I’ve come to meet Alfie at Ashford Academy, as this didn’t seem to be an appropriate conversation to hold over a video call. Though Bramppath students aren’t usually welcomed outside of brother-sister school events, being a princess has its perks. I was not allowed to venture past the reception desk, however, so Alfie and I opted to hover in a private spot near the wrought-iron gate bordering the front of the office’s gardens. It’s bitterly cold out here, and we’re both hugging our arms to ourselves despite our thick winter coats.

“It sounds serious.” He smiles.

“Alfie, I’m a lesbian.”

It’s blunt, but I’m worried if I put it off for long the words may never leave my lips.

He blinks in surprise, and brushes a lock of brown hair out of his face. “Oh,” he says, looking distinctly taken aback, which I’d expected, and somewhat amused, which I hadn’t.

“Yes,” I say. “So … hold on, why did you say it like that?”

“Well, it explains the kiss.”

“You said it wasn’t that bad.”

“Well it certainly wasn’t that good,” he says, breaking into a chuckle. The first friend I’ve formally—and on purpose—come out to, and it devolves immediately into personal insults. I am aggrieved.

“You went in for another!”

“Yes, just in case it was nerves the first time!”

“Okay, well, now you know. It wasn’t nerves, it was because I’m a lesbian, and even though you’re very pretty, and I adore you, it’s physically impossible for me to enjoy kissing you.”

“‘Physically impossible to enjoy kissing you’ is just what every guy wants to hear, Rosie. Stop flattering me, I’m blushing.”

“Anyway, my point is that I think it’s time to stop the fake relationship.”

“You’re fake breaking up with me?”

“I am.”

“On this day? Of all days?”

I pause, stricken. “Wait, what’s today?”

He breaks into a grin. “Nothing, I just wanted to see your face. So, what’s the correlation here? Unless—” He brightens. “Are you telling me you’re dating someone?”

That is, in fact, exactly what I’m here to tell him. When I told Danni this morning I would be ending Alfie’s and my little adventure in media manipulation, along with coming out to him, I asked what she would like her role in things to be. She had—quite quickly, and with a very satisfied smile on her face—given her blessing for me to tell Alfie about us.

“I am. Danni. Blythe,” I add.

He raises an eyebrow. “I know who Danni is.”

“Right, of course.”

“Look at you, all nervous.” He hops in place, trying to get warm. “I never see you nervous. What did your parents say? I assume they know?”

“They know I’m a lesbian, but not about Danni, and I don’t want them to.”