elliot

"There's someone here for you, mija." Mom pokes her head around the doorway, brow furrowed. "I can send her away if you want, but Natalie told me to expect her with an apology. Are you up for it?"

"Now?" I sit up. I'm still in bed, in a loose, ratty swim shirt, and basketball shorts I stole from Duncan years ago. "Uh. Yeah. Sure. If you want to send her in, then, cool."

"Okay." Mom nods, a little too vigorously, then points. "But, if she says anything out of line, she's dead. So dead. And then her mom will be dead. I will go on a rampage. No one wants to see me on a rampage."

Lately, the way Mom has been a little feisty and overzealous (well, more so than usual) has reminded me of how Neema always spoke about the swim girls. It's weirdly amusing. I manage a tight smile. "Thanks, Mom."

"Claro, mija." She leaves, her hair swinging behind her. I stretch my back till it pops, then rub sleep out of my eyes, and push my hair away from my forehead. I'm exhausted from last night. I quit the pool, and now Norm and I work night shifts together at the Gitt. He's a great manager and all, but fuck, am I tired. It's only been two weeks since I finished at the pool and started at the Cumm-n-Gitt—an enviable job bestowed upon me by a generous, sympathetic, and apparently very gay Enrique the Kinda Family Friend—and a month since that night with the Instagram posts.

My parents put me in therapy before making the decision to try and make a court case of this. I'm glad for it. Finally having someone to talk to—even if it's a forty-five minute drive every Saturday—is nice. Therapy didn't change my mind, though. I'm trying to focus on coming out and being myself rather than letting others get to me.

It's not too bad. Apparently, a bunch of closeted girls from school (who are now also coming out, because I guess we're all fucking done with this bullshit) think I'm hot. Which is hilarious. Alyssa says they're not wrong. Duncan disagrees. "Lukewarm," he says. "You're lukewarm."

I try to steady my breath, checking the time on my phone. My lock screen—me and my now-slightly-larger group of friends standing in front of the Pride Rock, the greenery of Breakneck cliff contrasting with the dark, cerulean sea in the background—shines out at me. Do I want to get out of bed? Not really. I don't have time to start arguing with myself when she's there, clouding my doorway with wet hair and wide eyes.

"Hey, Elliot," she says, wringing her hands. The infinity ring, the one that matched Brooklin's, is gone.

"Taffy."

"I, um...." She looks up at the top of my door frame, biting her lip. "Could I—could I sit down?"

My desk chair is full of crewnecks and sweaters from deciding what I wanted to wear to Jace's birthday get-together yesterday. I clamber out of bed, my feet sore from standing all night at work, and dump them all on the end of my bed. Then, because I deserve to be a bit dickish here, I say, "You might wanna make it quick."

Taffy doesn't make eye contact when she sits down. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand and sniffs. "I will. I wanted to apologise. For everything."

"Everything-everything? Or just the stuff that could get you in trouble?" I don't expect her to genuinely care about either. I mean, the severity of that court case felt like it would be laughed off. Just kids cyber-bullying other kids. What the internet is for.

"Everything. I've been ... I've been self-reflecting, I guess."

I sit down and len against my head board, arms folded. "Well. That's nice."

She clasps her hands and rubs her thumbs together. "I-I think I might be gay."

Oh.

It's so hard to not react. Because, fuckng hell, what? She can't just ... do that. Say that. Like it's some kind of excuse. Yeah alright, maybe it explains some things, but it doesn't suddenly exempt her from consequences. I'm not about to forgive her just because she claims to be a toxic closet case. So there better be more to this.

"I acted out a lot because of it. So, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I just ... I really, really liked you, El. And I didn't know how to feel about it. So I'm sorry if I've caused you any pain. I really, really suck. It's not my fault, but still."

Not her fault? Uh, yeahhh, not a good enough apology. "Honestly, Taffy, you did suck. And if that's all you have to say, then I guess we're gone here."

Her mouth opens and closes. Her eyes squint. "That's it?"

"It was your fault. You did cause me pain, Taffy. You. You caused it. Not your sexuality. So ... yeah." I swing my legs off the side of the bed and stand. It feels good, towering over her like this. She looks up at me with pale, wide eyes, her mascara unsmudged, her lips thin and chapped. She seems small. Something in me says she should seem smaller.

"If you're not going to actually take accountability for your actions, you can get out. And never speak to me again."

"Wait, El, I—"

"I just don't feel like fixing this. There was never anything here. There's no point."

"Hey, don't be a bitch. I can—"

Bitch. Okay. "Nahh, but the thing is, you actually can't. You gave your half-assed little apology. The fact that you might be gay shouldn't be an excuse, Taffy. I came out this month, and yeah, our experiences are totally different, but I didn't take it out on you. I'm sorry that this all was some kind of coping mechanism for you, and—maybe this is harsh, but—I couldn't give any less of a fuck. You've hurt more than just me."

Her gaze hardens, and she rolls back the chair so she can stand and get as close to my face as possible with her little 5'5 self. "It wasn't my fault."

"Sure, acting out instead of coming out is a little valid. But that doesn't mean you don't have to owe up to your actions, Taffy. You're still a bitch if you can't admit it."

She cackles. "Oh my God, seriously? What, you think you're such hot shit that you've never been a bitch because you're hurting?" Her spittle hits my chin.

My cheeks heat up. I square my shoulders. "Everyone has. But, fun fact, the functional thing is to own up to it. Have you noticed that you're the only drama I have, Taffy? And I really don't need it. I don't care if you had some kind of pea-brained epiphany and now think vaginas are sexy. You can get the hell out of my house before we have an actual problem here."

Taffy huffs for a second, then takes a step back. "Fine, whatever. I tried."

"You really didn't. But bye."

She turns in the door and glares. "We could have been together."

Oh my God, she's still talking. How am I kind of enjoying this? "Well, I already have an amazing girlfriend, who's not a toxic attention-seeking asshole in desperate need of some help and self-reflection. Also, isn't that a line from Stan by Eminem? Kinda sus."

Taffy scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Here," I say, "I'll walk you out."

She rolls her eyes again and starts walking. I catch up to her easily, and place my hand on the small of her back right as we near the door. She swats my hand away and glares. My dad has his feet up on the coffee table, pretending to read the newspaper. Bader watches us from beneath his outstretched legs.

"Thanks for coming by, Muffy," he says without looking up. "Always a pleasure."

I open the door and push her out. She looks over her shoulder. "Good luck with being gay. Bye, Taffeta."

She flips me off, then shakes herself off like a wet dog and walks down the porch steps, grumbling beneath her breath. She sits in her minivan for a second, finally starts the engine, and peels off into the street, her tires screeching.

"That girl needs some serious help," I tell my dad, watching her race off for a moment before shutting the door. "I might have been too mean? But, whatever, it's not my job to care anymore."

"That's right. 'Oh, I'm gay, let me traumatise my real friends,'" Dad says, dropping the paper and emphasising his mocking Taffy impression with jazzhands. "Mom and I were eavesdropping. I'm sorry that went on for so long."

I lean against the door, the knob resting into my hip. "It's fine, actually. I'm so over it that I don't care anymore. I think I'm starting to find it all a little funny."

He shrugs. "So long as you're okay. Your mom and I are here for if and when you want to talk."

"Thanks, Dad."

Mom peeks her head through the kitchen door. "Should I call her mom? That girl needs to be reined in."

"If you want to, yeah. Um, don't out her though."

"Okay," Mom says, nodding vigorously, drying her hands with a dish towel. "Okay."

"I say leave it, honey," Dad says. "She's not worth our time."

Mom bites her lip. "Yes, but she doesn't get to get away with all this, Rich." Her accent leaks into little parts of words. "She needs to be held accountable."

"I mean, she's off the swim team," I say. "And I think she'll probably be shunned enough at school. Because, the only kids that will like her after this are the super right-wing homophobes, and if she really is gay ... well. That'll be torture."

Mom's lips are a tight line. She mulls it over before finally saying, "Fine. But if she gives you any problems, I will destroy her. I'm evil at heart. I will enjoy it."

"Thanks, Mom. But seriously—I think it'll be okay."

I mean it. 

A/N - WE'RE GETTING SO CLOSE TO THE END WTH. I'm pushing these chapters out, and I'm kinda worried that they're not good?? But also, I'm happier with them than I was the original ending chapters, and even if this isn't super solid, eloquent prose, I think it's still enough of what needs to happen to make me feel not-terrible about them, lol.

So, yeaaahhhh! AHHHH SO CLOSE TO FINISHING. What the heck am I going to do to celebrate??? Who freaking knows. We'll find out.