Page 98 of The Photograph

“Keep in touch, Alex,” she whispers. And I haul her into a hug before turning and opening the door and slipping out into the night.

Once I’m a street away, I slow down and suck in a thick breath. Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I open up Facebook, and as I scroll I notice I’ve been tagged in several pictures. Hannah has posted a picture of Amalia and me, our heads bent together when we were whispering at the table.Ugh. My hand hovers over the comment button, but what can I say here that won’t sound either insulting or defensive?

Instead, I find Amalia and send her a DM, saying I need to speak to her, and she responds straight away with her phone number.

“Hi, it’s Alex,” I say, when she picks up.

“Alex.” She sounds breathless. “Thanks for calling.”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” I’ve never had to explain this to anyone. How sheltered have I been up to now? How much pain of explaining have I got to come?

“I loved chatting to you tonight, Amalia, you’re great, but I need to let you know that I’m gay.” My words come out in a breathless tumble. “I don’t want to mislead you.”

There’s a long silence, then she rushes in.

“No, no, that’s okay, Alex.” There’s a pause. “I think my parents thought …”

“I’m sure they did. And my parents probably encouraged that, and I’m so mad with them right now.”

“Your mom and dad know?”

What the hell have they said to the Silvermans? Probably a load of bullshit about what a catch I am.

“They do, but they’re in denial about it. I apologize if they indicated that …”

“No, I understand. I’m sorry, Alex.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

She’s quiet for a beat. “I like you, Alex. You’re not like a lot of the boys in school.”

I laugh. God, the jocks and the jokers. “Yeah, I get that. I had fun, and it was lovely to meet you.”

“Me too.”

“Stay in touch, okay?”

“Of course.”

“And good luck with Princeton.”

When she hangs up, I tap my phone against my hand. What am I going to do now? On impulse, I press Des’s number,listening to it connect. But it just rings and rings as I walk up the tree-lined streets toward the station, and eventually I hang up.

There’s nothing more I can do here. It was a huge mistake coming home, and I need to apologize to Des, but perhaps I shouldn’t do that tonight. I’ve already done one distressed visit to his apartment. This time I’m more organized, or just savvier about what’s happening here. Maybe I won’t ever be going back. I take a calming breath. I’ll keep trying Des, and if that doesn’t work, I can catch him at his office tomorrow. My mind flits over a couple of guys I’ve used as excuses in the past, and a hotel would be easy, but staying at Nana’s is probably the sensible choice.I haven’t been to see her since she outed me five weeks ago. I’ve never left it so long.

We probably need to clear the air.

39

DES

Steve and George turn up at my apartment at 9 p.m. on a mission to drag me out to The Brass Monkey in the Meatpacking District. George declares loudly that, because it’s July, we need to be drinking on a rooftop. If I wasn’t so pissed with Alex, I’d be wondering more about their relationship and the pair of them turning up together.

I’m moping, in some weird limbo waiting for Alex tosort it out, whatever that means. After he left last night, I spent most of the night awake running through every little nuance of how he was and what he said, and how he ducked the issue of how this is affecting me. When George called me earlier today, it all came rushing out. And all credit to George and Steve, they have gone into full one-of-the-pack-is-down mode: dressing me up and buying me drinks while I’ve been a stuck record about how I’m going to be miserable company.

“Here.” George thrusts some pink monstrosity in my face. The whole of the top of it is a ball of cotton candy.

I pick up my phone and start scrolling. There’s a missed call from Alex, and I hover over the button, but George snatches it out of my hand and wags his finger at me.

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