Odd One Out: Chapters 21–25

Yes, the confession you spent weeks practicing on Freddie Mercury and working up the courage to make just detonated on the tip of your tongue. Yes, you had to swallow the bitter, smoldering, ash-flavored pieces, and yes, they burned your throat as they went down.

“Beautiful and altruistic. You’re some girl’s dream woman, you know that?”

It’s cloudy now, like even the sun is trying to spare you the embarrassment of being seen walking hand in hand with the object of your unrequited affection like some lovesick puppy.

You turn to open the car door, now anxious to get away from her, but then her arms slip around your waist from behind and she crushes her svelte little body against yours.

As you put the car in reverse, it hits you that “Save Me,” one of the saddest Queen songs ever, is pouring from the speakers like some kind of noxious, tear-inducing gas:
It started off so well they said we made a perfect pair...

He throws his hands—with my comestibles still in them—into the air.
“Like you’re seriously sitting in my room eating my food in front of my TV, and you’re gonna tell me to shush?”

“Can we sit down, at least? You’re squeezing so tight, I’m losing circulation to my lower extremities.”

Normally I’d balk, but right now, I’m so glad he’s here, I give a forced eye roll and go climb into his lap.

“Okay, who the hell are you, and what did you do with the young lady who would’ve punched me for issuing such a ‘flagrantly patriarchal command’?”

And she’s also still super-clingy with me. Which is (still) simultaneously infuriating and intoxicating.

There’s a picture message from that dastardly temptress Shanna Wilmington (I hate her).

Rae technically was my first kiss, but it wasn’t consensual, so while there’s no way I’d actually give her the charm, there is this niggling voice in the back of my head that says I’ll be lying when I do finally give it away.

“What have you been thinking, O benevolent one?” he says.

That I know when Rae becomes his girlfriend, they’ll slowly disappear from my life? That even when they do hang with me once they become an “item” or whatever the hell colloquial term old people use to refer to young couples, I’m likely to cut the interactions short because it’ll be too painful to see the boy who’s been the best friend I’ve ever known wrapped around the finger of the first girl since elementary school I’ve had genuine feelings for?

He really is a sight to behold, Coop is. And beyond that, there are so many things I love about him: he’s kind and strong and he believes in the intrinsic value of women as human beings; he’s fun and deep and loyal.

This is my sanctuary and these three—my birth mom, Sunnie; my twin brother, Mars; and the illustrious Freddie Mercury—are my spiritual guides.

I left during the fourth quarter of Coop’s game so I could come get ready for tonight, and now I’m in said sanctuary, freaking the flip out.

I’m humming again—more emphatically this time—because never in my life have I been so hungry.

“That every inch of you would be... immaculate.”

Bottom line, in the midst of our fervor, the words “I love you, Courtney” slipped out of my mouth when it was by his ear.

You should be outraged at this patriarchist attempt to override your agency, and disgusted by the blatant display of weakness, but you are neither because he’s just so damn cute.

You should be outraged at this patriarchist attempt to override your agency, and disgusted by the blatant display of weakness, but you are neither because he’s just so damn cute.

He sees the thank-you note first—“Awwww, Jupes!”—but when his gaze alights on the bracelet, the smile falls from his face and he looks at you.

Then the icy deluge that soaks you to the bone...

Down, down, down, you tumble from that cloud as Freddie Mercury croons from the speakers of your laptop: ...sunshine and rainy weather go hand in hand together...

Too late, though, because now my chair is rotating and Courtney is glowering down at me.

The door opens, and as he disappears into the hallway and pulls it shut, I hear Freddie’s forlorn falsetto float into the air.

The door opens, and as he disappears into the hallway and pulls it shut, I hear Freddie’s forlorn falsetto float into the air.

If Rae—or anyone else—gets wind of stormy skies in our Jupe-and-Coop Paradise, questions will arise and questioners will go tugging at closet doors and skeletons will clatter to the floor and the apocalypse will commence, because if anyone discovers Jupe and Coop were sleeping together, Jupe’s whole world will implode.

They offered to let me ride with them, but (1) I’m a masochist, obviously, and (2) the thought of Coop and Rae alone in the car my dads gifted to us while I rode behind them was just like uh-uh.

This would be a fabulous time to asphyxiate on my own saliva, except my mouth has gone so dry, my tongue is turning to dust.

Things really start to crumble once the ball is rolling at the outreach, which takes place in a beautiful park. We wind up with twenty-four kids, ages five to fourteen, and despite the low-key relational upheaval, it really is a lovely sight.

Every time they share a glance, every nanosecond of incidental contact, I want to smear papier-mâché over my eyeballs and let it dry so I never have to see them again.

“My bad,” Golly says from where he seems to have materialized beside me like some overgrown fairy. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“But little kids can be relentless. Don’t tell nobody, but I was nervous they would flip on me when I pulled out all the needles.”