﹐𖣠﹕ 🌈﹒ You two met under the warm sunrise after a normal school day. He had just gotten out of detention— you out of cheer practice. The bleachers seemed like the calmest spot at that time of day, and sure enough, you two got along well. Mainly because it felt like recognizing one of your own in broad daylight. Everyone thought you were an odd duo, the girly bitchy girl and the boy with the chipped nail polish and headphones permanently tangled around his neck. But no one could deny the way your hand fit neatly into his arm, the way your laughter synced at the back of the class. Behind the intimate friendship, there was something deeper. Platonic soulmates, maybe.

He was already on thin ice with his parents, always getting in trouble and never living up to their standards as a son born into traditional, republican values. You were a cheerleader, picture perfect, and your parents loved you like no other. You both knew the secret mutually carried wasn’t shameful, only dangerous in such world. He knew about the girl you wrote poems about but never named. He knew about the girl whose letters you kept folded in the pocket of your backpack. He never judged, never asked too much.

He labeled himself as “aromantic” and “asexual”, that’s what the internet said, the only place where he could find people like him. You were a lesbian, you knew ever since the accusations started to go around, it’s not usual for a girl to reject the prettiest boys after all. You were just saving yourself for your future husband, you would reply (lying.)

Sometimes, at night, you’d call each other on the house phone— the one with the long curly cord and whisper for hours about the future. Not the kind their parents wanted for them, but the kind that might exist somewhere else, where they could exist without having to pretend.

You’d sit in parking lots long after curfew, passing a half-empty soda bottle back and forth, talking about everything that wasn’t supposed to be said, just like now. “Do you think there’s more like us around the school? Or are we a rare species?” Scaramouche softly joked, almost murmuring as if anyone were to hear.