“Maybe … sometimes people don’t see the things they do as wrong, but they can see the wrong in what other people do—especially if it’s done to someone they care about,” I say. “When it happens to someone else, it doesn’t feel as important as when it happens to someone we love.”

Flávia thinks about it for a moment, with a frown on her lips that makes my heart do somersaults. I try to ignore them.

“I think I want to tell her. About me. Us. If there still is an us.” She doesn’t look at me as she says this, and she shuffles her feet around like she’s really afraid there might not be an us. Like I could have forgotten about her and me and us in just the past few weeks. Like I haven’t been thinking about her almost every single day.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know.” She turns to me and takes my hand in hers and I feel electricity pulsing through me. “It’s just … I don’t feel so afraid of it anymore. Like … my mom keeps telling me the news from Brazil, and the things that our president says about women, and Black and gay people, you know? And then these past few weeks, I’ve seen you up against what seems like the entire world. Or at least like half the population of our school. And you never let it phase you. I don’t want to be … the kind of person that lets things pass by. I want to be the kind of person that does something, and stands for something.”

“And you’re standing for … coming out?” I ask.

“I’m standing for … me. For you. For us, I guess.”

It doesn’t seem like much. But sometimes just being yourself—really, truly yourself—can be the most difficult thing to be.

33

PRITI HAS HER HEAD BURIED IN HER BOOKS WHEN I GET home, but as soon as I catch sight of her through the crack in her door she perks up. Like she’s been waiting for any sign of me to distract herself from studying.

“I heard Chaewon and Jess won!” she exclaims, bouncing on the bed. “I’m sorry it wasn’t you.”

I lean against her doorframe and say, “It’s not a big deal. It wasn’t like I thought I was going to win.” Even though there was that small inkling of hope still inside me. “Something happened … after the awards, though.”

“Oh?” Priti leans so far forward in her bed that I’m surprised she doesn’t fall off the edge. “Something good or bad?”

I shrug because I’m still making up my mind about it. “Flávia says she’s going to come out to Chyna.”

“Whoa.” Priti sits back, eyes wide. Like she’s trying to process and can’t quite make heads or tails of it all.