“I’m not being weird. Your body is your business.” But my faceis catching fire. I don’t want to think aboutLiam andmy sister having sex.
“Don’t be a jealous virgin,” she teases, and that just makes the flames burn hotter.
Cam and I never got past kissing, though one time I did squeeze his butt while we were making out, and that felt pretty excellent. Cam had (still has, honestly) an excellent butt, probably from all the dancing.
“I’m not jealous!” I say, probably louder than I mean to, but my ears feel full, not from my hearing aids but from the churning in my gut. I don’t want to have this conversation.
“Aw, don’t worry. You’ll find a boyfriend someday.”
I don’t want a boyfriend.
I want the one boy I can never have.
***
Dad and Amy are at a work party, and Mom’s visiting her old college friends, but Bowie invited me over to hang out. Their parents are gone too—not that I mentioned it to Dad—so we make some boxed shells and cheese (the kind with the pouch of liquid cheese, not the weird powder) and playSmash Bros.
Halfway through dinner, Bowie drops their fork and runs a hand over their hair. They cut it after State, and it’s in short waves now, with the sides faded. It looks crisp and cool, but I kind of miss their twists. I’m not used to Bowie with short hair.
“Are we going to talk about it?”
“About what?”
Bowie sighs—a heavy, dramatic one, and with their swimmer’s lungs they can really put a lot of oomph into it. “Come on, Jacks. True biz.”
I sigh back. “Liam and Jasmine are at a party tonight.”
“He mentioned it.”
“They’re going to have sex.”
Bowie makes a face.
“I know. But the thing is, she’s happy. So happy. And I should be happy for her, right? But all I can think is I wish it was me.” My stomach swoops. “Not the sex part. Just... being with him.”
The sex part would be fine too, though.
I stop signing, rub my hands over my face. My eyes are burning and I don’t want to cry into my shells and cheese.
I’m a horrible, selfish brother. And worse, I’m a terrible friend to Liam.
Because I don’t want him to be happy. Not with her.
“I wish I’d said something. Before it was too late.”
Bowie purses their lips. They’re wearing the gold lipstick I got them for Friendsmas, and it looks stunning.
“That really sucks.”
“It’s whatever. He probably doesn’t even like guys. You think he’d have mentioned before if he did, right?”
“Maybe,” Bowie says. “Everyone comes out at their own pace.”
“Yeah, but he’s friends with you and me. We wouldn’t judge.”
“That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier.”
“I guess.” I pick my fork back up and shovel more shells into my mouth.
