*The sun dances across her bronzed face, illuminating the reddish highlights in that curly mess of brown hair that hangs perfectly around her flawlessly sculpted cheekbones. Her thin lips are pressed into a line, but not out of stress, I don’t think. It almost looks as if she’s stifling a smile. Of course, it would be inappropriate to smile now, in this intense moment of defining oneself. At least that’s what my mind tells me, as it, too, fights to suppress a smile. Why do I want to smile? I just told my best friend that I like girls. We’re walking along the beach in a deafening silence. This is huge. No laughing matter. Before I can stop it escaping my lips, one of my biggest questions pierces the quiet,

            “How do you know if you’re gay?” Silence. It threatens to shatter my eardrums.

            “How do you know if you’re straight?” She finally replies, momentarily unleashing that quivering hint of a smile. She quickly subdues it once more, but my eyes aren’t on her perfect face for once; they are on her hand. I want so badly to hold it – to just touch it. Should I? What will she do? Shakily, I reach for it.

            We touch. There is a jolt of something. The world around us has changed. Now we are in her bedroom. My hand is in hers, and she’s gently pulling me towards the bed. She wants me like I want her. The suspense is rising. My stomach is soaring. Our faces draw nearer, and her lips graze mine so softly. She smiles freely now. I feel myself smiling too. Without much thought, I close the distance between our faces once more, and this time when our lips meet, there is fierce movement, intensity. I take her lower lip in mine and I savor it for a moment. I’m hers. She’s mine.

            There’s another jolt, and we’re not in her bedroom anymore. We’re at prom. An ominous and nauseated sensation replaces the flitting butterflies that were in my stomach just moments ago. I know what’s going to happen. Why can’t I stop it?

            “Just decide!” I hear myself scream, but I do not feel connected to my mouth. My mind is elsewhere, and my vision blackens around the edges. Betrayal. Fear. Foreboding. Tragedy. Why are these words running through my head?