Imogen, Obviously, page 9
18
But by the time dinner rolls around, no one seems to care much about pancakes.
Or the fact that I’m leaving tomorrow.
Declan’s the first to reply. So . . . you might want to take a quick peek out the window lol
“Has it gotten really bad out there?”
Lili reaches back to tug the blinds up, peering through the glass for a moment. “Wimp. It was way worse this morning.”
“You think he’s trying to bail?”
Our phones both buzz again—Mika. Ooh, yeah. I don’t know if it’s a diner night. May just heat up soup and make some tiny furniture.
Declan writes back with a full array of chair and couch emojis.
I stare at my screen, feeling strangely out of breath for a second.
“Really?” Lili scowls. “On your last night?”
“It’s fine. I totally get it.”
“It’s not even raining that hard!”
I peek out the window again. “I mean, it’s not great.”
Another buzz—this time it’s Kayla. haha i guess we should take a literal rain check
“Okay, I guarantee these losers forgot it’s your last night,” Lili says, tapping into the text box. “Watch, they’re gonna—”
“Don’t!” My heart jumps. “Please.”
Lili shoots me a perplexed smile. “I wasn’t going to, like, bully them. I was just going to remind them you’re leaving—”
“I know. Yeah. I just—that just feels so weird. I don’t want to pressure them into hanging out with me.”
“Immy, they just forgot. It’s not personal.”
“I know.” I stare at my knees, feeling so weird in my skin all of a sudden. Like I’m being pinpricked from the inside.
I guess it’s just a little embarrassing, right? The way I thought it was real. My college friends. The group chat. Just one of the pack, right? Like I wasn’t just some random high school kid they met literally two days ago.
Like I’d carved out some kind of home with these people.
By now, it’s almost seven, and Tessa still hasn’t replied to the group chat. Lili stands and stretches. “All right, I’m giving up on her. Do you want to just grab stuff from the snack bar? We can bring it up here and watch a movie if you want.”
“Sure.”
“Okay . . .” Lili grips the doorframe. “What do you want to do?”
“I’m fine with whatever! Really.”
She sighs. “Immy, come on. Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Your people-pleasing schtick! I’m tired of it. Save that shit for strangers, and just be real with me!”
And with that, she takes off down the empty dorm hallway.
I chase after her, stung. “I am real with you!”
She stabs the elevator call button with her finger. For a moment, neither of us speaks.
“I’m not trying to people-please,” I say, finally. “I’m just—”
“No, I know. Immy, I know—”
“I just honestly don’t care if we watch a movie, okay? That’s all.”
“I know.” She bites her lip. “Sorry. It just sucks that it’s raining, and now everyone’s bailing on the diner, and I really wanted your last dinner to be special.”
“It is special!”
“The snack bar is the actual antithesis of special. It’s like the food version of a white sock.”
The elevator chimes, doors sliding open to reveal a soaking wet Tessa carrying a soggy paper grocery bag. “Hi! Wait—are you guys heading to the diner? Let me just drop this stuff off and change into something a little less, uh”—she glances down—“wet T-shirt contest.”
“Diner’s off—everyone bailed. Have you been getting our texts?”
Tessa shakes her head. “Phone died. Not, like, water damage. Just forgot to charge it. They really bailed?”
Lili nods and I shrug.
“Okay, well. Their loss.” She shifts the grocery bag in her arms. “I got those vanilla scones—Scott, you would love them. Okay, wait, this bag is definitely about to disintegrate. Give me a sec to get situated.”
“And plug your phone in,” Lili adds, already halfway to her room.
“Yes! That. Also, hold up—I have the best dinner idea.”
“Oh yeah?” Lili’s back in her room by now, with the door left wide-open. But I hang back with Tessa, while she fumbles for her keys. “I can take the bag—”
“Nooo, ma’am. That is my gross bag, thank you very much. You’re too dry and too pure.”
“Like toilet paper.”
“Exactly.” Tessa grins. “Okay, here. Can you grab my keys, maybe?” She lifts the grocery bag higher, revealing a carabiner attached to one of her belt loops.
“Oh. Yeah! Should I . . . like. Just take the key off?” My cheeks go warm.
“Or just take the whole thing off the loop—probably easier, right?” Tessa watches me, beaming. “I love how hard you’re concentrating right now. You should probably be a surgeon.”
“Or a locksmith.”
“Why not both?” Tessa says.
I unlock the door and push it open, and Tessa bumps it with her hip to hold it for me. But I linger in the doorway. “I like your room,” I say, suddenly shy.
It’s smaller than Lili’s, and there’s only one bed—hastily made with white sheets, patterned with tiny gnomes. There’s a shaggy gray rug on the floor, currently covered with short stacks of books and scattered index cards. Just like Lili’s room, the walls are one big gallery of photos and posters—a Bowie lightning bolt, a vintage map of Hershey Park, and the words this must be the place in stylized yellow and green.
“Talking Heads,” I say. “I love that song.”
“It’s my favorite.” She shoots me a quick smile, setting her bag down on top of her desk.
“Well, if it isn’t the on-call surgeon.” Lili smiles up at me from her laptop when I enter the room. “Who’s gonna tell Tess you fainted watching that birth video in Girl Scouts?”
“That video was a nightmare. I stand by it.”
“Oh, you definitely weren’t standing.”
I laugh, cheeks going warm. “Irrelevant. That birth was extremely vaginal—”
“Are you guys talking about extreme vaginas without me again?” Tessa asks. She leans against Lili’s doorframe, already fully transformed—fresh gray hoodie, dry pair of gym shorts, and a very cute attempt at a ponytail. Slung over one shoulder is a lumpy Blackwell College duffel bag. “Who’s ready for a picnic?”
19
It’s like being in Willy Wonka—like I’m about to step out into the candy garden. But instead of chocolate and sunshine, it’s just a dimly lit, graffiti-covered hallway. And, of course, we aren’t outside at all.
We’re beneath.
“So these are the tunnels,” Tessa says, gesturing loosely. “It’s mostly just hallways like this, but there are a few bigger rooms as you walk through.”
I peer around. “It’s so empty.”
“I think Sunday night’s pretty quiet. People come down here on the weekends, though.”
“Thus the decor,” Lili adds, stepping around a few flattened beer cans and a tired-looking disposable vape.
The tunnel widens into what’s clearly an abandoned laundry room, judging by the dilapidated washers and dryers. The only other furniture in sight is a single tattered green sofa. Tessa tugs on a string hanging from the ceiling, flooding the space with sharp, fluorescent light. “This,” she declares, “is the spot.”
“This is where we’re eating?” Lili squints down at the sofa.
“Ooh, don’t sit there. That’s a sex couch.” Tessa unzips her duffel and takes out an actual red gingham picnic blanket.
“You know this is, like, a really creepy place for a picnic, right?” Lili nods slowly.
I settle in cross-legged on the blanket. “I like it. It kind of reminds me of the barn.”
“Immy, it is absolutely zero percent like your barn.”
“You have a barn?”
Lili laughs. “She has two!”
“I do not!” I turn to Tessa. “The second one’s just a shed.”
She scoots in beside me. “So do you just straight-up live on a farm?”
“Kind of? It’s not a farm farm. But—I don’t know—it’s a little farmier than a big backyard? Like, my parents grow their own vegetables and we have eleven pets—that kind of thing.”
“Eleven?”
I count them off on my fingers. “Three dogs, six cats—seven, if you count the feral one we leave food out for. And then my sister has a rabbit—”
“Flossie Bunny!” says Lili.
“And I have a hamster named Elizabeth.”
Tessa raises her eyebrows. “That is a very pretty name for a hamster.”
“Thank you! I got her during my Pride and Prejudice era.”
Tessa laughs, and my chest goes taut. Shifting to face me, she asks, “Where did Daisy live?”
I just look at her.
“Daisy the goat?” Lili asks.
“I can’t believe you remember my childhood goat’s name.”
“Your childhood goat.” Tessa smiles. “How many goat names do you think I’m keeping track of?”
“God, I don’t even know. Millions, probably.” I bite back a grin. “And she lived in the barn.”
“Of course she did.”
“But we really just use it for storage at this point.”
“Well, it’s also a performance venue,” adds Lili.
“Right!” I nod. “There’s a whole stage area in the back for concerts.”
“There were concerts?”
Lili nods. “Sold-out shows every weekend. We had an extremely devoted fandom of stuffed animals.”
“This is downright majestic,” says Tessa.
“It was a golden age,” confirms Lili. “We used to have sleepovers out there in the summer.”
“And we turned it into a haunted house one year for my birthday,” I say.
“I officially want your life. Hamster named Elizabeth, barn sleepovers, Halloween birthday.” Tessa shakes her head at me. “How does that even work?”
“The barn sleepovers?” asks Lili.
“The Halloween birthday! Do you get double candy?”
“Oh, I wish!”
“Great wardrobe options, though,” Lili says.
Tessa looks at me. “I bet I can guess all your costumes.”
“All eighteen?”
“Well, the first one’s easy,” she says. “It’s that little pink-and-blue-striped hat from the hospital.”
“Nope! Home birth.”
“Wow. Bet that was interesting for the trick-or-treaters.”
“We love a good vaginal birth,” Lili says.
Tessa laughs. “Okay, wait, I’m not done guessing! Mmm. I’m getting strong cat vibes. Headband ears, face paint . . .” She streaks her fingers over her cheeks, like she’s giving herself whiskers.
“Just figured that out from the vibes, huh?” asks Lili. “Nothing to do with my wall collage?”
“As a matter of fact, that’s where the vibes came from.”
“As a matter of fact.” I shoot Tessa a quick smile. “Let me guess—you were one of those cardboard-box-costume kids.”
“That’s really what you think of me, Scott?”
“Do I think you’ve worn a cardboard box in public? Yes.”
“Absolutely,” says Lili.
Tessa raises a finger. “Okay, you’re not wrong—”
“Knew it!”
“—but it wasn’t, like, an intact box by the time I was wearing it. Not usually,” she adds.
“So it was multiple Halloweens.”
“Purim too sometimes.” Her eyes crinkle. “Once, my siblings and I won the costume contest at temple, because everyone else was Esther or Mordecai. We were a Nintendo Switch.”
“You were not,” Lili says.
“For real! Dan was the screen, and he drew this pixelated Purim scene on the chest part. And then me and Rachael were the blue and red controllers. It was pretty cute, since we used to be basically identical. My hair was longer then,” she adds, turning to me.
My heart flips. “You cut it pretty recently, right?”
“Over break. My mom was a little weird about it at first. I think she saw it as this big declaration of lesbianism.”
“But she’s not . . .” I pause. “Would she see that as a bad thing?”
“Oh, no—I mean, I was already out. And they’re fine. My parents, I mean. Like, they’re liberal Jews, donate to the Human Rights Campaign, love Schitt’s Creek, all of that. They just get a little weird sometimes about the fact that it’s me.”
“I don’t like that,” says Lili.
“Yeah . . . I think they just needed time to get used to the fact that, no, I will not in fact be marrying a nice Jewish boy. I mean, you’d think my elementary school tie collection might have clued them in, but.” She shrugs. “Like, there’s literally a video of me at age three singing along to ‘Fast Car.’ Tracy Chapman. Come on, Mom.”
“Baby gay Tessa,” says Lili. “What a legend.”
Tessa turns to me. “What about you? Are your parents cool?”
“Like objectively cool?” I start to ask, but then my cheeks go warm. “You mean are they cool with me being—queer? Yeah, absolutely.”
“Elizabeth took it well?”
“She was actually pretty quiet about it. Though to be fair, she had, like, an entire corncob in her cheeks at the time.”
“Blaming her biphobia on the corn,” Lili says. “Tale as old as time.”
I laugh, feeling slightly light-headed. “But my parents are cool. Yeah. I, um. Technically came out when I was Lesbian Elsa for Halloween. I was seven.”
I can feel Lili looking at me.
I look pointedly away. “But they totally already knew,” I say quickly. “They were just waiting for me to say it. I remember all these books started showing up on our shelves, though, about parenting queer kids. And they’d always make this big show of not implying the genders of our future partners.”
I feel sick. Like, actually sick.
I just stole my sister’s entire coming-out story.
And for what? To add fake texture to the other fake things Tessa already believes about me? Did Frozen even exist when I was seven?
But Tessa just smiles. “Hey—three down!”
“Three down?”
“Gory home-birth baby, cat, and Lesbian Elsa!” she says, counting them off on three fingers. Two truths and a lie.
Texts with Gretchen
GP: Leaving art center now, am about to meet my hostess with the mostess!! WISH ME LUCK
GP: But first, here’s a selfie where I look translucent
GP: Art center lighting confirming Mom and I are indeed both very white
GP: Hope you’re having fun at the diner!
20
I can’t sleep. Maybe I’ve forgotten how. Every time I close my eyes, my foot starts itching, or my pillow feels lumpy, or there’s a random burst of laughter in the hallway. Even Lili’s white-noise app feels unsettlingly loud.
Almost as loud as my brain.
I can’t seem to keep my thoughts from going off-leash.
Like right now. I’m in bed.
But I’m also on a balcony wearing my prom dress. Not my actual prom dress, though. It’s the prom dress I almost bought, before deciding it was too ruffled and girly and born to hand jive. But when I lean back against the stone balustrades, that’s what I’m wearing. Then Tessa steps out in a half-buttoned black shirt, like Graham wears in But I’m a Cheerleader when they sneak out to the bar. Hey, can I ask you something? she says, eyes as bright as the moon. So I panic a little, scrambling for the perfect words to diffuse the awkwardness. But then she leans in—
No—wait.
She doesn’t lean in. She bites her lip nervously and clears her throat. Do you want to go out sometime? Like—a date?
Oh! I say. Tessa. I’m—so sorry. My voice cracks. I’m actually straight. And she laughs sadly. Yeah, I know. Just had to try. You’ll let me know if you’re ever . . . not straight, though, right? And then we exchange wistful smiles, and I say, Definitely, and I bury my head in her shoulder—
Actually, no. There’s no balcony, no formalwear. We’re back in the tunnels, like earlier, only this time we’re alone. So I need you to be my fake girlfriend, she says, and I laugh and ask why. Because my ex is in town. She thinks I’m still in love with her, and I’ve got to show her I’ve moved on.
Oh! Okay—
I promise I’m not secretly in love with you, she adds.
No, I wasn’t. Ha—
Unless you want me to be.
Want you to be what?
Secretly in love with you. Her gaze meets mine, wide and nervous.
I stare back, and then—
Maybe my eyes spill over with tears.
Hey. Oh. I didn’t mean to upset you.
I let out a choked little laugh. You’re not. No. I just. I’m—I thought I was straight.
Imogen. She wipes away one of my tears, cupping my cheek in her hand.
And I think. Oh. Maybe—
Day Four
Monday
March 21
Texts with Gretchen
GP: Yeahhh I have to tell you about this girl I’m staying with
GP: Immylou Immybean
GP: Are you still sleeping??
GP: Who are you and what have you done with Imogen???!!
21
My eyes jolt open, heart skittering in my chest.
I’m in a sea of white noise. Completely untethered. Across the room, Lili’s chest rises and falls, slow as water.
Unless you want me to be. Secretly in love. With you.
Unless.
I think I might be a horrible person.
Because this Tessa thing? This is worse than normal lying. It’s queerbaiting.
Or at the very least, I’m appropriating queerness. Not even just the aesthetics, either. Apparently, my brain thinks queerness itself is some kind of thought exercise.
Me: a certified asshole straight girl who sees a lesbian existing and thinks it’s a love declaration. Tuck my skirt into my tights, and I’m literally the eyelash girl from the movie theater.
