Saundra Mitchell - All Out - The No-Longer-Secret Stories Of Queer Teens Throughout The Ages

“What’s with you, Dee?” Beverly Henderson had once asked her. “Don’t you like anybody?”

Sure, she did. Dee liked plenty of folks, but she knew that’s not what Beverly was really asking. What was with her, dodging away from perfectly good boys in school hallways, grinning at them under the rink’s colorful lights and then skating away? Teasing them with full lips and long legs when she could be kissing them? Dee grimaced at the very thought.

Later, she’d caught Beverly calling her a prude once in the east stairwell, but Dee didn’t mind. Maybe that was what she was. She didn’t know what else to call it. Maybe there was no word for the way she felt.

Sometimes Dee tried to force herself to get used to the idea. She’d picture herself fooling around with Vince, kissing, letting their hands roam over one another. And she didn’t care. Weren’t you supposed to care? Weren’t you supposed to want it? Why have sex if you didn’t want to?

It wasn’t just about Vince—it wasn’t really about him at all. It was about Dee. She was pretty sure she liked Vince—pretty sure she really liked him, but what did that mean?

Why had she let go of Vince’s hand? Because she wasn’t ready for whatever was coming next. Because what if he wanted more? And what if she wasn’t interested in giving it? Because letting go of his hand had seemed like a better option than him letting go of hers—because that was what would happen. The future—their future—loomed in front of her like an insurmountable wall, and she wasn’t sure there was any way over it.

As she made another lap, Dee looked across the rink to the low wall on the other side. Roger was off the floor again; a few more of his buddies had just arrived. She didn’t recognize all of them, but she recognized the one with a mop of curly dark hair, slim legs in corduroy bell-bottoms and a sports jacket he could practically swim in.

He turned his head, and she felt it like a lightning strike when their eyes met. Lori and MaryAnn were at her side not five seconds later, and she had to commend their response time.

“He’s not supposed to be here,” said MaryAnn. “I told Rodge—”

But Roger looked just as surprised and embarrassed as her friends did now. “We didn’t know, Dee,” said Lori. “I swear!”

Dee leaned away, and with the scrape of wheel on wood, she left them behind.

She could leave. But she’d have to squeeze by Vince to do it. Then...she could wait, just until he hit the floor and then she’d skate off, grab her shoes and be out the door before he’d made his first lap.

But she had left him that way once already. Her palm tingled at the memory. She had a feeling taking off that way again would sever whatever connection they still had. She’d be turning her back on the past year forever.

She wheeled toward the lockers. Vince was doing a poor attempt at pretending he was talking to his boys. He was still watching and saw the look she gave him. And then he was separating from his friends and hurrying to put on his skates.

Both her hands were tingling now. No, they were sweaty. Her body was warmed up from the lights and countless laps around the rink. “Jazzman” was blasting from the speakers, one of her favorite songs to skate to. As Vince crept up beside her, she used the familiar upbeat rhythm and Carole King’s soulful voice to give her strength.

“Hey,” said Vince, so quietly under the music that it was easy to miss. Dee said hi in return.

And then, silence...well, save the music from the speakers, and the sound of dozens of small plastic wheels turning around the polished hardwood floor, and laughter and chatter from every other person in the building. She had to say something, but every time she gathered up the words to speak, she felt the silence pressing closer and let the words go. The truth was, she just didn’t know what to say.

“I should’ve said this sooner,” said Vince suddenly. “I just didn’t know how, and I didn’t think you’d want to talk to me. But I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For, you know, last time. For taking your hand. I should’ve asked first, asked if...if you were okay with it.”

Yeah, darn right you should’ve, thought Dee, but she felt a pang of guilt, as well. The truth was, she couldn’t remember who’d grabbed whose hand first. And she couldn’t remember not enjoying it. “Well, it wasn’t all you,” she mumbled.

The song changed over to “Reasons” by Earth, Wind and Fire. They glided in silence. Dee listened to the rotation of their wheels on the polished wood surface, that soft, reassuring sound as she searched for words.

Before she found them, Vince said, “I read it.”

Dee glanced at him. “You read what?”

“Pride and Prejudice.”

Dee gaped. She nearly tripped and slowed to regain her balance. Vince slowed with her. He was looking at her with concern.

She looked back at him, wide-eyed. “You can read?”

Vince pushed her shoulder lightly. “Shut up.” He shrugged. “We weren’t hanging out, and I didn’t have anything better to do.”

“What’d you think?”

He shrugged again. “It was long. But I liked it.”

“Who was your favorite character?” Dee was hoping he’d say Lizzie, Jane or Mr. Darcy.

Vince tilted his head. “I guess...that Bingley dude.”

Dee’s eyes widened. “Mr. Bingley?”

“Yeah. He was okay. I think I related to him most. How he knew he liked Jane, but was too polite and chickened out of telling her. And it took him twenty years to finally get around to it.”

“It wasn’t that long.”

“Well, it felt like reading it took twenty years.” At that, Dee pushed him away. He smiled and arched back toward her, and she found herself smiling, too. “What I mean is, I get how hard it is to tell someone what you’re thinking. Especially when you like them. And sometimes you’re so close, you assume they know what you’re thinking, but it’s not really fair... I mean, I’m kinda rambling, but—”

“No,” said Dee quickly. “I get it.”

She took in a deep breath and let it out again. She understood what he meant, not just for him, but for her, as well. She curled her fingers into her palms, readying her words like armor. Because what was she waiting for? She was no Mr. Bingley.

I am a twentieth-century black Lizzie Bennet. I like a boy. I like talking to him, I like his eyebrows, I like his laugh when I tease him, I like how he debates me on nineteenth-century heroines and twentieth-century superheroes, I like his secret sports conversations with my dad, I like how he focuses so hard when he dances even though he’s not good at it, I like how he skates like he was born to do it. I like what I like and I don’t like what I don’t. I have nothing to apologize for.

“Kissing makes me laugh,” said Dee quietly.

Vince turned sharply, peering at her through his long bangs. “Who’ve you been kissing?”

“No one. Just...the thought of it. It’s just weird to me. All of it’s weird to me, dating, and couples, and making out...” She rolled her hand and left it at that.

“Oh.”

“I’m just a prude, I guess,” said Dee.

“I’ve never called you a prude.”

“No, but everybody else does.”

As the song ended, the DJ seamlessly slid on another record. The lights dimmed low, way low, almost to full darkness but for the slowly turning tinted lights that passed over the floor and the walls. Dee held her breath against the flutter in her heart.

Couples’ skate. Here they were again. Some skaters took this opportunity for a break, going to the restrooms, grabbing snacks from the bar. Other skaters found each other in the dark and linked hands.

Vince kept skating, and so did Dee.