“Sure, I guess.” She gives me a brief, sceptical look.
“Can you give D— a message from me?” I ask and then push on while I still have the confidence. “Can you tell her that…French was fun with her? That Paris was cool too. And that I hope she, I don’t know, enjoys the rest of her life.”
I punctuate the sentence with a goofy laugh.
“I mean, okay,” Raquelle mumbles, and then we’re back outside, the darkness and cool summer air more refreshing than the bustle and brightness inside.
“Thanks, I’d appreciate it.”
Raquelle takes a few steps away from me but then turns back to me. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
“What?”
“The Valentine’s card. You like her. You like D?—.”
I’m glad the darkness and the distance stops her from seeing the heat I feel in my cheeks. “Peut-être,” I say in French like a right pretentious knob.
She laughs at that, more at me than with me. “Whatever.” She waves a hand at me before turning and walking away.
I walk home alone, slowly, and with my hands in my pockets. I think about how this is the last time I’m doing this walk. About how I must have done it hundreds of times never really thinking about how one day it would be the last. I wonder which of my friends I’ll stay close to. I wonder which of them will do well in their A-Levels and at uni. I wonder where I’ll end up going and if I’ll hate it or love it. Or maybe I’ll land somewhere in the middle.
As I let myself into the dark house, I think about how Maman will be living alone after I move out and how that doesn’t sit quite right with me. But also how she half-pushed for me to go to university in France so Birmingham will hopefully be a better compromise, and how she tells meevery day how she’s proud of me, and she’ll miss me but she can’t wait to see where I’ll end up.
Brushing my teeth and washing my face, I think about Miles and wonder if he’ll ever get his shit together. I’m glad he didn’t pick any of the same unis as me. I’m glad that from now on, my life will be free of him. That all he’ll likely become now is a distant memory.
And lastly, as I lie down in my bed and close my eyes, I wonder if I’ll ever see D— again.
TWENTY-ONE
DION
NOW
“So,”I say as I stand facing Benji.
“So,” he repeats, eyes on me.
The light is on but I dimmed it so it’s not too bright. It makes Benji’s features seem darker and more…serious. More handsome. More devastating.
“What do you—” I begin at the same time he blurts, “How do you want?—”
We share a smile.
“I’m a bottom,” I tell him. “But not submissive.”
He visibly takes a moment to process this but then responds easily, “Okay. I’m vers. I like…both. But, you know, it has been a while since I’ve been with a guy.”
I narrow my eyes at him and don’t even try to hold back my smile. “Did you forget I’m trans.”
His face falls. “No, I just…I wasn’t talking about…Honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.”
“Same,” I admit. And then I take off my shirt, pulling itover my head and dropping it to the floor. “I’ve had top surgery, but not bottom.”
Benji’s eyes roam my body with hunger, with curiosity, with something I’d call awe if I was feeling generous to myself.
When his gaze returns to mine, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he pulls his jumper, and then T-shirt over his head. “This is me,” he says as he throws his T-shirt on top of mine. “I’ve had colostomy surgery. And had my tonsils taken out when I was seven, but that’s probably not relevant.”
I give him another smile before I take in his body the same way he did mine. I look at all of him: the flat planes of muscle, the pink of his nipples, the bumps of his ribs pressing up against his skin, the cream-coloured bag that sits just above his right hip. He has a small patch of hair between his pectorals, and another line of it disappearing into his jogging bottoms. I lick my lips.
