"I — I like someone else," I say.
She stares at me as if she doesn't understand why I'm telling her this. Then her chest heaves with a breath. "How long?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know?"
"I only realised that day. When we were…" I trail off, unable to make myself say it.
"When we were about to fuck?" Kennedy asks. "When we were about to have sex, and you thought to yourself, huh, I like someone else?"
"I think I've unconsciously felt this way for longer. I only realised it then."
Kennedy looks at me before craning her neck, so she's looking anywhere but my face. "Well. Shit."
"I'm sorry," I say. "I am."
She shakes her head before trying to compose herself. "So what?"
I blink at her, confused.
"Why are you telling me this?" she asks, her voice louder. I'm glad the others have left the house, otherwise they'd be able to hear us. "Why now, and not when we broke up?"
"I didn't think anything would come of it," I say.
Kennedy's brown eyes glitter, but not with her usual happiness. "Something came of it?"
I can't make myself say it. I try to open my mouth, but Kennedy cuts in.
"So what happened? Did you confess your love for each other? Have phone sex?" Her expression twists. "Did you ask her out?"
"We're not going to date," I say, but Kennedy ignores me.
"Who is she, anyway?" she asks. "A girl from school? Wait, don't tell me, I don't want to know."
I don't correct the pronouns. Kennedy's smart, and if I specify she's a he, it won't take her long to put the puzzle pieces together.
"I just felt I owed it to you," I say. "I feel shitty about it."
"I bet," Kennedy says, rolling her eyes. "It's been, what, three days? And you said all that crap about wanting to stay friends."
"I know," I say. The backyard is quiet, with no ocean rushing in the background, no birds shrilling from the trees. It makes my words sound even lamer.
"How am I supposed to react to all of this? Thank you for being honest?"
"No, of course not," I answer quickly. "I know you won't believe me, but I do care about you, Kennedy. I think… it'd be better if I went home to Easton. I think you'd prefer that, too."
It's Thursday today, and the original plan was to leave Saturday afternoon. It's two more days, but two days too many.
It takes Kennedy a moment to respond. I watch her jaw unclench so she can speak. "You want to go home?"
"I should go home," I correct.
"How?"
"By bus," I say. "There's a route from here that takes me to Easton. I just need to change over at — forget it, it's unimportant. The point is, I won't impose and stay here. Um. But, thank you for inviting me —"
Kennedy stands up, and I cut myself off. She looks down at me, the sun behind her head blinding me. "When are you going?"
