The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School(43)

She laughs a little. “Seriously?”

I do my best eye smile, hoping it will make Bo melt into my arms the way her smizes make me want to melt into hers.

“Do you have something in your eyes?” she asks. I stop smizing.

“I’m cold,” I pout. Instead of cuddling me, she puts another blanket over me.

When I close my eyes, Dream Bo is right there in bed with me to keep me warm.

Dream Bo is a little stiff, so I grab her arms and pull them around me the way I want to be cuddled. I’m the little spoon, of course. I hum and hug her forearm, which is my pillow. Bo may or may not still think I’m straight, but Dream Bo knows everything. I let myself pretend for now that she’s real, and doesn’t have a nice girlfriend, and that cuddling was her idea. I pretend she likes me, too. And this gay thing. I think I could maybe get used to it.

I wake up alone with a headache that is straight-up supervillain, puppy-killing levels of evil. The sun creeping in from the cracks between the blinds is too bright. But this is the comfiest bed I’ve ever been in. I never want to leave it.

It takes me a minute to remember how I got here. To be honest, there’s a lot I can’t remember, which freaks me out.

I use all my strength to sit up. There’s a water bottle and Advil sitting on the nightstand. Bo really thought of everything. I take a couple of Advil and gulp some water. Two seconds later, I’ve downed the entire water bottle. I don’t think I had any water last night. Maybe that’s why my hangover is so bad.

After soaking up a few more moments in the bed that I’m sure is meant for royalty, I get up. I can’t avoid facing Bo forever. Especially being in her house. I open the guest room door to see her in the upstairs living room staring at her phone screen, blushing and grinning. Maye if I stop sabotaging myself, one day I could have a girlfriend that makes me blush at my phone.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.” She puts her phone down. “You feeling okay?”

“I’m a little sore, and I have a headache, but yeah, I’m good.”

“That’s good. Sounds like the party was fun?”

“Not really . . . thanks for getting me.” I sit on the opposite side of the couch.

“No problem.”

I don’t say anything for a bit. She looks back down at her screen.

“So, you’re not mad at me anymore?” I finally ask. She looks up.

“I was, but I got over it.”

I sigh in relief. “I’m really sorry.”

“I know. You told me a million times last night.” She laughs. I don’t remember that. I wonder what else I told her. . . .

“Shit. Did you listen to that voice mail?”

“What voice mail?” She unlocks her phone.

“It’s nothing! Seriously, just drunk rambling. You should delete it. . . .”

“Ohhh, this voice mail?” She turns her phone to reveal my unlistened-to message, and she presses play.

I lunge for the phone, but she’s too quick. She jumps off the couch and I have to chase her around the living room table, trying to get it. The message is playing in the background, and I’m yelling over it so she can’t hear the voice mail.

“Um . . . hi. I punched someone. . . .”

“Oh, I heard about this! He deserved it.” Bo laughs.

“Stop! Give it to me!” I hop over the table and she dives out of the way, laughing and throwing pillows at me like this is a game and not like my biggest secret is at stake.

“Oh, the party sucked. I should have stayed with you. . . .”

“LA LA LA LA LA!” I shout, trying desperately to cover the noise of the message. I finally tackle her and manage to pin her phone-holding hand to the floor. I keep shouting over the phone. I can barely hear my voice in the message. Maybe she can’t. I grab the phone and scramble to delete the message before it’s too late.

“. . . I don’t think you get it. I liiiiike—”

Deleted. I drop the phone and fall onto the floor.

“Jesus, what the hell?” Bo rubs her hand where I slid it against the carpet. I feel bad for giving her carpet burn, but it’s the price I had to pay to keep her from finding out.

“Sorry. It’s just embarrassing. You know . . . drunk talk . . .”

Bo snorts, then hops to her feet and reaches out her hand to help me up. I let out a sigh of relief and take it. When she pulls me up, the headache pulls down. A grunt escapes my mouth.

“Come on, I’m starving.”

I can smell bacon grease. We go down to the kitchen, where Bo’s mom is eating, and her dad is cooking. It’s the first time I’ve seen Bo’s mom at the house. Her dad serves us both bacon and pancakes.

“Good morning!” her mom says. “You must be Yamilet?”

I nod and extend my hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“I’d like to talk to you about last night,” she says with a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“Mom, really?” Bo starts, but her dad cuts her off with a hand gesture.

“Oh . . . okay,” I say. Did Bo tell them what happened?

“You did the right thing, Yamilet. We’re glad you called Bo to pick you up instead of driving home. It takes a lot of courage to ask for help.” She squeezes my shoulder with her free hand.