I climb out of the car so she can get out.
“Thanks for the ride,” she tells Maliah.
Maliah slips into the beer-stained tank top. “It’s fine.”
“I’ll have your shirt dry-cleaned and give it to Abby to give you.”
“God, it’s from Forever 21. Just get it back to Abbs.”
“Text me tomorrow,” Jordi tells me as I get back into the car.
“I don’t have your number!”
“Well, get it.” She leans in and smiles. “Kidding. I’ll message you.”
“Okay. Good night.”
“Good night, Abby.” She closes the door and waves as Maliah peels out.
“Oh my god,” Brooke says.
“Oh my god, Abby!” Zoe leans over and pokes my leg. “Hours ago you said no one is gay at all and now you have a girlfriend.”
“She just hooked up at a party,” Maliah says quickly. “She doesn’t have a girlfriend.”
“Mal,” I say. “I think it’s more than that.”
“I told you to be careful,” she says. “She’s going to corrupt you.”
“She can corrupt me all she wants,” I say, like I’m a new person who goes around saying everything I think on purpose. “I want to be corrupted.”
Zoe giggles. “You have it bad.”
Maliah parks in front of my house. “See you.”
My best friend loves honesty and details, and so I know the right thing to do right now is to lay some of this out for her. If she knew more about Jordi, and if she knew more about how I felt about Jordi, maybe she wouldn’t be barely bothering to make eye contact with me.
But it doesn’t feel like the time (past midnight) or the place (a tiny car filled with other people), so I just wave and let myself into the house. Mom and Dad must be in bed; the house is silent and dark. There doesn’t seem to be a right thing to do with myself. I pace around our tiny living room, I get a glass of lemonade from the refrigerator, I walk into the backyard and sit on the grass. It’s hard to see stars in Los Angeles—the kind in the sky—because of streetlights and billboards and pollution, but I look for them anyway.
And right at this very moment, for maybe the first time ever, I feel like I’m in my own story.
In the morning, it all feels like a dream. I’m the sidekick. I’m the goober who rambles at work. I am not the one who takes a beautiful girl in her arms and kisses her.
Except that last night, I was.
I grab my phone from my nightstand and see the alerts. It seems as though everyone I’ve ever known wants to talk to me.
Brooke: Tell me everything.
Zoe: Tell me EVERYTHING!!!
Maliah: Don’t forget to get my shirt back for me.
Jax: brgrs? 2day? whut up?
Seriously, why would he take the time to write whut when it’s literally the same amount of effort to type the word correctly?
Most importantly, I know that I didn’t dream anything because there’s an Instagram message from Jordi containing only a number, which I add to my phone immediately.
Hi, I text her.
hey abby, she replies almost immediately. are you free tonight?
I am, but also who cares if I was already? I am now!
Yes! I’m free!
It’s so nice to stop caring about looking cool.
can i take you out? proper date.
I’m finding new records for how quickly I can tell someone yes.
Maliah is maybe not my favorite person right now, but I still text her once I’ve taken a shower and put on my afternoon interim pre-date outfit. Need help with perfect first-date look. Can you come over?
She doesn’t respond right away, but I remind myself that maybe she’s just doing something. Maliah’s allowed to have a life that doesn’t permit constant texting. I suppose. If Rachel were home, I’d get her help, but the truth is I’d still want Maliah here. Some jobs require your best friend. Though of course it’d be nice if my big sister were here, too.
I walk down the hallway and find my parents in the kitchen with an array of recipes spread out on the counter. “Is there breakfast?”
“She finally arises!” Dad says with a biblical intonation to his voice. “There was breakfast a couple hours ago.”
“Why didn’t you get me?” I ask, except that I know why. My sister’s always been an insanely early riser, and she’d be the one to drag me from slumber to the table. Mom and Dad haven’t had to worry about me in ages.
“I can make you something, sweetie,” Mom says.
“I’ll just have a yogurt,” I say, and then take a deep breath as I turn away toward the refrigerator. “So … I have a date tonight. That’s okay, right? I’m seventeen.”
“Of course it’s okay!”
I can hear Mom’s smile even with my head in the fridge in search of the best yogurt varieties left.
“Is it with Jax?” she asks, and I nearly hit my head on the refrigerator’s shelf. “You two have been spending a lot of time together.”
“Mom,” I say, as Dad says, “Norah.”
“What?” she asks.
“I told you last year that I’m gay.” It hadn’t been a big speech. It was just weird keeping part of my identity a secret—especially when back then I never could have imagined it would have led to something like kissing the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen at a high school party as if I’m someone cool enough to do things like that … except now there’s a chance I am? So one evening at dinner I’d just said it.
“Well, I didn’t know if you’d still feel that way,” Mom says. “Feelings change.”
“It’s not a feeling,” I say. “It’s … never mind. I don’t know why I bother.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, though in the kind of tone that doesn’t completely feel like an apology. “You’ve just been spending so much time with Jax lately.”
“I could spend all the time in the world with Jax,” I say. “It won’t make me straight.”
“Of course you can go, Abby,” Dad says in his let’s-all-just-get-along voice. “What’s her name?”
“Jordi,” I
