Not, the last petal says definitively. Ouch.
I poke my head through the entryway of the portal and look over at our tree. The large branch extends out to me like an open hand. I briefly consider climbing up onto the branch, but that was always Cam’s spot, not mine. Instead, I sit right where I am, pressing my back against one end of the doorway and pushing my feet against the other side. I look down into the lake and see a version of myself reflected in the water. The image is murky and unclear.
“Gabriel could fix that,” I say to myself. And despite the stupidity of that statement, it makes me smile. I imagine Gabriel smoothing the lake like paper, dialing in contrast, brightness, definition. Like every view of the world could be a picture for him to translate and make better.
As I look into the lake, it hits me: I wish Gabriel were here now. I wish any of my new friends—well, my old friends—mynew-old friends were here to distract me from myself. I feel antsy in my own body. Like I’ve accidentally left the stove on somewhere in my head, and I don’t know how to go in and turn it off.
I lean into the cool stone and close my eyes. If Julia were here, would she see magic in this? Sitting inside a doorway to the past? I want magic to exist so, so badly in this moment. I want to slip right through the Portals of the Past and be able to travel back in time.
I think about when I stood next to Sunny in front of the kintsugi display at the Asian Art Museum. Actually, if I could have any sort of magic, I’d want to spin gold out of nothing, Rumpelstiltskin-style, then use it to bond every relationship I’ve shattered back together.
A magical kintsugi to fix my own life.
I picture all the broken fragments in my head. When I think about my friendship with Gabriel, or Julia, or even Sunny, the pieces are bigger. It’s like a bowl cracked in two. If I can just figure out the right thing to do, the right words to say, I can fix those cracks. The pieces already line up.
With Cam, it’s a lot more complicated.
Putting the pieces of our friendship together feels more like doing a tricky jigsaw puzzle. There’s the book, the hunt, the first kiss, and then the second. There’s the day I came out to Cam. And the day he came out to everyone. The memories all feel barbed and untouchable.
I try to sort through them anyway.
I want to decode them, to understand why Cam keepspulling me in and pushing me away. He made that wanted poster for me to see; I just know it. But he’s also the one who said getting close to me was a mistake. Why? What do I keep doing that drives him away, over and over? Why do we keep circling each other and repeating the past?
I think about Cam lying in my bed next to me. I can feel his skin, hot and clammy, under my palm as it skates across his stomach. His heart thrums against my ear. I whisper into his neck.
Cameron.
I open my eyes.
“Oh my God.” I clap a hand over my mouth.
I don’t think Cam has gone by “Cameron” since he came out. But that’s what I said, with my hand under his shirt, inching dangerously close to his chest.
He thinks I was misgendering him.
That’swhy he stood up and said I didn’t know him. He meant that I didn’t knowhim.
The rest of the pieces start finding one another, start fitting into place finally. All this time I thought Cam was teasing me with his whole cool-guy routine, acting like a totally different person from the friend I first fell in love with. When really, he’s just been trying to make sure I see him as a guy, full stop.
And the thing is…I do like Cam as a guy. I’mattractedto him as a guy. Which, I guess, technically means I’m pansexual.
“I’m pansexual,” I say out loud to the lake. My reflectionsmiles back up at me, as though she’s saying,Duh. Of course you are.
I like that word for me. I like how it feels when I try it on. Maybe not as much as I loved identifying as a lesbian, but I’ll get there with time. But Cam doesn’t know all that yet. As far as he knows, I still think of myself as a lesbian. Which must be confusing as hell to him, considering that we’ve now made out twice, and he is very muchnota girl.
My mind suddenly starts playing memories of us together like a highlight reel. Cam holding out his hand for a dance at the park. Cam waiting for me to find him in the library. Cam somersaulting into my room, holdingGay Treasuresclose against his chest.
It was an invitation. The whole treasure hunt was an invitation. This was always his adventure to share, not mine to steal.
Son of a bitch, I think.
Hereally is the Ben Gates of this whole scenario. AndI’mhis Ian.
A silhouette steps into the reflection on the water. I look away, tucking my head over my shoulder. People drop by this area from time to time—the Portals monument isn’t a huge, touristy thing, but it’s one of those hidden gems of the city that locals know about. Architecturally, it’s sort of a marvel, having survived an earthquake that took out the rest of an entire neighborhood. Mom was the first person to bring me here, when I was really little.
“Ivy?”
I twist my head toward the lake. “Mom?”
