Imogen, Obviously

by Becky Albertalli

I’m the kind of person who has a favorite adverb (obviously, obviously).

“The point of college . . . is me not flossing.”

Pure marshmallow.

Resting Bunny Face: wide-eyed, soft, forever on high alert.

Lili and I used to joke about that a lot. We were the Forever Alone Club. No boyfriends. No random hookups. Just a pair of perpetually single besties who spent way more time hanging around animals than boys.

“Like the fact that my quote-unquote ‘ex-girlfriend Imogen’ is a real person they’d be meeting one day.”

“Popcorn dinner. What a lifestyle,”

My stomach feels like the first day of school. Butterflies and panic.

Also, what if I’m not believable as a queer girl?

“Like gaydar?” I’d asked, which made her laugh. “Kind of? It’s like—you can just tell. I think it’s evolutionary. It’s a safety mechanism, right? You’re like, okay, this person’s probably not going to hate-crime me.”