Page 39 of The Puck Contract

"kinsey scale test online free"

The quiz on my screen asks if I've ever had a crush on someone of the same sex. I stare at it, cursor hovering between "Yes" and "No" like it's the most important decision of my life.

Does Groover count as a crush? I mean, I think about him constantly, get stupidly happy when he texts me, and apparently want to climb him like a tree when we kiss, but that could just be... friendship? Very enthusiastic friendship?

God, I'm pathetic.

I click "Maybe" and move to the next question: "Do you find yourself physically attracted to people of the same gender?"

Well, I didn't think so until two days ago when I got a boner from kissing my fake boyfriend, so...

The sound of my bedroom door opening sends me into panic mode. I slam my laptop shut so fast I'm surprised it doesn't break in half.

"Dude, what are you looking at? Porn?" Carlos stands in the doorway, eyebrow raised. "Because we have an agreement about headphones."

"Nothing! Research! For class!" My voice reaches a pitch previously achievable only by prepubescent boys and dogs whistles.

Carlos looks supremely unconvinced. "Uh-huh. What class requires you to slam your laptop shut like you're hiding state secrets?"

"Contemporary... Anthropological... Methods?" It comes out as a question, which doesn't help my case.

"Right," Carlos drawls, leaning against the doorframe. "So it has nothing to do with the fact that you've been holed up in here since your 'practice session' with Hockey Boy?"

The air quotes he puts around "practice session" could win awards for most judgmental punctuation.

"I've been busy," I mutter, shoving my laptop under a textbook like that makes it less suspicious.

"Yeah, busy avoiding your fake boyfriend and having what appears to be a sexual identity crisis." Carlos crosses the room and flops down on the foot of my bed. "You know you can talk to me about it, right? Instead of asking Google if you're gay?"

"I wasn't—" I start to protest, then deflate. "How did you know?"

"Because you forgot to clear your search history on our living room PC yesterday," he says with exaggerated patience. "My personal favorite was 'does liking a stubble burn make me gay?'"

I groan and pull my pillow over my face, contemplating the sweet release of death by feather suffocation. "Kill me now."

"Nope. You're stuck living through this awkward phase like the rest of us." He pulls the pillow away. "So. The kissing went well, I take it?"

"Depends on your definition of 'well,'" I mumble. "If you mean 'did I get turned on kissing a guy and then run away like I'd just seen a ghost,' then yes. It went spectacularly well."

Carlos lets out a low whistle. "Wow. Straight to third base?"

"What? No!" I sit up indignantly. "It was just kissing! And... maybe some light grinding. But clothes remained fully on and functional!"

"And you liked it."

It's not a question, but I answer anyway. "I don't know! Maybe? Yes? It was confusing!"

"What's confusing about it?" Carlos asks, infuriatingly calm. "You kissed a hot guy, you got turned on. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

"But I'm straight!" I protest, though the word sounds less certain than it did two days ago.

"Are you though?"

"Yes! I mean, I was. I've only ever dated women."

"And now you've made out with Groover and enjoyed it. So maybe you're bi." He shrugs like he's suggesting I try a new breakfast cereal, not completely restructuring my sexual identity.

"I can't be bi," I argue weakly. "It was just... method acting. Getting into character for the role."

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