CHAPTER TWELVE

For once, instead of thinking about my own crushes, I spend the next few days thinking about someone else’s.

Talia’s.

I rack my brain trying to remember if she ever showed interest in someone other than Dustin. We’ve always told each other everything, so I should know, but I can’t think of anyone. Then I scan my memories of all our times together with our friends. Did she ever act different with any of them? I know she and Bri hang out often, too, but Bri has Karina, and they’re not polyamorous.

Although, now that Bri and Karina are struggling . . . No. That would be so unlike Talia. She’d never try to come between them like that.

By Monday afternoon, it’s still bothering me. I should check on Bri anyway, and I want to ask them if they know anything about Talia’s crush, so I grab my phone. I napped in my room for a bit after practice, but it’s too warm now, so I roll off my bed, head downstairs, and out into the backyard to call them.

They answer my FaceTime, and I can see from where their phone is propped that they’re sketching in their room.

“What are you drawing?”

Their eyes shift back and forth between their phone and the page. “A portrait.”

My stomach does that swooping thing again. “Of who?”

“. . . Karina.”

I let out a breath. “Bri! That’s so cute. So you two—”

“We worked it out.” Bri grins, shading in what I can see now is Karina’s long, wavy dark hair. “You guys were right. She was totally understanding of me being autistic, and she didn’t have a problem with it being self-diagnosed. She told me . . .” Bri pauses. “Well, I didn’t ask her if I could tell other people, so I probably shouldn’t say. She’s not neurodivergent in that way, but she does have some other mental health stuff that she hadn’t told me about before.”

“Bri!” If I didn’t have to hold up my phone, I’d clap right now, so I just flap my free hand instead.

“I know.” Bri’s grin gets bigger as they gaze down at their drawing. “I feel like we’re even closer now.” They look at their phone again, and I can see their eyes are sparkling.

I’m grinning so hard my cheeks hurt. “I’m so happy for you. I’m glad it all worked out so well.”

They nod fast, smile matching my own. “She even apologized for not telling me what she wanted before. So we talked about that, too. She likes when I bring her little gifts, but it’s confusing to her when it doesn’t really have anything to do with her specifically—like the rocks, or the songs on the playlist that aren’t about love. So I’m gonna be more thoughtful about also giving her little gifts that are specific to her, like her favorite candy—she liked that. And she said she loves my drawings, so . . .” Bri lifts their sketchbook, and now I can see it’s not just a portrait of Karina. Bri is there beside her. It’s an illustration of a cute selfie they took on a date, with a border of flowers instead of the background of the park.

“That is so amazing! If I was an emoji, I’d have heart eyes right now.”

They giggle and set the drawing down.

“Speaking of like . . . romance and stuff. . .” I trail off. They keep coloring, waiting patiently for me. “I had a question. About Talia.”

Bri nods as they finish the last strands of Karina’s hair. I tell them about my conversation with Talia and the mysterious second crush. “Has she ever mentioned anyone to you?”

“Nope. Does it matter?” Bri eyes me curiously.

“No, I mean, I don’t know—kind of? Just. We’re best friends, and she never told me.”

“She probably has a reason.”

“I can’t think of one! Why would she hide it from me?”

“Maybe she had a crush on the same person as you at some point.”

“. . . Oh.”

Bri shrugs.

“I guess . . . yeah. That’s possible.”

“Or maybe she thought she told you but forgot.”

“Maybe.” Talia never forgets anything, though. She’s usually the one reminding me about things.

“Why don’t you just ask her?” Bri says. “You know. Communication!”

“I see what you did there. Throwing my own advice back at me.”

“I mean, you were right,” they say matter-of-factly. I laugh, and they just shrug.

When the call ends, I sit for a few minutes on our back step, watching a butterfly flit over the wildflower bed along the edge of the yard. Bri’s words replay in my mind, and it sends this squiggle through my stomach. I don’t want to ask Talia because I know she didn’t forget. There’s no way.

So why didn’t she tell me?

The concert is on Wednesday. Talia and I text back and forth to work out all the logistics, and every time my phone pings with the special tone I chose for her, I get a lightning bolt of energy. It’s like, now that I know she had a crush on someone she didn’t tell me about, our whole friendship is off-balance and it’s all I can think about. I feel weird again, the way I did when she was talking to Rose at the salon.

For the first time in my life, I feel nervous about seeing her, about hanging out with her all night. I’m afraid I won’t be able to hide what I’m feeling, and then she’ll ask me about it, and then I’ll have to either lie or tell her. Normally, I’d just ask her, but for some reason this question feels loaded. If I ask her, then I have to find out why she’s been keeping it secret, and if she felt like she couldn’t tell me, then maybe that means there’s something really wrong with our friendship.

I’d rather just keep pretending everything’s fine than risk ruining what we have.

On Tuesday night, it hits me. I text Bri frantically.

Hey you know our convo yesterday??

They take forever to respond. I nervous-scroll through social media for ten minutes until they finally text back.

About Talia?

Yeah. Could you like NOT tell her I asked about that? I don’t want to make anything weird.

The minutes that go by while those three dots bounce up and down at the bottom of our message thread are excruciating.

Sure, I didn’t really think anything of it, but yeah.

I let out a sigh of relief, and then Bri texts again.

So I’m guessing you didn’t talk to her?

I mean what if there’s something wrong in our friendship and that’s why she didn’t tell me?

. . . That doesn’t make sense. There are way more obvious reasons than that.

It makes sense in my brain, but I don’t know how to explain it to Bri.

So I just don’t respond.

On Wednesday night I wait at the corner, rocking back and forth on my feet. Finally, down the block, I see Talia walking toward me, her long legs eating up the pavement.

We hug the second we reach each other, and I feel myself settle a little bit. This is Talia. Everything’s probably fine. She seems as happy to see me as ever, a big smile on her face as we pull back.

“Happy birthday!” We chorus at the same time, and then burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe we’re sixteen,” she says. “I feel so old.”

“I know.” I shake my head. I woke up this morning to a hallway lined with birthday decorations, a bundle of balloons tied to a chair at the kitchen counter, and a cupcake sitting there for me. My family never forgets birthdays, even when they’re all busy. Presents tomorrow night! said a Post-it in Mom’s handwriting stuck to the cupcake box.

“You ready to rock out?” Talia asks.

I grin. “So ready.”

We start making our way through the neighborhood. MUNA is playing at the Paramount, a beautiful old theater just at the bottom of Capitol Hill, where it merges into downtown Seattle. The sun is getting lower, golden hour making the trees glow. Everything feels extra alive tonight, the breeze warm, the smell of cut grass and flowers surrounding us.

We come out of the residential area and cut through the Pike/Pine business district, where Mel and I met up for our one and only date. I think of her with a little pang, but not too much, which surprises me. Maybe it’s because we actually went on a date and I got closure instead of pining over her for ages like my other crushes.

It does still sting that she picked someone else over me, but whatever.

Now that my hair’s short, the heat is way easier to tolerate. Even so, I’m sweating by the time we’re crossing over the freeway, and inside the theater isn’t much better.

But it doesn’t even matter because there are queer people everywhere. It feels like Pride all over again. There are so many different hair colors and pronoun pins, and everyone is smiling. The chatter of excited voices fills the lobby as Talia and I slowly wind our way through the crush of bodies.

I glance over at Talia. She’s flexing and wiggling her fingers a lot, her eyes wide.

“Did you bring your earplugs?” I ask her over the din.

She digs into a pocket. A minute later, the plugs are in and she’s noticeably more relaxed. I know Talia’s body language by now—know when she’s overwhelmed, excited, or right on the line between the two. It’s always better to be safe than sorry, and when she’s starting to go into sensory overload, she doesn’t always remember her tools, so she’s given me permission to remind her. I love being let into her world, and it makes me feel good to take care of my friends and know they trust me.

Talia slides into an eddy of space against one of the walls in the lobby and pauses there.

“Do you wanna chill here and I’ll go get us something from concessions?” I ask, and she nods.

The line is less of a line and more of a swirling clump. I make my best guess about where it ends and slide in, slowly moving forward until I’m at the front. I buy us each a LaCroix and a brownie from a local chef who caters for the theater, and then I’m sliding out again, brownies in my pocket and a soda can in each hand.

Back at the wall, I hand Talia her can. “Here’s to being sixteen,” I say.

“And another year of friendship,” she says. We clink the cans together and take a drink, and she smiles at me, her brown eyes sparkling. The peach color of her sundress complements the highlights of lighter brunette from the sun in her dark curls.

We’re still smiling at each other a moment later when the theater doors open. I squeal, and Talia laughs. Grabbing my hand, she pulls me into the current of people flowing toward the general admission area at the front of the stage.

We’re in the first wave, so we end up pretty close to the front. There’s no seating here on the ground floor and the crowd presses in close around us. I look up to the high, ornately decorated walls and ceilings, and turn to gaze up at the mezzanine as it fills with people. It’s beautiful up there, the golden railings in a curling design popping against the red seats.

Talia’s still holding my hand. But it’s comfortable, not weird; we don’t do it a lot, but we’ve held hands in the past. It’s nice, a physical way to show we care for each other. I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back. If we were scoping out cuties right now, I’d let go since I wouldn’t want them to think we’re dating. But we’re just here to see the show, not tick off another box in the strategy, so I keep her hand in mine.

Our hands do fit really well together. Her fingers are long and slender, with rounded tips. Her hands are larger than mine, but that’s not hard; my hands are smaller than most peoples’.

Bri’s voice echoes in my head. Why don’t you just ask her? My stomach flip-flops as our conversation replays in my head. I still haven’t texted them back.

My hand is getting sweaty, and all the thoughts are rushing back in: Who did Talia like? Does she still like them? Why hasn’t she told me? Is there something wrong between us? No, there couldn’t be, I would know; Talia’s an open book, but what if . . .

“Hayley?” Talia’s voice in my ear makes me jump. I turn to look at her, and she’s close enough to kiss.

Oh my god. Why did I just think that?

She’s looking at me with a concerned frown. “You’re totally spacing out. Everything OK?”

I open my mouth, but the house lights go down just then, and the stage lights come up and everyone’s screaming. Talia turns to the stage, startled, and I let go of her hand so I can clap as the openers come on stage.

Definitely just so I can clap. Not because I’m suddenly so tingly with nerves and confusion and something that I feel like I’m going to explode if I keep holding her hand.

“Hello, Seattle!” The lead singer of the opening band howls into the microphone. She’s a total badass, wearing bright red lipstick and a pinup-style dress, her hair in a jagged shag, tattoos up and down her arms. The band is all girls, and they rip into a fast pop-punk jam that has the whole crowd jumping and dancing. I’ve never heard of them, but I’m jumping up and down, too. It’s fine. I’m fine. This is awesome. I love live music.

As the song winds down, I glance at Talia, and when I do I feel that thing again, that feeling, and all of a sudden, I know what it is. It’s that rush I used to get when I saw Sherika on the court or in the halls at school. That excited-terrified-anythingispossible-wowshe’sbeautiful fizzing. And now I’m not just glancing, I’m staring at Talia as she cheers and dances wildly to the music, completely free and happy, her glasses glittering in the lights, and I know one thing for certain:

I like

Talia.

I have a crush on

Talia.

Oh my god. I have a crush on my best friend.