They’re sitting on Camila’s balcony, curled into throw blankets with half-empty mugs of tea between them. It’s late, past midnight, but the summer air is warm and quiet them. Downtown glimmers in the distance. Sophie can hear crickets somewhere below.
And Sophie looked like she wanted to say something. Camila could tell by the way her jaw was tense, like she was holding the words back with her teeth.
“You okay?” Camila asked softly.
Sophie didn’t answer right away. Just kept tracing. Her voice, when it came, was too careful.
“Did I ever tell you why I stopped doing pageants?”
Camila straightened a little. “No,” she said, gently. “You never did.”
“I mean, you knew I was in them.” Sophie offered a small smile. “You’ve seen the horrifyingly glittery proof.”
“I have. Miss Indiana Teen 2017 herself.” Camila smiled back, just enough to ease the weight in the room. “You looked… not miserable.”
“I was good at faking it.”
Camila didn’t joke that time. Just nodded once. Waiting.
Sophie sighed. “I quit the following year. Right after I came out. I’m a lesbian.”
Camila doesn’t say anything. She waits.
“I’d been doing pageants for years. Since I was, like, eight. My mom loved it. Hair, makeup, fake tan, all of it. I hated it.” She pauses, lets herself laugh a little. “I was so bad at walking in heels.”
“I don’t believe you,” Camila says, voice soft.
“I’m serious. I tripped during the formalwear round my sophomore year. In front of a judge from Teen Vogue. I thought my mom was going to cry.”
Camila watches her carefully. “But you kept doing it?”
Sophie nods. “Because she wanted me to. Because it made her happy. Because it was easier than disappointing her.”
She looks down at her hands, knuckles pale around the mug.
“And then I told her. I thought, stupidly, that maybe it wouldn’t matter. That she’d still want me in the glitter dress. That—”
“Sophie—”
“But she didn’t,” Sophie says quickly. “She said she didn’t raise a daughter like that. That if I didn’t like boys, I shouldn’t be up there pretending.”
Camila’s face folds with something that might be heartbreak. “I’m so sorry.”
Sophie shrugs. “It wasn’t all bad. It got me out. I left for college early. Never looked back.”
Camila’s voice was soft. “Do you miss it?”
Sophie took a long moment.
“No,” she said finally. “But I miss being able to want something without wondering if it makes me smaller. Or less real. I miss not being afraid of my own reflection.”
Camila leaned in, forehead nearly touching hers.
Sophie leans in slightly. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it until she’s close enough to count Camila’s lashes, to see the nervous flicker in her eyes, to feel the breath catch in her chest.
Camila doesn’t move away.
She doesn’t move closer, either.
And God, that feels worse.
Sophie blinks, heart thudding, and leans back before she can ruin everything.
“I’m sorry,” she says quickly, voice almost apologetic, a touch of embarrassment creeping in. “I didn’t mean to... make things weird.”
Camila’s brow furrows in confusion. “What?”
“I—I don’t know what I was doing,” Sophie stammers, looking down at her hands, suddenly acutely aware of the space between them. “I shouldn’t have—”
“Sophie,” Camila says gently, reaching out to stop her from rambling. Her fingers lightly touch Sophie’s wrist, grounding her. “It’s okay.”
Sophie takes a deep breath and glances up, her heart still racing. “I just, I don’t want to mess this up. You know? I don’t want to be that person.”
“You’re not,” Camila replies, her voice warm. “You never were.”
Sophie looks at her for a long moment. “I just... I’ve always wanted to be more. I think that’s the problem.”
Camila looks at her, soft and understanding. She doesn’t respond right away, but when she does, there’s something in her voice that makes Sophie’s breath catch. “You are more, Sophie.”
They sit there for a while, close enough to touch, but not. The room hums with unspoken things.
Eventually, Camila nudges Sophie’s shoulder with her own. “Let’s just... sit here. I think we both need to.”
Sophie nods, trying to ignore the ache that’s spreading through her chest.
And for tonight, that’s enough. Just being here. Even if it’s not what she wants. Even if it’s not what she needs.
But maybe, someday, it will be.
Maybe.