I met Mary on the first day of second grade. The autumn air was clear and bright. The sidewalk was covered in dead leaves. I used to stomp on them to see which ones would crunch the loudest. There was a girl walking behind me who appeared to have the same goal, and silently we crunched on leaves together all the way to the doors of our school. She had short black hair and dark brown eyes. They reminded me of the bitter coffee my mom drank in the morning, but I didn’t tell her that. She held the door open for me, although it was much bigger and heavier than her so it was really more of a team effort. Still, I thanked her because that’s what I had been taught to do when someone does something nice for you, but also because I liked this girl. I had just met her, but I liked her. 

We sat next to each other in class. She told me her name was Mary, after her grandma.

“I’m Diane.” I told her.

She pointed at my head, “I like your hair. You look like a Weasley.” I had no idea what that meant, but the way she said it made me think it was probably a good thing.

“Thanks.”

“Wanna be friends?” She stuck out a hand for me to shake. Was making friends really this easy? I shook her hand like I’d seen adults do in movies and grinned. She gave me a smile filled with gaps where she had lost her baby teeth.

Mary was always the best part of my day. Sometimes she’d draw little tulips on my homework, like the ones that grew in her mom’s garden. She taught me how to draw them too, and we’d draw them on each other’s arms during recess. My parents were never super happy about that; they told me it would give me skin cancer. We kept doing it anyway, but I never told my parents it was Mary who drew them on me. I didn’t want to get her in trouble. They never found out. 

She used to ask me who my crush was, but I never had an answer. I would always tell her no one and she would always call me a liar. I wasn’t lying, though. I’d never had much interest in boys. I didn’t think I was supposed to yet. Wasn’t that more of a middle school thing? Eventually she stopped asking, which I was grateful for. Talking about boys made my hands start to sweat and my stomach twist uncomfortably. Not that it mattered, it would go away eventually. I didn’t need boys when I had Mary. We’d be just fine on our own.

In seventh grade, Mary’s grandmother—the one she was named after—died. She didn’t go to school that day. I brought over the work she’d missed, she left it deserted on the kitchen table, and we ran up the stairs to hide in her room. Neither of us said anything, there wasn’t much to say. We mostly just sat together in silence. At one point I got the hiccups, which made her laugh. I considered that a win.

After that, things changed. Though maybe they already had been, and this is just what got me to notice it. Mary was a little more closed-off than before. We hung out less. We made new friends. It wasn’t as easy to talk to her. Life was suddenly much harder than it had been before.

I had another problem, too. Girls in my grade were getting boyfriends and talking about which male celebrities they found attractive, but still I felt nothing. The thought of dating one of the boys at my school was entirely unappealing. I would much rather be with Mary. I didn’t understand why I felt this way.

 Actually, I did. By the end of eighth grade I did have a suspicion hidden deep in my mind as to why I might be feeling like this, but I kept it buried there; I kept it away from the light of reality.

I never told anyone about it. Not even Mary. Instead, I just ignored those thoughts with the hopes that they would go away. In hindsight, not my best plan but it seemed reasonable in the moment.

It was never being queer that I had a problem with. It was more so the idea that everything was going to be different from how I thought it would be. I would never get to gossip about boys with my friends. I would never have a nice, honest gentleman to bring home to my parents, and they would never have a son-in-law to intimidate. I felt in a sense that I had been cheated out of a life that I had been promised, even if it wasn’t really the life I wanted. 

With this realization came the realization that the way I felt about Mary may not be considered platonic by most standards. Maybe there was a reason behind that nauseous feeling that I’d been experiencing around her lately. I wouldn’t let that get in the way, though. If we got through her grandmother’s death, we could get through this.

Junior year of high school, she asked me to go to homecoming, and I almost threw up. Technically, we’d been going together since freshman year, but this time felt different. Even if it wasn’t, I always appreciated the reminder that someone liked and wanted to be around me. It meant a lot to me, which is ridiculous because I hadn’t actually told her my secret; she probably didn’t realize what she was doing was so meaningful. It’s not like I wanted to hide anything, I just never knew how to bring it up. How do you just tell someone something so important? How do you make them understand how much this means? Better to not worry about that and just focus on what dress to wear.

Mary and I got ready together; she helped me put on a tight green dress that she said would compliment my skin tone, and I zipped her into a similar red one. I didn’t really know anything about skin tone or color wheels, but I thought she looked nice. She did my make up for me. I was perfectly capable of doing it myself, but she’d always been more skilled. Plus, I could tell she really enjoyed doing it, so I was more than happy to let her do so. Her face was very close to mine and I had a strong urge to curl in on myself. 

“Done.” She leaned back to admire her work. “You look beautiful.” She smiled at me the same way she had nine years ago when we first met. I didn’t say anything, just grinned back hoping she’d get the message, and she did.

“Come on, we have to go,” I chided, standing up and tugging Mary along with me. “Lydia will murder us if we leave her all alone.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Mary laughed and grabbed her purse. She shook it lightly and listened for the familiar sound of her keys jingling.

Sitting in those weathered leather seats while Mary started her car, it almost felt like things were normal; like they could be normal. It was a dangerous feeling to be having while Mary looked so amazing, and she was looking at me like I did too.

“Mary.” Oh, God what was I doing. She turned to me curiously.

“There’s, um- there’s something I need to tell you. It’s kind of, um, important, I guess.”

“Okay. Go ahead.” She smiled at me encouragingly. I wanted so desperately to turn away from her and stare at my fidgeting hands, but I couldn’t. I had to face her.

“I’m a lesbian.” Might as well just rip the band-aid off. “I’ve known for a while, I think, but I’ve never told anyone. Actually, I think this is the first time I’ve said it out loud. It scares me a bit. I don’t know why, it’s not a bad thing. I’m trying really hard not to feel ashamed because it’s a part of who I am, and I deserve to feel good about that. I deserve to feel proud of myself. And I am! I am proud of myself, because a year ago I don’t think I could’ve told anyone this, especially not to you. But it’s important to me so I wanted you to know. And, uh, yeah, that’s pretty much it, so I’m going to- I’m going to stop talking now.”

The only sound was the warm hum of the car engine. Mary said nothing, did nothing. No gasp of surprise or smile of reassurance. I turned my head to look out the window at the house neighboring Mary’s. Forget that whole “I had to face her” crap. Was it too late to say I was just kidding? Before I got the chance to scold myself for thinking that, I heard Mary take a breath like she was about to start talking. I looked back at her, trying to ignore my tunneling vision.

“Thank you for telling me, Diane,” she started slowly, “I’m glad you did. You’re right, it is something to be proud of, and it’s good that you know that.” She reached across the center console and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, hugging me tightly. I hugged back, holding on to her like my life depended on it. I was afraid if I let go I would collapse on the ground, which didn’t make sense because I was already sitting.

Mary pulled back and brushed off the tears rolling down my cheeks. Oh my God, when did I start crying? Any other time I’d probably feel exceptionally embarrassed, but right now I couldn’t find the energy for that. Her face began to move forward again, and she rested her forehead against mine. I probably looked really stupid at that angle but she just kept smiling at me. Her hand found one of mine, pulling it away from my swirling mess of fingers.

“Want to go to the park, or something?” She whispered.

“Aren’t we supposed to be going to homecoming?” I laughed, “I thought Lydia was waiting for us.”

“We’ll text her and tell her to meet us somewhere else. Homecoming’s for losers, anyway.”

I was smiling so hard I had to turn away to pull myself together, “Sounds like a plan.”