Page 44 of Theoretically Straight

Heat sears my cheeks. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious! It sounds like the two of you are crushing, and if that’s the case, you have to be willing to either help him through whatever processing he’s doing or go ahead and cut ties now before anyone gets hurt, you know?”

I frown at her. “That seems like a pretty serious ultimatum. Can’t I just flirt with him some more and not have to worry about the identity crisis thing?”

“Sorry, little brother, I don’t think it’s going to be that simple. It’s better you prepare yourself now, so that way, you know what to do when the proverbial shit hits the fan. And, to try and lean to the side of optimism, if things end up working out for the better, you can look back and be glad that you had a game plan.”

“Optimism? I think Mom’s starting to rub off on you. How much longer do you have to work with her? I miss my sarcastic, pessimistic sister.”

Lola lets out a groan, shoving the stack of paperwork beside her further away. “Too long. And I think you’re right. I caught myself ordering a spinach salad at lunch today. Who the hell am I?”

“Yikes. Maybe you’re the one with the identity crisis.”

We both laugh, and Lola gets up from her spot on the couch to come and kneel next to me, running her fingers through my hair. “In closing, I’ll say this. If you think this boy is worth the effort, then go for it. But if, at any time, you feel things start to spin out of control, come talk to me, okay? You’re too young to have to solve all the world’s problems. Leave some to your big sis.”

“Okay. I can do that.”

“Good. Now go get changed into your jammies, and I’ll scoop us up a couple of bowls of ice cream, and we can watchSchitt’s Creek.”

“Oh my god, say less.”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

My brain is stuck in a loop throughout the rest of the movie, replaying that sentence from Caleb over and over again, and it’s impossible to focus on anything else.

Once Caleb and Wren’s car is out of sight, I turn to make my way up the stairs, almost running smack into Grace. She smells like Cathy’s and looks disheveled still wearing her uniform, makeup smeared and wearing off. But she’s got a look in her eye that I know all too well.

“We need to talk.”

“Grace, I’m really not in the mood–”

“Don’t care,” she snaps, then points upstairs. “My room?”

I roll my eyes, too drained to argue. “Fine.”

I follow her up the stairs to her room, right next door to mine. Her room feels far less homey than it used to before she lived on campus most of the week, but it’s not as cluttered as mine, so it makes sense to talk in here. I stand awkwardly by the bed, my hands going into my pockets.

She shuts the door behind me, then makes her way to her bed and plops down on it. “First things first, who were those two? Because I’ve never seen them here before, and I overheard Mom and Dad whispering in the kitchen about one of them ‘not being a girl or a boy,’ and Dad already looked uncomfortable, so… Nice job, kid, you’re expanding your friend circle, and I’m proud of you.”

She holds out her fist, and I stare at it for a second before bumping it with my own fist, offering her a weak smile.

“Thanks. That was Wren and Caleb. They’re new friends from school. Well… Caleb and I are friends, but I told him he could invite his friends over if he wanted to. Not to say that I don’t like Wren or anything. I just don’t know them that well.”

She’s watching me again, waiting for more.

I honestly don’t know what more to give her, so I just shrug. “That’s it, I guess?”

“Nope, that’s not it. Something happened.” She’s quiet for another few seconds, and my gaze drifts to the floor. I hate how perceptive she is. I hate that Grace knows something is going on. She always does. Is it just because she’s my sister, or is it because she’s actually a psychic?

“Are you confused about your feelings for Wren?”

I bark out a laugh, but the stress dissipates slightly at the relief that she got it wrong. “No, no, it’s not like that at all. Look, we just watched a really scary movie tonight, that’s all. I don’t think I told you, but last week I went with the gang to Saint Catherine’s, that old creepy church across town, and we did one of those haunted tours because Triple H did an episode about it recently. I snuck downstairs to the basement—it was stupid. I could have gotten in trouble, I know, but I wanted to maybe record something for TikTok, I don’t know. But I felt something weird down there, and it really freaked me out. I’ve been feeling off ever since. And the movie we just watched was about killer nuns, so it just kind of triggered that weird feeling again, you know?”

Grace furrows her brow, still studying me, as if she thinks that if she looks hard enough, she’ll find the cracks in my story, but I feel confident that what I’ve said is absolutely true. It’s leaving a couple of things out, but I hope it’s enough to get her off my case.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” she says finally. “And look, I get it if you don’t want to tell me. I can’t force the truth out of you. But you need to know that I’m here for you if you need someone to talk to, okay?”

I nod and offer her the most genuine smile I can muster. “I know.”

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