The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(39)

My surroundings blur together, and I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or that I just came out. I don’t realize I’m hyperventilating until he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone, okay? Your trust means a lot to me.”

But I don’t trust Hunter. I barely even know Hunter. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Thanks . . . I, uh, have to pee.” I grab my drink, then channel my inner Hunter and run away.

I thought having to pee was an excuse, but I actually really have to pee. I drink on the toilet, finishing off my cup before I realize how hard the alcohol is hitting me. Something about sitting on a toilet makes me want to relive the cringiest moments of the day. My brain runs wild and betrays me. I told Hunter I’m gay. I told Bo I’m straight. He’ll probably blow my cover. She probably hates me. For some reason, I care more about the latter right now. I get out my phone to text her.

“Hi, Dad!” I giggle at my screen saver before focusing on texting Bo. In my head, my screen-saver dad moves to give me a thumbs-up and says, Go get her. With his encouragement, I send her two texts.

Yami: Heyy

Yami: I’m really really sorry

With my phone still in hand, I scroll Instagram for a bit, but I can’t help but think about Jamie, and how much I want to be her. Maybe I should dye my hair blue . . . or was it purple? I wonder if you’re allowed to dye your hair at Catholic school. Probably not.

What color was her hair again? I need to know. Not because I want to stalk Bo’s girlfriend on Instagram, but because . . . I might want to dye my hair one day, or something. I start scrolling through the 224 people Bo is following, looking for a Jamie, but I give up when Jamie isn’t one of the first fifty or so.

I get up and wash my hands. My reflection startles me, and I knock the soap over. It’s just me, though. Nothing to worry about. I have to focus hard on the mirror to make any sense of my face. I tug at my lip, sizing up whether I’d look as cool as Jamie does with a lip ring. I poke the glass.

“You’re gonna do such a good job.” I don’t even know what I’m talking about. I giggle to myself, then go to find someone I know.

Cesar is sitting on the couch, talking on his phone. I climb over the back of the couch and fall onto the cushion.

“I looooove you,” he mumbles into the phone. I’m guessing he’s talking to Jamal. I snatch his phone out of his hand and hold it to my ear.

“Sorry, good sisters don’t let their brothers make drunk phone calls!” I say, and Jamal laughs on the other line.

“Okay, take care of him for me.” Then he hangs up.

“Rude.” Cesar pouts.

“It’s for your own good,” I say. And not because I think he’ll embarrass himself to Jamal, but because he might accidentally out himself at this party if he’s talking all lovey with his boyfriend.

Cesar rests his head in my lap, and I gulp some of his drink since I ran out of mine. I absentmindedly start stroking Cesar’s hair like Do?a Violeta did when I was younger. I really miss that sometimes.

“Do you think depression ever goes away?” Cesar slurs.

Whoa. It’s like he read my mind about Do?a Violeta. I think about it for a second before answering. “I don’t know if it ever goes away . . . but I think it gets better. With like, coping skills, and support from other people, you know?” At least, I hope Do?a Violeta will get better with time. It breaks my heart seeing her so sad every day.

Cesar looks thoughtfully into the distance. “Yeah, I hope you’re right.”

But before we go any deeper, he hops off the couch and runs over to play beer pong.

While I’m sitting alone on the couch, some guy I don’t recognize takes the spot next to me. He must not go to Slayton.

“Hey, what are you doing over here lookin’ all lonely?” He’s close enough to my face that I can smell his stank breath. He licks his lips. I purse mine. Even if I didn’t already fail my “act straight” mission, I still have standards, and this guy is not it.

“I’m Connor,” he says.

I nod but don’t say anything.

“Do you have a name?”

“Yamilet.” Please go away.

“Ohhh, Yamilet . . . gorgeous name. So exotic. Do you speak Spanish?”

Here we go.

“Mhm,” I say while I look over his head to see if I spot anyone I know.

“That’s hot. Can you say my name in Spanish?”

Is this guy serious? I have to resist the urge to smack him. Instead I give him a deadpan stare so he knows he looks like a fool.

“Connor,” I say, purposely sounding as white as possible. He laughs.

“You’re funny. And you’re pretty, too, you know that?”

“Yeah, I know,” I mumble.

“Um, okay.” He looks annoyed now.

I roll my eyes. It’s like he’s expecting me to disagree, but for what? Maybe he wants me to say thanks, but all he’s done for me is make me want to break my nonviolent streak.

Finally, finally I see someone I know. Emily is dancing with Hunter, but I’d rather be around them than this guy right now.

“Okay, bye!” I ditch Connor and go to them. Emily might be friends with two of my least favorite people in the world, after Bianca, but I’m too drunk to care right now.