Chapter Twenty-Three #2
“Obviously, there was more to the conversation. But, yeah, that was one of the things that he said that really surprised me. Like, it was deep, and smart, and I wasn’t expecting that from him.”
“Yeah, wow—” I stutter, fidgeting with the seam of my T-shirt. “I mean, right, totally unexpected, but true.”
An anxious kind of sadness makes my heart flutter.
Kristen never told me that Tyler cheated on her.
But she told Vincent. They talked about it, in depth.
They talked about it over the summer while I was gone, and if I hadn’t pried, and she didn’t think to pull that specific nugget from the archives of their philosophical chats, then I never would’ve known that.
I never would’ve known that my best friend’s first real boyfriend cheated on her.
I had no idea for five years of a thirteen-year friendship…
and Vincent found out a couple weeks, maybe a month, into becoming a part of Kristen’s life.
I would understand if she maybe didn’t tell me that her first kiss was with someone in first grade or if she lied about getting an F on a test…
but for best friends who tell each other everything, this is a pretty big thing to leave out.
Half of me wants to latch on to that, the knowledge that I’m not the only one with secrets… but it’s not the same.
“Hey,” Kristen whispers, her voice soft.
She wraps her hand around mine to stop me from tugging on a loose thread in my shirt.
“Clarity, if this is about Maurice, you don’t need to be so worried.
He’s so into you, and you guys are still getting to know each other.
It seemed like you clicked at Rockne’s—”
“Kris, it’s not about Maurice. I—”
My voice cracks and Kristen goes still, the thumb she’d been rubbing in circles on the back of my hand stopping abruptly. I want to pull away, but I can’t. Her hand holds mine firmly, her warmth grounding me even though my heart’s racing.
“I don’t like Maurice,” I start, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her brow furrows, but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t rush to ask why not. Her silence is like permission, but I can’t stop the war in my mind—what if she hates me after this? What if she never looks at me the same way?
I stare into her blue eyes, warm and round in the dimmed yellow lights of the den. My best friend. She wants to hear what I have to say.
So, I force the words out, my voice so quiet I think the hum of the heating vent is louder than me. “I don’t like guys. I’m gay.”
She doesn’t react. Her eyes are wide, locked on mine, and her lips part as she takes in what I said. I brace myself, holding my breath as I wait on the edge of everything I’ve feared since I got home from Camp Refuge.
She squeezes my hand, hard, and before I can process it, she pulls me in—
Brrrrriiiiiiiiiiiingg! Brrrrrrrrrrrrriiiinnng!
“Christ,” I gasp just as she squeaks, both of us jumping at the sound of the doorbell. When I suck in a breath, I’m surprised to find air. It felt like there was none just seconds ago.
“Girls, pizza!” her mom calls as she emerges from her bedroom to get the door.
“Be there in a second!” Kristen shouts back, standing up. She doesn’t let go of my hand and pulls me down the hallway. I trip into her room, but she catches me, our hands still connected, and pulls me around to face her just as her door latches closed behind her.
“You’re gay?” she whispers. “You like girls?”
I nod, my throat closing like I’m allergic to this conversation.
Kristen yanks me into a hug. “Oh my God, Clarity,” she says, her voice muffled against my shoulder. “I had no idea. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
I stiffen. A hug is a good sign, but everything—every sensation, thought, and feeling—is foreign. I can’t tell if I feel good or bad yet.
“You… you’re not mad?”
Kristen pulls back, her hands braced on my shoulders and her eyes full of something I can’t place. “Why would I be mad? You’re my best friend. And you’re gay. That’s… that’s fine! Why would I care about that?”
Because so many other people do.
The response dies in my throat, and I just look at her. Big blue eyes, her hair falling out of a messy bun that’s undoubtedly full of knots, her lopsided smile. I dropped the bomb and she’s still Kristen, my Kristen.
“Does anyone else know?” she asks, her voice quieter. “Have you told anyone?”
I shake my head. “No.” But the word feels wrong. “Actually… one person knows.”
Kristen’s mouth falls open and she raises her eyebrows, her expression slipping into playful disbelief. “Wait, wait—one person? You told someone else before me? Your best friend?”
I can’t help the small laugh that escapes me, though my chest is still tight. “Yeah, I did.”
“Who?” she asks, the grin on her face easing away some of my fear. “Who could you have possibly told before me?”
I bite my lip, glancing down to steel my nerves. When I look back up at her, I’m excited to tell her the truth. “Hannah Fitzpatrick.”
Kristen’s smile falters. “Hannah?”
“She’s… my girlfriend.”
Her eyes widen in shock. “Wait—Hannah? Copresident Hannah is your girlfriend?”
I nod, my cheeks warming as I say the words out loud. “Yeah. We’ve kind of been together for… a little while.”
Kristen shrieks and immediately slaps her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God,” she whisper-shrieks. “Clarity, that’s amazing. You and Hannah.”
Her words break through the tightness in my chest. Hannah and I, us together is amazing. And the fact that Kristen thinks so, that she’s not looking at me with any kind of disdain or disgust, means so much to me.
“Wait,” she says, her voice shifting. “Oh no. I’ve been such a jerk to her, haven’t I?”
I blink, catching up with her quick pivot. “What?”
Kristen groans and slinks over to her bed. I sit down next to her as she drops her head into her hands.
“I’ve been so mean, making fun of the team—the team!” Kris looks at me, her eyes wide again. “She got the team to save the committee because she’s a great girlfriend. Not because she was trying to take over. Ohmygosh.” She palms her forehead with the realization.
“Kris, it’s okay,” I try to assure her. “She knows you didn’t mean it, that you didn’t know.”
“Still, I feel awful. I’ve been pushing you toward Maurice this whole time, and you were already with someone. Why didn’t you just tell me?”
I sigh as the weight of her question hits me hard. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
Her shoulders drop and she softens. “Clarity, you could’ve told me. You don’t have to be scared of me.”
“I wasn’t scared of you,” I say, the words tumbling out. “I was scared of everything. I didn’t want anyone to know. And I thought if I just went along with Maurice, maybe it would make keeping the secret easier.”
Kris shakes her head. I catch a shimmer in her eyes that immediately sparks tears in mine.
“You shouldn’t have to hide who you are, especially not from me. I mean, I get why you did it, but still. I love you, Clarity, and I want you to be happy.”
I want you to be happy…
Jameson’s words transform now. Coming from Kristen, I believe them in my heart.
“I know,” I whisper, because this time it’s true.
Kristen’s eyes brighten, and she clicks her tongue. “Okay, okay, look. What if we keep using Maurice as a cover? Like, we lean into it. If people think you’re dating him, you’re right, no one will question anything, and you can take your time to figure things out.”
I stare at her, shock flooding me now. “Seriously?” I was waiting for her to circle back and call me out for lying to Maurice, not for her to start strategizing how to dig that hole deeper.
“Of course,” she says, her grin returning. “I’ll make sure Vincent’s on board too. We’ll make it look—”
I shake my head, cutting her off before she can get going. “No, you can’t tell Vincent. Promise me, Kris. You can’t.”
She leans back a bit as if she’s seeing something new about or around me, newer than the information we’re discussing. “Vincent wouldn’t say anything, Clarity. I promise you can trust him.”
“I know you trust him, and I get that you care about him, but nobody else can know. Not yet.” I keep my voice steady and firm because her telling him or anyone else absolutely cannot happen.
She presses her lips into a thin line. With her eyes narrowed, I can practically see the gears grinding in her head.
Her loyalty to me battles against her desire to be honest with her boyfriend.
I know keeping my secret from Vincent is a huge ask, and is unfair.
She has every right to push back, insist that Vincent can handle it, and ultimately, I can’t stop her.
That lack of control is what I fear the most about anyone knowing.
It’s what makes me afraid of Jameson and Yasmin.
“Okay,” she says, running a hand through her hair. “I won’t tell him. I’ll figure something out.”
She hesitates though, tilting her head in thought.
“This might be a stupid question, but… why are you so afraid of anyone else knowing? Don’t you want to tell your parents?”
The knot in my chest tightens again at the mention of my parents and at the realization that we’ve arrived at the conversation I’ve avoided for so long. At least now that Kristen knows I’m gay, the rest of the story doesn’t seem as scary.
“There’s more to it,” I mumble, my eyes dropping to my hands. “Something happened…”
I tell her about Camp Refuge, about the Incident and the real reason why I never talk about Jameson anymore. I even tell her what Yasmin said the other day at the workshop.
“Oh, Clarity,” she gushes when I’m done, pulling me into another hug. “I’m so sorry. That sounds awful.” When we pull apart, she’s shaking her head. “I’ve been talking trash about Hannah this whole time when Yasmin is the one with a stick up her—”
“Kris,” I hiss, though I can’t help smiling.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, and that you felt like you couldn’t tell me.”
“I can’t lose anyone else. I can’t go through what happened at camp again,” I explain. “I don’t want my parents to find out and feel that kind of shame or disgust toward me.”
Kristen is silent for a moment. Her eyes scan my face like she’s piecing everything together. I wait, not knowing what to hope for, but hoping she comes up with something nonetheless.
“I know it’s scary, but you can’t keep this a secret forever,” she says. “You’ve been miserable; I can tell.”
I want to argue, but the words, a denial, don’t bubble up.
She’s right. The lies, the secrecy—they’ve been making it impossible to function.
I let out a shaky breath, teetering on the unstable idea of my parents ever finding out.
I reach for the large rainbow Squishmallow on the foot of her bed and start squeezing it.
“I don’t know what to do” is all I can say.
“You don’t have to. I mean, you don’t have to do it alone. We’ll come up with a plan, something that gives you time to work up to telling them.”
I can see determination in her eyes, in the way she nods along to her own words as thoughts and ideas begin to ignite.