Lindsey seemed to rearrange herself
as she searched for what to say.
Her eyebrows jittered, her hands clasped her elbows,
she rocked back and forth, her fingers pinched some split ends.
“You know,” she finally said, and there’s so much force behind it
that it seemed like it would be the last thing she’d ever say,
but she took a deep breath and continued,
“I knew him in middle school. To tell you the truth,
I think he’s gay. There’s no point in liking him.”
I considered her. She could be lying.
“You don’t know,” I said.
“You only think he’s gay.”