“So,” Stanley says. “What the hell’s going on with you two?”
Benson adds, “It’s a safe space.”
I shake my head.
Benson looks around the table. “We promise we won’t bring it up after this. We won’t make a joke. Right, boys?”
They all nod. Even Percy. Stanley nods like a man taking an oath.
Benson says, “As the captain, if anyone in this room makes a single joke about it, I will make your life a living hell.”
“Yes, cap,” Stanley says.
I look at the table. They want me to talk about something that I never talk about.
Nobody in my life has ever heard me say her name. Devin knows her as the friend from school who is weird about you, not because Devin is dumb but because that is the version of the story I gave him when he was eleven and I was seventeen. My mom knows her as the girl from my seventh-grade birthday party who wrote me a happy birthday card I keep hidden in my closet. But that’s it.
Nobody knows.
Mila knows.
“It’s not healthy,” Stanley says. “Keeping it in like this. Say something.”
Rowan asks, “Do you even like her, man?”
I let out a small, sarcastic laugh. This is fucking ridiculous to be sat down by my teammates over this. Who cares. They want to know if I like her? Like her. That’s funny.
They don’t say anything. The kitchen is quiet. The fridge hums. Lucy, on Benson’s lap, has not moved. Stanley has finally stopped grinning. Percy is holding space for this conversation, listening, and only butting in when he wants to.
“Start at the beginning,” Benson says, putting his hand on the table.
Okay.
The beginning.
I can do that.
I lean forward and drop my elbows back on the table. “That would be the sixth grade.”
“Jesus Christ,” Stanley barks.
“What?” I ask.
“You were kids.”
“No, dumbass. I’ve just known her since the sixth grade.”
“Thank fucking God.” He wipes his face.
I shake my head.
Percy says, “So you’ve known her a long time.”
I nod. “A very long time.”
“Friends?” Rowan asks.
I shake my head.
