Page 52 of How to Hide in Plain Sight
For a moment, I was scared. Scared she would yell. Call me ignorant and selfish, a straight woman co-opting the trauma of the gay experience.
To my right, I felt something wrap around my hand. I glanced over. Manuel’s eyes were warm on mine. I inhaled sharply.It’s okay,he mouthed. He squeezed my hand again, sending little tremors dancing up my arm and across my chest. I glanced down at our folded hands. Back up at Manuel. He smiled encouragingly.
After a few moments, I was finally able to bring myself to look back up at Karma. When I did, I saw in her eyes—to my surprise—not anger…but pain.
“And you didn’t just worry about being a lesbian?” Karma asked.
I shook my head. “There was more. Plenty more.”
Karma’s face crumpled slightly. She opened her mouth—to say what, I’m not sure, because my mother chose that moment to cut in.
“Well, that’s just silly,” said Wendy. “Of course you aren’t a lesbian. You don’t evenlooklike one.”
Karma’s eyes snapped away from mine. “Mom. Jesus. How many times do I have to tell you? That’s not how it works.”
“You know what I meant.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“I meant…you know.” Wendy waved her hands aimlessly. “She doesn’t look all…”
“Butch?” Karma pronounced the word as if it had two syllables: Bu-tch.
“I don’t know. I’m sorry, okay? So sue me for not knowing how to identify a lesbian.”
Karma rolled her eyes so far back I thought they might fall out of her head. “We aren’t woodland creatures, Wendy. You don’tidentifyus.”
I peeked over at Shelly, curious to see what her reaction to all of this would be.
She was barely holding back her laughter.
18
FRESHMAN YEAR
ON THE LAST DAY BEFOREhigh school, everything changes.
I’m sitting on the front steps of our house. My foot taps out an anxious rhythm on the step below:tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap-tap. My eyes are glued to the street beyond, the same intersection upon which our house has always sat. A paved cross surrounded by streetlights, varyingly green lawns, and an electrical box atop which I used to sit while waiting for the school bus. I’m waiting for a black car with tinted windows to appear in that intersection. I’m waiting for it to make the left turn that means it’s going to pull into our half circle of a driveway.
I haven’t seen Manuel in almost a month. He came up to Cradle for a bit, as always, but he had to leave early for a two-week-long track-and-field camp, followed by another two weeks in Colombia, visiting family. Naturally, we’ve kept up over text and FaceTime, but it isn’t the same as having him here, in person, sitting side by side as I’ve always known we were meant to be.
After a small eternity, the Escalade finally appears. I jump to my feet, grinning as it rounds the intersection and pulls into our driveway. The driver has barely brought the car to a halt before the back door swings open and Manuel slides out.
The moment he lands on the pavement, I freeze.
My best friend is nearly unrecognizable. Gone are his round cheeks and the tuft of hair between his eyebrows. Gone is the acne that flooded both of our faces in seventh and eighth grade. Gone are his gangly, awkward arms and legs, the ones that used to be far too long for his small torso. Gone is the curly hair that he never quite knew how to tame.
In their place?
“Beck!” hollers the devastatingly handsome stranger bounding up the front steps. He sweeps me into his arms with impossible ease and swings me in huge circles. When he sets me back down on the top step, he grins and places two strong hands on my shoulders, squeezing them affectionately. His smile is dazzling. “I missed you.”
Oh no.
That’s my first thought after finally seeing my best friend again.
Oh no. Oh shit. Oh fuck.
His thick dark eyebrows pull together, creating lines in his smooth tan skin. His skin isalwaysslightly bronzed, but after two weeks under the Cartagena sun? God. And has his jawalwayslooked like that? Strong and stately, two perfectly carved lines meeting at that round, dimpled chin?
