He probably sees me as a brother. The tag-along who is always around. There is absolutely no way that he will ever feel the same way.
I’m just…Kit.
I’m small. Too dramatic. Would rather read a book than participate in any sport. I zone out when they talk video games, and I don’t have a single care for cars or motorcycles. I’m not as soft as girls.
I'mnota girl.
I bite the inside of my cheek, hard.
I don’t catch whatever Bowen says in response to Brett’s question. I’m far too busy having my very first gay panic.
I cannot like Bowen.
I can’t.
I’ve been avoiding him.
Not in an obvious way, I’m not dumb. I still sit where I’m supposed to sit. I laugh when I’m supposed to, respond when it’s expected. But I’ve gotten good at timing things. Leaving the room after Brett does. Sitting on the other side of the porch swing. Finding reasons to leave when it’s just the two of us.
It’s been working. I think.
Mostly.
Maybe?
Until today.
I’m struggling with the canoe. One end is dragged halfway on the bank while the other is stuck awkwardly in the shallows. I misjudged how heavy it would be and how slippery the shoreline has gotten since the rain. Of course, no one else is around. Brett ran off to grab water and likely got sidetracked in the fridge.
It’s just me. Me and this stupid canoe that refuses to cooperate.
I’m about to just leave it.
“I got it,” Bowen says, and I shoot around to see him making his way towards me.
“No,” I blurt. “I got it.”
He pauses. “Kitte…”
“IsaidI’ve got it.”
There’s a beat of silence. My voice was sharper than I meant it to be, but I can’t take it back now. I turn back to the canoe instead, gripping the edge and pulling with renewed strength. Each tug is powered by embarrassment and nerves lighting up my insides. Especially when the dang thing immediately shifts, splashing mud up my leg.
“You don’t have to help me all the time,” I snap.Again.
Yeah, Kit. Dig yourself deeper. Idiot.
I avoid looking at him, still trying to pull. “I’m actually not a little kid. I’m the same age as you.”
“What? I know you’re not a little kid,” he says finally, sounding confused but calm as ever. SoBoe.“I help because I want to.”
“Well, maybe don’t.”
It comes out fast. Loaded with meaning I don’t ever want him to understand. I mean it, though, I don’t want his help. His touches and attention andargh.I feel like every time he’s close to me, I’ll say something wrong or look too long and give it all away.
Bowen steps closer anyway.
“Yeah, okay, kitten.” Then he’s gripping the back end of the canoe and lifting it like it weighs nothing. “You’re being weird.”
