Girl Crushed

by Katie Heaney

  “We made it in the spring, freshman year, so probably more like fifteen,” I explained, knowing full well I was losing whatever the argument here was. “You were dating that guy, Mitch.” I didn’t know his last name; he’d been a junior then, a shaggy, skinny stoner. Very cool, of course.

  “So?” she said.

  “So I guess we assumed you liked boys?” I said. I was embarrassing myself, which made me defensive. “We didn’t spend a lot of time analyzing every possibility. It was just a stupid list.”

  “You know, there are these people who like boys and girls,” said Ruby, like she was a teacher and I was a small, dumb child. Which was how I felt.

  “I know,” I said. I watched her uncross her arms and pick up the list again. Ugh. What was I thinking, sending her under my bed? Why had she picked this paper up, anyway? I had clearly pointed out the box of photos, now sitting forgotten by Ruby’s left knee. This was supposed to be a cute moment, looking at pictures of me as a toddler tomboy, nestled into each other’s necks. Instead I felt like I was on trial for something ancient and private, something meant only for Jamie and me. Surely Ruby had written things in old diaries she wouldn’t want me (or anyone) to see now. That was the whole point.

  “I’m not straight,” said Ruby.

  “I get that now,” I said.

  “I’ve known I liked girls since I was ten,” she said.

  I waited a moment, trying desperately to swallow a reflexive, competitive Well, I was five. “Who was it?”

  “Maddie,” she said matter-of-factly. “Of the Disney Channel classic Liv and Maddie.”

  I laughed. “The tomboy twin. Naturally. I liked Liv.”

  Ruby smiled, and I felt it was safe then to scoot closer to her. I rested my hands on her bare knees. She looked down, and put her hands on top of mine.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “When Jamie and I came out, we were the only people like us we knew. Before her, I had nobody. And for so long, it felt like all anybody would talk about was boys. So I pretended I liked them too, all the way through middle school. I didn’t think I’d ever have another option until I met her. And then, right away, I knew she was different like I was different. So we became a team: us versus everybody else.”

  I paused until Ruby finally looked up at me.

  “It wasn’t like we consciously believed we were the only girls alive who liked girls. But we were the only ones who were public about it, for a really long time. Even when we started the gay club.” Thinking about the club made me want to cry for some reason, and I retrieved my hands from Ruby’s lap, pretending to examine my nails. “Did you ever think about coming to one of our meetings?”

  Ruby frowned. “This is the first time I’ve ever heard of a queer club at our school.”

  “Are you serious?” I was flabbergasted.

  “Dead,” she said. “Did not know that was a thing. Is it still going…?”

  “No,” I said. “Because nobody really came. But we had flyers everywhere.”

  Ruby smiled sheepishly. “I would remember if I saw your name on something like that.”

  I flushed, feeling shy and shocked and defensive and strangely giddy all at once. I reached into the shoebox and pulled out a creased, bright pink Westlake GSA flyer, and handed it to Ruby.

  She studied it for a moment, smiling a little. “How long did you have it for?”

  “It felt like forever, but I guess it was closer to…two months? Ish?” I blushed. Could that be right? We had so many meetings, I thought. We waited for our community to find us until we couldn’t wait any longer.

  “I never knew,” Ruby said again.

  “Would you have come if you did?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “I might have been too scared of you guys.”

  “Me?!” I said incredulously.

  “Yeah,” said Ruby. “Well, more Jamie, but yeah.”

  “She is scary,” I agreed.

  Ruby studied my face. “She means a lot to you.”

  I could feel myself redden. “Yeah,” I said. “So do you, though.”

  Ruby leaned over and kissed me softly on my jaw, sending goose bumps up my arms.

  “Okay!” I said, standing up to grab a pen from my desk. Ruby watched me curiously. I sat down again, and held out my hand.

  “No, don’t,” she said. “It’s an antique.”

  I picked up the list myself. “It’s a living document,” I said. “Like the Constitution.”

  “Okay, Mr. Haggerty.” Ruby grinned. She watched as I drew a line through the word Straight and then another through We Wish Weren’t.

  “There,” I said.

  Ruby laughed. “ ‘Girls.’ Great title.”

  “It’s honestly more accurate this way,” I said. “That’s all we were thinking about.”

  Ruby leaned forward and kissed me on the corner of my mouth. “Thanks,” she said.

  “Of course,” I said. “Just out of curiosity, how do you want me to, like, describe you?”

  “Incredibly talented, brilliant, beautiful,” she said, deadpan. I rolled my eyes, and she laughed. “I’m bi,” she said firmly. “It’s not a secret, at all. It’s just that nobody ever asks.”

  I nodded. “Cool. ‘This is Ruby, my girlfriend. She’s bi,’ ” I said, mock-introducing her.

  Ruby winced, just slightly, and my heart dropped into my gut.

  “About that,” she said.

  “Oh no,” I said, accidentally.

  “No, it’s okay,” she said. “We hadn’t talked about it yet, but I would prefer if you don’t call me your girlfriend.”

  Oh my god, I thought. I am being dumped for the second time in a calendar year.

  “I’m not ending things,” she said, reading my mind. “I just don’t like that word as applied to myself.”

  “Okaaay,” I said.

  “It’s not about you,” she continued. “I didn’t let Mikey call me that either.”

  It was hard to tell how consoled I should feel. I said nothing.

  “Other people said it, maybe, but he never did, and neither did I,” she went on.

  “But why?” I sputtered. I sounded like a baby. Baby moron.

  Ruby puffed up her chest and held up a politician’s fist for emphasis. “I’m a strong, independent woman living in the twenty-first century,” she said in a deep voice that made me laugh. She smiled, and resumed her normal slouch. “Maybe when I’m in college I’ll get it, but right now, at this age, it doesn’t make sense to me to belong to somebody else like that.”

  “I get that,” I said, though I didn’t, totally. I loved to be called someone’s girlfriend, and to call someone else mine. I could only imagine how I’d one day feel to say wife. I could make myself faint just thinking about it.

  Ruby took my hand, and I looked at it, my palm pale and open in hers. “Can’t we just like each other, and spend time together? You like hanging out with me, right?”

  I nodded, wondering to what extent hanging out was the point. What she wanted sounded so simple, and impossible at the same time. But I would try. I was trying. I smiled, to prove it to her.

  “I really like hanging out with you,” I said. I leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, running my thumb across her cheek. I didn’t admit it to myself then, but I was going for the kind of kiss that makes a person renounce her values and decide she loves you, and only you, after all.

  When I pulled back I realized I still hadn’t told her about UNC, but something about the way she smiled at me made me decide it could wait. I watched as Ruby picked up the piece of paper with her name on it, and replaced it gently inside the shoebox. If she knew what the box memorialized, and to whom it was dedicated, she treated it with respectful indifference, like the gravestone of someone who’d died long before she was born.

  I wo
ke up on College Day feeling sick to my stomach with dread. For a solid twenty minutes I contemplated various theatrics that might allow me to plausibly stay home: a fever (no—the thermometer would easily disprove it), a cough (as easy to fake as it was obvious), diarrhea (presumably wouldn’t be asked to provide proof). My mom suffered fairly regular migraines, and while I had yet to inherit them, I could pretend today was the day they began. I could have the day to wallow in peace. But if I missed the game, the first of the school season, my team would be so disappointed in me, and they’d spend all night talking about it, and Ronni could only do so much to protect my shameful secret. Ultimately I decided suffering through the day was worth a paranoia-free weekend. If they were going to find out about UNC eventually (and they would), it would be better, in the long run, if they heard it from me.

  So I got up, and I showered, and I got dressed in my favorite Westville Soccer T-shirt. It was from sophomore year, faded and soft, the letters of my last name partly eaten away by so many washings. That year, it had been only Ronni and me on varsity. That year, I’d had no doubt where I’d end up. Had I gotten worse since, or had I just been that wrong back then? I didn’t want to know.

  The night before, after Ruby went home, I’d texted Ronni to ask if I could drive her to school the next morning for moral support. When she opened the door to my truck, I handed her the box of doughnuts I’d picked up for her and the other girls—part congratulations, part distraction—and she slid into the passenger seat, selecting the powdered-sugar doughnut with lemon filling I’d picked out for her. She took a bite before gently asking which shirt I’d decided to wear.

  I unzipped my bomber jacket and pulled it open at the chest. Like a superhero whose superpower was being bad at soccer.

  Ronni nodded. “Good choice.” She held out the box, and I grabbed a cinnamon sugar, my second so far. It was going to be a very long day, and I was grateful to Ronni for knowing I only wanted to say what I had to say to get through it.

  The seniors on our team congregated in the hallway before first period, outside the captain’s locker, as was tradition. The other eight were already there when Ronni and I arrived, and they shrieked and clapped when they saw me carrying my big pink box of doughnuts. Halle and Kate lunged for it, claiming their favorites before anyone else could, and I handed it over, releasing myself from the spotlight. I breathed in and out slowly, trying to slow down time, to prolong those last few moments of ignorance. Then Halle, mouth dotted with sprinkles, used her free hand to lift up her sweatshirt, showing us her crisp, white Saint Mary’s shirt. Everyone cheered, and then it started, and there was nothing to be done but wait.

  When it was my turn, I cleared my throat, puffed myself up to make an announcement.

  “I’m excited for you all, and no offense, but I’m actually playing for the best team there is,” I said. Ronni watched me with a funny look that I ignored. I unzipped my jacket slowly, and then all at once. “WESTVILLE FOREVER, BABY!” I hollered.

  Janelle and Alex cheered, and a few of the other girls clapped confusedly.

  “I haven’t decided yet,” I explained.

  “You haven’t heard from—” Halle started. She was interrupted by Ronni, letting her backpack fall to the floor with a thud.

  “Last but not least, people!” she yelled, and whipped off her sweatshirt to reveal her Stanford T-shirt. Everyone cheered, and I gave her a small, grateful nod.

  Then the first bell rang, and the few remaining doughnuts were quickly seized. “Thanks, Q!” my teammates said, running off to class, and soon I was left with just Ronni, holding the empty, sticky pink box. I wiped at a smear of raspberry filling with my thumb and stuck it in my mouth.

  “Okay,” said Ronni. “The worst part is over.”

  I nodded, though I wasn’t sure I believed her.

  * * *

  —

  It started raining sometime during second period, and I spent the day shuffling between classrooms only to stare out different windows, praying, reciting the words Please lightning, please lightning, please lightning over and over inside my head. In order for a soccer game to be rained out, you needed lightning, or you needed such a torrential downpour that to play in it would significantly damage the field. (If you played on turf, you were out of luck.) The rain I watched was soft and pathetic, and even when it hadn’t stopped by fifth period, I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

  So this is how the fall season ends, I thought. Damp. Gray. Collegeless.

  In Civil Liberties the windows were behind me, so whenever I could I looked at Ruby instead. She teased me, batting her eyelashes and mouthing things I couldn’t read. Once, she even licked her lips, and I choked on nothing. She cracked up, silently, as I tried to cover for myself by taking a swig from the water bottle in my bag. After class, she met me in the hall, looking very pleased with herself. Jamie brushed past me, turning to wave.

  “See you at the game?” I asked. She and Alexis had promised they’d come, though that was before it had started raining. Jamie nodded, and patted her backpack. “I have a poncho,” she explained, continuing on her way.

  I grinned. Personally, I’d had no idea it might rain, but Jamie was on top of the ten-day forecast at all times. She had three different weather apps on her phone.

  “I’m sorry I can’t make it,” said Ruby.

  I turned back to face her, and she looked so cute and remorseful I couldn’t help but kiss her on the nose, then the forehead, then the mouth.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “It’s gonna be miserable out there.”

  “Yeah, but your friends are going.”

  “Yes, but my friends don’t have important family stuff to do, which is a really good reason not to sit in the rain.” Ruby’s aunt (her mom’s closest sister) and her cousin, the aunt’s fifteen-year-old daughter, were in town, fresh off a separation from her uncle, who’d apparently been—rather uncreatively, I thought—sleeping with his administrative assistant. As Ruby had described it, they were having a forced “girls’ weekend,” involving lots of spa time, delivery food, candy for the girls and wine for the adults. “A total nightmare,” she’d called it.

  “I honestly can’t tell you which sounds worse,” said Ruby. I made a mock-offended face, and she laughed.

  “Can I call you after?” I asked.

  “Text me,” said Ruby. “I might be forced to watch Legally Blonde or something.”

  I stuck out my tongue, performing disgust (despite my actual feelings about Legally Blonde, which were that it was a perfect movie). I reminded myself of the conditioning experiment we’d learned about in psychology: the rat who discovers that when he pushes the lever, he gets food. I was like that rat, pushing the lever over and over and over again, but instead of food, all I wanted was for Ruby to smile. But every time I thought I’d figured out what worked, it stopped working. Ruby only sighed and checked her phone.

  “I better go,” she said.

  “Me too.” The parking lot and the locker room lay in opposite directions, so Ruby gave me a quick kiss and a wave. I stood there, counting to ten. At four, she turned around. My eyes flew to the ceiling, and I whistled, pretending I got caught. When I let my eyes drop, I saw she was smiling. Success.

  * * *

  —

  By the time we got out to the field, the rain had slowed to a mist, too fine to see but not to feel. The mostly triumphant mood of that morning had dimmed, but rather than being comforted by my teammates’ shared misery, I found it patronizing. They were going to Stanford and Florida State and Saint Mary’s, or they were going to D-II schools and were thrilled about it. It didn’t have to matter to them if this one game was miserable, because they knew this wasn’t the end. I, meanwhile, had panic-sent another email to UCLA, asking if they were still finalizing the lineup, and I hadn’t heard back yet.

  “I need us to win,” I muttered to Ron
ni, seated next to me on the bleacher.

  “That’s generally the goal,” said Ronni.

  “No,” I said. “I need to win.”

  We were playing Torrey Pines, and this year they were good for the first time since I’d known them. They got ahead early with a 1-0 lead, and when the ball sailed past Halle’s hand I threw up my hands and groaned like everyone else on my team. But secretly, my chest burned with excitement. I loved come-from-behind victories, and I especially loved leading them. There were girls on my team who got down on themselves at the first sign of trouble, playing badly and getting upset and playing even worse as a result. But I thrived under duress. I loved imagining the spectators underestimating me, assuming the game was over, and then watching, stunned, as I proved them all wrong.

  So that’s what I did. With seconds left in the first quarter, I landed a header in the bottom left corner of the goal, thanks to a perfect pass from Ronni. We clasped hands and hugged like we’d just won the game, which probably annoyed the Torrey Pines girls, but I didn’t care. Ronni was so visibly proud of me. And then I scored again, barely a minute into the second quarter, and the whole team rushed me as I threw out my arms in the Pinoe power pose. I knew that they knew from this morning’s anticlimactic T-shirt reveal that I needed this, and instead of letting myself feel pitied, I decided to feel grateful. I didn’t know if I’d ever matter to another team the way I mattered to this one, and I wanted to live inside every second of it.

  The final score was 3-2, Torrey Pines tying us shortly before a truly spectacular shot by Ronni, suspended almost horizontally in midair. Our crowd, though smaller than usual due to the weather, erupted, and our teammates boosted Ronni and me onto their shoulders like kings. Coach grabbed us each by a shoulder in her trademark death-grip congratulations, oblivious to our wincing. “Great game,” she said. “That’s what I like to see. Great, great work.” Ronni and I beamed. When Coach was overcome with pride there were only about six words she could come up with, and she leaned on them heavily.

  I grabbed my water bottle and took a big gulp as I scanned the crowd for Jamie and Alexis. I found them near the top of the bleachers, still talking intently, but then my eyes were drawn elsewhere. A woman I recognized but couldn’t place was briskly working her way down the bleachers, and when she saw me looking, she waved.