When I walked through the front door, my mother leapt off the couch and raced over to me. I thought if she had the strength, she would lift me up and carry me around the way she did when I was four-years-old and I clung to her leg for safety. "Are you okay?"

"Pretty much the same as I was a few hours ago," I said. I looked around the living room and walked over to check the kitchen. "Where's Rachel?"

"In her room," Mom said. "I can go get her for you."

I laid a hand on my mom's shoulder to stop her from going up the stairs. "I can manage."

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, I wished I had allowed her to fetch Rachel. My aching side left me winded. I had never been so glad that my room was on the ground floor.

I knocked, staring at the tiny hand painted sign of her name on the door. Our dad made one for both of us. I had put mine on a shelf when I moved rooms, but hers hadn't moved since our dad hung them.

Rachel called out, "It's open."

I pushed in, shutting the door behind me. "Hey, Bean." The nickname didn't fit now that she had gotten older and filled out, but thanks to our dad, she would always be Bean to me.

Rachel spun in her desk chair, her face shining with relief. She raced toward me, but stopped when I held up a hand. Rachel was a squeezer, like our mom. I already had a stitch in my side from the stairs. I couldn't handle being crushed.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

I walked over to sit on her bed, grabbing her stuffed unicorn to hug. "I wish people would stop asking me that."

Rachel rolled her eyes. Our dad's blue eyes. I always envied her that. She had a piece of him I never would. Though many people told me I resembled my dad, I could never see it when I looked in the mirror.

"You're so stupid. Of course people are going to ask that. You got hurt, dipshit."

I tried not to laugh, to avoid more pain. It was hilarious to hear her cuss in her high, squeaky voice.

"Whatcha up to?"

"Just texting Jenny and Dylan. Trying to do some homework." Rachel grabbed the back of her desk chair, rolling it over in front of me. She sat down, close enough that our knees almost touched. "Seriously, though, you're good?"

I raised my shirt enough to show my injury. "If you call this good?"

A deep line formed between Rachel's brows. She made a tiny distressed sound in the back of her throat.

I pushed my shirt down. I didn't mean to upset her. "I'm fine, Bean. I promise."

"Everyone at school heard about what happened. I nearly fainted in PE when Leslie told me."

"I'm sorry." I wondered how they even knew about it. Emmett or Mrs. Noble could've told Carrie, who would've told Jackson, who probably shared it with one person, and on and on. I suspected the story got worse with each new telling.

Rachel shook her head as tears welled up. "Leslie made it sound like you were half dead." Rachel let out a snarl and wiped her eyes. "I want to punch that stupid bitch."

She twisted a lock of her pink highlighted hair around her index finger, like she always did when she got overemotional. I loved her hair. I wished many times I was brave enough to try something like that, but my friends would mock me mercilessly if I showed up for school with colored streaks through my hair.

I reached out to rub her knee. "I'm okay, Rach. No need to go all Kill Bill on your friend."

"That traitor is not my friend anymore. Sarah heard from Kylie, who got told by Morgan that Erica saw Leslie giving Zack head under the bleachers a week before we broke up. Why do you think I started dating his best friend?"

"Dylan is Zack's best friend?"

"Not anymore. Zack told him he had to choose. And Dylan chose me." Rachel flipped her hair over her shoulder with an arrogant smirk. "Obviously."

"You have the craziest life, little sister."

"No." Rachel patted my knee. "I'm just not boring, like you."

"I need to tell you something, Bean." My heart suddenly started pounding, nervous sweat making my palms slick.

"What?" Rachel sat forward with a grave face, leaving me curious about my own expression if this was her reaction.

No matter how many times I did this, it always seemed terrifying. "I'm..." I took a deep breath. "I'm gay."

Rachel stared down at her lap, her eyes darted around. "Huh!" It was a very anticlimactic response that gave no hints at her actual thoughts.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"I'm just thinking about it." She looked up at me with our dad's eyes. It was almost like he was there with us. Like I was telling him, too. She smiled. "I fully support you, by the way. I'm just having trouble wrapping my mind around it. You're so... straight. Just look at you." She gestured to me and scowled.

"I think the fact that I want to have sex with Emmett makes that statement acutely false. Also way to stereotype, Rach."

Rachel gripped my knees. "You and Emmett!"

"Obviously. Who else would make me think about something like that? All my other friends are straight."

Except Duke. Though could I still count Duke among my friends? Did I even want to?

"Just because you have a gay friend doesn't mean you have to be attracted to them." Rachel gave a look to suggest I should know this. "Jenny is gay and I'm not into her."

"Are you gay?" I asked, slightly annoyed.

Rachel crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "Not as far as I know, but I wouldn't be opposed to it if I felt something for another girl."

"Then it's not the same thing. Because I'm pretty sure I am."

"Pretty sure? You just said you are."

"It's the closest thing that I feel fits me. I've never felt like this for any girl, but I also never felt this for any other guy except Emmett. But Emmett is a guy, and I'm into him. That's gotta mean I'm gay, right?"

Rachel shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not an expert on sexuality. But I don't think it's alway black and white like that."

"Well, gay feels true when I say it," I snapped. I didn't come here to have a discussion about the semantics of labels and sexual fluidity.

"Then you're gay. Jeez! It's not a big deal." She shook her head. "You know what I mean."

I tossed the stuffed unicorn at her. The effort made me wince. "Why do you have to be so difficult?"

"Why are being such a drama queen?" Rachel hugged her unicorn to her chest protectively.

"Ugh! Whatever." With a grunt of discomfort, I hefted myself off the bed and went to the door.

"Clay," Rachel called.

Standing in the half-opened door, I turned to face my sister. "What?"

"Thank you for telling me." Her voice was gentler now, her face softened. "I love you."

I nodded, breaking into a smile, which she returned. No matter how angry or annoyed we got with one another, that would never change. "Love you, too."

I glanced up at her highlights, chewing on my lip. "Hey, Bean?"

After returning the unicorn to its home nestled between her excess amounts of throw pillows and other stuffed animals, Rachel looked up at me.

"Will you dye my hair?" I asked.

A huge grin spread across her face. "I'd love to. But aren't you worried Mom and Dad will freak like they did when I dyed mine?"

I shook my head. "I've got the sympathy card to play." I touched my injured side to remind her.

"What color?"

I didn't have a color in mind. It was spur of the moment; I literally only thought of it standing there, seeing her hair. "What do you think?"

Rachel squinted her eyes, tilting her head to the side. "I'm thinking aqua blue."

I laughed. "Sure. I'll pick up everything in the morning when I go to visit Emmett."

"How is he?" she asked, pushing her chair back to the desk.

"He's pretty banged up, but he'll be fine," I said. "I forgot to mention, he's my boyfriend. We're boyfriends."

That word—boyfriend—was so satisfying, I couldn't help but smile.

"I'm really happy for you, Clay."

"Thanks, Bean."

I made my way downstairs to my room. I took one of the pain pills my doctor prescribed and climbed into bed. I fell asleep almost as soon as my head hit the pillow. As always, thoughts of Emmett filled my mind as I drifted off. This time they weren't fantasies or wish fulfillment; they were real, honest memories.