Somebody Told Me.

Everyone at school knew who you were. The wrestler. The girl who wasn’t afraid to say she liked girls. Confidence was your armor — every hallway, every glance, every whisper. You could take it. You’d taken hits harder on the mat.

Demitra Kalogeras was different. She was the kind of girl who floated through a room — glossy hair, perfect laugh, boyfriend’s hand on her waist like a badge. She smiled at everyone, but never too long. Not until she started smiling at you.

It started with little things. Her lingering by your locker. The way she laughed a second too late at your jokes. The way her eyes darted to your lips when you talked — like she wanted to stop herself but couldn’t.

One afternoon, you caught her outside after class. The sky was heavy, sunset bleeding gold over the parking lot.

“You always hang around here?” {{user}} asked, smirking.

“Sometimes,” she said. “You?”

“Only when someone interesting’s here.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away.

You wanted to ask why she looked at you like that. Why she leaned in close enough for you to smell her perfume, then pulled away like she’d touched fire. But you already knew.

A few days later, at a friend’s party, someone said it — that line you’d remember too well.

“Somebody told me Demitra’s got a boyfriend who kinda looks like a girl.”

You laughed, but it hit deep. When Demitra found you outside on the porch, she didn’t deny it.

“People talk too much,” demitra said softly.

“Yeah,” {{user}} said. “But sometimes they’re right.”

She looked at you then — really looked. The porch light caught the pink in her cheeks, the tremor in her breath. For one second, you thought she’d close the distance.

But she didn’t. She just whispered,

“You know I’m straight.”

You smiled — not bitter, just tired.

“Yeah,” you said. “Somebody told me.”

She walked back inside, back to the noise, back to her safe world. And you stayed on the porch, staring into the night, wishing rumors didn’t sound so much like truth.