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to be out to my whole school.

I’m thinking about Rowan.

I’m thinking about Kieran.

I’m thinking about going to Hell when I die

and a living Hell on Earth.

I never wear gloves when washing

the dishes. I use more Fairy Liquid

than I need to. I stare into the bubbles.

My bare hands in the water; it’s not

scalding but hot enough that I feel

something. My hands. Nothing else.

My actions are automatic. I don’t

realize I’m crying until Mum comes

in and asks, “What’s the matter?”

“I asked someone out today,” I say.

“What did she say?” asks Mum.

“He said no, Mummy. HE said NO!”

It’s gloriously dramatic, the way

I throw myself to the floor and begin

to sob. Mum is the only audience

I need for this moment. It’s the rejection,

it’s the relief, it’s a rejoicing of sorts.

Mum kneels down next to me

and I curl onto her lap

and she rubs my back,

and she says, “It’s okay,”

and I shout, “I know it is!”

and she silently rubs my back,

then she says, “You have to be careful.

You have to use condoms.