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a bag of apples. I’d grown up with him testing me on literature by quoting passages and asking me what book they were from. Sometimes he’d reward me with Hershey’s Kisses.
    “ To thine own self be true ,” he said, pointing at me. I rolled my eyes.
    “I’ll get right on that.”
    After we put the groceries away, dad started making dinner and I went to do my homework in the den. This was one of those times when I was happy that it was just the two of us. My mom had left us when I was a toddler, and my older brother Gabe was off at Columbia studying journalism. I missed him like crazy, but we talked at least a few times a week and he texted Dad nearly every day.
    I worked steadily, hitting my least favorite subjects first and leaving my English reading for last. Dad was still pissed that I hadn’t signed up for AP English, and I didn’t think he was going to let it go anytime soon.
    “Are you coming to the game?” I asked as I twirled spaghetti on my fork.
    “I’m going to try. I have exams to grade, but I’ll do my best.” He always did. Sometimes he made it to see me cheer and sometimes he didn’t, but he tried. He always tried and that was what mattered.
    “Have you thought any more about signing up for AP English?” he said and I sighed. I knew it.
    “No. I just think that it’s not worth it. They don’t weigh AP classes, so I can get a perfect grade in regular English. Or I can take AP and have my GPA potentially take a dip. I don’t want to do that.” Now he was the one to sigh and I was treated to another lecture on the fact that I could gain college credit for taking and doing well on the AP test and blah, blah, blah.
    He put down his fork and gave me a long look. Fortunately, I’d gotten most of my looks from him including hair color, eye color and shape, and our mouths did the same thing when we were trying not to smile.
    “What if I told you I would give you some money so you could trade in your car and get a nicer one.” Shit. He’d picked the one thing that I would go for. My car wasn’t exactly a piece of crap, but it wasn’t really nice either.
    I glared at him and he narrowed his eyes and glared back.
    “Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’ll sign up for AP English.”
     

     
    W e watched TV together; we always liked the same shows, and then I headed to my room. I worked through my nightly stretches and then got in bed.
    The lights were off, but I closed my eyes. This was the only time I let myself think about it. About how when I thought about kissing, it wasn’t a boy I imagined. It was a girl. All sweet curves and soft lips. Sometimes her hair was long, and got in my way, sometimes it was short, the blunt ends tickling my fingers. We’d twist around each other until it was impossible to tell us apart.
    The desire rushed through me and I welcomed it. I hadn’t, at first. It had always been followed by shame. By guilt. Why was I thinking about girls that way? I’d been twelve and most of my friends were swooning over the boys, but I couldn’t seem to feel that way. I tried. I tried so hard. I put posters of boy bands in my room and danced with them and tried to flirt with them, but it was just . . .  wrong. I didn’t like it.
    I dated boys here and there, but never went further than that. They would try and I would slam a door in their face. Eventually they lost interest and moved on. I’d given up on that charade a while ago. I was who I was and no boy was going to change that.
    I couldn’t imagine telling my father and my brother, at least not yet. I would have to someday, obviously, when I got into a relationship. They weren’t homophobic, or at least they had never said anything overt, but I didn’t want to test them either. Things were fine right now and soon I’d be off to college and I could go all in with whomever I wanted. I’d set that goal for myself and I was going to stick to it.
    The last thought I had before I fell asleep was of kissing a