Some Girls Do

by Jennifer Dugan

If he called me tomorrow and said he wanted to ask a girl out, I’d say Go for it as long as it isn’t me—and

I swear to god the whole universe falls away, and all I can think of is wanting.

just because a person doesn’t want to be alone doesn’t mean they want to talk about it.

She seems relieved, like maybe she thought I was going to hit on her or try to convert her or something. And even though I’m smiling, inside my stomach hurts. Because why does this always have to be this huge, awkward thing? Just because I like girls doesn’t mean I like every girl.

“Hi, I’m Morgan.” My voice breaks as I swallow back some tears, because for the first time, maybe I’m exactly where I need to be, exactly where I fit. “I’m a lesbian. She/her. And I like to run.”

“Clearly, or else I wouldn’t have had to click through to the horror that is page three of Google results.”

“I’m not spending my life pretending I’m something I’m not, or making myself smaller and quieter, just because someone else thinks I should.”

“This is my area,” I say. She stops at the bulletin board I’ve filled up with pictures of models posing with cars. All of them are women. She looks at me, a smirk on her face. “Nice pics.” “I just really like the cars?” I say with a fake wince. “Mm-hmm, yeah, all of these women have really, really nice . . . cars,” she says, then bursts out laughing so hard she snorts, and, oh my god, I love her. I mean, not really, but still.

Love is letting someone have the power to hurt you in ways you haven’t even thought of yet.