“Oh, I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve had a pretty normal life until now.”
Prue ate the last fry and moved the empty container to her other side. I could smell her hair; it mixed with the salt and the magic on the air and made something new, something unique.
“I don’t think anything about your life is normal,” Prue said quietly, a little distractedly, like her mind was on something else entirely. After a minute she looked at me and asked, “Do you want to do something tonight? I’ve been hanging out with Harrison a little too much. I love my brother, but he’s currently only able to talk about one thing.”
“One bird thing?” I asked, trying to ignore the irritating hammer of my heart and the imminent spike of my expectations, trying to remind myself that more likely than not, Prue was straight and just wanted to be friends.
“One bird thing,” she confirmed. “I’ll find you around the inn later? If you’re free?”
“Sure,” I said quickly. “Sure, I’m free.”
“Great.”
She smiled, picked up her trash, and left me alone in the graveyard to dissolve into a puddle of actual sunshine.
With Verity gone, I was one of only four out lesbians on our very small island. Two of them—Bridgett and Alana Lannigan—were in their sixties and had been happily married for thirty-five years. Wisteria Jones was a year younger than I, and while a perfectly nice girl, there had never beena spark between us. Same with Sally Vane, a bisexual girl in Wisteria’s class, and Polly Horvath, who was two years younger and had dated both Sally Vane and Sally’s second cousin, Marcus.
But here was the problem with all of that—because I knew everyone on the island so intimately, had grown up with all of them, Prue was basically the first girl I had met who was a mystery. Did she like boys? Girls? Both? Neither? I could only guess, which was proving to be hugely irritating.
Was this what it was going to be like off the island? In two months, when I left for college, was my entire dating life going to be a constant cycle of guessing and getting let down? And although I felt accepted here, I couldn’t help but wonder about life elsewhere. Would the people at my college be as accepting as the people on By-the-Sea? Would I know how to do this better? To navigate the weird is-this-a-date-or-isn’t-it?
Because even now, even as I reminded myself over and over again that what was happening tonight was probably not a date, I couldfeelthe sloppy smile plastered across my face, the highest of hopes building in my chest.
Mary noticed it the second I walked into her bedroom (she was reading comics in her underwear in the middle of the day, hiding from our mother). She made a long, drawn-out noise in the back of her throat that sounded a little bit like she was choking.
“Gross, you have a date with her, don’t you? It’s not fair that you have a date and I don’t. I’m prettier.”
She probably was prettier, although as far as womb-sharers go, we really couldn’t look less alike.
“It’s not a date. Have you tried being forward?” I asked, though even as I said it I remembered who my sister was and, duh, of course she’d tried being forward.
“I all but took my clothes off in the dining room and climbed up on his table to perform a jig,” Mary said. Then, raising a hand to her chin: “Do you think that would work?”
“I think that would accomplish many things, yes, including Mom banishing you from the island and burning your name off our family tree.”
“But at least I’d have a date,” Mary said, like she wasn’t ruling it out.
“I don’t even know why you like him so much. Is it just because he’s fresh blood?”
Mary wrinkled her nose. “That’s a decidedly gross way to put it, Georgie.”
“But you’re not saying no...”
“I’m not saying no,” she agreed. “There are only so many people on this island, as you are well aware. It’s nice to have a couple new faces around here.”
“So... just go up to him and ask him if he wants to get a coffee or an ice cream or take a stroll on the beach or something. What’s the worst that can happen?” I sat on theedge of Mary’s bed and started flicking absently through a comic.
“Every time I see him he has his nose buried in a book about birds. These fucking people, I tell you. Up to their eyeballs in feathers. What do theydofor the rest of the year? Sit around and pine for Annabella?”
“Absolutely they do, no doubt in my mind. You just have to shift his priorities a tiny bit.”
“Oh, what, now that you have a date you think you’re the dating expert? Are you going to open up a match-maker’s business on the island? You’re so weird.”
“Look—Annabella isn’t even here yet; he can’t spendallof his time out looking for her.”
“He can,” Mary said mournfully. “Trust me, he can.”
“Well, then, maybe you need to shiftyourpriorities.”
