* * * *

I arranged to meet Orla for a walk the next weekend, the only time she had free. Her parents had begun to crack down on her studies six years too late, seemingly unaware that such an act was utterly wasteful, and Camogie consumed every other available evening of her week. She met me at the pier and we headed down toward the beach, finding a relatively secluded spot away from the gaggle of tourists where we could sit down on the blanket she brought and relish the rare sliver of sun that squeezed in through a gap in the clouds. I knew of course why she wanted to meet me and waited as we chatted easily about nothing of consequence before the topic finally reared its head.

“So,” she hummed, fighting back a shit-eating grin, “You and Julia McMahon, huh?”

A smile of my own forced its way through. “Yeah?”

Orla leaned back on the blanket and adjusted her jacket, toying around the sand with her bare feet. “I gotta hand it to you, Alex—I didn’t think you’d have the balls to do it.”

“Do what?”

“Come out, you gobshite.”

I was certain I had seen Orla across the corridor that morning. I was standing at my locker alone when a group of girls in our year I tried not to associate with approached me to point out that they saw Julia and I holding hands walking through Halford the day before. It had been Julia’s idea not to actually say anything to anyone but to wait for them to ask us—act like a couple out and about until someone bit the bullet. I hadn’t exactly had any ideas of my own regarding how best to announce our newfound relationship status. Every idea had been Julia’s and her enthusiasm had been somewhat infectious. She was eager and impatient to make our relationship known to the world, unambiguous and solid, and as we brainstormed together, I found my own intense need to come out. After Claire I felt ready to throw aside the mask I had worn for so long—the mask so many had already seen through—and school felt easy, almost, in comparison.

Most of the corridor stopped to listen when I shrugged and told the girls that yes, I had held her hand and that yes, she was my girlfriend. There was complete silence when I said that and we all stood with bated breath, waiting for somebody—anybody—to make a comment. Nobody did. The girls scurried away whispering together without another word and the entire corridor then followed suit, tattling in little groups. Orla smiled at me when she walked by, offering me a sly thumbs up. Molly, at her side, had been a little more taken aback, staring at me with wide eyes and barely concealed incredulity, blinking rapidly as if waiting for the moment she would wake up. Connie wasn’t there. I noticed that far quicker than I desired, my eyes scanning around for her distinct strawberry blonde hair and those fervent green eyes that blazed through my skull. Not that it mattered, of course—by lunchtime there wasn’t a single student or teacher in the school who didn’t know that Alex Ryan had done the impossible and confirmed every single rumor surrounding her. Alex Ryan was a lesbian. But to have seen Connie’s reaction when she realized…That was something I would have paid for, even if I would never admit it.