Samantha
"Sam! Guess what we just got?" cries Vanessa on Friday morning. With a flourish, she presents a printout she had been holding behind her back. She texted me to meet her in the school garden.
It has the Manhattan Sentinel Gothic-script logo on the top. Underneath is the headline, Move Over, Trump! Samantha Baxter Is Coming!
I stare at the photo of myself sitting at the university library's desk. I'm wearing long black hair extensions scraped up in a high, sleek ponytail. My makeup is subtle, I'm sporting a the raspberry silk camisole underneath a battleship gray Calvin Klein suit.
I try to summon as much enthusiasm as Vanessa, but I only feel emptiness. Oblivious to my hollow demeanor, Vanessa lays a hand on my arm, her face ecstatic. "We should celebrate! Let's have lunch outside. My treat."
What happens next is a total blur. It's as if the whole world is in slow motion as Vanessa's hand travels up to my shoulder, her fingers touching my collarbone lightly, her lips closing in on mine.
My blue eyes widen. Three seconds. Vanessa pulls away, smiling as if nothing big just transpired. I crane my neck left and right to check if anyone had seen.
"Shit," I say, noticing Ben Morrison's pale face.
"Well." His lips form an ugly smirk. "This explains things."
"No it doesn't," I hiss, still recovering from the kiss. "You don't understand."
"Don't even talk," Ben snarls. He twists open the cap of his water bottle and throws half of its contents at my face. It splashes coldly over my blue hoodie, navy jeans, and shoes.
"How dare you!" Vanessa is seething.
Ben hesitates, then throws the rest of the water more directly at Vanessa. It splashes her face and apple-red hair.
"Morrison!" I exclaim furiously.
"You fucking dykes," Ben says in a shaky voice. He turns on his heel and runs away.
I glance over at Vanessa, whose chin is wobbly and her lips trembling. "Van," I call her, and she tearfully meets my gaze. "You're my friend," I start tactfully. "I'm sorry, but I can't accept your feelings."
"But.. you're always so nice to me.. and.." she sniffs, wiping a tear from her eye.
"That doesn't mean I like you romantically," I explain in the same cautious manner. "Please don't mistake kindness for flirtation."
Vanessa stares into my blue eyes for a minute. She says slowly, "Okay." She looks away. "Thanks for being honest with me. But I need to distance myself from you to move on better."
I nod my head. Without another word, she turns her back on me and retreats into a building.
Later that afternoon, I walk out of my swim coach's office. I've just been appointed as captain. Sure, I'm state champion in the 100-meter butterfly, but N.Y.U has a freakishly good swim team--Amber Tate got fourth in the 500 freestyle at HS Junior Nationals.
I walk through the natatorium on jelly legs. Damn it, Baxter. Stay calm. I pause, suddenly aware that someone is looking at me. Across the room, I see Ben, leaning up against the trophy case. He's staring at me intensely, not blinking.
My skin prickles and a flush rises to my cheeks. Ben smirks and turns to whisper something to his best friend, Seth Cline. Seth laughs, glances at me again, and whispers something to Ben. They both snicker.
I push into the empty hallway that led to the girls and boys locker rooms, thinking about Vanessa's indirect confession. What if she thinks I led her on? But I know I didn't. I try to remember the feel of her lips on mine. Soft and tender. For one fleeting second, I question my sexuality.
