I pick James up from the grocery store as per usual before we meet the girls at Emily’s house. He looks gorgeous; I’m scared I might crash the car just thinking about him. He’s got on a jet black tuxedo with a pink bowtie, all of which he supposedly found at Goodwill. He runs a hand through his hair; It’s still all over the place as per usual, but he’s made an attempt to style it a little. It’s been worked in until his usually messy hair looks somewhat styled. My heart flutters as he adjusts his bowtie. I’ve always found him attractive, but right now, with his elbow propped up against the window, laughing at some dumb joke I just made, I might just die.
I’ve only been to Emily’s house a few times, but I definitely think it’s the nicest between the four of us. Her house isn’t big, but it’s pruned and painted to the nines. Emily’s mom is an interior decorator and her dad is a detective. They’re an odd combination to me, her mom being super energetic and always happy, while her dad is the exact opposite, but they’re, like, crazy in love. My parents and Marina’s parents both show up at about 6:00 so that we can take pictures on their front porch, which is decorated with perfectly clipped creeping ivy and two rose bushes trimmed to a tee. We stand on the stairs, boys behind girls, while Mrs. Johnson takes pictures. She’s one of those moms that needs to take eight billion photos before she’s finally satisfied; my mom took one and called it a day. “I’ll just get Mrs. Johnson to send me the rest. I have an important meeting in half an hour. Have fun, mijo.” she had said before scrambling to the car. My dad stays for an extra minute so he can take my car back.
Emily’s mom also insists on taking pictures of everyone individually, just the guys, just the girls, and then just ‘couples’. It took about half an hour to satisfy her camera before she finally turned us loose. “Okay kids. Go. Have fun. Make good choices.” She says, waving at us, Nikkon still in hand. I hand the keys to my dad, so he can take my car home, and follow the rest of the group to Emily’s car. Our parents wave us off as Emily pulls out of the driveway, and we head towards the diner we decided on for dinner. Was it elaborate? No. Was it affordable and quick? Sure. Did it have the best milkshakes in Philly? Absolutely. Emily reminds us that she was going to be driving the whole night, because she “was the most likely to not be drunk.” Marina takes a long sip of her milkshake and ponders how the ultimate prom experience could only happen if someone spiked the punch bowl, which definitely makes me think she wants to spike the punch bowl. I remind her that she would definitely get the drunk experience at Jared’s house at the very least. “Whoop!” She pumps her fist in celebration. James swore to God he’d never drink in his entire life. Emily kindly reminds him that even if he was sober, he couldn’t drive because he didn’t have a license. James rolls his eyes, “Well don’t rub it in.”
On our way to the actual dance, the girls sit in the front two seats talking non stop. James is less talkative. He just looks hastily out the window, his reflection like a ghost in the setting sun. “James, your jacket is so nice! Where’d you get it? Emily asks.
“Goodwill.”
“You dumb fuck. You’re wearing a jacket you bought at Goodwill?” Marina shouts.
“What’s so shocking about that?” Emily scoffs, “Well, I think it looks great on you!” James and Emily look at eachother for an intimate moment. I awkwardly avert my eyes to Marina, who makes a barfing face. I roll my eyes back at her. Emily loves him. It makes my stomach hurt.
Now, if you ever been to a high school dance, you know that there really isn’t that much dance. It’s more a giant room of hormonal teenagers jumping up and down, and people acting gross and coupley. There’s not a whole lot of nasty making out in front of everyone since making out in front of teacher chaperones is awkward, though there is some questionable dancing. I notice that there are quite a few more queer couples I thought there would be. A girl from my English class, slow dancing with another girl from school. A tall boy I recognize from the orchestra group kissing his boyfriend on the forehead. If I came out, I wouldn’t be the first. And I definitely wouldn’t be the last. So why, then? Why am I so terrified of letting people know that? Why is it so terrifying to just be myself? “Peyton!” Marina screams over the incredibly loud mass of people, bringing me back to earth. “What’s up?” I ask. “I need some water. I’ll be back.” She shimmies her way off the dance floor to the giant cooler of water. I step out to one of the tables skirting the dance floor. My eyes find him immediately; it's become something of a second nature at this point. His hair is already starting to come undone. He’s awkwardly bobbing next to Emily, who’s smiling insanely. It looks like he's having a good time, a hand on her waist and a bright smile across his freckled face. That burning feeling in my chest returns. I don’t understand how merely liking someone could physically hurt this much; it's beautiful in a weird poignant way, and so terrible at the same time. “No es amor hasta te lastima.” That’s something my abuelita always says. There’s a tap on my shoulder. “Peyton?” I turn to face Marina. “Huh?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” She sits down next to me, holding a bottle of water. “You’ve been kinda distracted all night.”
“Yeah.” She purses her lips questioningly. “You know, if you need anything you know you can come to me, right?”
“Of course.” I say, and nothing else. She looks at me suspiciously. “Peyton, seriously. You’re one of my best friends.”
“Yeah, I know. And you’re one of mine.”
“You just responded “yeah” as an answer on five separate occasions, that doesn’t sound very okay to me, are you sure everything’s all right?” I almost say ‘yeah’ again, but I refrain and instead, don’t say anything. I put my elbow to my knee, and rest my head against my hand. She starts chatting about how the theater stage crew did an amazing job with the props that they made for the venue, and how she was super excited prom was at an actual club and not just in a gym or something. She’s in the middle of talking about how time consuming it was to find the perfect dress, especially since she’s curvy, when I interrupt, “I don’t think I’m okay.” My voice cracks as I try not to cry. “Oh Peyton,” She pauses, “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I don’t know.” She notices that I’m looking at Emily and James again. “They really like each other, huh.” I smile sadly and shift my eyes to my shoes. “Yeah,”
“I don’t know about James, he’s just so quiet, you know? But I look at Emily and I can just see that she’s in love with him.”
“Yeah, I get it.” I look up at her. “Marina, have you ever been in love like that before? You know, like the way they are?” She shakes her head, “No, you?”
“I think so,” I shake my head. “I feel like I’m so totally in love with someone that it will suffocate me. It’s like watching myself drown and knowing I can’t do anything about it.” I sigh, “Watching them is like being shot in the chest some days.”
“Them?” She waves her finger back and forth between Emily and James. “Uh,” I consider lying for a moment and making up some lame excuse like ‘I just wish I could be that happy.’ But I realize I can’t keep running forever. “Yeah. I dunno, it’s like, I see them and I know that they love each other. And I want them to be happy. Like, I really really do. But the truth is, it just makes me upset. Almost angry. Every time I see them together I want to smash my fist into a wall.” Marina puts a reassuring hand on my knee. “Damn, Peyton. I’m so sorry. I never realized you felt that way about Emily.” I laugh for a second, and shake my head sadly, “No. No,” I sigh for a second and bury my face in my hands, “It isn’t Emily.” She looks at me full of utter confusion for about ten seconds, and then it all comes to her. “Oh my God, Peyton.” I sigh.
“I think I might be in love with him.” Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You. You like James?” I run my hands through my hair. “Are you, like. You’re not. You’re-”
“I’m gay, Mar.”
“Oh, Peyton,” She sandwiches my hand between hers. I didn’t think that when I told her I’d get so emotional. I don’t usually cry about shit like this, when I told my parents it was like telling them I got a B on a math test. It wasn’t shocking, in fact, it was almost expected. Telling my Abuelita was harder, but she came around. No tears shed. But this time, everything comes spilling out. “I don’t know why I resent telling people. I’m not ashamed of it, I don’t think, but, but I just, I don’t know.” She squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to explain yourself, Peyton, but I’m glad you trust me.”
“I’ve liked him since, like, September. But recently, just looking at him hurts. It physically hurts sometimes and I just can’t stop thinking about him. I just think, I don’t know. Does it even qualify as love? Does love have to be reciprocated? Can I be in love with him if he will never see me as more than his best friend?”
“I don’t know bud. Those are the unanswered questions of the universe,” She says. The silence returns. “Don’t tell anyone please. I’ll tell them when I’m ready. I’m just not ready for that yet. Plus they just started dating, and I don’t want to make things awkward. You guys are my best friends”
“It’s not my secret to tell,” She pauses in thought, “Also, you know they’re not technically together as in dating, right? I mean, I know Emily wants them to be, but I don’t they’ve made it official.”
“Don’t tell me that!” I smile a little bit as I say it. “Sorry, sorry.” We sit there. Just her and me. She stands up, pulling me up with her and wipes a tear from under my eye. “Okay Reyes. Here’s what you’re gonna do,” she says. “What?”
“Here is your once in a lifetime opportunity to dance with the Bullet.”
“Haha, the Bullet? I didn’t realize it was such an honor.” I wipe a tear off of my cheek.
“But of course!” I laugh. “If you insist.” So she pulls me off of my chair, and smiles. And I smile. And all is right for once. Marina knows now. It’s a breath of fresh air. “Peyton, there is nothing you could do or be that would make me not love you in the most awesomely platonic relationship imaginable.”
“Let’s talk about something else.” She smiles, “Okay, okay,” So we talk about anything else, and experience the bliss of being teenagers while doing it. I’m relieved that it feels like nothing has changed, except that I know now. I know that someone, Marina, accepts me. Not that I ever thought she wouldn’t, but now I know. Knowing is such a secure feeling. Having some kind of concrete proof that things might be okay is one of the few consoling things in the whole entire universe.
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