don’t know.” I shrug, honest. “Maybe I’m bisexual or pansexual. Maybe I’m queer.” The word still feels a bit sour on my tongue, but there’s something thrilling about it too. Like it’s a dare just to say it this way, adoptive instead of vicious. I hope Jeremiah is spilling punch on himself somewhere. “All I know,” I start, taking a deep breath, “is that I’m probably—no, definitely—not straight.”
