Adelia takes a sip of her blue raspberry sparkling ice in an attempt to stifle a yawn.

We’re currently wandering through the halls of the school. We’re in gym; the two options were to play volleyball or walk around the designated hallways, so Adelia and I chose the latter, as neither one of us are athletic.

Adelia practically passes the yawn to me, because next thing I know, just a few moments after she yawned, I’m yawning.

She notices. “Oh, you’re tired, too?”

“No, not really.”

“Sure,” Adelia drags out, taking another sip of her sparkling ice and narrowing her eyes. “We haven’t really talked much today.”

“I know. I’m just listening to music. Why, was there something you wanted to talk about?”

Adelia seems to deflate a little. “No, I was just wondering if you wanted to talk, that’s all.”

We walk the rest of the time mostly in silence. Or at least, we aren’t speaking to each other. My mind is full of sound, chaos. Not necessarily because of the music I’m playing, but because my thoughts are all over the place and screaming at me.

I can’t help but think back to our hangout on Saturday. How pretty Adelia was. How she touched my hand and adjusted the position of my hand when I tried forming a chord on her guitar. I don’t know why, but her touch sent volts of electricity coursing through my veins, making my heart race from the sudden shock.

Sure, Saturday was pretty awkward, but I honestly enjoyed every single second I spent with Adelia. I just wish it hadn’t been cut short.

“Why did we have to go early?” I remember whining to Mamă we got in the car right after departing from Adelia’s.

“Your brother hurt his ankle while playing soccer, so we have to take him to the doctor. I figured I’d pick you up as well since we don’t know how long we’re going to be at the doctors’.” Mamă then turns to look at me. “De ce nu vorbești românește? Să vă fie rușine?” Why aren’t you speaking Romanian? Are you ashamed?

“Nu, dar cred că e mai bine pentru noi să vorbim în engleză, ca să nu le amestec pe cele două la școală.” No, but I think it’s better for us to speak in English so I don’t mix the two up in school.

“Ah,” Mamă sounds, tsking. She doesn’t sound too happy about that, yet she doesn’t say anything else.

“Elena?”

I snap out of my thoughts and look around, searching for the source of the voice. Ahead of me, I see Adelia walking toward me.

“Ce–I mean, what?”

“You were just standing there. You can’t do that, or else we’ll be banned from walking and will have to play volleyball.”

Oh. I hadn’t realized I stopped walking. I guess I was so encased in my thoughts.

“You good?” Adelia questions as I hurry to join her.

“Yeah. I was just…thinking.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

I don’t know what it is, but my stomach twists into knots. Not because I’m nervous but…I can’t quite pin down this feeling. It’s different. I haven’t felt this way in a long time, not since Maria…

I shiver. No. You’re just overreacting.

For the rest of the time spent walking, I hope to myself that this is the case, but the inner voice in my head is telling me otherwise.

 ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

I look down at my homework, which stares back at me, waiting for me to complete it, fill in the blank spaces with correct answers.

“Simplify the square root of 200,” the problem glares at me.

We did this about two years ago in Romania, and from what I understand, Adelia did this in her eighth grade algebra I class. This is just a review, and I do know what I’m doing, yet I can’t focus.

Well, I can focus, but on things I shouldn’t be focusing on.

Like Adelia’s laugh.

Her beautiful, glowing smile.

The way she twirls her hair when she’s thinking.

Her sleek, blue hair.

Oh God, her hair.

It looks like the ocean’s waves. Especially the waves at the Black Sea, which are a brilliant blue. Her hair does cascade into waves. I mean, it did today, so that either means that a.) she didn’t straighten her hair, or b.) she used some kind of method to turn her otherwise-straight-hair into such luscious waves. 

I wish I knew what her hair smelled like. I can imagine it smells like the ocean, salty and fresh.

“Elena,”  Mamă calls from downstairs. “Cina este gata.” Dinner is ready.

I guess Mamă  didn’t take my advice on speaking more English around me.

Dropping my pencil frustratedly onto my desk, I stand, tie my hair back, and make my descent down the stairs.

Instantly, the smell of cabbage hits me. Mmm. Mamă made cabbage rolls.

After setting up the table, I help Mamă dish out the food into bowls for everyone while Tată and Denis take their seats at the table.

“Sunt sarmale?” Are they cabbage rolls? Denis, my younger brother, questions.

“Da,” I respond, plopping some sour cream atop the dish.

I carry out two of the bowls to the table, one for Tată and one for Denis. Mamă brings the other two, and once everything is ready, we take our places at the table.

“Poftă bună,” Tată says, grabbing his fork and digging in, steam flowing out of the sarmale.

“Mulțumesc,” Denis and I reply, each of us stabbing the sarmale to allow for it to cool off a bit before we eat.

“Este bun?” Mamă asks. Is it good?

“Da,” Tată replies, smiling at her. “Este foarte bun.”

After waiting for the sarmale to cool down, I take a bite, and relish the slightly sour flavor of the sauerkraut added to the dish, the coolness of the dollop of sour cream on top, and the familiar home-y-ness of the cabbage. This reminds me of home.

“Cum este–er, how is Adelia doing?” Tată questions in between bites.

I guess my parents are taking my advice on speaking English at home.

“She’s doing very well!” my voice goes up an octave, and I can feel my cheeks turn a little rosy. Uh oh.

“Ooh, you like her, don’t you?” Dennis grins suggestively.

“W-what? In what way? I only like her as a friend!” I defend myself.

“Then why’d you turn red?”

I look down at the sarmale. Suddenly, I’m not very hungry anymore. “It’s because the food is hot, Denis,” I sigh, fiddling with my food but not taking a piece.

“Yeah right. You so like her,” Denis snickers.

“Denis, e de ajuns. Încetează,” Mamă warns. Denis, that’s enough. Stop it.

“But what if she likes a girl?” Denis questions with mock innocence. “What are you going to do about it?”

Mamă and Tată glance over at me. “Nonsense. Elena isn’t like those strange people,” Tată reassures Denis.

“Strange people,” huh?

The homophobia is insane, I think to myself. When my parents aren’t looking, I sneak a glare at Denis. All you try to do is make things harder for me. What did I ever do to you?

The rest of the dinner is eaten in relative silence, apart from the occasional small talk with our parents asking how school was, and what did we learn. Adelia isn’t brought up again.

I quickly make my escape from the kitchen as Mamă orders Denis to help her wash and put away the dishes, and I go up the stairs to finish my algebra homework.

Just as I’m about done, someone knocks on the door.

“Come in!” I call out.

“Elena,” Mamă opens the door.

“Yes?” I look up from my math homework. Mamă is leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed. She’s still in her jeans and blouse from when she went to work.

“You…er…don’t actually like this girl in that way, do you?”

I’m taken aback, so I don’t respond for a few moments. What the hell? What did Denis put into your head? “Uh, no, of course not! I’m not like that,” I reply hurriedly.

“Okay, just checking.” Mamă still stands in the doorframe, looking at me with concern. “But, if you do ever have those..those feelings, about someone of the same gender, come talk to me. I can help you. We can fix it.”

I can feel my eyes widen involuntarily. “Oh, um, okay.” I gulp. “Thanks.”

“And this Adelia girl…she isn’t like that, is she?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know exactly what I mean.” Why are you asking me if she’s queer? What does that have to do with anything?

I end up lying to avoid any conflict, which is something I usually hate doing. I tend to tell the truth. “No. Not that I know of. Why?”

“She dresses like those people, what with her strange blue hair and indecent outfit choices. If I were you, I’d be careful around her, and if she ever shows any sign of being a bit…different…stay away from her. That’s trouble. There are no homosexuals in this family.”

It takes me so much effort not to throw up. Mamă’s reaction is making me sick. “Okay. I promise I’ll do that. But I assure you, she isn’t one of them.

“In fact, she has a crush on a boy,” I stretch the lie even further, trying to get Mamă on Adelia’s side.

Mamă’s face softens. She looks a lot calmer. “Okay. That’s good. But if anyone you know comes to you with that crazy bullshit, stay away. Am I clear?”

I nod. Mamă leaves me alone to finish my homework.

Instead, I end up facetiming Adelia to distract myself. I can always do the last two problems tomorrow.

On the second ring, she picks up, and a sleepy “Hello?” sounds from her.

“Hi!” I say way too energetically for my own good.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. You seem really tired.”

“Because I am, silly goose.”

Going over to my bed and curling up, I glance at my alarm clock on my nightstand. “It’s only seven thirty three. How are you already tired?”

“Do you have no recollection of how drowsy I was throughout the school day?”

“Yeah, but I thought you would take a nap or something and be fine.”

“Well, that’s what I was doing until you called me.” Adelia points at me through the camera, biting back a grin. Don’t do that to your beautiful lips. Pull them out of your teeths’ grasp. I want to say, but I don’t, because that would be extremely weird and awkward.

“Oh, well I’m sorry,” I respond in mock offense. “I’ll just go then.”

“Elena,” Adelia complains. “Nooo. Please don’t. I like hearing your voice.”

I can feel my chest bloom into warmth after she says that. Adelia appears to be in shock that she said that as well, because now she’s looking down self-consciously.

“I mean–I like talking to you. Not in a romantic way, of course,” Adelia adds, fiddling with the buttons of her pajamas.

“I didn’t think you meant it in that way,” I murmur, staring at her through the phone. She looks so cute, and cuddly, and…ugh. What’s wrong with me?

Adelia clears her throat. “So, how was your day?”

“It was…it was good,” I stammer. I debate whether or not I should tell her about the conversation I had with my mom. “Actually, well, it was okay, until dinner,” I begin.

“Oh?” Adelia shifts in her bed, propping her phone up with a pillow, laying on her belly, facing me.

“My dad asked how you were doing, and I responded saying you were doing fine and then…my little brother Denis started saying the dumbest stuff imaginable.

“He was like, ‘Ooh, you’re blushing Elena, you like this girl.’ And I kept denying it and my mom finally made him shut up about it.

“But literally just five minutes ago, she came into my room to make sure I don’t like you in that way, and she told me that if I were to encounter anyone…different…then I have to cut them out of my life. She also told me that if I myself am queer then she’ll help me. She basically said she’d take me to conversion therapy.” I take a deep breath. I hardly breathed between any of the words I just spoke; that’s how badly I wanted to tell Adelia about this.

Adelia stays silent for a few moments, taking it all in. She seems a little disappointed, or sad, for some reason. This is the second time you’ve upset her today.

“Are you okay?” I question nervously.

Adelia looks up. “Oh, yeah I am. It’s just a lot to take in. Especially because I’m…you know…” she lets her wrist go limp. The gay wrist.

I laugh half-heartedly. “Yeah. I get that.”

But, there seems to be something more than that, something deeper that Adelia isn’t letting me in on. But whatever that is, I won’t be able to find out today because I can hear Adelia’s mom calling her from another room.

“Looks like I have to go,” Adelia states apologetically. “See you tomorrow?”

“See you!” 

She hangs up before I finish waving her goodbye.