Felix Ever After(21)
“Did you all see that article on whether women have any value if they don’t get married and have children?” Austin asks.
“I see at least one thing a day that makes me wonder if the straight people are all right.”
“And then there was that article saying that queer TV shows are making more people gay.”
“I never saw a single TV show with a gay person until, like, last year,” Leah says, “and I didn’t turn out to be straight. So.”
“The shows aren’t making people gay,” Austin says. “They’re just making people realize it’s even . . . I don’t know, a possibility. It’s like we’re all brainwashed from the time we’re babies to think that we have to be straight.”
“The straights say that we’ve got an agenda to turn people gay,” Marisol says, “but then will try to force toddlers on each other and say it’s so cute and they’re destined to get married. Seriously.”
I understand what Austin means. Kind of like reading I Am J for the first time, and everything just clicking. I’d already gone through the whole questioning sexuality thing a few years before that. I’d had crushes on girls and guys before, but I never had a crush on both a girl and a guy at the same time. It was almost like a cycle. I’d be attracted to girls for a few months, then to guys for a few months, then back to girls again. And whenever I was into a guy, looking back on it now, it’s difficult to figure out if I was actually into him, if I just wanted to be him—or both. It was one of the most confusing times of my life. I thought, for some reason, that I had to figure out which I was more attracted to—either I was gay or I was straight. One day, a few weeks after meeting Ezra—right around when he started dating Declan—I told him that I felt like I was going crazy.
“I don’t get it,” he said, eyebrows pinched together. “Why do you have to choose?”
And it really was as easy as that. It took a second to get out of the habit, but I eventually stopped worrying about the question and just went with the cycles—and as I stopped worrying about it, I started to notice different things about the people I’m attracted to, and the sorts of things that connect them. Confidence. A flame inside of them almost, like they know exactly who they are, and no one’s ever going to be able to tell them otherwise.
“Ezra,” Leah says, “are you bisexual, too?”
Ezra’s a lazy drunk. He shrugs with a slow smile. “I honestly don’t care that much about labels. I mean, I know they’re important to a lot of people, and I can see why—I’m not knocking them. It’s just . . . I kind of wish we could exist without having to worry about putting ourselves into categories. If there were no straight people, no violence or abuse or homophobia or anything, would we even need labels, or would we just be? Sometimes I wonder if labels can get in the way. Like, if I was adamant that I’m straight, does that force me into only liking girls? What if that’d stopped me from falling in love with a guy? I don’t know,” he says again. “I get that labels can be important.”
“They connect us. They help create community,” Leah says. “I can see what you’re saying. If the world was perfect, maybe we wouldn’t need labels. But the world isn’t perfect, and labels can really be a source of pride—especially when we’ve got to deal with so much crap. I’m really freaking proud to be a lesbian.”
“Yeah, and that’s cool,” Ezra says, nodding. “I like that a lot. I just don’t really want to use labels for myself. I feel better without them.”
“Okay,” Leah says. “That’s your choice. I respect that.”
We all fall quiet, and it’s late. I can tell everyone’s tired, and my eyes are starting to close. My pocket buzzes, jerking me awake. Marisol’s texting on her phone from the floor. Fear spikes through me. What if it’s another fucked-up message on Instagram? I grab my phone and swipe the screen open. The notification is from Instagram—but this time, it’s not for my real account. It’s for luckyliquid95.
“You all right?” Ezra asks, nudging me with his knee. I give a distracted nod as I tap my phone’s screen. My image from the party, the streak of lights and blur of legs, got a like—and a comment. I sit up, excitement beating through me.
thekeanester123: Nice image. Really draws the viewer in. Also interesting that the subject is the watcher, but in a way, viewers are the watchers as well.
Jesus Christ. The rush of excitement is instantly gone. Of course Declan Keane would be a pretentious dick, even on Instagram.
“Felix,” Ezra says, “what’s going on?”
I hand him the phone.
“Oh, holy shit,” he says.
“What is it?” Marisol asks, leaning forward to see—but I shake my head quickly at Ezra. There’re two types of gossips: Ezra, the kind who’s all ears and happily listens to any and every sort of secret; and Marisol, the kind who spills all the secrets in the first place. If she finds out about my plan with Declan, he’ll know about it before dawn.
Mari notices me shaking my head. A shadow of hurt crosses her face. “Seriously?”
Ezra winces. “Sorry. This is a little too personal.”
She rolls her eyes and gets to her feet. “Fine. Whatever. I know when I’m not wanted.”