I shrug, the tree bark rough against my shoulders. “Not her fault.”
“It’s not yours, either.”
“I guess not. I just felt stupid.”
“Yeah, I can imagine. Thanks for telling me all that.”
“Sure.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yeah.”
“You and Jay . . . he was your boyfriend, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you liked him?”
“I liked him okay. I didn’t love him. But I liked being with him while it lasted. We had fun until we didn’t.”
She frowns. “Oh.”
“Just ask me, Eva. Just say it.”
Her fingers twitch on mine. “So . . . Natalie . . . did you . . . like her like her?”
“Yeah. She was the first person I really, really liked. You asked me to tell you about my first real crush, remember?”
“I did, didn’t I?” she says, her mouth curved into a half smile.
“Before Natalie, it was just little infatuations and spin the bottle.”
“Okay,” she says, but the question is still there, hovering.
“I guess I’m bisexual,” I say, inhaling a deep breath with my words.
She lifts a brow. “You guess?”
“I mean—?”
“No. Crap, I’m messing this up. Wherever you are with this, that’s totally cool. I guessed I was queer for a long time before I really let myself just . . . be queer. I just want to make sure that I understand what you’re saying.”
I nod. I’ve only ever said all of this to Luca. I tried telling Mom, and that was so wildly unsuccessful I never really tried again. But I haven’t shied away from talking about it because I’m confused.
I glance at Eva’s face—?her open, curious expression. Her amber-flecked eyes. Her gorgeous mouth, slightly parted and patiently waiting for me to go on. The little dip at her throat created by her sleek collarbones.
Nope. Definitely not confused. But with my confession, Eva and I are edging away from impossible, edging closer to possible. We’re shifting from a gay girl and a straight girl to two queer girls.
“It’s just a word, you know?” I say, meeting her gaze. “And sometimes words help; sometimes they don’t. But . . . well, I like who I like. I like the person.”
A little smile lifts her mouth.
“That makes a lot of sense. Cool.”
I wait for more—?another question, a scoff, even an untangling of our fingers—?but nothing comes. She stays still, stays quiet, presses her fingers into mine a little more.
Then her whole hand slides across my whole hand, and our fingers are all mixed up, pale and dark, lavender on dark purple, wrapped over and around. The tree creaks ominously, but I don’t care. I forget about everything that came before this—?every pissed-off and jealous emotion I had from earlier tonight, gone.
