Excerpt from How It Feels to Float by Helena Fox, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

At least, that's what she said on Friday, when I saw her last, before I went over for a swim in her pool and she lay on the grass afterwards—her eyes closed, her hair glassy-smooth—and that's when something lurched inside me and I leaned over and put my mouth on hers.

"Hey," says Grace again, and I'm back, by the lockers.

We could do this all day, I think, but then she stands squarely in front of me, so I can't move. She pins me with her eyes.

"I'm sorry," I begin, which is what I said after I kissed her, and again, when she tried to say how she liked me but notthat way, but I was so mortified I took off. I'm a thousand feet tall and when I run I look like a giraffe, so imagine me, hoofing it down my street in just my swimmers, school bag in one hand, uniform and shoes in the other, the neighbors gawking at me from their front windows. I must have been quite the sight.

"Biz," says Grace. She puts her hand on my arm. "Seriously, it's okay. It was nice, you know? I haven't been kissed in ages and you're not a bad kisser. I'm just not—" She pauses. And takes a long breath in.

I fix my eyes on the lockers, the floor, anywhere but Grace's hand on my arm.

She steps closer, so now we are just two pairs of eyes, floating. "So. Here's the thing, Biz. What I want—ah—what I'm wondering is"—another big breath in—"Biz, areyoubiorallthewaygay?"

I blink. "Sorry?"

"Bi? Or gay?" Grace asks the question like she's standing with a clipboard in a shopping mall, asking strangers for orphan money.

I gawp at her.

"Because," she says, "I was thinking over the weekend—whichsucked, by the way—Dad called and I had to fly to Wagga for some great-aunt's funeral, did you get my text?—and we went to his girlfriend'sfarm for fuckssake—it's got no Wi-Fi, no signal, how's that possible?—and we ate lamb, which is seriously disgusting—and he kept saying how I have to get my shit together this year or I won't get into uni—God, that man's a nightmare—but anyway—back to you, Biz—I was thinking about who might be good for you instead of me, and whether guys are a no for you or still a possibility, because Evie said Lucas Werry might be keen—but if it's girls you're into, we can go in a whole other direction. That's cool. Like, unless—as long as you're not hung up on me, in which case"—she pauses—"that could be a tragedy of Shakespearian proportions."

Grace finally stops talking. She smiles, sort of, and waits for me to answer.

I can't speak. I can feel the pistons of my heart moving, feel my lungs filling, emptying, my pores clogging. I feel the movement of the stars and I can hear the echo of all the black holes consuming everything—

and then, just like that, my head clears.

It's Grace. Just Grace. (Look, Biz.)

Here she is, her hand still on my arm. My best friend.

(Come down to earth, Biz. Everything is going to be okay.)

I blink slowly, and feel myself waking.

"No," I say. "I don't think I'm hung up on you. As mesmerizingly beautiful as you are, Grace, I actually don't think you're my type." And as I say it, something untangles in my chest. Oh my God. It'strue. I think?

I'm not. She isn't.

Right?

Thank God?

Grace looks hugely relieved. Which makes me laugh. And I keep laughing, and suddenly everything is fine.

Right?

Thank God?

"I don't actually know what I am," I say, and I think that's true. Am I bi? Am I gay? Am I something else? It makes my head fog to think about it.

"I mean, I wasn't planning to kiss you," I say.

She smiles. "I am pretty irresistible."

"You're the only person I've ever kissed, Grace. I'm seriously inexperienced. Maybe I should kiss more people to figure it out? Maybe we can line them up. Or lay them out on a tray like a taste test."

Excerpted from How It Feels to Float by Helena Fox. Copyright © 2019 by Helena Fox. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.