Trinity (25)

“Trinity?” Amber sounds, more than anything, surprised. “What, has your principal charged me with arson or something, as well?”

I choke out an uncomfortable laugh, partially because I cannot believe I’m talking to her. “Uh, no. Have you committed arson?”

Now it’s her turn to laugh. “Not at Saint Paul’s, I haven’t.” The line goes silent for a moment, and I tighten my grip on my phone. “Well? What do you want?”

I stand and pace the length of my room. “Oh. Well.” I pause. “You’ve made Pearl quite upset.”

Amber sighs. “It’s not like I was trying to. Is she there?”

I glance around my room as if Pearl might’ve spontaneously transported herself nearby. “No. She’s not.”

“Hm. Tell her… I don’t know. Tell her that I’m sorry, again, if you think that would make her feel any better.” Silence. “Is this really the reason you called?”

I stop pacing and perch on the edge of my bed, squeezing my eyes shut. “Yes. No. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have--”

She cuts me off. “What’s going on, Trinity?”

I’m not sure how to form my thoughts into words. This really was a terrible idea.

“I don’t know who else to talk to,” I admit finally. My voice is quiet. In fact, I’m not even convinced I’ve said anything at all.

But Amber responds. Her voice is laced with apprehension, urgency. “Do you need someone to come over? Are you ok?”

“Yes, I mean, no, I don’t need anyone here. I’m ok. I’m just… annoyed.”

“Jesus, Trinity, you make being annoyed sound like an emergency.” That sounds like the Amber I know.

“It’s not just that. I’m confused, I guess. Kinda about what you said at the dance.”

“Uh, a lot of things happened at the dance, if you recall. You’re gonna need to be more specific,” Amber says.

I clench and unclench my fist, cross and uncross my legs. “What you said. About Kelly.”

“Who?”

Frustrated, I bolt to my feet and hug an arm around myself. “The boy I was talking to!” I grind out louder than I mean to. I lower my voice, glancing at my bedroom door. “Everyone thinks I like him. Everyone but you, I guess.”

A guffaw sounds from the other end of the phone. “Ah. Ok. So, do you?”

I toss a hand in the air. “I don’t know! That’s the problem!”

“And you can’t talk to Pearl about this?” Despite the lingering levity in her voice, Amber is calm, and her question feels genuine, not probing.

I sink to a crouch, and end up sitting on the floor. “I think we’re fighting right now,” I confess, bracing myself for the laugh that’s sure to come.

But Amber doesn’t laugh. “That’s too bad,” she states instead. “So what do you want me to say? You know I can’t actually tell you if you like someone or not. That’s kinda up to you.”

I pull my knees up to my chest and let out a long breath. “Ok. Right. Why’d you say it, though? At the dance?”

“That you don’t like boys? I told you, anyone else would’ve dragged that kid--Kelly?--onto the dance floor.”

“But that’s not proof,” I say defensively.

“I’m not saying it is!” There’s an edge of exasperation in her voice. “I was just pointing out that you seem different than most girls.”

I shift uneasily. “Yeah, alright, sorry I called, I should--”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You called me. Don’t you hang up. There’s clearly something you want to say, so you should say it.” Her voice is firm.

I breathe in. Out. “I just think… I don’t think I like him. I don’t know why I wouldn’t, though, because he’s nice and decent and I like talking to him sometimes. I wouldn’t mind hanging out with him more.”

“Yeah, that’s called being friends.”

I switch the phone to my left hand, my right’s getting numb. Flexing my fingers, I say, “Yeah. Yeah, but… it’s weird, then, isn’t it? What if he likes me? Then--theoretically--we’d go on a date. And then I’d like him then, right? Once I’ve tried. Just right now, the thought of it, and every time I see him now… my stomach flips. But what if that’s a good flip… butterflies, like everyone says?”

For a moment, I don’t breath. I’m not sure if Amber is there. She’s probably set the phone down to have a laugh. She’ll tell all her friends how ridiculous I am.

“Shit, Trinity,” is how she responds. Perfectly serious. “You don’t have to like him. You don’t have to like anyone. If the butterflies say no, let them say no. You can be this guy’s friend and nothing else. If he’s not ok with that, then he’s a piece of shit.”

This last sentence she tacks on flippantly, and it makes me cringe, but also laugh. It’s a short, thick, uncomfortable laugh, and it makes me realize how close to tears I am.

“But it’s not right, though,” I scrape out, my voice turning hoarse. “If I don’t like Kelly, then I’ll never like anyone. He’s the most I’ve ever liked anyone, I think. And it’s not enough.”

Amber clicks her tongue. “It’s not not enough. You have no obligation to feel any way about anyone.”

I lean my head back and stare at the ceiling, trying not to let any tears fall. I sit like that for a long time, knowing if I say any words I might just fall apart and cry.

“You there?” Amber asks after a couple of minutes.

I blink until I can see clearly again. “Yeah,” I say weakly. Then, “But why doesn’t anyone believe me? The more I say I don’t like him, the more everyone else seems to think that I’m lying.”

Amber blows out a breath. “That’s just the way people are. You wouldn’t believe the shit my parents used to say before I told them I’m gay. I told them over and over that I wasn’t going to date any boys, and they didn’t believe me.”

“How did you know? That you’re…”

A snort comes from the other side of the call. “Gay. You can say ‘gay’ y’know, and you won’t automatically burn in hell.”

I clear my throat. She continues. “It’s not a science, but for me it wasn’t hard to tell. I see girls, and I want to be with them. Like, sometimes they’re just so fucking beautiful it makes me want to die. God, and kissing--” She stops abruptly. “I could say more, but I’m afraid I’ll melt your little Christian ears.”

I fish for words. “Ok,” is what I come up with.

“Listen, Trinity, I do have other things I need to be doing. I’m not even sure I’m helping.” I can hear rustling over the phone. I can’t tell what she’s doing.

“No, uh, I mean, you did help. Some, anyway.” I stand, holding my phone with both hands, as if I’m afraid I’ll drop it.

“I’m serious about googling this stuff, though. Main thing is: if you don’t like this guy, then you don’t. Doesn’t matter what anyone else says. But seriously, the internet is your friend.”

I realize she’s going to hang up, and I feel relieved but also suddenly panicked. Like I haven't said enough. I open my mouth, but she speaks first. “I gotta go, but call again if you need to. And tell Pearl to read my texts, if she hasn’t. Ok?”

“Ok.”

And just like that, everything goes silent again, and I stand in the middle of my room, feeling unmoored.

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(first part: https://theprose.com/post/432343/trinity)

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(previous part: https://theprose.com/post/447481/trinity-24)

(next part: https://theprose.com/post/448269/trinity-26)