Daphne huffed through her nose. “Figures.”
And it took her a second, but then she started to talk. As she did, her eyes weren’t on the sky, nor were they on April, but following her own hands through the water.
“I do miss them. A lot,” she said. “My mom is beautiful and kind and gentle. She’s funny too. So smart and creative. She usedto give us watercolor lessons, and she painted the most gorgeous sunsets. They were incredible. I use a lot of her techniques in our class, actually, like how to do the perfect graded wash. I’ve still never seen anything that equals her work, even in Boston. But her life…it’s just not one I ever wanted. Not like my sister.”
“What’s your sister’s name?”
“Amelia. She’s three years older than me. And I was supposed to follow her example, right? This paragon of what a good Christian girl looked like, going to Sunday school and fantasizing about marrying the town golden boy and making sure I only dreamed good Christian girl dreams.”
“When did you realize you didn’t want a golden boy?” April asked.
Daphne grinned. “That I wanted a Golden Girl instead?”
“Well, Blanche is very hot,” April said, laughing.
Daphne laughed too. “Her name wasn’t Blanche, but I was nine when Danielle McCrae grabbed my hand during a tornado drill and held it for, like, five minutes.”
“Were you about to throw up?”
“Oh my god, it’s amazing I didn’t,” Daphne said, splashing April again, but lightly this time. “Your turn. How old were you when you realized you were queer?”
“Oh, god, Leigh Reynolds,” April said, dropping her face into her hands.
“An embarrassing story?” Daphne asked. “I’m intrigued.”
“Not embarrassing so much as long-standing.”
Daphne’s posture went a little straighter, but April ignored it, kept talking.
“Leigh is nonbinary and helped me realize I was pansexual when I was sixteen. I like all genders, and it really depends on the person for me,” April said. “But Leigh was—is—a total fuckboi.”
“Oh, like Sasha?” Daphne asked.
April laughed. “Exactly like Sasha.”
Daphne nodded and looked down, inspecting her wrinkling fingertips. “So…do you still see Leigh?”
“Oh, god, no,” April said.
And maybe April only imagined it, but she could swear that Daphne’s shoulders dropped a little.
“At least, not since last summer,” she went on. “I just got tired of the whole scene. And Leigh made it pretty clear they weren’t into the vibe anymore when I got a little too snuggly one night.”
Daphne widened her eyes. “April Evans? Snuggling?”
“I know, I know, I’m still processing the whole ordeal.”
Daphne laughed but then grew serious. “Actually, I don’t think it’s so hard to imagine.”
Somehow, they’d gotten even closer as they talked, the nearly nonexistent current pulling them together. April could see a water droplet on Daphne’s bottom lip.
“No?” April asked, her voice a whisper.
“No,” Daphne said. She stared at April, eyes soft, her irises flashing from green to black as wispy clouds passed over the silver moon. Unspoken words floated between them, but April understood somehow.
She understood that if she swam a little closer, Daphne wouldn’t move away.
And she understood that if she set her hands on Daphne’s waist under the water, pulling her closer still, Daphne would let her.
