Page 82 of The Black Flamingo

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“The little comments,” says Destiny.

“The dirty looks and”—she gets choked up—

“the notes in your bag.” She starts crying.

Faith puts an arm around her.

“I’m okay,” says Destiny,

smoothing down her hair.

If this is an act,

I wish she was this good

in our rehearsals.

“Someone in my family came out to me

recently and I’ve realized . . .” continues Destiny.

She looks to Faith to finish her sentence.

“We’ve realized . . .”

“We were complete bitches,” says Faith,

“and we feel so bad and so awkward

doing this play with you without knowing

if you hate us? Can you forgive us?”

“If we get an A, I’ll forgive you.” I wink.

After our dress rehearsal,

Rowan says, “It’s been special

doing this play with you.

The other three are great but

you know how our scenes together

are just so intimate, it almost

feels like I’m really falling for you.”

I could have broken that line

in so many ways. Take what I want

from it. I could have latched on to

“feels like I’m really falling for you”

or “I’m really falling for you.”

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