I have always liked to believe that I am perfectly normal. My grades are average, nothing to brag about, but nothing to be worried about either. I’m not one of the loner kids, but I’m also not one of the plastic popular girls that flounce around my school. My boyfriend is not a swimsuit model (unfortunately) but then again, neither am I. I’m a normal girl.
In all of the movies, the protagonist is always discontent with being regular, always fighting against the status quo, and I don’t know why. It’s always been safe being normal, not standing out at all. I hear about the popular kids getting in trouble because they go crazy at parties, and I shake my head. I look at the weird kids and I wonder if they know their being different is what drives them away from everyone else. I’m not mean to them, don’t get me wrong, but I pity them.
My whole life has revolved around fitting in with everyone so no one gets a chance to look at me with that look on their face, the look that means I messed up, that I no longer fit in. So when I get inexplicable urges to kiss girls, I take a step back and remind myself that, yes, I definitely like guys. That’s the end of that. Right?
Since middle school, the question has plagued me. Am I gay? I would take all sorts of quizzes, imagine myself kissing my friend Becca and pull back revolted. I would picture myself kissing my crush, Sam, then her in turn and ask myself which one was better. Of course I always picked Sam. I would see things online that would talk about mixed feelings about other girls and they would relieve me to no end. It was normal. It was all right. On one occasion, someone commented in passing that I was the straightest girl that I ever knew, and I congratulated myself for weeks. Why was I still worried?
At the sports banquet at the end of freshman year, my best friend didn’t have a date and neither did I, so we decided why not go together. My mom could not stop giggling as he pulled up in front of our house to pick me up. “Oh, Charlotte!” she squealed. “You and Alex are so cute together!” At that I had rolled my eyes. “Please, mom, we’re just friends.” She winked at me conspiratorially as he rang the doorbell. “That’s what they all say, honey.”
Alex had looked at me with awe. “Wow, Charlotte, you really look good.” I rolled my eyes because I knew that my mom was probably dancing in the background. “Same to you. Now let’s go before we’re late. You sure are cutting it close, Alex.” He then launched into a huge explanation of how he had had to drive extra slowly because it was the first time his mom had let him use the nice car and he had really needed the night hours for his permit as I guided him out the door. He walked around the car to get in, then walked back around to open the door for me like a gentleman after ferocious gestures from his mom, who had moved into the driver’s seat. When we were finally all situated, she had smiled and congratulated me on my achievements in basketball, to which I politely responded. When we finally had been deposited at the school, Alex looked at me in exasperation. “Moms, right?” I nodded furiously.
Our school tends to make a big deal out of sports. For the end of the year banquet, it throws an awards dinner then a dance afterwards. My friend Becca had pressured me to go with Alex, since apparently “no guy and a girl could be friends this long and not date.” Since I hadn’t been interested in anyone else at the time, I had begrudgingly agreed. The banquet was long and boring, so the dance was a great time to unwind. At the end of the night, Alex and I had kissed.
That night, we texted back and forth discussing the kiss and whether it meant anything. It was Alex who suggested that maybe we give dating a try. Naturally, my mom was ecstatic. Over the summer, we hung out a lot, but what had previously had been an easygoing friendship had suddenly become awkward. To make up for the awkward silences, we just spent a lot of time making out.
Flash forward to the present, two months into the school year. Alex and I have kind of loosened up together, and having a boyfriend is a secretly great way to show everyone how very normal I am. Becca has gotten over her “I told you so” phase and has almost stopped making finger hearts behind Alex’s back whenever we’re together. All is well. Until now.
Thankfully, Alex and I have the same lunch every day. On one day, Becca shares a lunch with us and we sit with a group of friends. The other day, we go somewhere in the school alone together and talk and make out. Today was one of those days. I didn’t suspect anything wrong until Alex didn’t sit down with me after we had gone off. “Something wrong?” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Charlotte, I don’t know how to say this-”
“Spit it out.”
“I think we should break up.”
My heart sank. The entire relationship, I had felt the lack of romantic chemistry between us, but I didn’t want to lose my best friend since third grade. Now he had finally severed the tie.
“Don’t get me wrong, I really do like being friends with you and stuff, but I dunno, as a relationship this kinda isn’t really working for me.” He trailed off at the and and looked at me apologetically. I nodded. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about. I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to destroy our friendship, but yeah, I agree.” I could see him visibly sigh with relief. “I was worried that we would end up hating each other like they always seem to in the movies.” I laughed and punched him in the shoulder, not having to worry about what he thought of me anymore. “Dumba**, the movies never get it right. You should know that by now.”
With all the awkwardness between us gone, we went right back to being friends like we used to be. Mutually, we had a silent agreement never to speak of our relationship again. Of course, both Becca and my mom did not take kindly to the news. My mom took it silently, then when she thought I had gone to bed she locked herself in her room and cried for an hour. The next morning, I found a bunch of wedding magazines in the trash. Becca actually screamed when I told her. “But you guys were so cute together!” I rolled my eyes at her. “It wasn’t meant to be. We just don’t like each other like that.” A month later, she wouldn’t shut up about how hot he was and did I think he liked her and could I maybe set them up? There’s my high school drama for ya.
Without a boyfriend, I didn’t have as much of a tie to the straight and normal life. My eyes began to wander once more. I had a deep appreciation for football players, and Becca and I would go to games for the sole purpose of checking them out. Oftentimes, I would find my eyes straying to a particular dark-haired cheerleader from my French class. I dismissed it, because there was every reason to stare at her. She was so flawless, she could have been a model. Her hair was always perfect. It looked professionally styled every day, never a hair out of place. I couldn’t imagine how early she woke up. Her skin was smooth and just a shade darker than everyone else’s, due to her Latina heritage. She had makeup that perfectly highlighted her face without being overbearing, and she never wore those clothes that you see every girl under the sun wearing. Her outfits were always a fashion statement. I had never seen her have a lazy day. Her name was Elena Martinez, and she was one of the most popular girls in school, a goddess. She was curvy in the way that white girls simply can’t be, and she rocked it. It was every guy’s dream to be with her. Unfortunately for them, it stayed in their dreams, because she was a flaming homosexual.
Elena had never needed to come out, everyone just knew. Being the work of art and the personality that she was, nobody had ever challenged her. Even the most homophobic people at our school never made a single comment about Elena. She was perfection, and somehow she made it so that even though she was different in a way that would normally make society spurn her, she sat atop of the school and laughed in the face of society. It was no wonder I couldn’t take my eyes off of her.
Eventually Becca started to notice. “Charlotte, you gay for Elena or something? You keep staring at her.” I shook my head in disgust. “Shove off! Why are you paying so much attention to me, huh?” I wiggled my eyebrows at her and puckered my lips. She smacked my arm, laughing. Becca was the one black girl in our very white school. She had horrible acne, and she kept her hair in cornrows because she said if she took it down it would go “out to here,” stretching her arms out as far as they went. She was rail thin and flat as a board, but that didn’t stop her from getting guys. Becca was loud in a way that everyone had to pay attention to her, and she flitted from guy to guy like a starving person at a buffet. They would be sucked in by her personality, then a week later she would dump them saying she was bored. It would be a miracle if she ever developed a relationship that lasted more than a month. In sixth grade she had marched up to me and told me, “You’re my new best friend, Charlotte,” and we had stuck together ever since. Becca and I were practically sisters, and she was the driving force that always shoved me into social situations.
Becca always told me that guys would be all over me if I just let them, but I’m pretty sure she was just being nice. I was the picture of average. I had kind of thin dirty blond hair that I usually put in a ponytail, and though I dressed pretty decently it was nothing that stood out. I was covered in freckles and had dark brown eyes with short lashes. I wasn’t fat, but then again, I wasn’t model-thin either. I was kind of tall and my arms were always bruised from basketball. I was no eyesore, but then again, no Elena.
In French class, we got shifted around so I was next to Elena. She was constantly texting and ignored the class in general. One day, the teacher got fed up with nobody paying any attention and made it a rule that everyone had to turn in their phones at the beginning of class. It was then that Elena, all of her popular friends taking Spanish, began to talk to me.
“Man, you think being fluent in Spanish would fulfill the foreign language requirement,” she said to me one day. I started from my reverie. This could not be happening. A goddess like her, talking to a mere mortal like me? But it was happening. “This French s*** is so hard, I’m probably gonna flunk.” I nodded. She kept talking. “The teacher loves you, though. You’re like a natural.” I blushed. “Oh, um, thanks. It’s like a second language for me.” She stared at me for a second, then burst out laughing, earning her an angry look from the teacher. “You’re adorable.”
Soon, we had become kind of friends. Elena seemed to be amused by me, and I was constantly in awe of her. She would constantly lean over and draw little things on my paper, and she was shameless about talking during class. I could see why everyone liked her so much. In October, she actually asked me to the Halloween dance in the middle of class. I cleared my throat. “I, um, I’m not gay. Sorry.” She shrugged. “Bummer. This school has like no queer girls, ya know. It’s so hard with everyone being straighter than an arrow and having to pretend I’m not totally thirsty.” I gaped at her. She was so confident. “Maybe I could, um, like, help you? With your French, I mean,” I stammered out. She smiled a little bit and agreed, kindly ignoring how irrelevant the comment had been.
At lunch, we found a spot in the shade away from people and distractions. I cracked open my French book and Elena scooted over so she could look at it, too. I couldn’t help but notice that she smelled like vanilla. “So, um, the passé composé-” I trailed off, as she was looking at me and smiling slightly, her full, perfectly glossed lips turning up slightly at the corner. She leaned a little closer, and I felt myself start to lean in, too, and then suddenly, we were together. Her lips were much softer than Alex’s had ever been, and I couldn’t get enough of her. When she finally pulled away, I said stupidly, “Ya know, for someone who’s bad at French you’re really good at Frenching.” She fell over laughing. “Ya know,” she said, sitting up. “For someone who’s not gay you’re really good at kissing girls.” I blanched and she took the opportunity to kiss me again. Of course, I couldn’t resist her.
So somehow I had ended up dating Elena Martinez, head cheerleader. Becca went ballistic. “Why didn’t you tell me you were gay, Charlotte? I thought we were besties!” I shrugged. “I didn’t really know myself.” Becca’s eyes got wide and she gasped dramatically. “That’s why you and Alex broke up! Because you were gay and of course you don’t like him like that because he’s a guy!”
“He broke up with me, Becca.”
“Yeah, because he could feel it.”
“Sure, Becca.”
Being with Elena was a world I had never known before. She took me along to parties with her and showed me off proudly. “Look at my girlfriend, isn’t she adorable?” Some people recognized me and wondered why I hadn’t been at parties before. A wrestler named Chris told me that me being with Elena was super hot. I was outraged. Elena b**** slapped him and cussed him out, then turned to me and smiled. “I got that from my mother.”
Becca started to become a bit jealous of Elena. “You never hang out with me anymore, you’re always with her.” When I mentioned this to Elena, she looked at me like I was crazy. “You can’t ditch your best friend for your girlfriend. You’d think that as a lesbian, you’d have a better sense of girl code. Come on, Charlotte! I won’t kill her! As long as we still get some time alone together.” With that, she winked and walked away, and Becca was officially included with us and became the life of the party.
Alex told me that he was a little envious of me, since I got the hottest girl in the school somehow. “Somehow?” I said. “You dated me, too.” He shook his head. “But that was more of an experimental ‘are we more than friends?’ kinda dealio.” I rolled my eyes at him. “But I notice you haven’t dated anyone since.” He responded by tackling me and threatening to tell Elena that I was a bad kisser. I shoved him off of me. “Oh, hon, we’re way past that.”
Elena and I had a strong relationship and it lasted until the end of my junior year. Since she was a year older than me, it was time for her to go off to college. She had been accepted in-state, but we had both agreed that it was fun while it lasted, but it was better to break it off when she graduated. It would just be easier that way. “You better keep in touch with me, munchkin,” she warned me the day she moved out of her house. “I’d hate to think you only talk to me because of my French skills.”
After Elena came Jean-Claude. He was a Swiss exchange student who was absolutely gorgeous. Every girl, including me, was instantly swooning over him. He reminded me that yes, I definitely still was into guys. But since I obviously wasn’t straight, what did that mean? You were gay, or you were straight. How could I be both? Jean-Claude was adorable in the way that he seemed so confused about everything. He was in my English class and by some miracle we were assigned partners for a presentation. “I must warn you,” he said when we were arranging to meet at my house. “My English is not amazing. But do not tell that to the exchange program. My essay took me two months to write.”
During the project, we hit it off. He thought I was hilarious. Becca was a bit upset. “Why are you hanging all over Jean-Claude? I thought you were into girls. Share some, will you?” I couldn’t answer her. Finally, we finished the project one night at my house. We were sitting on the bed, computer in his lap, when we finally were able to hit the final print button. He slammed the laptop shut and announced, “DONE.” Excited, I threw my arms around him and he hugged me back. Not letting go, I started to lean in. He panicked and pulled away. I turned beet red. “I’m so sorry.” He shook his. “No, it’s fine. You’re great and all, but I’m not really into the whole-uh- romance thing.” I nodded, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Waiting until you’re older, huh?” He shook his head. “No. I’m asexual.” I shook my head bemusedly. “What does that mean?”
He smiled gently, and I got the feeling that he had explained this many times before. “It means I feel no sexual attraction. We asexuals tend to be a bit of an overlooked sexuality.” My eyes widened. So there was more than just one way or the other? Tentatively, I asked, “So, what if you like, like both? Boys and girls.” He smiled. “That’s bisexual. Then if you don’t really care about gender, that’s pansexual.” Bisexual. So I wasn’t a freak. As soon as he had gone home, I looked up bisexuality and found it described me perfectly. There were thousands of other people online who were the same as me. It wasn’t weird. It wasn’t wrong. It was a real thing, and it was who I was.
I am a bisexual, and I am perfectly normal.