I watch Micah kind of taking part and kind of not. He looks like he really wants to be in the group but doesn’t know how to mix in. It’s how I’ve always felt, too, and probably why we’ve been best friends forever. I don’t know what it is about us that makes us feel a bit like outsiders. When we were younger, we always liked to play the same things in the same way. We made up elaborate stories we’d act out in the yard or in the woods that my other friends never seemed interested in. We made up special rules for riding our bikes over obstacle courses in the driveway that no one else wanted to follow. When we drew, we made a single picture that we created together, instead of two separate ones. We’ve been this way as far back as I can remember. So I guess Micah is my type. Only . . . he’s not.

“I’m not sure,” I say lamely.

Cybil doesn’t answer for a while. She seems to be studying each person out in the water, searching. Then she turns to look at me again. My cheeks burn like crazy.

“I made you blush,” Cybil says. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s OK.”

“I guess I don’t really believe in types. It was a dumb question. Sorry. Boy, did I make this awkward.”

I laugh a little, not really sure what she means by this.

“What do you think? Do you think people just like one type, or do you believe in ‘fluidity,’ like Ms. Lane taught us last year?”

“Do you mean when a person can like boys but then like girls, or . . . change?” I feel so stupid for not really grasping the concept yet, even after that class.

“Close enough,” Cybil says. “Yeah.”

“I guess I never thought about it. I mean, well, that’s not true. I just didn’t think about it with that label.”

“Oh. Yeah. You’re not a labels person. Me either. I mean they’re always changing anyway, right?”

I think about the confusing list Ms. Lane gave us. “Right!” I say. It’s such a relief to be able to talk to someone other than Micah about this.

“Well, I’ll tell you how I feel,” Cybil says, leaning closer to me. “I think I’m attracted to people, not their gender. So if I like you, for example, it’s not because you’re a girl, but just because I like who you are. And sometimes that might mean that I just want to be your friend, and sometimes that might mean that I want to be more than friends. I can’t control who I’m attracted to in a more-than-friends way.”

Her arm is pressing against mine now. It feels nice.

“I feel like I’m too young to know who I’m attracted to,” I say. “Most of the time, anyway.”