by Kat Fletcher
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure,” she says looking way from her device.
I hold my breath for a minute, trying to work up courage to ask her more about herself, but instead I suddenly blurt out, “Is Jennifer Lawrence really gay?”
She gives me a weird look. “Fucked if I know,” she says. “Probably not, but if she is, I volunteer as tribute.”
Chapter 6
I laugh, trying to make a joke of it and pick my book back up. After a few chapters, lunch and the warm sun start to get to me and I put the book down on my chest and close my eyes. I’m not quite sleeping, just kind of drifting. The heat and the day are making me feel so relaxed and it’s great because I’ve felt so ungrounded since we got to Cape. Okay, I admit to myself, it’s not really since the family got here, it’s since I met Rachel.
While I bask like a lizard on a rock and my mind drifts, I’m still aware of her presence only a foot or so away. She fascinates me and she’s beautiful and sexy and now I’m finding out pretty nice as well. Still, I’m not sure of how I feel about her. We’re starting to get past awkwardness, but even though she said I was cool, I still can’t get over the idea that I’m not so much a friend as a little kid following her older sister around.
Oh God, no. Not an older sister. Bad metaphor Sarah. Try harder next time.
Part of it is her style, but I’m way intimidated by how out of the closet she is. Could I ever be myself enough to “be with her” be with her? I can’t quite imagine she’d be interested, though I’ve already done quite a bit of imagining of what might happen if she was. I’m also uncertain if that’s what I want. Maybe I need a friend? Someone to be my Sherpa guide up the great mountain of girl-on-girl love. What do they call that in movies when people go to a bar? A wingman?
Who am I kidding? I’m totally infatuated and I know it. I decide I need to clear my head and sit up. “I’m going for another dip in the water? Want to come?”
“Sure,” she answers and carefully tucks the Kindle into her bag.
This time I’m determined to be the first and when I feel the first cold wave splash against my toes, I run forward, splashing through, and jump as soon as I think it’s deep enough. After the hot beach, the cold shock wakens all my senses and as I slip through the shallow water, my morose thoughts are gone and I feel suddenly alive. I turn onto my back and she’s slowly wading in, obviously watching me. I smile and flick a little splash at her.
We swim out and paddle after each other for a half hour or so. Despite the sun, I’m starting to get cold and swim back towards the land. We step out of the water and find ourselves walking along the shore line, dodging in and out as the waves wash up against our ankles. Something in the water catches my eye and I bend over and pluck it out of the surf.
“What’s that?” she asks.
“Sea glass,” I say and show her. It’s perfectly smooth and not quite a perfect triangle. Usually you can tell that sea glass is a soda or beer bottle or started life as one, but this is pink and the water and sand have left it wonderfully frosted as well as smooth.
“That’s totally gay,” she says.
“What?” I really don’t have the slightest idea what she’s talking about.
“It’s a pink triangle Sarah,” she’s staring at me with this surprised look on her face. “Really? You don’t know? It’s a gay symbol.”
“Oh.” I’m embarrassed and that little voice is back, telling me that she’s just like Emily and only hanging around with me because our parents are making us. I hush the voice and try to soldier on. “So, when did you come out to your parents? Like, as gay.”
“Two years ago. After I started at Valley.”
“Were they okay with it?” I ask, as I wonder if I’m being curious, creepy, or what.
“My dad is cool, but he’s kind of a SNAG. You know, if you haven’t noticed.”
“SNAG?”
“Sensitive New Age Guy?”
I laugh. “Maybe he is, just a little bit.” It’s about the most perfect description I can imagine, but it’s pretty rude, at least I think it is, so I’m trying to be polite.
She cocks her head at me. “Oh please.”
“Okay, maybe a lot,” I laugh.
“Anyway, he was really cool and did the whole we love you no matter what thing. My mom kind of blew it off. I don’t know. They’re weird. They absolutely love each other and I love them and stuff, but they are so different. I have no idea how they ever ended up together. Anyway, they were cool with it for a while, then when I started wearing pride stuff, my mom got all pissy about it, but I guess she got over it. Mostly we don’t talk about it.”
“Oh,” I say quietly. I figured things had to be pretty good for her, but it doesn’t sound all that great.
She looks straight at me. “How about you?”
“What?” I’m honestly surprised.
“What did you parents say? Or haven’t you told them.”
I cough. Literally I cough. Worse, she laughs.
“Why? Do you think I’m gay?” I croak out, feeling my voice warbling and my stomach turning over, making me wish I hadn’t eaten quite that much for lunch.
“Oh come on! Sarah, you’re so obvious. I mean, you keep asking about me about gay stuff.”
“I don’t keep asking about it,” I impotently protest, blushing.
“Oh really? Have we talked about what kind of movies we like? Or what music I like? Just books and even that turned into a discussion about being gay. And the way you stared at my necklace? At first I thought you were freaked out, but is it something else?”
I don’t have an answer, so I let the silence sit between us. It’s an awkward lump of something and I wish the surf would wash it away.
“Don’t worry,” she says, “you don’t ‘look gay’ or something if that’s what you’re worried about. If you are though, I think your parents would be cool with it. I mean, if they were going to freak, I don’t think they’d be pushing you to hang out with their friends’ big old dyke daughter.”
“I’m not sure they even know,” I lie.
“About you or me?” she teases.
I hold my breath for a moment. There’s nothing I want to do more than come out to her, but I can’t make my mouth form the words. It’s not even telling her. It’s that I like her. What if she says something that means she doesn’t like me back? I’m such a chicken. I answer her with a question. “How’d you know you were gay?”
“See, it’s all you ask about,” she says turning around in the surf and grinning at me. “I tell you, you’re sure nothing’s going on with you?”
I know she’s kidding and I give her this big fake glare which makes her break into a smile.
“Okay. I’ll leave you alone. For now. As for me, to start,” she says, “there was my love for full-bellied clams and other shellfish…”
We both crack up.
“Seriously,” I say, trying to make it clear I really did want to know.
“Seriously?” she shrugs, “I liked girls and I didn’t like boys. I started to hang out with the other lez girls at school and that was kind of that. I figured I should tell my parents before someone else did, so I told them.”
“It was that easy?” I say admiring her casualness.
“So far, so good,” she says.
It’s starting to get late in the afternoon and we’ve walked almost to the point at the end of the cove, so we head back and take one more short swim before packing things up and walking back up to the cottage. I offer to help, but she won’t hear of having me take one of her bags, and halfway up, she stumbles, weighted down by it all. I reach out my hand to grab hers, worried she’s going to go tumbling down to the beach.
When she’s back up on her feet, I don’t let go. We stand on the stairs for a moment in silence, but the moment ends when a bag starts to slip down her shoulder and she lets my hand go so she can grab it.
At the top of the stairs, we pause. It sounds silly because al
l we did was go for a few swims and read together, but I feel like it was a great day and I can’t stand the idea of her going back to her cottage. I think she feels the same way because she’s doing the kick the sand thing that I remember from the first time I saw her. Was it only two days ago?
There’s enough silence to be awkward and then she looks up and smiles. “Hey, this was fun. My mom says she has tomorrow off so I guess we’re doing the family thing, but maybe we can get together sometime when I get back?”
I smile, though I know the smile on the inside is bigger than the one on my face. “Yeah, sure.”
* * *
Back inside, I relax and smile to myself. I head to my room upstairs and change out of the bathing suit into jeans and a tee, then flop on the bed and message Sierra. Okay, Cape Cod is still SO not exciting, but the beach doesn’t suck.
Sierra calls back almost immediately on video chat. “So you’re holding up? You and your parents go to the beach?”
“Rachel and I spent the afternoon there. The whole house is sort of on the beach I guess.”
“Who’s Rachel?”
Who is Rachel indeed? I think about it, but I’m not sure I want to go there with Sierra, at least not yet. “My dad’s new law partner’s daughter. She’s my age so we’re supposed to hang out.”
“So you did find someone to play with,” she quips.
“Yeah, it was kind of humiliating when my mother told me that’s what she had in mind, but it turned out okay. She goes to Valley, but she’s very cool.”
Sierra laughs. “She goes to Valley and she went to the beach? Didn’t she didn’t burst into flame when the sun hit her? Doesn’t the black makeup run when she goes in the water?”
A vision of her shaking the water out of her black hair comes into my mind. I shiver and suppress it. “No bursting into flames. She’s actually wicked awesome.”
“Do tell?”
“Well, she’s got a wicked sense of humor. We went out to dinner last night and she was so funny. It was this kind of dull place and she was making fun of the stupid ship in a bottle stuff and then there was this obnoxious guy being loud and she was snarking on him and totally cracking me up. Plus, how she looks. She has these great clothes. They’re a little different, but it’s not all gothy, it’s more alt with a little taste of punk.”
“So there is black makeup then?”
I laugh at her. “She’s not like that. Well, yeah, she had a little eyeliner the first time we met, but she didn’t wear it to the beach. We all have to get together when I get back. Justin too. Trust me, you’ll like her.”
“I’m just kidding. She sounds great,” Sierra says, “I’m glad you found someone to hang out with so it’s not too boring there.”
A message pops up that I have a text. “Hold on,” I say and switch programs. It’s from Rachel. OMG mom cooking, call poison control.
I try to think of something witty to say. Tragic. I’ll miss you when you’ve passed.
Not if I haunt you.
So I need an exorcist, not poison control?
She doesn’t answer and I click back to Sierra, and instead I get a view of the ceiling. “You there?” I ask.
The picture goes wild as she picks up the phone and then I see her face again.
“Sorry,” I say. “Rach sent me a text. Her mom is cooking and she wanted me to call poison control. She says if she dies she’s going to haunt me.”
Yes. Because Sierra needs to hear exactly what Rachel is saying. Score one more for Team Awkward.
“Haunting? I knew it, another black lipstick from Valley.”
“She’s really not,” I say, defending her. “Her style is a little more grown up than the emo black lipstick thing. She looks like she’s older. It’s more like a Kristen Stewart look.”
“Which one? Twilight Kstew or lesbian Kstew?”
I freeze and try to think. Did I mention Rach was gay? I don’t remember saying anything about it. I decide I’ll just avoid the whole issue. “Kristen Stewart’s not officially out of the closet, but yeah, Rach looks like the current short-haired KStew. She’s a little alt, but not over the top.”
“And with her going to Valley, I was thinking the vampire angle.”
I know it’s a joke, but Sierra’s tone is starting to annoy me. I suppose I’ve made my fair share of jokes about Valley kids too, but Rach is a real person.
“So what’s going on back at home?” I ask, changing the subject.
“Nothing. Like usual. Justin and I went to the movies last night. Trust me, it’s more interesting where you are.”
Sierra and I talk about the movie for a little while until her mom calls her away and we finish the call. It feels good to have talked with her, but on the same side, now I feel like I’m not being honest. It was one thing when I was leaving stuff out, but suddenly I actually have something, correction, someone, to talk about. My best friend deserves better than to be kept in the dark.
I know what I should do, but it feels like I’m falling into a giant pit whenever I think about it.
* * *
My mom makes us eggplant parmesan for dinner, which is one of my favorites. Thankfully, unlike Rachel, both my parents are pretty good cooks. My mom can make pretty much anything. My father? Not so much, but he has the good sense to stay away from stuff he can’t deal with. He and I are sitting at the kitchen table playing with our phones while my mother is putting away leftovers. I send Rachel a text.
You ok? Should I call the EMTs?
The answer is instant. Still alive. Slow-acting poison. Mom likes to draw out the agony.
It’s still not too late for me to call poison control.
Is there indigestion in the afterlife? she replies.
I laugh out loud.
“Texting with Sierra?” my mom asks.
“No,” I mumble, paying more attention to entering my response than my parents.
Depends which place you’re going in the afterlife?
Big Party in hell. Come with me?
Absolutely.
“Justin?” my mother asks, her voice becoming more curious.
“Huh? Oh sorry, no, I video’d with Sierra after I got back from the beach. I’m texting with Rach.” I gaze around and all the food is put away. “Oh sorry, I’ll start on the dishes.” I’m afraid the scene in the kitchen sink is ugly, but dealing with the cheese-crusted pan is more than a good deal in exchange for my mom’s eggplant.
At least we’ll be warm down there.
I smile and suspect anywhere I was with Rachel, I’d be feeling pretty warm, but I don’t tell her that and she sends another message before I can reply.
Want to come over 2nite for a movie?
“Mom? Dad? Rachel wants me to come over later and watch a movie. Is that okay?”
“Sure,” my dad says, “It’s a vacation.”
Sure, sounds great, I respond.
My mom says you can sleep over.
I freeze. Really? I think to myself.
If U want?
I’m still turning the idea over in my head when I’m jolted out of my thoughts by my mother’s voice.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“Sorry, just zoning,” I say. “She wants to know if I can sleep over?”
My mom and dad exchange some kind of glance that makes me think they’re going to say no, though I can’t imagine why they would. Well, if they knew what I thought about Rach, they’d definitely say no, but they have no clue I’m gay, much less crushing on her. Thinking about them knowing starts my stomach churning. I know they would be okay with it, but the thought of actually telling them I’m gay is terrifying.
“I don’t see why not,” my mom says.
“Great,” I murmur and turn my attention to the phone.
I type the words and then my finger hesitates over the send button for a moment before I jab at the screen with my thumb and send it.
Sure, sleeping over would be great.
Chapter 7
I
shiver a little as my shoes crunch on the gravel road to the Rach’s parents’ rental. It’s kind of surprising how cool it gets once the sun goes down, but it’s more my nerves than the temperature that’s getting to me.
I was supposed to be there ten minutes ago, but I spent too much time picking out things. I wish I could have talked to Sierra. I’ve been there when she was getting ready for a date and she always knows about this stuff.
Getting ready for a date? Is that what I was doing? My mind kind of boggles. A date? With a girl? With Rach? It feels like it. I’m pretty sure we’ve been flirting or at least I hope we have. It could be something else, but it’s getting harder and harder for me to pretend she’s making fun of me.
I pause nervously for a moment in the driveway, and that’s when I catch sight of Rach and her parents inside the house. The Gills’ rental couldn’t be more different from ours if we tried. It’s not at all Cape Cod. It’s a single floor and has these huge windows and a flat roof that extends way past the walls. I think that’s called “modern” even though “modern” is like from my grandparents’ time.
I can see them through the window. There’s a long breakfast bar stretching the length of the kitchen. Her mom and dad are sitting on stools and Rach is behind the counter washing dishes and talking with them.
She turns to say something and I can see her laughing. It must be something her dad said because she’s looking at him. She’s cracking up so bad that she’s bent over and her face is flushing red. There’s that smile, the broad one she doesn’t let come out when she’s playing it cool.
I wonder how many people get to see her smile? Am I on some special level or is it something you get when you’re not a random acquaintance? It doesn’t matter though. While it’s making my stomach go all funny, it’s not from nervousness anymore.
I’ve watched as long as I can without turning into a creeper, so I walk up to the door. There doesn’t seem to be a bell, so I rap on the glass with my knuckles. Her mom turns, smiles, and motions for me to come in. “Hello Sarah.”
