On Sunday afternoon Avery and Mel were walking through a cold early October rain. They’d wanted to get coffee at The Grind, but it was packed with people. So now they were stuck on the street without a destination, their clothes slowly growing heavy and wet in the mist.
Mel gently bumped her hand into Avery’s. They’d come to this compromise early on—instead of hand-holding in public, they could hand-bump. It was their secret signal, and at first Avery had loved it. Now she stuck her hand in the pocket of her wine-colored leather jacket. Mel could see that she was playing with the hole in her pocket—the one that caused her to leave a trail of cigarettes, lighters, change, and balled-up pieces of gum behind her.
“It’s too nasty to walk,” Avery said, shivering.
“Want to go to Borders?”
“I guess.”
When in doubt, wander the bookstore. Always the same pattern. Avery would go right to the music section, slap on some broken, flaking headphones, and start punching in album codes. Mel would drift around, look at the calendars, reread Olivia.
“Okay,” Avery said, already looking bored. “Meet you in a few at the coffee bar.”
Mel watched Avery hurry off. She stood by the front table and looked down at the shiny new releases without a great deal of interest. She never knew what to do once she got in here anymore. There were only so many times she could look at blank journals or racks of books she didn’t really want to read. Rather than giving her music lessons, Avery seemed to want to spend her time checking out new records on her own.
Mel began her aimless wandering. Jazz was playing. This was music she knew she was supposed to like, but it always sounded so dull and annoying to her, the notes buzzing around in her head like trapped flies.
There was one section she’d never gone near: the gay and lesbian corner. It filled up two of the wall bookcases, and there was a huge green sign over the shelf. It was fairly public, as it was over by the wide cookbook nook. That was probably why she had stayed away before. Today, though, she was feeling a bit more courageous. The store wasn’t very crowded. She should at least be able to go over and stand by the books.
Mel walked over and surveyed the offerings from a distance of a few feet.
It was like she had just discovered a candy store in her own basement.
Here was everything she ever hoped to know. Books on dating. There were a few books of correspondence between famous lesbians that looked like literature books. There was half a shelf of lesbian erotica. Though she wanted to look, she felt like if her hand came into contact with any of them, alarms would start going off, a huge spotlight would fix on her, and pink triangle confetti would be released from the ceiling.
She reached out anyway. She started randomly pulling things off the shelf and skimming the pages. It was strangely liberating, standing in the corner of the bookstore reading a gay and lesbian travel guide to Istanbul.
“Hey,” came a voice behind her. She turned to see Avery, holding her ground on the edge of International Cooking and Dietary Concerns. Avery looked at Mel and then at the books. “Come listen to something,” she said.
“What?” Mel said innocently. Normally she gave in when Avery got nervous that they were doing something too obvious. Today she was determined not to move. She was only reading, after all. It wasn’t like they were making out against the Harry Potter display.
“Come on,” Avery said, more insistently this time.
“I’m reading.”
“Well, don’t.”
“Calm down, Ave.”
“I am calm,” Avery said in a low voice.
“Couples counseling works.”
They turned to see Devon Wakeman, wearing his signature tie under a heavy hooded sweatshirt. He had just turned the corner of the aisle.
The remark probably didn’t even mean anything, but neither Avery nor Mel replied. Avery, in fact, was staring at Devon with a look of horror, like he had just crawled out from under her bed wearing a hockey mask. Mel took refuge in her normal rabbitlike defense tactic: when confronted, stand still and believe that you blend into the surroundings.
Devon looked at each of their faces, then at the shelf, then at the book that Mel’s hand was still resting on. A thought bubble practically appeared over his head, showing the equation that was quickly drawn, checked, and confirmed.
“So,” he said, leaning back against the local interest shelf. “What are you guys doing?”
“What do you normally do in a bookstore?” Avery said.
Devon held up his hands, as if to say that he was only making conversation.
“Gay and lesbian studies,” he said, nodding. “That’s cool. What are you guys working on?”
“Something for English,” Mel mumbled.
“Oh.”
The conversation fell dead to the ground. Devon had no reason to stay, anyway. He had all the information he’d ever need about them.
“See you guys around,” he said.
The moment he was gone, Avery turned and left the store. Mel shoved the book back on the shelf haphazardly and followed her. By the time Mel got out the door, Avery had cut across traffic and was on the other side of the road. Out of the corner of her eye Mel noticed Devon and two other guys conferring. They glanced over in her direction and watched Mel’s pursuit.
Mel caught up with Avery on the opposite side, just as she was about to turn the corner and storm down Philadelphia Avenue, probably on her way home.
“Wait up!”
Avery stopped but didn’t turn. She patted her pockets down nervously, searching for her cigarettes.
“Why did you have to do that?” Avery said as Mel caught up to her. Now that she’d found the cigarettes, she was struggling with her lighter in the misting rain. “Why couldn’t you just leave it alone?”
“All I did was stand by some books,” Mel said.
“You didn’t stand by some books.”
“I’m not allowed to read?” Mel’s voice got embarrassingly high when she got angry.
“Well, now Devon thinks I’m gay,” Avery shot back.
“It’s fine. Who even cares?”
“Mel …” Avery’s voice cracked, and she almost laughed. She managed to light her cigarette, and she held it tight between her teeth as she squeezed her face with both hands.
“It’s hard,” Mel said calmly. “I know. It’s kind of weird when people know.”
“Weird?” Avery said, a note of slight hysteria coming into her voice. “It’s not weird. It’s beyond weird.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not gay,” Avery said, sticking her free hand into her pocket.
“Ave—”
“I’m not gay.” Avery said it again, very clearly and sternly.
“Okay,” Mel said, trying to be conciliatory. “You’re bi.”
“Stop trying to tell me what I am!” Avery snapped.
Mel stepped back in shock. She could understand that Avery might not feel comfortable being labeled gay—Mel still had trouble with this sometimes—but being bi wasn’t exactly something she could deny.
“This isn’t the same as other people,” Avery went on. “The bi girls, they go back and forth. We’re just … together.”
“So?”
“It’s more serious with us. We act like lesbians. Real ones.”
Avery was shaking her head as she spoke, as if the concept of “real lesbians” wasn’t something she could quite comprehend.
“I am a real one,” Mel said. “But you can be whatever you want. I don’t care. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Why?” Mel’s voice was high again, but this time out of a rising panic. “You’re the one who always says that labels are stupid.”
Avery took a long drag on her cigarette. She started running her hands over her face again, over her eyebrows, along her nose, up her cheekbones—like she was trying to rub her own face off.
“I’m just going to walk home,” she finally said, putting her car keys in Mel’s hand.
Mel watched Avery walk away. Her shoulders hunched against the rain as she walked down the sloping street and then around the corner. It wasn’t until Avery was out of sight that Mel realized that she was cold, wet, and strangely alone, right in the middle of town.