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"Yeah, let's do something that makes it easier to keep things PG."

"How about..." He comes to a stop and points at a sign. "Mini golf." I stare at the bright blue neon letters. How exotic.

"Sounds like a euphemism for something." That earns me a playful punch on my upper arm. "Ouch."

"Come on, birthday boy. What do you think?" My eyes dart from Evan to the mini golf sign. Then I nod.

"I hope you're aware that I'm going to obliterate you." Just because he makes my heart flutter doesn’t mean I’m about to lose my competitive streak.

"Please," he scoffs. "I have more experience with holes. We'll see about that."

I almost choke on my own spit. And the cheeky smirk he throws me over his shoulder tells me he knows exactly what he's doing.

My face might be set in a permanent smile by the time I get back into my car. Seriously, my cheeks hurt from grinning the entire afternoon I spent with Evan.

If the universe would grant me one wish, I would have asked for this day to last forever. But alas. Reality is calling, and if I don’t want to fight with my parents about missing curfew and the birthday dinner they insist on throwing me, I need to get going.

So, instead of ending my birthday on a high note with my new boyfriend - yes, that’s right boyfriend, I sing along to love songs over the loud-ass engine of my three-hundred-year-old car on my way back.

I always knew I was… different. My sister bore the brunt of this discovery because I used to steal her dolls to play dress up with them. One time I painted their faces with markers, my attempt at giving them make-up and well, let’s say my parents were less than thrilled when she ran to them crying.

Then, two years ago, I had the biggest crush on Sabrina, one of the cheerleaders from our high school, which solidified things for me. Not exactly my crush on her, though, but the simultaneous crush I had on her brother.

So, I did what any self-respecting teenager would do and spent a lot of time on the internet to find out what was going on with me. Being into both genders? Not even a topic of conversation in my home. I think the only time I heard my parents talk about queerness, ever, was when they raged about ‘all those homosexual couples in advertisements.’

Ensue panic.

For a year, I tried to make myself like girls only. I even plastered my entire room with scantily clad Britney Spears posters and stopped sneakily scouring the internet for pictures of half-naked guys.

It didn’t help.

At one point, I tried to learn lucid dreaming. Maybe if I just… ‘practiced’ more with girls in my dreams, it would stick in reality. Then I read the creepiest stories about people who have to deal with sleep paralysis as a result and stopped.

Then I met Evan, and everything changed.

We became friends over our shared love of penguins. Our conversations were superficial at the beginning. ‘What bands do you listen to? What’s your favorite subject at school?’

One night last year, when I lay awake until the early morning hours, I decided to confide in him. After all, he was only an internet buddy. With a screen between us, I could pretend he’s not real. He might have had knowledge about my likes and dislikes, but I never told him anything too identifying about me or where I lived.

Hell, he didn't even know my real name. To him, I was only ‘superbadboy69.’

Original. I know.

But I there was no way I could talk about my… issue with my parents. And as much as I love my sister? She’s a wildcard. Sometimes we get along better than a house on fire; other times she bites me so hard she leaves marks on my arm, then runs to mom crying so I’d get into trouble.

A part of me hopes she’d understand. Hopes she’d support me.

And another part fears she’d run straight to my parents and tell on me.

So, no. Ella was not an option. If there was one person I could talk to, it was him.

My fingers were trembling as I typed the message, cold sweat running down my spine. So, when he confessed that he was into guys too, I was flabbergasted.

"Though I think I'm only into guys."

The words burned into my mind, along with the shock of how casually he wrote that within two minutes of my text, while I hovered over my screen for what must have been twenty minutes, rereading the few words I wrote about fifty times.

His message broke down a dam of repression I had built around my heart. Ella even pulled me aside and asked if I was doing drugs, that’s how much happier I suddenly became.