Laura Lascarso

Chris rests his chin on my shoulder and breathes into my neck. I wish I could capture his noises in a bottle and keep them forever. Lift the lid a little when I’m lonely and let his sighs and moans roll over me like the waves on the sand.

Seeing her touch him like that gets me all moody and pissed. I hate feeling that way toward Chris. And my sister too. I wish I could stop it, or even better, rewind my biology back to when I didn’t have these feelings at all.

He looks at me then with his mile-long gaze, and I wonder if he’s saying that he missed me or if it’s just my lovesick imagination trying to bridge the gap between friendship and something else.

“Haters gonna hate, Theo. If people have a problem with you being gay, fuck them. That’s their problem, not yours.”

The exact thing I wanted to avoid is happening—I’m losing my best friend.