Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(97)

“What possible motive could I have for telling you I’m a lesbian if I’m not?”

“How should I know? You screw with me all the time. I mean, for months you’ve been insisting it was me who was gay. Now all of a sudden, it’s you.”

“I did think you were gay, Sean. Or at least I wanted you to be. I mean, we’re twins, you know. Not identical, but still. And they say lots of times when one twin is gay, the other one is too. I guess I was hoping that if I could get you to tell Mom and Dad first, then I could see how they’d react. Since you’re the golden child, I figured they’d accept it and then, when they found out about me, they’d already be used to the idea and it wouldn’t be such a shocker.”

I ignore the parts about her basically wanting to use me as a guinea pig, because that’s pretty much textbook Cathy, and go right to the important part: “So . . . It’s really true, then?”

“Yup. Your big sister’s a girl’s girl. Through and through.”

“So, then,” I say. “Are you going to tell Mom and Dad? You know, about you being a lesbian?”

“Eventually. I suppose. But after the baby’s born. That way they’ll be so preoccupied that they won’t have time to worry much about it. So don’t go blabbing to them. Or anyone else, for that matter. If I find out you’ve told your dweeb friends, I’ll break every one of your appendages. Including the appendage you shake hands with every night before you go to bed. Are we clear?”

“Yeah, sure,” I say, deciding to take it easy on her and not point out her hypocrisy where privacy is concerned because again, it’s typical Cath. “How did you . . . ? I mean . . . When did you —?”

“Figure it out? I guess I kind of always knew. If I really think about it. Even though I’ve had boyfriends. But I was absolutely positive about it last year. When I met this really hot Israeli girl at a party.” She laughs. If Cathy’s lying, then she’s an even better actress than Leyna.

“And what about Nessa?” I ask, bracing myself. “Is she . . . ?”

Cathy howls with laughter. “Nessa? Uhh, no. She tried. I mean, Nessa will try anything once. But she likes guys.”

“Oh, good,” I blurt, and clap my hand over my mouth. Crap. Maybe Cathy didn’t pick up on that.

A painfully awkward silence swallows up the room.

Or maybe she did. . . .

“Okay, Sean,” Cathy finally says. “I need to tell you something else.”

The way-too-serious confessional tone of her voice makes my belly grip up.

“Tell me something about what?”

“I feel sort of bad about it.” She coughs awkwardly. “I asked Nessa to do a little . . . investigating for me. You know, to find out if you really liked girls or not.”

“You what?” My skin flushes hot and cold.

“I’m sorry! I had to know for sure, okay? I just asked her to flirt with you a little, see how you responded. We figured out you weren’t gay once she caught you staring down her shirt. So there it is. My confession.”

“Goddamn it, I knew it.” I’m chewing the hell out of my tongue. “You’re sick, you know that? You need help. Seriously. Both of you. God.” I shake my head. “And just so you know, I wasn’t ever interested in Nessa, and I certainly never looked down her shirt.” I should probably have limited myself to just the one lie, but I’m practically vibrating with righteous indignation here. “I only let her hang around with me so she’d help me with my movie.”

“You were definitely interested,” Cathy says. “At least, according to Nessa.”

“Screw you, Cathy.” I slam my head back into my pillow. “Lesbian or not, you’re still an *.”

“I said I was sorry, okay? Jesus. Chill out. It’s not like you didn’t get anything out of it. I bet your movie’s a million times better because of Nessa.”

“Yup. You’re right. It is. And when we win the film festival tomorrow — which you’re not invited to, by the way — I’ll be able to build my own room and I’ll never have to see either of your stupid faces ever again.”





I CAN BARELY KEEP MY EYES open in the backseat of Angela’s car. Normally a ride with Coop’s sister wouldn’t be worth the hassle — taking off your shoes, not being allowed to roll down the windows, having to listen to her sleep-inducing elevator music — but Matt, Coop, and me missed our bus and we’re supposed to be meeting everyone at Uncle Doug’s by one o’clock.

I’ve got that overtired cotton-headed nauseous feeling going on right now. I was wide awake and steaming over the whole Nessa situation all night long — well, that and Cathy’s snores, which picked up like clockwork once she’d gotten her confessions out. I can’t believe I let myself get suckered in by them. Especially after I’d told myself they were up to something. I’m such an idiot. Of course there was no way that someone like Nessa would have even the slightest interest in a total loser like me. All that stuff about what a great writer I was and how I needed to be more assertive and stand up for myself. Ugh. All of it just to butter me up, to make me think she actually cared. And that stuff with the tarot — a conflict between male and female, needing to be reborn. God, how did I not see right through that? Pathetic.