I'm From Driftwood

by Izzy

I’m not out of the closet. Yet.

And I think this is because I’m not sure. I’m just not absolutely completely sure. But it started only a month ago. I am still in middle school (and it’s taking a lot of guts for me to write my town for the title) and I go to this after school place called the Teen Center. I met this girl there (who, by the way, I’m texting right now). We will call her Sarah. Now, Sarah is really sweet, even though she is kind of overbearing and wildly insecure about herself. But she’s a sweet girl.

 I think I love her. She kisses my hand, wraps her arms around me, holds me, calls me beautiful, pets my hair, even does small things like tie my shoes when I don’t realize they’re untied. We hold hands and we went to a skate park together and slid down one of the ramps on our butts. We were laughing, screaming, smiling, hugging. I really do like her, but I’m not sure about her sexuality. Though she kisses my hand and everyone comments about us being a lesbian couple (jokingly), I’m so scared. She may be straight and she seems homophobic. Sarah just does. She doesn’t comment on it a lot, but one time she saw two boys holding hands and one kissed his boyfriend on the cheek and she wrinkled her nose. Whether in distaste or just because she thought I thought it was bad (peer pressure is surprisingly strong in humans), I don’t know.

I guess this is a bad story, but I shall end it with: I may be a lesbian or bisexual, but I am from El Dorado Hills, California, a tolerating state. So I’ll be alright and this girl and me will stay friends. Unless she comes out which, in that case, I’m going to go freaking lovey dovey on her.

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