Girls Like Girls

Chapter 7

"And then she just chased you out the window?" Harry asks, too enthralled in my story to notice the huge chunk of chocolate sticking to his cheek.

"Chase is a strong word, Harry," but it tumbled around in my head anyway. I grabbed my phone and snapped a photo of him, "There's another embarrassing one for your birthday instagram birthday post."

"What do you- Dakota!" he grumbles, grabbing a napkin as soon as he realises he has a sundae forming on his cheek, "Anyway, why do you think it happened like that? You don't think she's out? You don't think... her mom's...?" He lowers his head, furrowing his brows. Even when he tries to look genuinely concerned - and he is - that spark oif gossippinggossiping gay curiosity glints in his eyes.

"No, no, I mean, maybe, but is she even?" I sip my coffee; an excuse to linger in the moment Harry thinks Arden is gayqueer, "No, she can't be. She's Arden Darbyshire for Christ's sake! And assuming anything else is wishful thinking."

"You never know..." He lifts his perfectly groomed eyebrows in a silly attempt at an implication, thenand then lifts his chocolate coconut doughnut to his mouth for another bite of that sugary goodness.

My cinnamon doughnut sits on its napkin untouched. I don't really have an appetite, maybe it's that cold I felt coming this morning.

"So, about Isaac. Beans. Spill," I lean in, like he doesn't already know I'm determined to find out every last bit of information on his new boy to I possibly can.

"Well, as I said, he plays the guitar. He's ridiculously good-looking and he goes to Jones High, just around the corner," Harry muses.

I sit back, frowning at my doughnut, "Jones? That's a coincidence. My old friend from middle school, Nicole, goes to Jones."

Harry tilts his head, "Oh, so you do have a middle school education. You never talk about it so I just assumed that you were born 14 years old and in Junior High."

I make a face, "Come on, I talk about it all the time!" No I don't. "You know tonnes of stuff about my middle school days." No he doesn't.

No one does.

He sighs, "Fine, play dumb. What could be so bad that you wouldn't tell me? We tell each other everything. I told you when I got my first down there hair!"
"Okay, first off, I never asked you to tell me that. And it's not personal; I just don't talk about anything before Junior High, okay?"

"Okay," his eyes soften. I'm still staring at my doughnut, pressing the surrounding crumbs together with my index finger. He takes my hand, "But when you're ready."

"When I'm ready-"

But I'll never be ready.

"I'll tell you."