already saw the article from this morning.”
I sit down next to him. “Yeah.”
Dad opens his arms at Principal Graham and Mat With One T, yielding the stage to them. “You two want to explain that one to my kid?”
“Owen.” Principal Graham faces me, hands folded—no notepad in front of her today. She gives me a grimace that looks glued on. “First of all, how’ve you been holding up?”
“Let’s stay on target, please,” Dad snaps.
She closes her eyes, then launches right into it: Some of the students and their parents—no, she can’t say who—started throwing a fit over everyone being questioned during school hours between finals, which is the only time it’s allowed to take place. One of the parents knows a guy who knows a guy who likely helped feed this to the local press.
“Obviously we can’t know for sure, so please don’t quote me on that, but that’s my … off-the-record guesstimate about how this happened. I wanted you to know that, frankly, it’s as much of a headache for us as it is for you two.”
�
��I sincerely doubt that,” Dad says.
Principal Graham is aggressively massaging the back of her own head, like she’s trying for a self-induced aneurysm. She clears her throat. “The other reason we called you down here—do you want to wait for Mrs. Turner?”
“I don’t know where she’s at; go ahead,” Dad says.
“The other reason we called you down here is because we’ve finished looking into things,” she continues. “The report is being written—it will be seen by none of the students or parents, but we can get you a copy by end of day tomorrow, if you’d like to read it.”
Now Dad gets a whole new look on his face—like Principal Graham is here to write him a lottery check.
“Well, there you go!” he says, exuberant. He smacks his own thigh. “So you found the guy! Let’s talk about what you’re going to do to him.”
My heart climbs. My hands have come loose, flopping around me like they’re trying to escape my arms.
Principal Graham’s eyebrows arch, and I can immediately tell she doesn’t have good news. “It’s important you both know we did talk to a number of students—believe me when I say we left no stone unturned.”
“Let’s talk about what you’re going to do to him.”
“Mr. Turner, I’m telling you right now that we weren’t able to make any determinations about who was responsible for this. I know that’s not what you were—”
“Now, wait—”
“—not what you were hoping to hear, but please listen. In the interest of managing expectations, I’m going to just let you both know—and again, you can read all this yourself—as far as we can tell, no one who was on the trip saw or heard anything, nor did anyone hear about anything. And I mean anything at all. Which of course is not to say it didn’t happen, Owen,” she says, giving me a nod. “I want to be clear on that. But given the scope and constraints of this, we feel we’ve done all we can.”
