Before August 1, 2019, arrived, I discovered everything I needed to know about asexuality. The shock slowly dissipated. I grew to understand that I may be into girls, but it would never be in a sexual way. My father would be glad—he wouldn't want me to get a sexually transmitted disease from a girl. My mother would be upset—it may mean that I'd still be a virgin—but she'd be as relieved as my father if I told them.

If I told them.

It'd be a whole year on my birthday since I came out to them as a lesbian. I hadn't experimented with a girl by having sex, but I did kiss one of my friends, who was wondering about her sexuality. We both felt sparks and knew the truth. Unfortunately, before we could even consider being a couple, she and her grandparents moved away, living in Miami, Florida. I grew up in Denver, Colorado, and there's more sunlight here than in Miami.

Anyway, that's how I knew. She moved on July 26, and I came out to my parents about 7 days later. They accepted me because they had cousins who were either gay or lesbian. They would be my first cousins, and I'd learn to know them at family reunions. The day passed by with fun and games, music, and general merriment.

What would they say to their asexual lesbian daughter?

I'm not sure what their reactions would be. But I don't think I want to know yet. My friends say they'll accept me no matter what. But they only know that I like girls. What they don't know is that it's not going to be in a sexual way.

Either way, I know they'll react a certain way. They'll accept me. I hope. But hope goes a long way. Some people hope too much while others don't hope at all.

When I arrive at school on August 12, my father presses the car horn. I walk back to the vehicle, and he says, "ayóó ánííníshí {I love you}." "Ayóó ánóshí {I love you}," I reply. I rush into the school and greet my friends. They hug me tightly, and I return the hugs.

"What classes are you guys taking?" I ask. "I'm doing CP Spanish 2, AP Lit, AP World History, AP Environmental Science, AP Statistics, Dance 1, and FA Theater," I explain. The blond says she has the same classes as me, but they're after lunch. I nod, and our friends groan—their schedules are different than ours. But we can sit together at lunch, which is good.

The day is long and tedious. My teachers seem to hate me so far. Probably because I spoke in Navajo to tick them off. Only about 25% of my classmates understood what I was saying, and they can't speak the endangered language. But I'm proud of myself—Navajo isn't my native language, but I'm pretty fluent.

During lunch, I talk freely with my friends. But I don't come out to them yet. The blond senses that something's wrong but doesn't say anything. I sip my Navajo tea as I nibble on frybread. I bring my own lunch—I'm fine with my own meals from home.

As I head back to my house, I settle my fear. I can be comfortable in my own skin. What was wrong with me being an asexual lesbian? Nothing at all! I know who I am, and I'm not afraid.