FATES CROSSROADS

CHAPTER 4 : A SECRET I COULDN'T NAME

Growing up, I had always been different—not just in the way I thought, but in the way I felt. I was the kid who read books meant for adults, the one who challenged her dad with philosophical questions, the one who teachers marveled at. But at eight years old, I started to realize something about myself that no book had ever taught me.

I was attracted to girls.

At first, I didn’t even recognize what it was. No one had ever told me that girls could feel this way about other girls. But I knew I felt something—something different—toward a girl in my class named Keziah.

Keziah wasn’t just any friend. She was special. I liked the way she talked, the way she laughed, the way she carried herself. When she walked into a room, it was like my whole world shifted. My heart would beat a little faster, and I’d find excuses to be around her, to sit next to her in class, to share my snacks with her during break time.

At home, I’d talk about her all the time.

"Mama, Keziah says I’m the smartest person she knows."

"Dad, Keziah and I are doing our homework together after school!"

I would bring her home often, and my parents never questioned it. To them, she was just another friend. They probably thought it was cute—their daughter, always surrounded by books, finally having a close friend to play with. And I didn’t give them any reason to suspect otherwise.

I was the smart one. The responsible one. The child who never got into trouble, who spoke like an adult, who teachers adored. No one ever imagined that behind all of that, I was discovering something about myself that I didn’t yet have the words for.

At school, my classmates whispered about crushes on boys, giggling over which one was the cutest. But I never felt what they did. Boys didn’t make my stomach flutter. Keziah did.

One day, we were sitting under a tree during break, eating our snacks. She leaned closer and whispered, "You’re my best friend in the whole world."

My heart raced.

"Me too," I whispered back.

It was such a simple moment. Such an innocent exchange. But to me, it meant everything. I didn’t understand what it was, but I knew it felt real.

From that day on, Keziah and I were inseparable. We walked to class together, shared lunch, and even made up silly games that only the two of us understood. When we had group assignments, I wanted her in my group. When we played during break time, I always picked her first.

To everyone else, it looked like an ordinary childhood friendship. But to me, it was more.

I didn’t know why I felt a certain way when our hands brushed accidentally. Or why my heart pounded when she hugged me after school. I didn’t understand why my eyes searched for her in a crowded classroom or why I missed her so much over the weekends.

At home, I kept these feelings to myself. It wasn’t something I could explain—not even to myself. My parents never questioned why I spent so much time with Keziah. To them, she was just my best friend, a playmate, nothing more.

And for a while, I convinced myself that’s all it was.

But then, there were moments that made me question everything.

One afternoon, we were sitting in class waiting for our teacher. Keziah leaned toward me, her chin resting on her palm as she smiled. "If we were grown-ups, do you think we’d still be best friends?" she asked.

"Of course," I said without thinking.

She grinned. "Good. Because I want us to be best friends forever."

Something in the way she said it made my chest feel warm. My stomach flipped, and I had to look away, pretending to be busy with my notebook.

I didn’t know what to call it, this feeling, but I knew one thing for sure—it wasn’t the same as the other friendships I had.

While other kids in the library grabbed middle-grade books, I was reading Think Big and 48 Laws of Power. I was a genius, always answering the toughest questions in class, always impressing my teachers. But this? This was something even I couldn’t figure out.

And deep down, I was afraid to.

As time passed, my feelings for Keziah didn’t fade. If anything, they grew stronger. I started noticing things I hadn’t before—the way her dimples deepened when she laughed, how she scrunched her nose when confused, the way she always smelled like strawberries from the lip balm she used.

I found myself memorizing these little details without even trying.

But I also knew I had to be careful. I didn’t know if what I felt was normal, but I knew it was different. No one ever talked about girls liking girls. At school, whenever a boy and a girl got too close, the other kids teased them about “liking” each other. But no one ever teased two girls.

Because no one ever thought about it.

So, I kept quiet.

At home, things were the same. I was still the genius, the daughter my dad bragged about, the kid who read beyond her years. But when I wasn’t reading or asking my dad tricky questions, I was thinking about Keziah.

One day, after school, she came over to my house like she always did. We sat in my room, talking about random things—our favorite teachers, the books we were reading, what we wanted to be when we grew up.

Then, out of nowhere, she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married?”

I hesitated. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

She giggled. “Me neither. But if I do, I hope my husband is just like you.”

My heart skipped. What did that mean? Did she feel the same way? Or was she just saying it as a joke? I wanted to ask, but I didn’t.

Instead, I laughed. “Then he must be really smart,” I joked.

She grinned. “And kind. And funny.”

I swallowed hard. I wanted to tell her everything, to ask if she ever felt the same way when she was around me. But I didn’t have the courage.

So, I smiled and changed the subject.

Because deep down, I knew—some things were better left unsaid.