Faith stuck her thumbnail in her mouth and started chewing.

“Never mind. I can guess.” Even though she’d never actually voiced the sentiment, I knew Mom felt that everything I had I owed to her. “How did you know where to find me?" I asked Faith.

She and Cece exchanged glances. I glared at Cece. "I think I hear the cinnamon rolls rising,” she said, sliding out fast. “You two talk. You need each other." She touched Faith’s shoulder and added, "Tell her.”

My glare engulfed Faith. "Tell me what? Why you outed me?”

"I didn’t.” Faith spit out a cuticle. "I’d never do that.”

I held her eyes.

She lowered her hand and repeated, "I didn’t do it.”

“But you apologized.”

"What?” Her eyebrows twitched. "Oh, yeah. For not defending you that night, not taking your side. I should have. It all just happened so fast.”

I studied her face, searching for the truth and getting nothing but a vacant sign. “Sit down." I motioned to the plasti-seat Cece had vacated.

Faith scotched in. I offered her a donut chunk from the box. She shook her head, then stuck her thumb in her mouth and began nibbling again.

“It’s hard to talk to you when you’re doing that,” I told her.

She dropped her hand. “Don’t be mad at Cece," she said. “I made her tell me how to find you. I’ve been worried about you.”

She was worried about me? My shoulders slumped. At least somebody was. I felt guilty. For blaming her, for cursing her every time I crunched a cockroach in my bathroom. “So," I said forcing a smile,"how are you? How’s everything?”

She met my eyes. Stuck out her tongue in a gag.

“Do you know who told her about me?”

Faiths eyes grazed the table. “I think so.”

I waited. She didn’t volunteer the information. I wanted to lunge at her, grab her around the neck, force her to look at me, talk to me, tell me –

Tell me what? That none of this had happened? That it was all her fault? Somebody else’s fault? Anyone’s but mine? Because it was mine. It did happen. The actions, the decisions, the consequences, they were all my responsibility.

Accept it, Holland, my inner voice admonished. Get over it.

I was dealing. Still, I had to know. "Was it Bonnie Lucas?”

Faith curled a lip. “Who?”

“Mom’s friend. The career counselor at school.”

“I donʼt know her.”

Another long, uncomfortable pause. Was I going to have to beat it out of Faith? Because I would –

“Your mom called around to all your friends one Saturday to find you. You were supposed to go shopping for a dress or something?”

Oh, shit, the dress, which I’d agreed to buy under the false pretense I’d wear it to the governors dinner. Which I never did attend. After I became a homeless street urchin, dinner with the gov seemed a tad trifling.

“Kirsten," I seethed aloud. “I should’ve known.”

“No. Kirsten wasn’t home," Faith said. "Leah was. She talked to Leah for a couple of minutes. Then she called someone else. I heard your mom say, ‘What girlfriend?' I'm pretty sure she was talking to Seth.”

"Seth?” My jaw unhinged. “But…” No, he wouldn’t tell my mother. Itʼd reflect on him. He wouldn't tell anyone. Would he? Is he the one who told Leah and Kirsten? Is he the one who leaked it to the world?

“After she hung up, your mom was like flaming all over the house. Totally psycho. She attacked me on the sofa and screamed at me to tell her what I knew. But I didn't. I swear. So she went through your room, trying to find something. Proof, I guess. She’s always pawing through your stuff, you know. Going through your drawers and your closet.”

“Youʼre kidding." I knew she went in to gather laundry.

“Nope.” Faith helped herself to a donut chunk and added, “Anyway, I think she found what she was looking for. A card? Something like that." She nibbled on a chocolate sprinkle.

“The card from the flowers. But I put that in my safe.”

“So? She gets in there, too. And she checks your pills every day."

“What!" I gawked at Faith. “My birth control pills?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“But that doesn't prove –”

A hon honked outside and Faith flinchcd. She shoved the rest of the donut into her mouth and garbled, “I gotta go. Dads waiting.”

My eyes followed hers out the window to the parking lot, where Neal sat in his Ford Explorer, tapping the steering wheel impatiently. When our eyes met, he smiled stupidly. “Faith.” I caught her arm on the way by. “l’m sorry." I stood up and folded her in an embrace. “I'm really sorry.”

"Me too," she said.

“I wish it could've been different between us. I wish I’d…” Tears stung my eyes. I wish I’d been more of a sister to you, I wanted to say. Even a friend. I wish I’d trusted you. But no, I took one look at you and slapped on a label. Freak. Weirdo. I never once made an effort to dig beneath the surface. I was such a hypocrite. No wonder she couldn’t stand me.

“Yeah," she said, “I wish I woulda stolen that Dixie Chicks CD when I had the chance.” Faith stuck out her tongue in a gag.

I smacked her arm.

She added with a smile, “I really like Cece. I’m glad for you.”

She was the only person who’d ever said that, and I needed to hear it so badly. I hugged her again, fiercely. “Do something for me, will you?" I asked.

“Anything," Faith said. "I'd do anything for you.”

My throat caught. “Just…give Hannah a kiss for me?”

"Oh, I have been. I talk about you all the time, especially in front of your mother." Faith smirked. "I won’t let Hannah forget you."

In my blur of tears, Faith disappeared.

***

I missed the blowout. Cece said she and her parents had a knock-down-drag-out when she told them she wanted to stay with me at Taggert House. They absolutely refused. Cece threatened to run away. She told them they'd have to call the cops to haul her ass back home, then lock her in her room at night to keep her there.

So they compromised. What choice did they have? Cece could sleep over on the weekends, Friday and Saturday nights. Her parents had to hate me. They had to blame me for causing a rupture in their family.

I lay in my lumpy bed, listening to the creaking walls, to the flushing of a toilet downstairs. A train whistle mourned in the distance. Cece had come in late, looking exhilarated and babbling for an hour before finally crashing. Everything seemed normal with her, perfect. But I knew she was a good actress. I wanted to confront her about where she’d been tonight.

She had told me she was working, that her uncle had called and asked her to fill in for one of the cooks who was sick. I thought I’d surprise her. Stop in with a Starbucks espresso, her favorite. Pure sludge. It cost too much for coffee, but it’d be worth it to see her face light up.

Except, she wasn't working. The regular staff was all there. The trace of stage makeup around her hairline was telling.

I rolled over onto my back. Why was she lying to me? What was going on? After that first show, Cece never wanted me around when Unity was rehearsing or performing. She never once introduced me to her friends. Why? What was the chance it’d get back to Southglenn? Wasn’t she proud of me? Was that it? I wasn’t g*y enough?

What if she’d rather be with “them” than me? What if she left me? The thought of it made my stomach hurt. Cece was all I had. Without her, I’d be totally alone in the world.

Oh, God. I probed her gentle face, her receptive dream state. What would I do without you?

Stop it, my brain screamed. She’s here with you now. Thats what matters.

I took a deep breath to quell my anxiety. Try to. I needed her. Cece was a part of me now. The me that felt solid and sure and strong. She was the one thing in my life that kept me going, made me happy.

And that happiness hadn't come without a price. I'd given up a lot to be with Cece: my home, friends, family. Maybe even my future family. Plus this sense of belonging I’d always had. The sense of fitting in, knowing where I stood. It might not be so bad if could be like her. Out. Proud. With a new place of belonging in the g*y community. With new friends. A new family.

But what I’d lost was insignificant compared to what I’d found. Me. The missing part of myself. And Cece. Knowing love. Being loved.

“Please, God," I whispered into the night. “Let me be loved.”

Beside me, Cece whimpered a little and rolled onto her side. She snaked an arm around my hip and pulled me close. Cece gave me life, she nurtured me, and I burrowed into the warm cocoon of her.

***

Mr. Oleander started off the student council meeting with an announcement: Prom had to be moved back two weeks because the ballroom we usually rented at the Oxford Hotel wasn’t through being refurbished.

Prom. I glanced down the table at Seth, who avoided eye contact not only with me but with everyone else. I’m sony, I sent him a mental message. Please forgive me?

If his dead expression was any indication, his mind was closed to mental telepathy.

After the meeting I had to make a pit stop before art. Exiting the stall, I found Kirsten at the mirror, brushing her hair. “Hello, Holland," she said. Her tone of voice made me tense. “Would you mind if I went to the prom with Seth?”

"He asked you?" My voice rose an octave.

Her face hardened.

“I didn't mean that the way it sounded." Or did I?

“I'm going to ask him.” She pulled her hair up into a ponytail. "I think he should experience what it’s like doing it with someone other than a queer.”

All the blood rushed to my face. “That isn’t funny, Kirsten.”

"Oh, was it meant to be?” she asked.

I started for the door.

“Players,” she said at my back. “Let’s talk about players.”

I closed my eyes. “Leave it alone, Kirsten.”

"At least I only play one side of the fence.”

I whirled on her. “Shut up." My ragged breath betrayed me. “I broke up with Seth, okay? I’m free to do as I please.”

She cocked her head. “So you are." Hoisting her purse onto her shoulder, she shoved by me out the door. Halfway through, she twisted back and added, “And now we all know what your pleasure is. Dyke.”

Thank God I was still in the restroom because next thing I knew I was heaving in the toilet.

I didn’t think my day could get any worse, then Winslow asked me to the prom. At first I just stared at him, stunned. When my voice returned, I stammered, "Wow, I’m uh, really flattered, Winslow. But I, I…canʼt.”

His brow furrowed. "You broke up with that Seth guy, didn’t you?"

"Yeah."

“Oh, I get it." His face fell. “You're already going with somebody else. I knew I should’ve asked –”

“That’s not it," I cut in. “I just can’t go with you.”

His eyes sliced through me like machetes. I realised too late how that must’ve sounded. Before I could retract, or explain, he snarled, “I thought you were different. You're just like the rest of them." He stood, cramming his art supplies into his briefcase. Then he crashed through a row of empty chairs and wound his way to the front, to a seat as far away from me as possible.

Everyone swiveled their heads to stare at me. Especially Cece. She mouthed, What was that about?

I shot to my feet and tore out of there. God! It was all so fucked.

Chapter 23

I dove in at the deep end, driving down through the water.

Burn it off. Force it out. Make it gone.

The hiding, the secrecy, it was tearing me up inside. Why did it have to be this way? Why?

My lungs were ready to explode as I propelled off the bottom and split the surface. Then swam, lap after lap after frantic lap, trying to release it, expunge it, set it free. Set me free.

They got it wrong when they called it “the closet." This was a prison. Solitary confinement. I was locked inside, inside myself, dark and afraid and alone.

When I dragged up the stairs at Taggert House, I found Cece huddled in front of my door, a Tupperware bowl balanced on her knees. She scrambled to her feet and smiled. "Kate's special.” She held the bowl out to me. “Chicken soup for the soul.”

I didn't think soup was going to salve my ravaged soul. Cece shouldered her backpack and followed me inside. I dumped my crap on the floor and shoved the bowl in the microwave. Cece must’ve sensed my imminent implosion because she didn’t ask.

The soup was comforting, or maybe it was the peace I found with Cece. We ate directly from the bowl at the dinette table. The last noodle we slurped together and kissed in the middle. Cece rinsed the bowl and spoons, then retrieved her independent living folder – the bullshit class I should’ve elected – kicked off her shoes, and spread out her homework on the bed.

Now her silence ragged me. I got up and headed for the closet. “Know anyone who needs a prom dress?" I wrenched out the trash bag from the back. In the bottom was the dress that Mom had ordered from a catalog. It was a seafood green strapless number that I'd been dying to burn. Even more so now. I tossed the bag on the bed.

Cece glanced up at me, looking a little intimidated, and opened the bag. She pulled out the dress and gasped. Laying it lengthwise across the bed, she smoothed a hand down the bodice and said, “Okay, talk to me. What happened today?”