“Don’t be.” Diane takes everything from me and finishes setting the table while I try my best to stop crying.
“I had this . . . I don’t know. It wasn’t a fight, exactly? My girlfriend’s really mad at me, and I don’t know what I did or said. I texted her that I was sorry but she hasn’t responded, and I just . . . I wish I knew the right thing to say so I could just fix it and—”
Diane somehow interrupts me with a look. I realize not only that everything had felt like it was spinning, but that—suddenly—it doesn’t.
“Would you like my advice?” she asks. “For whatever that’s worth?”
“Of course! I love advice!”
“When you don’t know the right thing to say, maybe it’s time to listen instead.”
“I, uh . . .” Dad gently pushes his way past us with a serving plate. “We’re ready to eat. I guess.”
“Oh, you guess?” A peal of laughter bursts from Diane, and she rubs my shoulder gently before sitting down at the table. I take my seat and try not to think about my phone in my room, or that Diane chose the spot Luke used to sit—which is obviously much better than if she’d taken Mom’s.
“You OK?” Dad asks, and I realize he’s looking at me. I’d hate for Diane to see him made itchy and awkward by his daughter’s girl problems, so I quickly nod.
“She’s going to be fine, right?” Diane asks, with a smile to me.
“Yes,” I say super emphatically. “Maybe, at least. Hopefully?”
“Hmm, so around ninety percent?” she asks, and I laugh.
“That sounds right.” I wonder what the chances are that my dad would meet someone who has smart advice and a cool radio voice and isn’t hateable at, like, any level. Definitely not ninety percent.
After we eat, they tell me they’ll handle dishes and I can go finish my homework. As I leave the room, I try not to look too excited that I’ll get to be near my phone again. Unfortunately, my only text is a question from James about our humanities homework, and then the next morning Quinn isn’t outside waiting for me. I’m trying to follow Diane’s advice because it seems grown-up and right, but giving Quinn a chance to tell me what she’s thinking feels like it’s taking forever.
“Hey.”
I look around my locker door and see Raina standing facing me. “Hi. What’s up?”
She grins. “I’m sure you know all about best friend duty, right? Well, I’m doing mine right now. Go talk to her. She’s sulking around and it’s extremely annoying.”
“I screwed up or something,” I say. “And I don’t want to make it worse.”
“Oh, god.” She grabs me by the wrist and marches me down the hallway.
Raina parks me in front of Ms. Kennington’s classroom, and I realize that Quinn’s walking up to it from the opposite direction. “Be nice, girls.”
I watch Quinn’s face for a reaction as Raina leaves, but it’s as blank as I’ve ever seen it.
“Hi,” I say, even though I’m supposed to be listening.
“Hi.”
I reach out for her hand. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”
“It’s not that . . . exactly.”
I can see the tenseness in her jaw, but instead of offering a hundred more apologies, I keep my mouth shut.
“I need you to see me for me,” she says. “Not for who you want me to be.”
“I know that you think that—” I say quickly, and then pretend I didn’t stop listening to her.
“Let’s not do this in front of my American lit class,” she says.
“OK.” We’re still holding hands, so I squeeze hers. Hard. I’m not really used to this. Matty was my first serious relationship, but we didn’t have issues to sort out or genuine talks about us. Everything was OK, until it wasn’t.
“See you in third period,” she says, and disappears into Ms. Lin’s classroom.
We sit together at lunch like usual, and I try to gauge, while eating fries and Sour Patch Kids, how things feel. I would not say normal because she’s still holding herself stiffly and I don’t think she’s mentioned to anyone else that she was accepted. What if she’s already decided she isn’t going? Of course, it’s her right, but considering Oberlin was at the top of her list before we were together, does that mean something?
“Ugh,” Gretchen says while flipping through our school paper. “It’s almost time for people to campaign for prom king and queen.”
It seems like everyone at the table, even James, whose boyfriend was prom king last year, makes a similar ugh sound. Not me, though, because suddenly all I can picture is how I, once upon a time, thought the year would go. Up until the first week of school, it was all but a given that Matty and I would take the titles and the crowns. Last year, they’d been cheap plastic, but in my daydreams the crowns sparkle like they’re encrusted with real diamonds.
“It’s so heteronormative they still do that,” Raina says.
“What’s heteronormative?” James asks from her spot behind me.
“I told you you should go on Tumblr more,” I say, and I realize it might be the first time we’ve spoken today. I probably should have texted back last night about humanities or not been late to class because I was trying to find ways to be nice to Quinn as we walked over together.
“It’s like when being straight is seen as the default option instead of just one option of many,” I explain.
“Like when people tease little girls about having boyfriends when they grow up,” Quinn says.
“Remember when my mom said you’d make a good wife someday because you’re such a good cook?” Raina asks Quinn, who laughs.
“You will make a good wife,” I say. “Just for, like, a lady who can’t cook.”
Quinn blushes really hard, and it’s the cutest thing I’ve maybe ever seen. The cutest non-otter-related thing, at least.
“You two are so goddamn cute,” Gretchen says. “I wish you could be prom king and queen.”
“Honestly, that should happen,” Raina says. “It shouldn’t be king and queen anymore. Just . . . a couple or whatever.”
“It’s not a requirement it’s a couple,” James says. “Last year it was . . .”
We all just let her trail off because it’s way too sad forcing James to talk about Logan. Even if maybe Logan being gone was her decision. Sometimes your own decisions are the saddest.
“Still,” Raina says. “Why can’t it be two people of any gender? The way we do it now is so outdated.”
Gretchen nods emphatically. “We should—”
“—start a petition,” she and Raina say together.
“I feel like almost everyone in the school would agree,” Gretchen says.
“It’s a really good idea,” Raina says. “You two would totally be prom couple if it was changed to that.”
“I doubt that,” Quinn says. “No one knows who I am.”
“People know who you are, dork,” I say, though I regret it right away, because are we back on firm enough ground for me to be making fun of her like it’s any other day? Prom could only help, though. I’m sure of it!