Chapter 7

7

Irene picks me up at 7:22 on Monday morning. I know the exact minute because she calls three times in a row while I’m blow-drying my hair.

“I’m coming!” I bark into the phone.

She clucks her tongue and hangs up without a word.

When I step into the driveway, there’s an unforeseen complication. Thora is standing beneath the carport, keys in hand, glowering at Irene’s car.

“Uh … good morning,” I say to Thora.

“Is it?” Her eyes narrow. “Mom told me I need to give you a ride because your car’s still at Sledd Brothers, but it looks like Regina George got the same memo.”

Irene stares between us through the windshield of her car. She looks impatient.

“I thought I’d told Mom I had a ride.” I swing my backpack over my shoulder, trying to look like I’m in a hurry. “Sorry about that, but don’t worry, I’m all set!”

I step away toward Irene’s car, but Thora grabs me by the arm.

“Do you wanna explain why your nemesis is giving you a ride?”

“Um, it’s kind of complicated, I’ll tell you tonight—”

She holds my arm tighter and waits.

I’m not sure how to explain this to her. I knew I’d have to convince my family more than anyone that Irene and I are dating, but I thought I’d have a few more days to prepare for it. And Thora is the last person I want to start with. She’s way too shrewd for this shit.

“There’s been an … unexpected love development.”

Thora snorts. “With her? She hit your car last week. And you said she bullied you last year.”

I shrug. “Forgive and forget, right? People change.”

“Scots. Have you lost your mind? This bitch is gonna mess you up just like Tally did.”

The car door swings open. Irene steps out, whipping her sunglasses off with a move that suggests she’s ready for a death match. “Hi,” she says, her voice level and cool. “This bitch’s name is Irene.”

Thora turns on her heel to face her. She’s several inches taller than Irene, but Irene holds her own and returns the glare Thora’s giving her. I hover between them, my pulse quickening.

“So you’re the one who’s messed with my sister twice now,” Thora says, dangerously calm. She prowls around the hood of Irene’s car, examining it. “Hmm. Seems like your ride is good as new. Wouldn’t it be a shame if my hand slipped?”

She holds up her car key and mimes like she’s going to scrape the driver’s side door.

“Thora, don’t—” I say.

Irene sets her mouth. “I would deserve it. So if that’s what you need to do, go ahead.”

She takes a step back, clearing a path toward her car, and my brain short-circuits. This is the first admission of guilt I’ve heard from her. Thora narrows her eyes even further.

“We’re running late,” I say, striding toward the passenger side. “Thora, please, we need to go.”

“Why did you bully my sister?” Thora asks.

Irene’s eyes flicker toward me. She has the grace to look ashamed. “I made a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Thora says with a hollow laugh. “Bullying isn’t a mistake. Have you apologized?”

By the way Irene exhales, I can tell how humiliating this is for her. “No, I haven’t.”

Thora doesn’t reply at first. Then she tilts her chin and says, “I’m surprised you can stand with a spine that weak.”

Irene’s cheeks color. “I’m working on it.”

There’s a prolonged silence. Thora stares directly at Irene, unabashedly assessing her. Then she turns to me. I can tell by the fold of her mouth that she’s relenting. For now.

“You call me if she fucks with you,” Thora tells me. She sends one last glare at Irene, then slides past us and makes her way into the house.

Irene gets back in the car without another word. I’m still reeling as I drop my bags in the back seat. When I take a peek around the trunk of her car, the rear bumper looks good as new.

---

Irene’s car is spotlessly clean and sweet scented; there’s a vanilla air freshener attached to the AC and the windshield looks like she scrubs it regularly. There’s a single elegant cheer ribbon hanging from the rearview mirror. She’s playing music, but it’s too soft for me to hear.

“Your sister looked like she was trying to burn me with her eyes,” Irene says in a clipped tone. “If you’d come outside on time, we could have avoided that whole stupid altercation.”

I snort. “You know how else we could have avoided it? If you’d never messed with me in the first place.”

“I said it was a mistake.”

“Some mistake.”

Irene pops a stick of gum in her mouth. She drums her fingers anxiously on the steering wheel. “If we’re going to be in love, can you please try to run on time?”

“Can you please try to act like the kind of girl another girl might fall in love with?”

I expect another retort, but a shadow crosses over her eyes. “I don’t need this on top of everything else today.”

I avoid looking at her. Maybe I should be reveling in her discomfort, but all I can feel is empathy. I may hate her, but I wouldn’t wish homophobia on anyone.

“It won’t be that bad.” I tap my fingers on the console like this is all very nonchalant; I don’t want her to think I care. “No one really said anything when I came out. Just try to act like it’s something people should have known all along.”

Irene doesn’t say anything. The silence between us feels heavy. She clears her throat and says, “Play a song.”

I think I’ve misheard her. “What?”

“Play a song,” she says impatiently. “You’ve got one for every damn mood, don’t you? So play something upbeat. Something that’s—I don’t know—”

I know what she’s trying to say. Something to get me through this.

I scroll through my library, hovering over a few options, until I find the perfect track. Perfect because it’s so ridiculous. I connect to her Bluetooth, press PLAY, and wait for her reaction.

BUM. BUM BUM BUM—

I can tell the exact second she recognizes it, because she gives me that look.

“Really?” she asks.

I shrug and turn the volume up. “Oh come on. ‘Eye of the Tiger’ is everyone’s favorite pump-up song. It has major don’t-fuck-with-me energy.”

“It has cheesy-sports-movie energy.”

“Yeah, and you love sports. You’re an athlete, remember?”

“Screw you,” she says, but her heart’s not in it.

“Fine,” I say, taking pity on her. “What’s your favorite song?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Favorite movie, then. We’ll do the soundtrack.”

She shakes her head. “No, this will work.” She flexes her hands on the steering wheel. I pretend not to notice that her knee is shaking. Is this really a good idea?

When we pull into the school parking lot, my hands are sweating. Irene kills the ignition. “Are you ready?” she asks. There’s a slight quake in her voice.

“We don’t have to go through with this if you don’t want to.”

She turns to me with her jaw set. “I wouldn’t have agreed if I didn’t want to.”

We stare at each other across the console. It’s almost like a game of chicken, where one of us is hoping the other will back down first. I know it’s not too late to call this off, but I don’t want to. I think of my team. Of the haughty Candlehawk players. Of the shame I felt when everyone laughed at my car being towed away.

Most of all, I think of Tally.

“Fine,” I say. “Sell this with all you’ve got.”

She snorts, tucking her keys into her bag. “You’re forgetting that I spend half my time performing. It’s you we need to worry about.”

I ignore the jab and push my way out of the car. We stand up at the same time, side-eyeing each other across the roof. Already, I can feel the attention on us. Heads are turning our way.

Irene meets me at the front of the car and grabs my hand in the loosest grip imaginable. “I’m only doing this until we get to your locker,” she says under her breath. “God, your hands are sweaty.”

“And yours are as cold as your heart,” I snip back. “Just smile and work your hot-girl magic.”

She takes a deep breath. I ignore the nervousness in her eyes as I take a deep breath of my own.

And then she’s pulling me along like a puppy dog, strutting her way through the parking lot with a winning smile on her face. I keep my eyes locked ahead of me and grin as wide as I can. Everything’s a blur, but I know we’re having the desired effect: People are stopping to watch us.

“The fuck?” Gino laughs.

“Are they together?” some girl shrieks.

“Since when are you gay, Abraham?” someone else calls. Irene twitches reflexively, but she keeps her head held high.

When we reach the senior locker hall, the effect is magnified: the shocked whispers and hissing gossip are almost enough to give me cold feet. Without meaning to, I clasp Irene’s hand tighter.

I don’t know how she’s handling this with such poise. Several people are blatantly gawking at us. One guy has the nerve to snap our picture. Charlotte Pascal actually stops in the middle of FaceTiming her Candlehawk boyfriend to turn our way and say, “You’re fucking kidding me right now.”

Irene ignores her and continues through the chaos like a queen in a fucking parade. I’ve got to hand it to her: When she sets her mind to do something, she goes full throttle.

It’s not until we reach my locker, all the way at the end of the hallway, that I realize I’ve been holding my breath. I relax my shoulders and loosen my grip on Irene’s hand. I didn’t realize how tightly I’d been holding it.

Danielle watches us approach. Whereas everyone else in our class seems to be jumping at this piece of gossip, Danielle’s eyes are narrowed like she just caught Teddy sneaking candy.

“Fascinating couple,” she says as Irene steers me to my locker.

Irene all but drops my sweaty hand and wastes no time in wiping her palm on her skinny jeans.

“Jesus. Can you get her some gloves or something?” she asks Danielle.

“What the hell are you two doing?” Danielle says.

“You can’t tell? We’ve fallen for each other,” Irene says, batting her eyelashes at me.

“Give it a rest,” I tell her.

“Fine.” She resumes her usual tone. Now that we’re past the rest of the hallway, her nerves are on display again. “I’ll see you later. Oh, and if anyone asks, which they definitely will”—she lowers her voice and leans closer to me—“you asked me out.”

I scoff. She shakes a hand through her hair, and then she’s gone, wading back through the sea of onlookers.

I try to avoid Danielle’s pointed stare, but she moves to block me from my locker. She won’t even hand me my coffee.

“Scottie. What. The fuck.”

“What?” I say innocently. “Just trying something new.”

“Are you blackmailing her or something?”

“Why does everyone assume I’m blackmailing?”

“What’s your angle here? Do you realize the entire hallway was staring at you?”

I give her a smug smile. “Yes. And hopefully Tally has seen their Stories by now.”

Danielle’s jaw drops. “Seriously, Scottie? God, I know you’re upset about the breakup, but this is really going off the deep end. Does Irene even like girls?”

I pull her around the corner so we can talk more quietly. “Yes,” I tell her firmly. I recount the conversation I heard between Irene and Honey-Belle, plus the conversation Irene and I had at the tracks.

“But you’re doing all this just to make Tally jealous?” Danielle whispers, shaking her head.

“Come on, give me some more credit than that.” I whip out the homemade blueberry muffin I brought for her this morning. We both know it’s her favorite. She purses her lips but finally hands over my coffee.

“Tally is just the tip of the iceberg,” I explain. “You said it yourself that driving Irene brought so much attention to our team. Didn’t you see how well we played when she kept bringing a whole cheering section to our practices? You know more people will show up now that they think I’m dating her, especially if they cheer at our games. It’s exactly the confidence booster we need. We’re going to beat Candlehawk in the Christmas Classic, and then we’re going to slaughter them in the district championship. Can you argue with that, Captain?”

For once, Danielle is speechless. I’ve got her on that one.

---

When I look back someday, my “coming out” with Irene will really be something for the books. For the first time in my high school career, people are straight-up fawning over me. I feel it between classes, in the cafeteria, and even in the bathroom, where some random freshman lets me cut in front of her in line. It’s like the secondhand celebrity I felt after our car accident, but magnified times a thousand.

Nearly everyone has something to say about it. The Cleveland triplets corner me in the library and demand to know how I asked Irene out. I’m only slightly offended that, just as Irene predicted, they assume I did the asking. A few straight kids congratulate me for helping Irene to acknowledge her sexuality (“You guys are so brave”) while the queer kids pat me on the back for swelling our ranks. Even Gino pulls me aside before economics to admit I have more game than anyone suspected.

Gunther and Kevin seem wary of me. When our physics teacher takes us outside to launch the catapults we’ve been building this month, the two of them make a show of examining the grass and the weather conditions before they finally ask me what’s going on.

“So you’re really going out with her?” Gunther says, loading peanuts into the catapult.

“Why is that so hard to believe?” I ask. I know I could tell them the truth if I wanted to, but it seems safer to limit the secret to Danielle.

Gunther shakes his head. “She’s really hot.”

“And I’m not?” I shove him playfully, pretending the insinuation doesn’t hurt. I think back to the few times Tally told me I was hot. I never quite believed her.

“You know we think you’re pretty,” Kevin says, bending down to make notes in our lab notebook. “But wouldn’t it surprise you to hear I was going out with her? The last person I went out with was Nina Bynes.”

Nina Bynes is a sweet but dorky girl who pulls her books around in a carry-on suitcase. Gino refers to her as the flight attendant. For the three weeks Kevin went out with her, people kept telling him to buckle his seat belt. Gino wouldn’t stop joking that Kevin’s tray table was up.

“I know what you mean.” I sigh, digging my shoe into the dirt. “She is, as the kids say, ‘out of my league.’”

I kneel down to trigger the first launch. The sun is blinding and I have to squint across the soccer field to aim for the plastic hoops Mrs. King set up in the distance.

“I didn’t realize she was into girls,” Gunther says. “I’d heard that rumor, but I thought it was just Charlotte Pascal starting shit.”

I look up at him. “Wait. What rumor?”

“That she and Charlotte hate each other because Irene made a move on her last year.”

I’m distracted by this sudden development, but before I can say anything, Honey-Belle appears at my side.

“Hi, Scottie,” she says brightly. “How’s my favorite girlfriend-in-law?”

I blink. “What?”

“Oh come on,” she says, cheesing hard. “Irene’s my best friend, and now you’re her girlfriend, which makes us in-laws.”

If I didn’t know any better, I would think she was messing with me, but she seems entirely earnest.

“Hi, Honey-Belle,” Gunther says in a high-pitched voice. His cheeks redden. “You look nice today.”

She cocks her head at him. “Thanks, Grover.”

Kevin snorts under his breath. Gunther glares at him.

“I wanted to tell you how happy I am for you,” Honey-Belle continues, touching my arm. “You’re just what Irene needs, even if I didn’t see it before. I mean, the sexual tension was obvious, but I never sensed the true affection underneath.”

I stare at her, at a loss for words.

“You and Irene had that much sexual tension, huh?” Kevin asks, elbowing me.

“Oh, it was overflowing,” Honey-Belle says seriously. “So thick you could spread it like peanut butter.”

“I think maybe you’re misinterpreting—” I begin.

“But it’s really cute to see you together now,” Honey-Belle plows on. “When I asked Irene about it, she could barely look me in the eye. She only gets like that when she’s shy.”

“Right,” I say.

“Anyway, I’ll see you later, Scottie. Bye, Kevin. Bye, Grover.”

She skips away, leaving Kevin to laugh at Gunther and me.

---

Later that morning, I receive a single text that validates this whole damn thing.

Tally Gibson:You’re really dating her?

I feel so smug in that moment, it’s a wonder I can tolerate myself. I’m smirking when I text her back.

Me:Yeah, so?

Only a small, distant part of my brain pays any thought to how Irene is handling this. From what I can tell, it’s benefiting her: I overhear someone in the cafeteria line whispering that her coming out makes her “more relatable.” When I see her in Senior Horizons that afternoon, she looks for all the world to be as regal and untouchable as ever. She shoots me a smile that to everyone else probably looks flirtatious, but to me seems to say This is such bullshit and these people are idiots and I might kill you but I haven’t decided yet.

I smile back and even toss in a wink. I can almost feel her straining not to roll her eyes.

---

When I get to practice that afternoon, my teammates give me more shit than anyone. “So you’ve finally moved on from Tally?” they ask, and I can feel how it’s a victory for them as much as me.

“Irene is hotter anyway,” Googy says, “but I don’t know how we should feel about you trading basketball for cheerleading. Didn’t wanna stick with athletes?”

“Cheerleaders are athletes,” I snap.

“Oooooh,” the girls say, trading looks.

“Enough about Scottie’s love life,” says Danielle, who seems like it’s taking everything in her not to blurt out the truth. “We need to focus. Let’s run Marshmallow.”

I play better than I have all season. Danielle’s eyes are shining when I nail my third three-pointer. And sure enough, near the end of practice, Irene and a dozen others show up to watch.

---

“You’re a solid actress,” I tell Irene when we walk to her car that evening.

“Mm,” she says disinterestedly. “Wish I could say the same for you.”

“What? My acting’s been great.”

“False. That wink in Senior Horizons was completely over the top.”

“You loved it.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says dryly.

Whatever she says, I can tell she’s as pleased—and as tired—as I am. We get into her car and flop against our headrests, sighing at the same time.

“Coming out is exhausting,” Irene says suddenly.

I look over at her. Her eyes are glazed and she’s breathing slowly.

“For what it’s worth, I think you handled it well,” I say neutrally. “Was anyone a dick?”

“A few people asked how you ‘turned me.’”

“Morons.”

She stretches back, yawning. “I just wish people could be more creative with their ignorance.”

I laugh without meaning to, but I stifle it by turning it into a cough. “Does this mean you have to come out to your parents?”

She answers like she’s swatting a fly. “My parents already know.”

“They do?”

She blinks at me. “Why is that so surprising? Don’t your parents know?”

“Yeah, but … I didn’t realize you were this far along in your, you know, journey.”

“Ah yes, my big fat gay journey,” she says with false reverence. “Just because I didn’t tell our whole school, doesn’t mean I’m not open at home. It’s not just white kids who come out to their parents.”

I set my mouth. “I didn’t say that.”

“And yet your ears are turning red,” she says, eyebrows raised.

“I’m just surprised because … I don’t know, your mom…”

“Has a constant stick up her ass?” Irene rolls her head against the headrest. I notice the damp baby hairs at the back of her neck. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work, but she’s a good person. She donated to PFLAG after I came out.”

I don’t know if I’m pushing my luck, but I try anyway. “So why does she hate cheerleading?”

Irene’s eyes flicker toward me. I try to show that I’m asking sincerely, but I don’t know if it’s working.

“She thinks it’s a dead end,” she says finally. “When I first started cheering back in, like, fifth grade, she thought it would just be another extracurricular, so she was supportive. But then I got serious about it and she couldn’t understand why. She wants everything I do to lead to something in my future.”

“But you want to cheer in college. Doesn’t that count as the future?”

“Yeah, for four years, but then what? My parents play the long game. Especially Mom. She wants me to focus on academics and, like, things that lead to a stable career. She’s an optometrist. My dad’s a researcher at the CDC. They both went to Georgia Tech and they want me to go there, too.” She exhales a long breath. “They think they’re way more progressive than my grandparents, but they’re not. Their definition of success is pretty narrow.”

“And your definition of success?”

She side-eyes me again. “You really think you’re entitled to my personal story, don’t you?”

I shrug. The truth is, I’m starting to build a composite portrait of this girl, and some of the pieces don’t add up. “Fine. Don’t tell me. But I do have something that might brighten your mood.”

She hikes her eyebrows, waiting. I dig through my backpack’s front pocket until I find the check I wrote out last night.

“Here,” I say, handing it over.

She takes it carefully and studies the paper. I try not to think about what it represents: $1,000 of my hard-earned money. Hours and hours of scraping gum off theater seats and pouring sodas for preteens.

But on the other hand, it’s my ticket to ensuring we beat Candlehawk.

“Your signature is atrocious,” Irene says. “This S looks like a bowling pin.”

I ignore the jibe. “You’re good to deposit that whenever. Just, you know. Keep good on your word.”

She looks at me seriously. “I always do.”

“Then we have nothing to worry about, do we?”

Irene sighs and tucks the check into her sweatshirt pocket. “Let’s get the fuck out of here,” she says, and she drives me home.