Leah on the Offbeat(60)

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are,” Abby says. “Which is also cute, so stop it.”

I can’t believe she’s doing this. Either she’s teasing me, which makes her an asshole, or she’s not, which . . . I don’t know.

I lie back on the grass, tucking my knees up into triangles. She looks at me for a moment, and then she scoots closer. Barely an inch of space between us. Just like September of junior year on Morgan’s bedroom floor. There’s a breeze now, cool and soft, and I watch it ruffle her bangs. She’s so beautiful, it makes my stomach hurt. I turn my head away quickly, eyes fixed on the clouds.

“I’m still not getting why you wanted to bring me here,” I say finally.

She laughs. “I know.” Then she inhales. I think she’s actually nervous. “I wanted to punch myself for picking Friday.”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been wanting to tell you something since last weekend, and it’s been torture.” I sneak a peek at her face. She’s staring straight at the sky, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

“You wanted to tell me something?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I pause expectantly, but she just bites her lip without speaking. I look at her sidelong. “So, are you going to tell me?”

“Give me a second.”

I nod, and my heart thuds wildly.

“Okay. So.” She takes a deep breath. “I came out over the weekend.”

“Came out, like . . . you came out?”

“Not to everyone,” she says quickly. “Not to my parents or anyone here. Just my cousins. The twins.” She turns toward me. “I was really nervous. Isn’t that weird?”

“Why would that be weird?”

“I don’t know. Because they’re like the gayest family ever?” She shrugs. “They took it really well, obviously. They were psyched.”

“That’s awesome.” I catch her eye. “Seriously, congrats.”

She grins and doesn’t reply, and for a moment, we just lie there.

“So, wait,” I say finally. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What did you come out as?”

Abby laughs. “What do you mean?”

“Well, last I heard, you were straight, so.”

“I don’t think I’m straight,” she says, and my heart almost stops.

“I don’t know,” she adds finally. “I guess I’m like lowkey bisexual?”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“What? It totally is.” She pokes my arm. “Lowkey bi.”

“You’re either bi or you’re not. That’s like being a little bit pregnant.”

“That’s a thing, too. Why can’t you be a little bit pregnant?”

“I think that’s just called pregnant.”

“Well, I’m a little bit bi, and I’m sticking with that.”

I sit up. “I don’t get you.”

“What?”

I shake my head. “Lowkey bi, a little bit bi. Just be bi. Like, come on.”

“What? No.” She draws herself up. “You don’t get to decide my label.”

“It’s not a real label!”

“Well, it’s real for me.” She exhales heavily. “God, sometimes, I don’t even know . . .”

My jaw tightens. “Don’t even know what?”

“What you want from me.” She tilts her palms up. “Like, can you just . . . I don’t know. This is weird for me, okay?”

“What I want from you?”

She nods, blinking quickly.

“Jesus Christ, Abby.” I press my hands over my eyes. “I want you to stop messing with my head.”

“I’m not—”

“Seriously? Lowkey bi?” I laugh flatly. “Otherwise known as what—you’re bi, but you don’t want to admit it? I’m not saying you have to march in a Pride parade. You don’t have to come out. But God. At least admit it to yourself.” I shrug. “Or don’t. I don’t care.”

“Leah.”

I can’t even look at her. God. It’s just all so pointless. It’s not like we ever had a shot to begin with. What the hell kind of shitty friend would even think of kissing her best friend’s ex-girlfriend? Two weeks after the breakup. On the day before prom. And poor, clueless Garrett, whom I haven’t bothered to rebuff. I can’t jump into this now. I’m not even out.

I stand abruptly, brushing my skirt down. “Okay, yeah. I’m not doing this. I’m going to go.”

“What?” Abby blinks up at me.

“I’m going home.”

“Let me drive you.”

“I’ll take the late bus.”

She hugs her knees. “I’m trying, okay?” There’s a quiver in her voice.

“Are you serious?” I clench my hands. “You’re trying? Trying to do what?”

“I don’t know.”

“You know what? You want to be ‘lowkey bi’? Good for you. Have a blast. But if you’re not all in, leave me the fuck out of it. Don’t you dare come knocking on my door with your post-breakup identity crisis.” I look her straight in the eye. “You took my first kiss, Abby. You stole it.”