She looks like I’ve slapped her, which makes me feel worse. “You are my daughter. You are my whole heart, Larotchka. I could never.” She squeezes my hands so hard it’s like she’s trying to push that fact into my skin.

“I … there’s someone. Not Chase. Not … not a boy.” I exhale slowly. “I met a girl. She’s not my girlfriend or anything, but I think … I think that I want her to be. And I think she wants that too. And I know we’ve never talked about anything like this, but I didn’t—”

Her fierce hug cuts me off and sets off a fresh round of tears, her whispered “Larotchka” ruffling my mess of curls. “Bozhe moi, you had me so worried. This—happiness—is a good thing. Someone who loves you is what I want for my daughter.”

I didn’t think I could clutch my mother any tighter, but I’m pretty sure I’m leaving claw marks in her back. “You’ve always told me how traditional baba Mila and deda Tolya are, how mad they were when you had me without marrying Dad. I didn’t know how much tradition was in you too.”

“Do I seem traditional, Dotchka?”

“Well, there’s a dish of pickled cucumbers in my bed, so, yes?”

She laughs gently, releases me, tucks one of my messy curls behind my ear. “Some things about Russia, they stick. Their laws on gay people, not so much. But I have to admit I am surprised after so many years of hearing about the legend of Chase Harding.”

The mere mention of Chase, the knowledge that I have to tell him, makes me want to be sick all over again in a way Mama’s top remedy can’t cure. “It wasn’t a lie,” I assure her. “I’m not gay. I’m not sure what I am. I just know that this one girl makes me feel … everything. The rest, I’ll have to figure out.”

“You have plenty of time for that.” She drops a kiss on the top of my head. “How about we have a girls’ day? I’ll get some ice cream and we can watch movies and put on those ridiculous face masks.”

God, that sounds good. “Yes. Please. But I have to do something first.” There’s no point in putting off telling Chase. Whatever happens with Jasmine, he deserves to spend his senior year of superstardom with a girl who’ll appreciate him. And I’m no longer that girl. “I’ll come back right after, okay?”

She nods, knowing exactly where I’m going. “I’m proud of you, Lara.”

“I’m pretty proud of me too,” I say honestly, “even if this feels kind of horrible.” I get up to get ready, turning away, and something hits me.

She hasn’t asked about the girl.