“With you?” Mal swallowed hard.
“Yeah, of course.” Emerson waved a hand like that was obvious. “And Sam will be there, and about a billion other people too. It’ll be a blast.”
“I wish I could.” They legitimately did—it sounded like a fun, if absolutely overwhelming, time. Mal had been comfortablyout(whatever that meant) for what felt like forever, but they had never really connected with other queer kids; making The Plan work took up so much of their time that they never really had extra left over to try. There had been one friend, a girl named Brett, whom Mal had suspected was also queer, but then they failed eighth grade and Brett went to a private high school and that connection fell, like so many others, by the wayside. “But my mom is going to pick me up like”—their eyes flicked to the old clock, a buzzy fuzz of anxiety needling at their chest—“any minute now.”
“But they’re playingBut I’m a Cheerleader,” Emerson protested. “It’s a classic.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Mal admitted. “It sounds—”
“What?!”Emerson spoke over them. “Then youhaveto come!”
“I wish I cou—”
But before Mal could finish their sentence, a blaring car horn sounded through the windows by the desk. Their stomach dropped.
Malreallywished she wouldn’t do that.
“Who the hell is that?” Emerson asked, making a sour face.
“That… would be my mom,” Mal admitted, packing upat hyper speed. If they didn’t move quickly, they knew she would honk again. She always did. “I have to go.” They stood, heading through the door.
“Hey, wait, I’ll walk you out!”
Emerson followed Mal as they stomped back through the Haus, trying not to think about all the eyes watching them as they went. Among them was Emerson herself, crashing out the front door just in time to hear the blare of a freshHOOOONKfrom Mal’s mom and to see the message written on the back window of her minivan:HONK IF YOU LOVE SOCCER.
“Honk, honk!” Emerson called, waving.
Mal’s cheeks burned as red as the handwritten letters. “I am… so sorry.” In that moment, they badly wanted to be the sort of person who would go to a movie with Emerson. But piling into a minivan to go to their sister’s soccer scrimmage was much more their speed. Mal swallowed.
“Don’t be.” Emerson grinned, playfully shooing her hands out at Mal. “Go have fun. I’ll fill you in on the movie later. Really, it’s a travesty you haven’t seen it yet.”
“Yeah—” Mal started, but before they could finish, two things happened:
Mal’s mom rolled her window down and yelled, “GET A MOVE ON, MAL.”
And Emerson threw her arms around their shoulders, drawing them in for a hug.
After a breath spent processing, Mal closed their arms around Emerson’s waist, her hips soft beneath their forearms. They held her for half a heartbeat before, just as fast as she’d leaned in, Emerson bounced away again.
“See you Sunday!” she shouted, even though she didn’t really need to.
“See you Sunday,” said Mal, mystified.
As Emerson bounded back toward the Haus, Mal blinked after her, trying to catch up with everything that had just happened and to memorize how Emerson’s face had looked immediately after: all lit up with a grin that made her eyes sparkle, a hint of bright pink on her cheeks.
And then they crossed the street and climbed into the back seat of the minivan.
Thirty minutes into Maddie’s scrimmage, Mal still couldn’t stop playing those last moments with Emerson in their mind. The blare of the van’s horn. The way their mom yelled out the window, loud enough for half of the Haus to hear. The way Emerson threw her arms around Mal like it was no big deal, how warm they felt around Mal’s shoulders in the chill of the early-fall evening.
And the biggest deal was that the whole thing hadn’tbeena big deal, at least not the way it might have been with someone else. Mal wasn’t big on spontaneous PDA; it had been a sticking point in their previous relationships. But instead of making them feel panicky and imposed upon, like most sudden hugs did, Emerson’s embrace had made Mal feel… good. Pleasant and warm. Tingly.
And it was nice, hugging another fat person. Mal didn’t feel weird when their bellies touched like they sometimes did hugging thinner people. It was oddly empowering rememberingthe feel of it. Part of that still lingered, glowing in the center of Mal’s chest, whenever they imagined Emerson’s arms around them again.
But a whoop from the crowd pulled Mal back to the soccer stands and the crisp night air, which felt comparatively cold despite sitting close to their mom and wearing the red Bulldogs hoodie she had brought for them. On the field, Maddie’s team moved the ball toward the opposing goal.
“GO, MADDIE, GO,” Mal’s mom screamed beside them as Maddie… did soccer things on the field. Even after all these years, Mal could never really be sure what was happening. They always had Maddie to explain the bits they missed.
Still, they were glad they were there.
