But the gate is locked so I can’t get in anyway, and then a stupid tear escapes because is this what it’s always going to be like? Living some fantasy because I can’t have real? Because I’m too scared of real? Because other people make real so difficult?

I jump when I feel the hand on the small of my back. “Cam?”

It’s Aaron. Whether it’s because I’m too choked, or because he looks hot AF in his tux, I can’t manage any words.

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“Penguins!” I splutter, like some sort of obsessed lunatic.

He smiles, then pulls some keys out of the pocket of his dinner jacket. “Got something to show you,” he says, unlocking the gate.

“They give you keys?” I say, genuinely impressed.

He shrugs. “I have to open up three days a week.”

We slip around the gate and he locks it behind us, then leads me over to the temporary enclosure where Kippie and Jingles are. It’s the cutest thing. Jingles is sitting on an egg, and they’re both singing to each other, occasionally intertwining their necks.

“We gave them an abandoned egg and they’re hatching it,” Aaron explains.

“That’s so sweet,” I mutter.

“Isn’t it?” Aaron smiles. And then he puts his hand on my back again, sending shivers up my spine. “Are you OK?”

I shrug. It’s obvious I’ve been crying, so I’m not sure what to say. I wipe my eyes with my palms and look out at Kippie and Jingles, just doing their thing. Not caring about all the fuss everyone has been making. Happy.

“Ever wish you were a penguin?” I say.

Aaron laughs. “We’re halfway there,” he says, indicating our black tuxes and white shirts. He waddles around a bit, making me giggle. “I can sing to you too, if you like?” He smiles.

“Reckon I’d like to be a penguin,” I tell him. “Especially one that’s brave enough to just be themselves.” I catch his eye, then look away. I’ve said too much.

He steps closer to me. “Gay, you mean?”

I’m staring down at the ground, but I nod.

He reaches out and I catch my breath as he takes my hand. “Me too,” he murmurs.

I look up, straight into his eyes, mouth slightly open because I genuinely thought I was the only one, and I genuinely thought that even if I wasn’t, the chances of everything aligning so that someone I liked was also gay and maybe also liked me, was infinitesimally small.

“Full disclosure,” Aaron says, taking my other hand in his. “You didn’t write down the wrong results in that Year 9 science experiment. I gave you the wrong figures. It was my fault. And it happened because … I was working with you and I … I didn’t have my mind on the actual task in hand.”

“What?”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he says.

I can’t help it, a smile creeps over my face. “You’ve…”