Dear Wendy

by Ann Zhao

but her brown skin is annoyingly clear despite her total lack of a skin care routine.

me

“You don’t get it, Jo,” Sophie says. She shakes her head, though I can tell she’s not actually judging me. “I need to stay on top of everything so that I never fall behind so that I can always ensure my success if something does happen to slow me down.” “What is it like to have your life together?” I reply. “It’s stressful,” Sophie admits, and we both laugh.

she’s so me as a freshman (versus me as a sophomore currently reading this instead of working on my presentation due next week)

She’s thinking about majoring in sociology just because she really liked her sociology professor last semester;

omg so realll

“Because I know you can get an A if you don’t spend all your time reading your Percy Jackson books,” she says.

Soon, my mind wanders away from my memories and into a witty small-town romance. I may be aroace, but I love a good love story.

so true bestie

While I stare out the window, she’s reading, an absolute no-no when you have carsickness.

so real😭😭😭

I have many thoughts about Fitzwilliam Darcy. Namely that if he proposed marriage to me, I would say yes, aromanticism be damned.

Do people who watch Food Network actually know how to cook?” “Damn, that last one hurts,” I say, and Sophie giggles.

Joanna Ephron. What a wonderful human being.

“We got brunch and talked about being aroace.” Izzy gasps. “You found one?”

“Of course you ended up falling in love with your first lesbian friend,” Priya says. “That’s, like, so gay, dude.”

“Gender is … the baby food brand that does, like, mashed vegetables.” “No, that’s Gerber,” Lianne says from her spot on the top bunk. “Gender is those little fruit snacks with the juice inside.” “No, those are Gushers,” I say. “Gender is the description of someone who’s really kind and loving.” “No, that’s gentle,” Lianne says. “Gender is a minor car accident.” “No, that’s a fender bender. Gender is the thing where rich people move into poorer areas and slowly displace all the existing residents.” “No, that’s gentrification,” Lianne says. “Gender is—”

“Go away,” Theo says, despite the fact that I’m already away. “Home is better without you.”

It really is nice to not always be the one who texts first. I am extremely chatty.

she is SOOO REAL

“Just in case you wanted to know,” Sophie says, twirling a strand of pasta around her fork. “Isn’t it fascinating? Bureaucracy is so interesting.”

“So does that make her … an arrow ace?” Sophie stops dead in her tracks. “Jo, please.” I slowly break into a smile. “So we are still employing wordplay in this org’s name after all.” “You know, that isn’t an original joke. I bet someone on the internet came up with it over a decade ago.” “It’s funny and you know it.”

“Damn,” Priya says. “This’d be a good place to commit arson.” “Um, please don’t commit arson,” I say.

It turns out all six of us have strong feelings for Lorde’s music, but doesn’t every liberal arts college student?

In the words of Harry himself, it is a song about a fish.”

I don’t know when Wanda and I started acting like this with each other, but in just over a month of their existence, we’ve gone from amicable to downright hostile. The weird part is that I kind of like it.

“Why are your stuffed animals all looking away?” I ask. Sophie blushes. “I do that whenever Priya’s girlfriend comes over. I forgot to turn them back around.” “Uh … why do you do that?” “Just so they don’t have to, you know … witness … whatever goes on.”

some background noise, Sophie puts on a Crash Course video, which is so unbelievably nerdy that I have to laugh.

dearwendywellesley 3h So you admit I’m right! 2 likes Reply wandawellesley69 2h no stop shut up that’s not what this is

Nobody talks about breaking up with your friends. It sucks.

It’s a fun little dance that we do. I love aggravating Abby, and she loves to irritate me too.

sisters fr

“Oh my god, I hate those cookies,” Sophie says. “Why did you get them?”

ME TOO. WE ARE THE SAME

But I want to be nice. And I want to love and to be loved. And yet, the only way people seem to want to do that is in a way that I can’t. And so, people will leave me, and I will be alone. Forever.

…….

“She actually hates boys with a burning passion,” Sophie says. “No offense to you.” “None taken,” he replies, not bothering to look up from his plate. “We suck.”

Andrea made Mr. Tracy mad during math because she told him he has no friends, even though it’s totally true.

I disrespect boys my age. (Who wouldn’t?)

Alicia laughs. “I’m from San Antonio!”

bestie!!!

I shake my head. “They’ve texted. Sporadically. Ooh, should I splash in this puddle?” “Please don’t. So, then, is Lianne planning on telling Katy?” I step in the puddle anyway. I’m wearing rain boots, and what’s the point of wearing rain boots if you don’t splash around? It makes Sophie squeal and complain that I’ll get her jeans dirty, and I laugh and hop in the water again.

“I didn’t think you were,” I say to deflect, “given your … condition.” Sophie bursts out laughing. “Are we calling our sexual orientations ‘conditions’ now?”

But then I think of who to ask.

PLEASEEEEE

And a couple of people saying it makes a ton of sense that an a-spec person would be able to be snarky like this.

“It’s true, you don’t want to be friends with him anymore, but you might always be a little sad about that, and also a little angry. He was your best friend, and now you only talk when we eat dinner at his house. I saw the last time we went. You looked miserable that he seemed not to like you at all.”

but those are, like, the only things you really disagree about, right?” “She also thinks we shouldn’t tax the rich,” I say.

“We are all susceptible to the drama,” Izzy solemnly says.

“Now,” Mom says, “let’s go inside. Mama made matzah ball soup.” My comfort meal. I love my parents.

She steps forward and pulls me into a hug. I’m so stunned that I barely notice how damp I’m getting, unable to do anything else but awkwardly wrap my arms around her waist and put my head against her stomach.

“I love you too,” Sophie murmurs.

I need to say it again. “I love you.” “Love you too.” “No romo.” It slips out, the term coined by the a-spec community making fun of straight boys who say no homo after showing even a morsel of affection.

Oh my god, this is so gay. I love it.

“I accidentally got my brother dumped by his girlfriend when I was twelve because I told her that he had a small penis.” She says it completely nonchalantly, no emotion on her face.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re twelve years old. Also, it’s pronounced CARE-a-mel.” “Car-mul.” “Care-a-mel.” “Car-mul.” “Care-a-mel.” “Car-mul.” “I hate you.” She smirks. “Good.”

I love her so much.

“You know … something I once heard that I still think about sometimes is that … when you’re asexual or aromantic or both, to accept your sexuality, you have to accept that you’re probably going to question it for a really long time, and possibly the rest of your life. “Because there’s that part of your brain that goes, like, who’s to say it can never happen, right? What if that person made me nervous because I like them, what if liking romcoms makes me—sorry, what if it means I want that for myself. Or … or what if I’m an extremely late bloomer? It’s so hard to prove a lack of something, much harder than to prove something exists. “So those thoughts might never go away. They haven’t for me, and I’ve identified as aroace for almost five years. But you know yourself. And you know the way you feel. So … let those thoughts run their course. They’re not real unless you make them real, but they’ll happen, and you just need to accept that they’ll be a part of you, but they don’t define you.”

“Fair point.” Sophie lets go. “Nooooooo,” I whine. “Come back.”

I don’t know what it is about this moment, right now, but something in me clicks. This is what I want. In my life, in my future. Someone who gets me. Someone I can banter with, someone I can trust, someone who loves me in the same way that I love them.

And the last piece of the puzzle slots itself in. Suddenly, I can see my future, clear as day. I’m a law clerk, or a teacher, or working in a nonprofit, and Sophie’s a journalist, or a clinical psychologist, or a social media manager, and we have two cats or maybe a dog, and we live in a big city in a tiny apartment with walls completely lined with books and plants, almost all of which are Sophie’s, and we absolutely don’t have our lives figured out, but at least we have each other. Holy shit.