“No,” he says quickly. “Of course not. Who you love…that isn’t important. It doesn’t change who you are, or how much we love you. Nothing could change that.”
I knew that’s what he’d say. Still, it feels nice to hear it regardless.
I erase the board and write, I’m not gay. But I’m glad it wouldn’t matter.
He looks at it and smiles a little. “We just want you to be happy. You know that, right?”
Yeah. Yeah, I know.
I nod, and he drops a kiss on my forehead, sets his palm flat on the top of my head for a moment before he starts to leave. “Stay sweet,” he says on his way out, the same thing he always says to me. He hesitates, lingering at the doorway. “What happened to that boy… You did the right thing, Chelsea.”
I feel like such an idiot. I don’t even care if I did the right thing—it doesn’t feel like the right thing. It feels like I screwed myself over. One stupid moment of fleeting conscience and I’ve lost all I care about. Maybe I could try groveling for forgiveness, hope it would get me back into everyone’s good graces, but the thought of it alone is nauseating. Natalie might think I’m just Kristen’s little minion, but I’m not.
I don’t know exactly what I am, but I’m more than that. I know that much.
day two
The next day, Mrs. Finch issues me another pretty pink detention slip. She also keeps me after class because I clearly have not been berated by her enough. I wait until the rest of the students have cleared the room before I reluctantly walk over to her desk.
“Chelsea, I obviously can’t force you to participate in class,” she says, “but for every day you refuse to contribute, I can—and will—give you a detention.” She pauses to press her lips together for a moment. “Do you understand?”
I stare at her stony-faced.