“No?” she frowned. “Then what’s it like?”
“Sometimes it’s eighty/twenty. Sometimes I barely even notice. But if I meet someone I really like, then in the end it doesn’t matter what their gender is.”
“Wow. That’s kind of sweet.”
Why did I always need to defend my preferences to people? If they’re straight they want me to date men, and if they’re gay then they think I must be gay, too. Why can’t I just be both? Why was there always this pressure to “choose one”?
I crossed my arms in front of my chest. “Why are you so interested, anyway?”
She played with a strand of her hair. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve been wondering for a while what it’s like.” She paused, then said a little shakily, “I was wondering if I might be kind of…like you.”
“Bi-curious?” I asked.
She blushed. “Yeah. I’m a bi
