Riverview School For Girls [GxG]

twelve

Willow and Dahlia skipped breakfast. They sat in the courtyard instead; a square clearing, bordered by the tall castle walls, the cloudless blue sky painted above them. It was cold as they huddled next to each other on the bench, breathing in the icy February air, the silence between them thick and impenetrable.

Willow had stopped crying, though her eyes were twinged red beneath her glasses, and her cheeks were blotched pink. The fresh air was helping — she felt less suffocated out here, like she could breathe, and the words she had uttered in the corridor weren't so crushing.

"It's okay." Dahlia finally said, leaning into Willow's side, her sandy blonde hair brushing her shoulders, "There's really nothing wrong with being—"

"Don't say it." Willow sighed, her eyes falling shut in defeat, "Please, Dahlia."

"Okay." Dahlia agreed without hesitation.

"Did you know?" Willow asked, tilting her head back, staring up at the sky.

Dahlia didn't answer straight away, and then, finally, "I didn't know." She replied earnestly. "I thought—maybe."

"Maybe?"

Dahlia shrugged, "Honestly, Willow, it never really occurred to me much." She admitted.

Willow watched a bird fly overhead, watched its wings spread out, the breeze carrying it along. Free from the castle walls, uncaged, unencumbered. "Do you think Sydney knows?"

Dahlia shook her head, "No, I don't think so." She responded, "She thinks..." She hesitated, searching for the correct words, "She thinks you're a late bloomer. Like one of these days you'll wake up and suddenly want to have sex with a boy."

Willow scoffed, "She's gonna be waiting a long time."

Dahlia smiled sweetly in amusement, "Sydney wishes you were more like her." She continued, "She thinks that because you're best friends you need to have lots in common. You not liking sex — or, well, you being..." She trailed off, sensing that Willow would rather she didn't finish that sentence, "Sydney sees it as a divide between the two of you."

Willow sighed heavily, knowing that Dahlia was right. So long as Willow abstained from boys and sex, there would be a barrier between her and Sydney. Something tall and unmovable. They could relate to each other in all areas of life — school, hockey, music, clothes — but this was something they didn't share. Something they would never share.

"When did you know?" Dahlia finally asked a question of her own. But as soon as the words left her lips, she regretted them, "I'm sorry. You don't have to answer that. You don't owe me anything."

Willow smiled, and suddenly, she was so overwhelmed with love for Dahlia, she almost reached across and hugged her. After all this time — the tension, the unease, the anxiety — Willow had finally let someone share her burden. Dahlia took Willow's secret with gentle hands and understanding eyes. And for the first time in a long time, Willow felt like she could breathe again. "I'm not sure." She answered, "I think I've known for a long time, I just... I didn't know what to do with it, you know?"

"And now?"

Willow shrugged, "It's scary."

"Why?" Dahlia asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

"Because..." Willow swallowed hard, "When I was younger, I had this image of my future... a husband, kids..." She played with her fingers in her lap, distracted and restless, "The older I got, the further that image seemed to slip away. It just kept fading and fading, and without it, I feel..." Her voice shook, "I feel like I don't know who I am."

Dahlia leant into her, resting her head on Willow's shoulder, "I know who you are." She whispered.

"Yeah?" Willow asked hopefully.