8

“Where do we stand on the rule change? We all clear to bring our girlfriends to homecoming?”

Raina’s eyes were bright with malice as she waited for me to reply. It was Tuesday, club period, and the Alliance had a few questions.

“Not yet,” I admitted. She rolled dramatically back from the table, hands in the air. “But the school board is meeting tomorrow night. I’ll formally petition them then.”

“Whoa,” Jack said.

“Really?” Sean pointed at me. “Daisy! Yes!”

“Yes,” I repeated, trying not to giggle at his repeated use of my name.

Raina’s smirk shriveled. “You’re going to petition the Palmetto School Board. In person. Tomorrow.”

“Yep!” I snuggled into my conference room chair. “You guys should come too, if you’re free. Solidarity and all that.”

“I can be there,” Sophie said, glancing at the others.

“I need to ask my mom,” Kyle said. “I won’t have to talk or anything, right?”

“Nope.” I smiled. “I’ll do the talking.”

“This is a staggeringly bad idea,” Raina muttered at her legal pad.

I stared at her. “What? I’m running with it.”

“She is running with it,” Sophie said gently. “You have to admit.”

Something about all this “running” talk made me feel suddenly winded.

“You know, it doesn’t have to be me,” I blurted. “I can assist from the background if any of you would rather speak up at the—”

Amid the deafening chorus of “No thank you”s from everybody in the room, I could pick out Sophie laughing nervously, Raina muttering something about waiting for prom in the spring, and Sean sing-saying, “You are going to be fantastic!”

“So.” Sophie gestured so daintily, I expected a bluebird to land on her finger. “Given that Daisy’s planning to speak out for the group in public, it would probably be good for us to vote on her formal inclusion in the Alliance?”

One by one, the others nodded, except Raina, who appeared to have started her math homework.

“Great,” Sophie went on. “Well, we’ve been talking for a long time about expanding our definition to include the full quilt bag . . .”

There was that phrase again. I nodded, visualizing something one might buy at a craft store. Probably a symbol of . . . different fabrics? Cloths joining together, preparing to be sewn? Yeah, I had no idea.

Sean interrupted, nodding to an equally bewildered Kyle. “You might want to give a definition, Soph.”

“For all of us,” Jack said, rolling his eyes in my direction. “So many letters. And they’re constantly changing.”

“Of course.” Sophie flushed. “Well, my understanding is that QUILTBAG stands for Questioning, Unidentified, Intersex, Lesbian, Transgender, Bisexual, Asexual, and Gay. Is it at all possible . . .” Her eyes bored into mine, conveying some sort of secret code. “That you’re one of those?”

“Can I be unidentified?”

“But you did identify it,” Raina protested, glaring over her textbook. “You told us you were straight.”

“Questioning.”

Raina set the book aside with a thud. “Since last week?”

“You guys gave me a lot to think about.”

Jack snorted, Raina huffed, and Sophie kneaded her braid. By pulling out the full rainbow of options, she was obviously trying to find me an in.

“How about asexual?” I tried. “Yes! You guys, I’m totally asexual! I never go on dates. I never get crushes on people.”

Since freshman year, anyway. Sean had the decency to look at his fingernails.

“The last time somebody tried to kiss me, I punched him in the face!” I clapped in delight. “That’s me. Asexual. Sign me up for the quilt bag!”

Sophie looked relieved. Everyone else looked dubious. Asexual. It wasn’t completely off base, was it? Sure, I’d fantasized about various guys, both real and of the hottest-guy-on-Triplecross variety. But at the moment? Nope! Brief musings about QB and Don’t Know Him From Adam didn’t count. After all, they wouldn’t lead anywhere. So today, Tuesday the thirteenth of September, I was one hundred percent—

“You do realize that asexuality is an actual designation, right?” Raina snapped. “Real people are really asexual. It doesn’t mean that you can’t get a date.”

“Raina!” Sophie, Sean, and Jack shouted in unison.

She picked up her textbook again. “Whatever. Fine. Let’s move on.”

“Next question?” Sophie offered.

Sean raised his hand to ask it. “Do you, Daisy Beaumont-Smith”—my full name this time!—“promise to be respectful of all gay students, whether they’re members of this group or not?”

“Of course,” I said, and he double-thumbs-upped his approval.

“Raina?” Sophie smiled tightly.

Without looking up, Raina intoned, “Do you promise to keep confidential everything we say in this room, unless we agree as a group to reveal it?”

“Y-yeah.” Why did I stutter on that? It made me sound untrustworthy. Of course I could keep my mouth shut. I was excellent at self-control. Well, good anyway. Fair, which was better than average, right?

Okay, average.

Everyone turned to look at Freshman Kyle and he shrunk lower in his lacrosse hoodie. “I don’t have any questions. You seem okay to me.”

I smiled my thanks.

That left Jack Jackson. He narrowed his eyes.

“I think this is the number one question we all have.”

I nodded eagerly, my sweat glands activating. Sure enough, everybody was sitting straighter, ready for this final qualifier, which they’d obviously discussed in advance.

“Do you think you could get Natalie Beck involved in the group?”

And oh, the epic battle that went on within me. You could write ballads about it. Whole operas. And I knew from opera.

“Definitely! We’re old friends, you know. And she’s dating Hannah, so . . .”

I cleared my throat, noticing how they were all watching me, little kids waiting for the ice cream truck window to slide open.

“Actually, I already talked to her about our homecoming battle, and she’s super excited!” I nodded. Kept nodding. I was maybe nodding too much.

Natalie Beck. Super excited. I couldn’t picture it. But the tension in the room broke, so I guess everyone else could.

Except Raina. She leaned in.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got just one more follow-up question. Teeny-tiny,” she added over Sean’s and Jack’s grumbles. “Why are you doing this?”

I opened my mouth, but a brilliant answer didn’t miraculously materialize on my tongue, so Raina went on:

“Joining this club, lobbying the school board—why? This is not your fight. You’re straight.”

“Asexual,” Jack corrected, and I swiveled my chair to nod a thank-you, even though he’d made air quotes.

“Isn’t it enough that she’s an ally, Ray?” Sean grimaced through his smile, like arguing tasted bad to him. “Allies are a good thing. A helpful thing. I’m speaking from a whole lotta personal experience here.”

Raina spread her hands against the table. “I’m just trying to understand.”

Sophie and Kyle stayed silent. I guess they were trying to understand too.

I swallowed. “This is important to me because it’s important to somebody I care about.”

“Hannah von Linden.” Raina motioned around the room. “If it’s so important to her, then where is she?”

“Ray,” Sophie cut in, her voice calm and soothing. I wondered if she’d used this tone to talk Raina down during the three weeks that they were dating.

Raina smiled. “I just—”

“You want to understand.” I stood. “Okay, fine. Yes, Hannah’s the person I care about. More than anybody in the world, actually. But . . . we’re different.”

I felt woozy admitting it, like I was still swiveling in my chair.

“We’ve always been planners. For years, we’ve come up with these big ideas, but Hannah always talks herself out of them. And I’m the one who gives them a try. So here I am. Giving this a try. For both of us.”

Jack nudged me in approval while across the table Sean pressed his hands to his heart. Next to him, Sophie leaned in.

“We’re glad you’re giving it a try.”

Her smile was like a Charleston garden gate—sweet, lovely, forged in iron. I’d never noticed that edge to Sophie before—any edge, really. I had a sudden image of her presiding over a dinner table, gray hair in a braided bun, inspecting all her grandkids’ hands for grime.

Raina peered at Sophie, eyes warming—and then, more quickly, at me.

“Fine, yes, you’re in,” she said, reshuffling her legal pads. “Please don’t make us regret it.”

Now that the pesky business of my sexual orientation had been decided—and since Sean had to sprint hilariously quickly across campus for Music Man auditions—we broke early. But as soon as Sophie waved good-bye, I realized we hadn’t talked about the school board meeting at all. I’d sort of banked on them telling me what to say.

I mean, I wasn’t that worried. The school’s no-same-sex-date rule was probably some holdover from the fifties that nobody had ever thought to question. I could stand up tomorrow and say, “Ladies and gentlemen of the school board, did you even know this was a rule?” and they’d probably be as shocked as I was. Still, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to think like Hannah for the next few hours, I zoned out during my remaining two classes and drafted an outline:

Point 1 in favor of allowing same sex dates to dances: Fostering an inclusive environment.

Point 2: Acknowledging the socio-emotional needs of all students.

Point 3: Promoting a positive image for the school as a progressive environment.

Point 4: Not being hateful, backward assholes! I mean, COME ON, people! Marriage equality is officially a constitutional right, so get with the freaking times!! (Note: Find better way to say this.)

Point 5: If you fail to accede to our demands, I will unleash upon this land the FULL FURY of my mother’s army of protest-Valkyries. Gaze upon them and despair. *Spooky noises. (Note: Empty threat. Involving Mom would be mortifying.)

Still brainstorming when the final bell rang, I nearly wandered out of the arts wing exit and into an encounter with QB—who seemed to have redoubled his efforts to woo someone, if not gay, then at least lesbian-adjacent.

Checking my step, I veered toward the library and started texting Mom to come get me. But before I hit SEND, Hannah’s ringtone sounded.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Did you want a ride?”

“Um . . .” I suddenly felt like I was the one who’d derailed our routine, not her shot-gunning princess of a girlfriend. Annoying. “Actually, I’ve got some Alliance business.”

“It’s just me,” she said. “Nat’s out sick today.”

I’d noticed. It hadn’t stopped people from talking. She was going to have to face the music sooner or later. But since later was not today—

“I could use a ride.” That was transparent. I backpedaled. “This Alliance stuff—maybe you could help me?”

“By ‘help you,’ do you mean, ‘buy you shreddie fries from Cluck-Cluck’? Because that’s where I’m headed next.”

“Deal.”

By the time I’d doubled back to the parking lot, Hannah’s car was one of few left. Maybe that was why she seemed so jittery when I plonked myself down in the passenger seat.

She started the car and pulled out of the lot, turning off the radio. Weird already. Not Hannah-weird, weird-weird. Then she asked, “How was your weekend?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“I know, but we didn’t really talk yesterday.”

She was right. We’d only discussed Natalie.

“It was good,” I lied.

“What did you do?”

Oh, Saturday I sat staring at my phone, worried that something horrible had happened to you. Sunday, I bathed in self-pity.

“Hung out with my dad,” I said.

“Wow.” Hannah pulled into the drive-thru line. “He actually came out?”

“I went in.”

“Ah.”

“He’s working on some fantasy game. I kept him company.”

“That’s awesome,” Hannah said, her voice thin. “I’ve always liked your dad. What I’ve seen of him.”

I caught a glimpse of her expression before she turned to the speaker to order an assortment of greasy sides. Her eyes were clouded, wistful.

“We can share him, you know,” I said as she pulled the car to the next window. “My dad’s pretty low-maintenance. And he’s good at pep talks if you tell him exactly what to say.”

A smile fluttered on her lips. Didn’t quite land. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ve sort of leaned into the whole ‘fatherless child’ thing. Or how did I put it?” She turned to me, eyes brighter than they should have been. We’d had this conversation before. Every time, I hoped it would be different.

“‘Half-foundling,’” I supplied.

“Right!” She put her hand to her forehead. “Abandoned, discarded, cast away.”

The Cluck-Cluck window slid open. She broke pose and smiled like a normal person as she paid.

“No word from Austria, then?” I asked quietly, as if that would make the subject less delicate.

“I assume someone has heard something from Austria lately,” Hannah said. “Just not, you know . . . me.”

She shrugged.

I shouldn’t have asked. If Hannah had spoken to her dad, her very next call would have been to me. I was only depressing her by bringing him up. While she turned to grab our food, I racked my brain for a subject change. But she beat me to the punch.

“So what’s this Alliance business?” She grinned, her teeth waggling a chicken finger like a cigar. “And how may I be of assistance?”

“Oh! Right!” I took the bag of shreddie fries she offered. “I’ve got this thing tomorrow night. The school board’s having an open meeting, so I’m gonna show up and ask them to change the rule banning same-sex dates at dances. Hopefully by homecoming. We’ll see.”

Hannah stared at me. “The school board. The governing body for the entire school district.”

“That’s what ‘school board’ means, yes.” The huge truck behind us honked. We were blocking the drive-thru.

“And . . .” She shook her head. “You’re doing this.”

“Yeah. You might wanna . . .” I motioned forward while glancing back. “That guy’s getting a little road-ragey.”

She turned her head and drove, eyes on the road but wide, like she was steering us through a forest of lollipops and unicorns. It was hitting her in waves, a series of incredulous blinks. I smile-chomped my way through a handful of shreddies, waiting for her to congratulate or thank me, express wonderment at my dedication and bravery. But what she said was:

“Natalie’s mom’s on the school board.”

Natalie. Amazing how the Beck could claim shotgun even when she wasn’t riding in the car.

The news wasn’t that surprising. I seemed to remember Cindy Beck going hog wild with parental responsibilities when we were little kids. When she was snack mom, she’d bring in petit fours and pinwheel sandwiches. Natalie’s birthday parties were the biggest productions you’d ever seen, Mrs. Beck front and center as the gracious, lovely hostess. Once, they’d thrown me a party at the tearoom of a fancy hotel. All the girls from my class had come, and Natalie and I both wore Alice costumes with little White Rabbit purses, and why was I even thinking about this?

I locked my grin, remembering my promise to the Alliance. “Maybe Natalie could get involved? She could talk to her mom for us—pave the way?”

“Maybe.” Hannah sounded doubtful. “I think they have a pretty complicated . . . yeah.”

She pressed her lips together and I pretended not to notice. We never used to have glitches like this in our conversations. There was an object between us, a speed bump, desperately in need of bulldozing.

“How are things with the old ball and chain?” I asked.

“She’ll be back tomorrow. Just a stomach bug.”

Odd response.

“She’s really sick?” I raised my eyebrows. “Gotta admit, I thought she was faking.”

Hannah slammed the brakes as the light ahead turned yellow.

“Hang. On.” I pried the seat belt off my collarbone, gaping at her. “What was that? Did you just lie to me?”

“I—I—” Hannah sputtered. “It’s not exactly—”

“So this is a thing we’re doing now?” I forced a fry into my mouth. “Casual lying? Or has this been going on all along? Is your name really Hannah? Are you and your mom in witness protection?”

Hannah’s cheeks grew redder with every blink. “It’s just, Nat’s having a hard enough time and she asked me specifically not to talk about it with you. Which . . . is . . . what I’m doing right now and I should really stop talking.”

“Specifically?” I hacked a cough. “‘Anybody else is fine, but don’t talk to Daisy’?”

Hannah let out a slow breath. “You two have this awkward history, and as much as it would be nice to help you work through it, I really don’t think I should get in the middle.”

“Um, Hannah? You are the definition of in the middle.”

She stopped the car. We’d arrived at my house. And the shreddie fries were gone.

“Changing the subject,” she announced, taking off her seat belt so she could face me. “You’re lobbying the school board for gay rights.”

For your rights, I mentally corrected. She’d been out a full week now, but she still said “gay rights” the same way she’d say “the European Union.”

“I am,” I said, sitting up straighter. “On Wednesday.”

“This is seriously your next hobby, then. Protesting.”

“What?” I squinted at her, wondering how this conversation had gotten so off track so quickly. “I wouldn’t call it a hobby, no, and it’s not protesting exactly. It’s . . .”

As I searched for the right euphemism for “grand declaration of love,” she sighed and said, “It’s the Stede Bonnet opera all over again.”

And I reeled like she’d slapped me.

The opera. She knew I didn’t like talking about it. Or thinking about it.

Well, here it was. Early freshman year, in the throes of my longing for Sean Bentley, I’d told the music teacher, the drama teacher, and Sean himself that I was going to write a rock opera about Stede Bonnet, Charleston’s most notorious pirate, and that Sean was going to star in it. I’d scribbled some lyrics to show them, and outlined a whole first act—the juicy part, in which Stede transforms from Barbadian landowner to Gentleman Pirate.

The school got a little excited. Found a slot for it in the production schedule. Made an announcement in the school paper. And the local paper. With a photo of me, and the caption: “Young Composer Spotlights Charleston’s Rich History.”

A month before auditions, I was forced to admit to everyone that I didn’t actually know the first thing about musical composition. At the time, I hadn’t felt all that guilty. If these so-called experts wanted to rally around an untested freshman with a half-baked idea for a musical, it was their funeral. But now, every time I passed the Stede Bonnet plaque in downtown Charleston, I felt his ghost staring back at me, whispering “J’accuse . . .”

“Or the banjo Christmas carol thing.” Hannah was still talking. “Or the mural. Daisy, you promised that guy you’d finish it over the summer and you only painted one whale. Are you just planning to bail on that completely? I mean, what’s the deal? Why don’t you just change it to something easier to paint? Not everything has to be—”

“This isn’t any of those,” I snapped, blocking out her last set of questions. “It’s show up and give a speech. I’m more than capable of that.”

“Of course you are,” she said. “You’re capable of anything.”

I let out a breath, finally hearing the response I’d wanted all along. But then her eyes drifted, fixing on the branches of the old oak tree stretching across my front yard.

“If there’s anybody in the world who can pull this off, it’s you.” She scrunched her forehead, straining for words. “I’m just . . . I guess I’m not sure it should be you?” Before I could analyze that, she refastened her seat belt. “Ugh, don’t listen to me, I’m . . . I don’t even know what’s going on with me lately. Just—text me the details.”

My hand paused on the car door. “You’ll come?”

“Of course.” When she smiled, her eyes went blank. “Can’t wait.”