She reaches out and rubs the light stubble on my chin. “Isn’t it so weird that we have body hair? I swear to God, one day we were eleven years old and hairless and then BOOM! Pubes and facial hair!” She jumps up. “Okay, I promised Hannah’s grandma I’d come over today and force Hannah to organize her room. It’s the only way she’d let her out of the house this weekend.”

“That sounds miserable,” I groan.

“I didn’t say I’d be doing the cleaning,” she points out. “Just watching.”

“Kinky.”

Six

I like to think of my life in moments. In scenes. Like the moment I came out to my family in ninth grade over Christmas break. I could see it exactly in my head before it even happened. My mom would cry and my dad would clear his throat (the closest thing to crying I’ve ever seen him do), and they’d both tell me that they’d love me the way I was no matter what. It would be a moment in time when their hopes and dreams for me would change. I’d never marry a girl in a puffy white wedding dress, and maybe some people in town would think differently of us. It would take adjusting. It would take time. It would be difficult, but I would prevail and maybe one day Mom and I would walk in a Pride parade and we’d hold hands, our eyes glistening as we remembered all the obstacles we overcame.

I know that, in reality, coming out is not an easy thing for most people, but imagining this slice of my life as a dramatic highlight reel gave me the courage to follow through with it and maybe even got me a little excited about it too? Is that so bad? To love a bit of drama?

But what happened instead the morning I came out was about as eventful as announcing I had an anatomy quiz.

I chose a Saturday morning on a day when Dad didn’t have a job scheduled. I waited for Mom to be completely done making breakfast. In fact, I even let her finish her breakfast first. We had bacon, waffles, and scrambled eggs.

I hadn’t given Clem much of a warning, only that I wanted to do it sooner rather than later.

“You two want to help me take care of dishes, so your mother can relax a bit?” asked Dad.

“Sure,” said Clem as she began to scrape everyone’s leftovers into one big pile for the trash. The plates were Mom’s favorite, a plastic Christmas hand-me-down set that would most definitely not survive a trip through the dishwasher, so this would be a hand-wash-and-dry effort.

“Wait, wait,” I said. “I have an announcement.” In the background, Elf played quietly on the television. It was the part where all the North Pole creatures looked like Claymation and the narwhal pokes up through the frozen lake and says, “Bye, Buddy. I hope you find your dad.”

Okay, so maybe this wasn’t exactly how I had imagined, but there would be no perfect time.

“Mother, Father,” I said, in my most formal-sounding voice.

Mom looked to Dad and tugged on his wrist, pulling him back into the chair beside her.

“I need to tell you something, and it’s something I’ve lived with for a very long time.” This was my moment. This was my Ursula from The Little Mermaid “Poor Unfortunate Souls” solo. (. . . and don’t underestimate the importance of body language.) I’d rehearsed it over and over again, and there was more to it—much more—but suddenly I just wanted to get to the point, so I did. “I’m gay.”

Mom didn’t skip a beat. “Sounds good, baby!”

Dad nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. Not even two thumbs-up!

“I’ll never marry a woman,” I said, like it was a threat.

Dad chuckled. “I think we’d be pretty horrified if you did, son.”

“Me too,” peeped Clem. “I am too.”

Mom smiled at her with a laugh, and then her whole expression went from relaxed and cheerful to shock and confusion as she realized what Clem was saying.

Tears began to roll down Clem’s cheeks and she touched her hands to her face, like she might be able to hide away now that she’d said it out loud.

Mom reached for her wrists and pulled her hands away. “Oh, baby,” she cooed. “My darling girl.” And then Mom began to cry too. “It’ll be okay.”

“Your mother’s right.” Dad cleared his throat, his eyes glistening. Was that a tear? Was that a damn tear? “Wooo, you caught us by surprise there.”

Clem wriggled with discomfort. Even though she was having the moment I’d craved for so long, it was hard to be mad at her right then. She’d seen me cannonball out of the closet, and the moment she saw that the water was just fine, she had to join me too. Besides, if I know my sister, I know she’s precise and thoughtful and economical. Why have two coming-outs when you only need one.

I leaned over and pulled her into my arms. “Trying to steal my spotlight, sis?”

She laughed through her tears and poked me in the side, tickling me. “I could never. Your spotlight is so bright, I’d burn.”

So I guess all that explains why, over the weekend, I had plenty of chances to confront Clem, but none of them felt like the right moment.

By Monday morning, the idea of Clem on the other side of the country is festering inside of me and every possible reason why she would think about doing this without me turns me into a hulking rage monster. She’s jealous of me. She’s tired of living in my shadow. She wants to be her own person. She’s ashamed of me. It all roars inside me.

At school, Clem and I set out on separate paths. Her to Macro Econ and me to Business Math before we reunite for second-period choir.

I wave to Mrs. Bradley, our school secretary, her iconic red lips grinning as she waves back to me. Her daughter, Callie, leans on the counter with her boyfriend’s arm draped over her shoulder. Callie’s boyfriend, Mitch, is a total bear—burly and a little rough around the edges. Definitely my straight doppelgänger sans red hair. The two are the ultimate odd couple and I’ve got to be honest: I was sort of shocked to see them pair up. Mitch always seemed like the kind of guy who girls wouldn’t appreciate until after they’d lived through some awful college boyfriends first. But seeing the two of them together gets me a little soft in the feelings. Somebody wants a fat guy, and even if Callie isn’t my flavor, that’s just generally good news for fat guys.

I let out a heavy sigh.

“You hear that, man?” says Patrick Thomas as he elbows one of his sophomore lackeys. “Waylon is swooning for you.”

“Oh, no, Patrick,” I say, my voice as high-pitched as it will go as I skate right past them both. “That was my deep sigh of regret as I realized the only legacy our senior class is leaving this school will be you. Repeating senior year over and over again. Like a ghost, but without all the hot ethereal vibes.”

He and his friends stare back at me, dumbfounded.

“Ta-ta, boys.”

“I don’t even know if I have to retake any classes yet,” I hear Patrick say.

Life after senior year might be one giant question mark, but at least it will never include seeing Patrick Thomas on the daily. Patrick has spent the last twelve years of his life circling every weirdo on campus, but especially the fat kids. He’s constantly poking and prodding at them. I’d like to think there’s some reason why he hates fat people so much. Maybe he lives in fear of being fat himself or maybe an older brother at home terrorizes him. But the truth is: I don’t care. Bad shit happens to plenty of people who still manage to treat others like human beings, so Patrick gets no breaks from me.