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“Just checking.”

“I’m not ashamed of it. I’ve had opportunities,” I said.

“I believe you,” Omar replied.

“Many.”

“I believe you,” he repeated.

“Very attractive opportunities,” I added, and Omar just looked at me. “I’m clarifying.”

He laughed and I smiled. Until my eyes caught movement near the administration building. My father. Standing on the porch. Watching us. Every muscle in my body tightened.

Omar followed my line of sight and his posture changed too. Subtle. Professional again. My father’s assistant. Instead of the gay Omar Bell. The difference punched me in the gut.

“Go,” I whispered. Omar turned back to me. “He’s your boss.”

“So?”

“He sees us talking.”

“We’re allowed to talk, Alvin.”

“You don’t know him.” I glanced towards my father. “You know Pastor Carter.” Then back at Omar. “I know Xavier.”

For once, Omar had nothing clever to say, so I picked up a pair of abandoned pom-poms from the grass.

“Go.”

He hesitated. But eventually nodded. Before he left, he said, “I’m not asking for love or proposals, but if you wanna have some fun while your boy tiptoes around the closet, let me know.”

I blinked. “What?”

He smiled and started walking backwards.

I stood alone in the grass. Holding two ridiculous pom-poms. Wearing a cheerleading skirt. Feeling like somebody had quietly reached inside my chest and rearranged the furniture.

“Mr. Carter!”

I turned.

Trevor stood outside the dining hall. Still wearing the cheer top. He lifted both arms. “Do I have to take this off for lunch?”

I looked at him. At the nervous way he pulled on the hem. At the hope hidden beneath the question. Then I looked towards Omar again. His earring flashed in the sunlight as he passed my father, and something inside me solidified.

“No!” I shouted towards Trevor. A smile exploded across his face, and I shook one pom-pom over my head. “You better wear the fucking skirt tomorrow too!”

“Mr. Carter!”

“What? Camp spirit!”

He laughed and disappeared inside.

I stood there for another moment. Then I glanced down at myself. The skirt. The chipped polish. The ridiculous uniform. Everything my father had spent years trying to beat, pray, shame, and frighten out of me. Still here despite it all.

Then I headed towards lunch. And when my father sneered at my skirt again? I gave him a fucking twirl.

CHAPTER 16