"You can't dance better than me," the blonde says as we stretch for our test. I roll my eyes playfully, knowing that she's competitive. She's always been that way. But it's playful, never to the point where I have to hide. I love her for that.

"I can. I've been practicing for weeks now," I counter. That's true. I know my routine well enough that I can do it in front of a crowd. I'm called up first by the teacher. I play my Navajo music and begin.

I think I shut my eyes for the performance. When I open them again, everyone's clapping, and the music's stopped. The teacher gives me a hundred percent and calls up another classmate. The blonde kisses my cheek, wiping some of the sweat away. My face heats up.

Do I like her? One of my best friends? We know everything about each other. If we were to go on a date, there'd be nothing to talk about. It'd be awkward.

At the end the school day, I head home. My mind is running around, freaking about the possibility of a crush. Good thing this isn't a sexual attraction. My heart flutters at the thought of kissing the blonde. This is a crush, I conclude.

A crush. Great. This is going to make my being closeted much more harder. And what about the brunette? The one who's been giving me heart eyes?

This is going to be hard. But it's nothing I can't handle. I'll talk to them and get to the root of of the problem. That'll make it easier. I can do this.