As I wake for school on Monday morning after a fitful night of sleep, it is evidently clear to me what needs to be done. This week, I'm going to come out to my family, and hopefully my friends as well. My mind grapples with the idea that eight people is a lot to come out to in a short period of time, but I see it more as a starting point. As I laid on the floor of Aurora's room over the weekend, trying to get to sleep, all I could think about was how I wanted to be near her, feeling her breathing against me under the covers, and how as the days go on, it feels I will never be able to be as near to her as I desire so long as this secret holds me down.

I peel back my curtains in the morning, allowing the sun to shine through my window. I thought this day would take years to come. It was only recently, when I finally accepted my sexuality, that I knew this day would be inevitable. I just didn't expect that time to come so soon.

I think of Aurora, her cheery smile, her auburn hair, her sparkling eyes, and I know this is a decision that I want to make, that I hope, by making, will benefit me. 

Yet, my insides feel rotten, and my heart races with anxiety. I have no idea how anyone will react. Sometimes, I think it's best to brace for the worst. Thankfully,  I have grown up in a moderately liberal family and community, and though I admit sometimes my mom makes comments that rub me the wrong way, I hope, and I pray, that I am right in thinking that she wouldn't throw me out onto the streets. Still, there's a voice nagging me at the back of my head that maybe that is exactly what will happen.

Sighing, I grab my things and begin the walk to school. Every pause in the day I am looking for the perfect moment, the perfect opportunity. But during the day, that moment never comes. At lunch, I am quiet, barely eating, while my friends catch up on their weekends. Abigail notices my silence, but I brush it off and say I had some food poisoning over the weekend.

I feel guilty now that I have wasted Monday, but I have to remind myself that the circumstances didn't feel right. Maybe they won't feel right at school this week. Still, I want to come out to either my friends or my family this week. A part of me worries though that I won't have the courage to come out to either one of those groups though.

Aurora greets me at my locker as normal. I'm too zoned into my thoughts to really make sense she is standing near me.

"Earth to Callie," she says, waving her hand in front of my face.

"Oh, sorry," I say. I do my best to keep my attitude up, but I still struggle to keep up a smile, even as I close my locker.

"Are you okay?" Aurora asks as we begin our walk home from school.

"I'm just a bit tired, that's all," I say to her. "Lots of tests coming up this week."

"Okay," Aurora says, though I'm not sure she believes me.

I don't know why I don't just tell Aurora the truth. Maybe because I don't want her to know. I want to surprise her with this. If I tell her I'm going through with this now, I'm sure she'll find a way to convince me not to. I promise to myself that I won't outwardly speak of our relationship, especially to my friends, when I do come out this week, but if I tell Aurora my plans, I'm afraid that's what she thinks will happen. Above all, I don't want Aurora to feel pressured at this instant to come out because I am. If anything, I hope doing this will encourage her to do the same in a little while, when she feels comfortable.

Quietness takes over our afternoon walk, until I feel Aurora's fingers brushing against mine.

"Right now?" I ask.

She nods, and our fingers slowly interlace. She must know I'm in a bad mood, then, if she's suggesting we hold hands on our walk home together without me being the first to suggest it. I clutch her hand tightly to mine, enjoying the warmth her hand radiates into my palm. Every once in a while, I feel her thumb just gently brush over my hand, a small enough movement that it seems like an accident, but I know that it is intentional.

I feel as if I am understanding what she is saying: I understand you don't want to talk about it right now, but I'm here for you.

I feel guilty now, wondering if I should tell her what is truly bothering me. But my fears return, and I figure, as I walk with her, our hands clasped together, this is what I am hoping to save, this is what I am hoping will grow and blossom by going through with my decision this week. I want to hold hands like this every day. I want to see Aurora's hair glimmer in the sunshine as the afternoon sun shines on her curls like it is doing today. I want to live a life more publicly with her.

We stop at the corner we normally depart. Aurora lets go of my hand, which I expect, and I grow used to the coldness that now invades my palm. Before she leaves, however, she pulls me close into a hug. I bury my face into her school coat and am able to get just the slightest whiff of coconut from her hair. We don't linger long, but she manages to just get in the slightest kiss on my cheek before we pull away.

"Whatever it is you're stressing about, I hope it resolves soon," she tells me. So she doesn't believe my lie, but I'm glad to know she isn't prying any more than that.

"See you tomorrow," I say. My cheeks feel flustered, my palms sweaty, as I walk away. I want moments like those to linger. Maybe by the end of this week, I'll finally get that opportunity.

To not worry Aurora, I do my best to keep my energy up at school for the next few days. I pretend I'm no longer stressed, both around her and my friends, and everyone seems convinced. Instead, I save the stress for home. I lock myself in my room, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. I grow even more hard on myself as the days pass where I keep my lips shut. Because every lunch doesn't feel like the right time, and every family dinner, even less so.

It's on a Thursday night that I hear a feeble knock at my door that I can only recognize as Oliver's. I call for him to come in, and he shyly enters.

"What's up? Do you need help with homework?" I ask. I'm currently laying on my stomach, typing up an assignment for school the next day, reminding myself once again that I'm nearly down to the end of the week, and I have not held my promise up to myself.

I am reminded again of that night, when he checked in on me before I headed over to Aurora's for a sleepover. He is wearing the same expression as that night, and I close my laptop, wondering if he'll have something along the same lines to say.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

There it is. He's noticed.

"Okay?" I ask.

"You seem stressed, even more so than this weekend. You're really quiet at dinner. I know Olivia doesn't notice. I'm not sure Mom and Dad do either," Oliver murmurs, shuffling his stance some as he says so. I feel guilty for worrying him suddenly.

"I'll be okay," I tell him. "Don't worry about me."

"Well, we...we were talking about depression and mental health really briefly in class," he explains. "I just thought..."

"Oh, no! I'm fine, really," I assure him. Now I feel even more guilty, worrying him, thinking that maybe he thought I was going to do something harmful to myself. I get off my bed and usher him forward for a hug. Out of everyone in the family, my little brother is the easiest to talk to, well, maybe save for Fry. At the moment, I think of telling him everything that is up, but I want to tell the family together, and I think it will be easier that way.

"What's wrong?" he asks.

"I'll tell you soon," I promise. "Don't worry. I'm okay. In a few days, I'll be in tiptop shape."

"Okay," he murmurs, breaking away from the hug. "Will you though?"

"Yes. I promise," I say.

When Friday rolls around, I open my mouth once or twice at lunch, trying to direct the conversation to me at lunch, so that maybe, I can bring up what I've wanted to bring up all week to my friend group, but the moment never happens, and it doesn't feel right anyway. I feel disappointed in myself as I head home, even more so because Aurora has some service club duties to attend to, so we can't walk home together. Still, I suppose there's the chance to tell my family. I tell myself I'll do it that evening, no matter what.

I spend the entirety of the afternoon and evening locked away in my room, trying to focus on homework, but I find myself barely capable of doing even that. All I can think about is how everyone will react, what will change, and what will stay the same. I try to remind myself I'm doing this for my own well-being.

For years, I tried to be someone I was not. I took Colton to the dance, I cheered for boys I was uninterested in at football games. I faked who I was. I didn't allow myself to have a crush on Isabella last year, but now, being with Aurora, I feel the happiest and most confident I've ever been, and I want that feeling to continue. I realize it won't be able to continue until I can gather the courage to let others know that this is my life now.

I figure that whatever happens, at least Fry will still beg treats from me all the same.

When my mother calls the household down for dinner, my limbs are trembling, my throat is parched, and I have the faintest fear that I'll pass out. I take a seat at the table nonetheless. My siblings are lively, my father seems glad to be home from work, and my mother is already gushing about how well of a job she's done on the meal. I wonder how much all their lives will shift in the next few minutes.

"Are you okay?" my mother asks, noticing I'm merely picking at my food.

"Um, actually, I have something I want to tell you all," I mutter.

"What is it?" my father asks.

A silence settles around the room. I suck in a deep breath, knowing that this could be my chance to back out. But then I think of Aurora, and finally, I let out a deep sigh.

"I'm a lesbian."