“That’s exactly how I felt. I was so confused, and then you were into me, and I have liked you for so long. I thought if I had you, I could put her behind me. I wanted to put her behind me, to be with you. But it didn’t work.”
“I mean, this is the bisexual thing, right?” he says, and his voice does not sound kind. “Not being able to choose?”
I recoil as if Chase has slapped me, which it kind of feels like he has. “If by ‘thing’ you mean ‘stereotype,’ then yeah, it is. But this isn’t that. I wanted you, Chase. For fucking years, I wanted you. You know it. Everyone at Stratford knows it. You had years to see something in me. But you didn’t; someone else did. And I didn’t know I was—” I snap off. I don’t know how to say this without sounding stupid, without feeling stupid, without telling Chase too much.
“You didn’t know you were what?” he asks, and I don’t know how to read his voice anymore. It isn’t mad or tired or sad, but I feel all of it in those six words. “Bi?”
And because that’s not it—because that’s only a tiny piece, and because I haven’t been able to take the time to decide whether it’s my piece—I say what I have to say. “I didn’t know I was allowed to like her like that,” I finish quietly. “I didn’t know it was okay. I didn’t know it could be more than ‘girls just messing around’ or ‘girls having fun.’ I had liked you—really liked you—for so long, I knew I wasn’t gay. I knew I liked boys. And I knew she liked boys. And sometimes when you like the gender you’re ‘supposed’ to like, it’s not so clear what’s happening with the others.”
He furrows his brow in confusion. “But it’s not like you don’t know what bisexuality is. You have bi friends.”
“Yeah, and the fact that it didn’t look the same for them made it even more confusing. Jamie? Has been out forever. Kenny Cho? Announced that Evan Sanders was his boyfriend when we were literally standing in a sandbox, and then a week later he said Julie Morrow was his girlfriend now. I never had feelings like that for any girls until this summer. And my best friends are pretty much the hottest girls in school, so, you know—I’d have known.”
That at least gets a tiny snort of a laugh from Chase, but then his face grows serious. “So, you really like her?”
“I really do.”
“But you liked me too.”
“I really did,” I say, putting a hand on his arm. I hope he can tell how much I mean it. “If I’d known what was going on between me and her wasn’t just a fling, I would’ve made different choices. I promise you that. I wasn’t trying to string you along, Chase. Dating you was all of my dreams coming true. But I hadn’t let myself realize that my dreams had changed.”
He huffs out a breath. “I really, really want to be mad at you.”
“You can be,” I assure him. “The fact that I was genuine doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel like shit. And it’s not like I don’t feel shitty about it. I’d kill for no one to have gotten hurt in this scenario.”
“I know you would,” he says softly. “You’re a good person, Lara. It’s why I really, really fucking like you.”
Present tense, still. And I guess in a way, it’s present tense, still, for me too. But it isn’t the way I feel about Jasmine. It’s like the tail end of a romantic comet that’s about to fizzle into something that isn’t dazzling in the same way, but is more permanent, still stellar. “I would really, really like to stay friends,” I reply. “When you’re ready.”
He nods. “Not yet. But someday. Maybe you’ll come to one of my college games.”
“I’d like that,” I say, and I mean it. “I just need to spend a little more time on my face paint skills.”
He gives me the tiniest trace of a smile, and I tuck it away to remember us by because I have no idea what it’ll be like to see him in school on Monday. Things aren’t gonna go neatly when his friends, my friends, and everyone else find out that not only did the Homecoming queen dump the king right after the dance, but she did it for another girl.
I’m probably in for day after day of hell.
And somehow, that feels better than when I was supposed to be in for day after day of heaven, and it felt like nothing at all.
We exchange quiet goodbyes, and my first thought is that I should head straight to Jasmine’s, but the truth is, I’m not ready. The reality of Chase Harding might not have been what I wanted it to be, but this is still the end of a dream. I need to mourn it.
And the only person I wanna do that with is waiting for me at home with tubs of ice cream, bright-green sheet masks, and every single rom-com Netflix has to offer.
Four hours, two movies, a thousand calories, and much glowing skin later, my mom makes what I suppose is an inevitable suggestion. “Why don’t you invite your friends over for the next one? I’ll order from Bamboo House and I think we have a few more of these sheet masks lying around.” She gives my hand a quick squeeze. “I think you’ll be happy to have them to talk to instead of just your old mama.”
The thing is? I really want to.
The thing is? I’m really scared to.
The thing is? I think I need to. And if my mom is offering Bamboo House, I know she thinks I do too, because that’s a special occasion place for us, and I guess in
