A Beginner's Guide to the American West ✓

chapter nine

n i n e

*

When we drag ourselves back into the van, Sam elects Arjun to take over the role of DJ and Brannan returns to his favourite seat in the first row. Young-mi clambers into the back to take Arjun’s usual place. She greets me with a bright smile, deep dimples in her round cheeks, as she trips into her seat.

“Hi, March,” she says.

“Hey, Young-mi.”

“Can I talk to you?” she asks, lowering her voice and leaning in closer, almost trapping her finger when she tries to buckle up her seat belt while looking at me.

“Of course.” I’m not sure what the intensity is for. Maybe she’s just like that. I can’t imagine there’s much we’d need to have a serious talk about when so far, our conversations have revolved around our families – she’s the only child of strict parents; I have the opposite story – our lack of sporty inclination, and the beach.

“This morning, I heard you,” she says, and my stomach sinks. This morning I said an awful lot of stuff that I haven’t said to anyone before, stuff that I’ve kept to myself – and George – for years.

“Oh.” I can’t judge the situation. I don’t have a clue what she’s going to say. “Sorry. When I was talking with Arjun?”

She nods and brushes her hair out of her face, swooping it into a ponytail that looks too loose to stay put for long. “I was awake. Carrie sleeps loudly.” She whispers that, shooting a look at Carrie, who is obliviously engrossed in a conversation with Adedayo. Then she shakes her head, as if to reprimand herself for going off topic, and I wait for her to veer back to whatever it was she was going to say.

“I wanted to say ... your ex sounds like bad person.” She puts her hand on my knee and squeezes it, and her dark eyes seem to pierce my soul. They’re magnified by her thick, wire-rimmed glasses, all the more intense. “You are good person, March.”

I wasn’t expecting that, and I have to dig my thumbnails into my palms and press my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop myself welling up. “Thanks, Young-mi,” I say. She doesn’t have much to go off, but her sincerity is touching. “That’s really nice,” I murmur. “So are you.”

Resting back against her seat, she folds her arms across her chest and lets out a heavy sigh, then rolls her cheek against her head rest and holds my gaze. She presses her lips together and lets out another long, slow sigh. “You like girls and boys?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I do,” I say. That’s one of few things I’ve always known.

She nods again, to herself. “You have been with both?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Is it same for you?” she asks. “You like boys and girls in same way?”

That’s a trickier question, and not one I’ve ever dwelt on much when I don’t know the answer. It’s all just feelings, not hard fact. I shrug. “Not really, no. I don’t know how to explain it though. I think, when I like girls, it’s kind of a physical thing. Like, I’ll think, wow, she is absolutely beautiful and it’s exciting. When I like guys, it’s ... it’s all my senses, I think. It’s big and overwhelming and just, kind of, more.”

She sighs again and I can’t tell if she’s judging me or trying to figure me out, and I wonder if I’ve already said too much until she says, “I like boys and girls too. But not boys so much. Like you say, they cute and it’s exciting, like the butterflies” She flutters her hand over her chest and smiles, but the smile doesn’t last. “Girls ... I like girls a lot. My whole body, whole heart.”