CHAPTER ELEVEN

The next morning, I have a sick feeling in my stomach. I still haven’t heard back from Mel. I sent her a song by a band I’d told her about on our date when I got home from Bri’s, but she hasn’t replied yet.

I think I’m getting ghosted, and it doesn’t feel good.

It also doesn’t make any sense. We had a great date. I scan the memory for any sign of weirdness, but there isn’t anything.

The fluttery, crushy feeling is changing now. I get this nervous swoop every time I check my phone, and then a wave of disappointment when there’s still nothing from her. I don’t know what to do. That was my first date, and now this might be my first rejection. From someone I actually went on a date with, anyway.

I try to reason with myself, tell myself that I don’t really know what’s up, that something could have happened, or maybe she’s really busy, or maybe she’s just bad at texting. But we were texting a lot before our date.

I don’t want to be weird or desperate, though, so I don’t message her again.

“Hayley?”

I look up from my bowl of cereal. Mom is there in the kitchen, filling a water bottle. I was so deep in scrolling social media that I didn’t even notice her come in. She looks at me with concern.

“Are you OK, honey? You were so happy a few days ago, and now you seem really low.”

I sigh. I told her all about my date, and she was so excited for me. Now I have to walk it back, and that makes it feel even worse. “I think Mel’s ghosting me.”

“Oh, sweetie.” She sets her bag down and pulls out a stool to join me at the counter. “I’m sorry. I remember that feeling.”

“It’s so embarrassing.”

“I know,” she says. “And we didn’t even have smartphones to help us torture ourselves back then.”

“Yeah.” I lean my head on my hand. “Like, I’d rather she just told me straight up if she’s not feeling it anymore. Waiting feels awful.”

“I get that.” Mom rubs my back. “Her lack of communication says a lot more about her, though.”

I fidget with my phone, spinning it around on the counter-top. “I just don’t know what to do. Should I text her again?”

“You know, the finer points of modern dating etiquette are kind of beyond me, but it seems OK to me to reach out one more time and check in.”

“Maybe.”

“I gotta go meet up with a friend, but keep me posted, OK?” She kisses my hair. “I love you.”

“I will. I love you, too.”

She leaves and it’s just me again, stirring my spoon slowly through the sugary milk at the bottom of my bowl. After a few minutes, I pick up my phone and compose a message.

Hey! Just checking in about hanging out again. Let me know what works for you. I reread it. Seems OK. Direct but breezy. Not like I’ve been obsessing over her for the past few days.

I send it before I can stop myself and then put my head down on the table. Who knows if she’ll even respond. I don’t even know where things went wrong. Maybe if I—

Ping.

I grab my phone, and there it is. A message from Mel.

Hey, I’m sorry I left you on read this long. That wasn’t cool. I really liked hanging with you, but I’ve been talking to my ex again recently and we’re gonna try again. I hope you have a cool summer though. I’m still honored to be your first date.

I close my eyes. I’m not completely shocked, but my heart feels like it’s imploding right now.

I really liked Mel. I thought unrequited crushes were hard, but this is a whole different kind of hurt. There’s something sweet about pining, sometimes. I can just imagine what the other person is like, and I never have to worry about them hurting me.

My nose stings, tears welling up in my eyes. It feels silly to be upset over someone I barely knew. We only had one date, and I didn’t have all that much time to build her up in my head like I have with my past crushes. But still. This feels so unfair.

What does that other girl have that I don’t? And what if there isn’t even an ex? What if Mel is just trying to let me down easy and she just doesn’t like me?

I shouldn’t have told her it was my first date. I probably sounded like such a baby.

I wanted to meet her family. And her puppy. We won’t go on another date. And she won’t come to my games, and I won’t go cheer her on at hers.

A sob catches in my throat. I set my phone down, put my head on my arms, and cry. I hate dating. I hate getting crushes.

I hate getting rejected.

I hate getting hurt.

I cry like that for a long time, until my neck starts to ache and I can’t breathe through my stuffed nose. Finally, I straighten up and reach for the box of tissues nearby. I take deep, shaky breaths, tapping my chest, until I feel a little calmer. Then I pick up my phone again and open FaceTime.

“What happened?” Talia says as soon as she answers the call and sees my tearstained face.

“Mel got back with her ex.”

“What?!”

“She was nice about it.” I shrug and try to smile.

“Hayley. You’re allowed to be sad.” Her words and her kind eyes, fixed on me, get me right in the heart, and I start sniffling all over again.

“I was trying not to get too ahead of myself,” I mumble. “But I really kinda thought this might be it.”

“It seemed like she was really cool,” Talia says.

“She was,” I say, voice wobbling, and then I’m for real crying.

Talia makes sympathetic noises while I sob, until the tears subside and I open my eyes. “I’m sorry,” she says. “You deserve someone cool who likes you back. You’re funny, and kind, and amazingly athletic—”

“I wouldn’t go that far.” I laugh through my tears.

“You are! And you need to believe in yourself more,” Talia says firmly. “We’re having a sleepover tonight. Get your stuff and come over, OK?”

“OK,” I say, rubbing my face with the back of my hand. “Thanks, Talia.”

It doesn’t take me long to gather what I need, and within a few minutes I’m trotting through the neighborhood to her house. It’s another beautiful sunny day, but it’s way hotter than normal; we’re probably headed for another heat wave. I’m sweating by the time I arrive. She’s standing on the porch waiting for me, and I walk straight up to her and into a long hug.

“I love you, Hayley,” she says.

“I love you, too,” I say into her shoulder.

Inside the house, I kick off my sandals and follow her to the kitchen, sliding into one of the spinny stools at the island in the middle.

“She did send me this really nice text about it, though, and didn’t leave me hanging too long,” I say, twirling around in the chair for a minute before facing forward.

“I guess that’s the right thing to do.” Talia rummages through the fridge. “I mean, the real right thing to do would be to keep dating you, because hellooooo!” She turns and gestures at me. “You’re you. Her ex . . . pshhhh.” She waves her hand.

I can’t help but smile. “Thanks.”

“No need to thank me for the truth.” Talia grabs a key lime LaCroix and slides it across the island to me.

Like most houses in Seattle, she doesn’t have air-conditioning. All the windows are open, but it’s still uncomfortably warm, so once I finish my drink, we decide to walk down into Capitol Hill and get some ice cream. We never get tired of ice cream, even though Talia had some with Rose yesterday.

Talia’s putting on her sandals when I notice. “We match,” I say. I’m wearing my white Birkenstocks, and her sandals are white, too; my romper is dark purple with little flowers all over it, and she’s wearing one too, except hers is lavender with a feather pattern.

“Oh my god.” She laughs. “We look like one of those lesbian couples that are all coordinated.”

I giggle, too. I feel lighter again, and happy, the way I always feel around Talia. Lately it feels like our friendship has been extra good. I look forward to seeing her, and I feel energized when I leave, thinking about our next hangout and the fun stuff we have planned for the summer.

Speaking of which. “The MUNA show is next week. I guess I need to go back to the strategy again,” I say as we head out the door. I try to laugh again, but it’s obviously half-hearted. “You’ve got Rose locked down, though.”

Talia makes a noncommittal noise.

I look over at her. “What?”

“So . . .” She grabs a curl, pulling it through her fingers. “I don’t think I want to go on a second date with them.”

“Oh! Why not?”

“I’m just not really feeling it?” She shrugs. “They’re really cool, and I can see us being friends, but . . . going out with them after listening to you talk about Mel, I realized that I’ve never really felt that way about someone I don’t know well.” She glances over at me. “And I’ve been doing some research.”

I pick a leaf off a bush as we pass, rolling it up in my fingers over and over as we cross into the busier streets of the neighborhood.

“I think I might be demisexual,” Talia says. “And demi-romantic.”

I know what that is. Where you have to have an emotional bond with someone before you feel sexually attracted to them. Demiromantic is the same, but for romantic feelings.

I crush the leaf and toss it away. “That makes sense.”

“Right? I mean, I can count the crushes I’ve had on, like . . .” Talia puts up two fingers and laughs.

“There was Dustin in eighth grade.”

“Right. When we were spending all that time together because I was tutoring him.”

“And then you stopped talking about him once that was over.”

“And I still didn’t want to, like, make out with him or anything. I’d probably need even more time to feel that.”

“Oh my god.” I throw up my arms. “Talia! I’m so excited for you. That is so you. And I’m like, the opposite. Someone just blinks at me and I swoon.”

“You’re a liiiittle more discerning than that.” Talia laughs.

“That’s true. I am gay, after all.”

Talia smirks at me and rolls her eyes. I stick my tongue out. It hadn’t occurred to me that one of us might find someone but not want to keep dating them. It makes sense, though, whether for demi reasons or because the person isn’t the right fit.

Or has an ex they’re still hung up on. I massage my chest briefly, Mel’s face flashing through my mind.

“So I guess we’ll both be back on the hunt for the concert?” I ask.

Talia makes a face. “Tbh, I’ve been feeling kind of anxious about trying again. It’s just, like, a lot of pressure.” She looks at me sidelong. Her eyes are serious. “I was hoping we could maybe take a break for a while.”

As soon as she says it, my whole body settles. I feel calm in a way I haven’t felt the past few weeks. We started this to help me get over Sherika, and it worked, even if I didn’t end up with a girlfriend in the process. Maybe now I can just enjoy the summer and being with my friends.

“Yeah, I’m down for that.”

“So the concert’s just us? Best friend time?”

I smile at her. “Sounds perfect.”

We wander all over the neighborhood, finishing our ice cream—mint chocolate chip, of course—as fast as we can while it melts onto our hands. We run our hands under the water in the bathroom at Cal Anderson to wash the stickiness off. I remember walking around the park with Mel on our date, and when I get a little emotional, Talia stops, and we hug by the fountain. We circle around to the thrift stores on Broadway for a distraction and have fun trying things on, showing off to each other, finding the ugliest or weirdest clothes we can, and basking in the air-conditioning.

That’s one of the things I love about Talia. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, we can make it fun. Even when we’re bored, we can be bored together. I never feel like I have to be different when I’m with her—I don’t have to put on a social mask or pretend to enjoy things I don’t. Not that I feel that with my other friends either, but Talia and I have known each other so long there’s another layer of comfort there. We just get each other.

“Have you talked to Bri today?” she asks.

It’s getting into the evening, and we’re strolling back up into our neighborhood. People are starting to come out to hit the restaurants and bars, dressed in their summer going-out clothes. I watch them, wondering what I’ll be like when I’m older, when I can do that. Will I want to? Will I like drinking? What will dating be like then?

“We’ve texted a little,” I say. “They’ve sent me some ideas of posts and accounts they want to share with Karina about being neurodivergent.”

“That would be so nerve-racking.” Talia shakes her head. “I haven’t even thought about how to tell dates I’m autistic. With you all, I never have to think about it. I forget not everyone’s like us.”

“Neurotypicals are a mythical creature at this point. Have you ever met one?” I dodge around a group of chattering, laughing women in tiny dresses and follow Talia around the corner toward the more residential part of the neighborhood.

Talia laughs. “Kev is, supposedly. And I guess Karina, though she’s been hanging out with all of us.”

“Yeah, I don’t think Bri needs to worry about if Karina will be cool. She knows you and Jacob are autistic, and she’s met me.”

“An ADHD queen if I’ve ever seen one.”

I grin. “I do relate a lot to that. But I relate to being autistic, too. Who knows? My family definitely isn’t typical.”

“There’s so much more variety to how human brains process things than we even know,” Talia says, gazing up at the lush branches of the trees arcing above us. “Everything we go through, everything we are, affects how we each see the world. If we could all embrace that, the world would be better off.”

“I know, right?” My phone pings. It’s Bri, texting to tell me they’re about to meet up with Karina and talk. I show Talia and then send them good luck vibes from both of us.

“We should invite them to join us if they want,” Talia says.

I feel a flicker of something. Disappointment? Weird. Of course I want to be there for Bri. Talia and I hang out together one on one all the time.

“Totally.” I text the invite to Bri, and they thumbs-up it.

When we get back to Talia’s house, something smells amazing. Her mom looks up when we enter the kitchen. She’s tiny, the opposite of Talia, who got her dad’s height. “Perfect timing,” she says in her New York accent. “I need one of you to watch this soup while I go give my mom a call back. She’s worried about radiation from her cell phone again, so we’re going to talk about that on our cell phones.”

I snort and circle around to take her place at the stove.

“I think all our brains are pretty irradiated by now,” Talia says. “Phones won’t make much of a difference.”

“Well, what’re you gonna do?” Talia’s mom shrugs. “I got ice cream,” she calls back over her shoulder as she leaves the room.

We look at each other and face-palm. Of course.

It’s not until the next morning, when I’m walking home after Talia and I make pancakes for breakfast, that it hits me. Talia put up two fingers when we were talking about how many crushes she’s had. And I only know about Dustin.

I search my mind, but I can’t think of a single other person.

Who was the other crush?

We tell each other everything. Why didn’t she ever tell me?

Did she like one of our friends? Does she like them right now?

I get that swooping feeling in my stomach again. We’ve never hidden anything from each other before. Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing, but . . .

This feels really, really weird.