There’s no question Cara’s been there for me through a lot, including picking up cheerleading with me when I didn’t want to try out alone as an incoming freshman, even though we both thought it would be a way bigger fight with her parents. She held my hand through every step of my father getting remarried, letting me sleep over when I was feeling the loneliness extra hard and making sure we always had fun distractions like letting her little sister Mary give us makeovers. (Of course, since all the makeup in their house had to be approved, it was mostly just drugstore blush and ChapStick, but we still made it fun.) And she always sneaks me free drinks at work when they get returned by picky customers. But she’s been raised with some shitty ideas and values that don’t go with having a queer best friend, and I don’t know what she’d say if I told her Veronica wasn’t the first girl I’ve kissed and hopefully won’t be my last.

I hate, hate, hate that.

“Can we hurry?” she asks, throwing open the car door, as if I don’t know she’s running ridiculously behind schedule, as always. “Geoff will kill me if I’m late again.”

I don’t bother answering, just jump in right alongside her. “What was it this time?” I ask once we’re on the road. “Mrs. Kweller pulling you aside again to fangirl over your dad?”

“Just got caught up in a conversation with a couple of other girls about Jack,” she replies, her fingers making a rapid-fire braid out of her fine reddish-brown hair. “What to do about it and everything.”

Oh, I do not like where this is going. “What does that mean? What is there to do? She’s the quarterback.”

Cara snorts. “Come on. That’s a joke. A really, really cruel joke, if you ask me. I can’t believe we all spent so much time decorating that locker and then found out it was for her.”

My jaw clenches. This is what I mean. She doesn’t even realize how messed up this sounds. But apparently, she’s not alone, and that’s even more messed up.

Some girls just really love to hate themselves. Which only makes it harder for them to understand liking other girls “in that way.”

Also, come the fuck on. We spent half an hour, tops, on that locker. It’s not like we baked snickerdoodles.

“Why would it have been less of a waste of time if it were a guy?”

“Because—Shoot, you’re gonna hit the red if you don’t speed up.”