“Can I ask you something?” she says after a few minutes of quiet. Smith turns to her, and their eyes lock for a second, brown on brown. “What do you see in Shara?”
Smith’s expression turns wry. “You for real right now?”
“I’m curious, okay? Indulge me.”
Smith sighs. She senses him close his eyes without having to look at him. “This is gonna sound weird, but she’s kind of like … my best friend.”
Chloe’s brow furrows. “Isn’t that what everyone says about their girlfriend?”
Smith folds his arms, and Chloe sees his bare forearms reflecting a passing streetlight and realizes she’s still wearing his jacket.
“I mean I feel more comfortable around her than I do around almost anyone,” Smith says. “I’m not thinking about what everyone expects me to be. Sometimes we don’t even have to talk. It’s just like, an understanding. But at the same time, there’s always more going on in her head than you can ever guess, and she’ll never tell you exactly what it is. You still have to figure her out.”
“Sounds to me like she’s kind of frigid.”
“Yeah,” Smith says, and he smiles at her. “Because you’re so much fun yourself.”
“I am, actually. I’m a blast.”
“What about you?” Smith asks. He leans his head back on the headrest. “What do you see in her?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Chloe says. Her cheeks feel warm. She adjusts the AC dial. “She’s the one who kissed me.”
“But you’re here,” Smith says. “You came to this party even though you’d obviously rather be anywhere else. You decided to look for her.”
Chloe’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel. “Just because I’m queer doesn’t mean I’m in love with every beautiful girl who pays attention to me.”
“I didn’t say you were in love with her.”
“It was implied.”
“So you think she’s beautiful?”
“A mole would think she’s beautiful, Smith. That’s not an indicator of anything except that I have a pulse.”
They’re pulling into Smith’s neighborhood now. He doesn’t live in the country club like Shara or Rory or most of the popular kids—he lives one subdivision over from Chloe, one of fifty identical houses in a development that, according to her mom, didn’t exist ten years ago. False Beach is like that: country clubs, trailer parks, and retired cow pastures outfitted with cookie-cutter houses that still smell like fresh paint.
She glances over at Smith, expecting to catch another amused smile, but Smith looks thoughtful. “For the record, you being gay wasn’t what made me think you were in love with her.”
“I’m not gay.” She bristles. “I’m bisexual. That’s a thing.”
“I know it’s a thing,” Smith says doggedly. “I just didn’t realize you were.”
“Well, I am.”
“Okay, cool.”
A pause. Smith waits.
“And I’m not in love with her,” Chloe grinds out. “She’s the only person in this school who can keep up with me, which is … unexpected. She surprises me. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Smith says. “She can be surprising.”
Chloe puts the car in park in front of Smith’s house and admits, “And she’s hot.”
“Yeah, she’s hot.”
“Why does she smell like—”
“Lilacs?”
“Dude,” she groans, and Smith laughs. “Is this weird?”
He thinks about it. “I feel like … it should be, but it’s not?”
A muscle in Smith’s jaw flexes before relaxing into its smooth right angle. Usually the only people in False Beach who are this cool about her being queer are other queer people.
Hm.
“How do you think Rory would answer that question?” Smith asks.
“I don’t know,” Chloe says. “You should ask him.”
Smith reaches out and boops the dashboard lucky cat on the nose with one finger.
“Maybe.”
“What’s the deal with you and him, anyway?”
Smith shrugs. “He’s in love with my girlfriend. I feel like the deal is pretty obvious.”
“To be honest, you don’t really strike me as the jealous type,” Chloe points out. “Like, you seem fine with me.”