I sigh as I climb into bed, still buzzing from the evening. Laughter echoes in my mind, mingling with the night sounds outside. Hanging out with Maeve felt effortless, like we'd known each other forever, despite the awkward moments. I pull the blanket up to my chin, my heart racing as I replay the day's events.
A smile tugs at my lips as I remember how her cheeks flushed when she laughed, or how her tongue darted over her bottom lip when she got stubborn. Those little things stay with me, etched in my memory. And the way she looked at me, her gaze steady and curious, made me wonder if there was something more between us—something unspoken yet palpable.
But doubt creeps in. I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the what-ifs. My heart squeezes painfully as I think about the kiss I planted on her cheek. What was I thinking? Was it too much? What if I made her uncomfortable? And what if she isn't into girls at all? I think she might be, but it's hard to tell; people don't wear signs declaring their sexuality.
Then there was that moment on her roof. I had climbed up impulsively, and when she saw me, instead of laughing or scolding me, she just smiled—like it was the most normal thing in the world. I wish I could go back and wrap my arms around her, to feel her breath against my neck and be the one she leans on when she's sad.
I shift restlessly in bed, my thoughts drifting back to the pizza we shared, the way her eyes lit up at the thought of food—it was adorable. We munched on slices, joking about everything and nothing, our conversation flowing effortlessly, like we were two halves of the same whole.
With a sigh, I pull out my journal, flipping to a fresh page to capture the day before the details blur. I write about how Maeve makes me laugh and how her presence grounds me while lifting me up. I pause, pen hovering over the page, realizing there's something about her that pulls me in, something beyond a crush. It feels like being drawn to a flame—beautiful and dangerous.
God, it's killing me. Is she straight? Is she not? I should just ask her... The thought makes my cheeks flush, and I toss the journal aside, frustrated. Why is everything so confusing? I grab my phone and scroll absentmindedly. I search for her name on Snap, and there she is—her avatar looking good as ever. No mutual friends. And that's when it all hits me.
What would my friends think when they find out I'm lesbian. I can just imagine the tiktok hates, the shit-talking everyone turning against me. My breath picks up at the thought of it. I look back at my phone, at Maeve's avatar and think about her arms around me. It calms me down.
Liv: Hey, Maeve! It's Liv
Maeve: Damn, I'm so addictive you just had to find my snap and text me all night ;)
Liv: ur dreaming
Maeve: Yeah, 'cause I'm the one who texted you.
Liv: stfu.
Maeve: eheh fine. So u in bed?
Maeve: why did that sound sexual?
Liv: ur sooo dirty-minded.
Maeve: hehe
Liv: yes, I'm in bed.
Maeve: in bed and thinking about me. Not a great combo since you're Christian.
Liv: ...
Maeve: yeah whatever, I see u blushing.
Liv: You in bed?
Maeve: nah, Javi and Lia are over for a sleepover, deciding on a movie.
Maeve sends me the most adorable trio picture. Maeve is sitting against the bed, Javi has his arms wrapped around her and Judy, who's curled up on the rug on her phone, holding up the peace sign.
Liv: aww CUTE. You guys make trios work.
Liv: Anyway, just a quick question and then I'll let you get back to your sleepover.
Maeve: ya?
Liv: You going to that party Emily Lear's hosting?
Maeve: Yeah, actually. You gonna be there?
Liv: yes! See you there tomorrow.
Maeve: Goodnight, Liv.
Liv: Night :)
I lock my phone and shove it under my pillow, curling up in a tight ball. I breathe deeply, trying to calm the storm inside my chest, but the image of Maeve's face lingers. There's a longing that aches in my bones, a yearning I can't ignore.
In that moment, I realize: I don't just want to be close to her. I want to know her—her secrets, her fears, what makes her laugh, and what makes her cry. I want to be the one who makes her eyes light up and the one she turns to when the world feels heavy.
Cocooned in my blanket's warmth, I let myself hope—really hope—that maybe my friends will accept me for being...well me, when I finally tell them. And of course that Maeve will like me back.
