28
MORGAN
I don’t know what Monday is going to bring.
I half expect Ruby to be waiting to drive me to school when I get out of the shower, and I half expect her to just never talk to me again. Neither is quite accurate, it turns out—the truth is somewhere in the middle.
She smiles at me in the halls instead of scowling and even says hi as she passes me on her way to gym. I catch her friend Everly staring at me more than once during the day. Did Ruby tell her about us? Is there an “us”? But when I smile at Everly, she doesn’t react, so I decide it’s all in my head.
When it’s finally, finally time for Government, I’m practically bursting from nerves and anticipation. I get to sit next to her, with a totally discreet and socially acceptable cover . . . or I would have, if Allie and Lydia hadn’t grabbed me as soon as I walked in.
“Oh, I was going to . . .” I say, gesturing to the other side of the room, but their exaggerated sad faces have me taking my old seat.
Ruby walks in a few minutes later, and I swear she looks a little hurt, or at least as disappointed as I am, when she sees where I’m sitting. I gesture toward my friends like, What can you do? and hope she understands. At least this way, we’re directly across from each other, which should make it easier to watch her in class without getting busted. Which I pretty much do the entire period.
There are a lot of things I never noticed about her. Like the way she chews her pen, which usually I find super annoying but suddenly find kind of endearing. Or the way she scrunches up her forehead when she’s taking notes. Or the way she bites her lip and looks up at me through her eyelashes every time she catches me watch—
“You’re staring,” Lydia whispers into my ear, startling me enough to send my pen spiraling out into the middle of the floor. Ruby smirks and puts the tip of her pen cap between her teeth, one eyebrow raised, both her eyes on the paper in front of her. I drop my head down so fast it thuds against the desk.
“Is something wrong, Ms. Matthews?” Mrs. Morrison asks.
“No,” I mumble, rubbing my forehead.
“In that case, is there anything you’d like to share with the class?” I vigorously shake my head. Ruby laughs, and Lydia hands me another pen with a confused glance.
I bolt the second the bell rings, lost somewhere in the confusing middle ground between turned on and mortified. I sprint to my next class, slipping into my seat and taking a minute to regroup before the rest of the class gets there. My phone vibrates, and I pull it out. It’s from Ruby . . . a single smirk emoji and nothing else.
I drop my head and stifle a groan before pulling out my precalc book.
The rest of the day slips back into normalcy, for which I am at least temporarily grateful. Besides an occasional head nod or smile in the hallway, nothing is noticeably different.
It’s only when I’m in the locker room before track, pulling on my rainbow glitter CLOSETS ARE FOR CLOTHES tank top, that I start to worry yet again that this last weekend was just a one-off. What if we’ve peaked at smirking-across-the-classroom friends who occasionally kiss?
“Hurry,” Allie whines, tapping her foot by the door. “I don’t want to be late again and get stuck doing push-ups.”
I open my mouth to say I’m coming, but then I see it—or her, actually. Ruby, peeking out at me from the showers in the back of the locker room. No one uses them here. I don’t even know if they work. She holds her finger to her lips with a smile and then disappears.
I look at Allie. “Go ahead. I gotta screw in my spikes still.”
“Oh my god.” She sighs. “You’re a disaster.”
I flash her an exaggerated wince as she disappears out the door. I listen for a second to make sure we’re alone and then tiptoe toward the showers. I creep up behind the edge of the stall wall and then jump around it, growling with my hands up . . . but she’s not there. “Ru—”
My voice is cut off as hands snake around my mouth and waist. I kick and bite and try to scream, my instincts crowding out all rational thought as I’m dragged backward into the darkest corner of the locker room.
The hands let go, and Ruby lets out a “Jesus” along with a tiny pained laugh. I spin around to see her doubled over.
“Ruby!”
“Holy shit, you kick hard.” She huffs, her hands on her knees.
“Are you okay?” My hands go flying, fussing over every inch of her until she stands up, somehow smiling. “What were you thinking?”
“You were trying to scare me first! I was just returning the favor. Or so I thought. Except then you went all Ronda Rousey on my ass.”
“Sorry, oh god, sorry,” I say. She pulls me closer and tips my chin up so we’re face-to-face.
“Don’t be,” she says, and then leans in to kiss me. And there it is, that kind of euphoric, kind of terrifying, tingly upside-down feeling I get whenever I’m around this girl. Even a boring day of high school couldn’t dull it. “I’ve been dying to do that all day.”
“Same,” I say, grinning because Ruby Thompson is kissing me in the gym locker room, and that’s somehow absurd and perfect all at once.
She gently touches the scrape on my cheek, studying my face intently. “Are you sure you’re okay to run?”
“Yes, Mom,” I snark.
“You were limping yesterday.”
“Yeah, but I distinctly remember someone making me put it up and ice it after dropping me off. So now it’s better.”
Ruby looks at me suspiciously. “Then why’s it all covered in tape?”
“Preventative measure.”
She frowns but then leans in for another quick kiss.
“What’s that for?”
“Preventative measure.” She smirks and then walks out.
After track, I run home for a quick shower and a FaceTime with my dad—who decidedly does not want to talk about the lawsuit at all and quickly puts Mom on instead—and then I bike over to the center. I have another meeting with Danny later today, and I’m really hoping that this will be the time when he really opens up to me. I’ve loved getting to know him; I’m just not sure if I’ve actually been helping him.
“Everything okay?” Izzie asks me when I walk in. She’s standing in the common room, fussing with the furniture. She and Aaron have been working on setting up a space for the bags we’re putting together with the donations from Pride Club. Anika and I just put the bins out and hung the posters the other day, but we’re already getting some cool stuff. I can’t wait to see it all here, where it can actually help people.
“Yeah,” I say finally, because it is. I think. Mostly.
She studies my face. “You know, Morgan, you can always talk to me if something’s bothering you. You’ve been doing great work as a peer counselor, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t a resource for you as well.”
I sigh. “Am I that obvious?”
Izzie smiles. “No, but I’ve been doing this long enough to be able to tell when someone has something on their mind.”
“It’s . . .” I say, not sure exactly where to start. I glance over at the empty space she just made, and it hits me what’s really wrong. “It’s just that I’m not sure if I’m doing enough.”
“Morgan,” she says, “you have become an incredible asset to our center! I’m sorry if I haven’t made clear how happy we are with you.”
“Thank you, that means a lot. But I’m not just talking about here.” I look up at her. “Here, I feel like I’m making a difference, but then I go home and the lawsuit is moving so slowly. Sometimes it feels like moving here was the equivalent of running away. Like yeah, my waiver’s up in the air and all of that stuff is a mess, but I can’t stop thinking about the kids at my old school or even Danny. What am I really doing to change things for people like me? Shouldn’t I be out there, loud, like those Parkland kids or Nupol Kiazolu or Greta Thunberg or something?”
“I can understand that feeling.” Izzie leans her shoulder against one of the shelves and gives me another soft smile. “But you are doing a lot—you’re very involved in Pride Club, you volunteer here, you’re in the middle of a legal battle even if it doesn’t feel like it day to day, and you’re an incredible role model. You risked everything to take a stand, and you’re just getting started. I have no doubt that you are going to do big things for our community, but I need you to do me one favor.”
“Anything,” I say.
“Don’t sell short the work that you’re already doing and the things that you’ve already accomplished. You’re not Greta, but you are Morgan Matthews, and that means something too. I promise that I’ll help you find more opportunities, but activism isn’t something that happens in just one way or in just one place. There will always be more battles, and beating yourself up about not being able to do it all, all at once, doesn’t do anyone any good. Please take the time to honor what you’re already doing, because that’s important too.”
The door opens behind us then, and Danny walks in, giving me the patented bro nod as he pulls off his hat.
“And I’m sure Danny would be the first to agree,” Izzie says.
“About what?” he asks.
“Basically? That Morgan is awesome,” she says. “Tell her. She doesn’t believe me.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, my cheeks heating. This is almost mom-level embarrassment. “You do not have to tell me that.”
He flashes me a confused look as we head toward the counseling room.
“It’s true!” Izzie calls after us.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I shut the door behind us.
“It’s fine. I don’t know if I’d say ‘awesome’ . . .” He trails off as I drop into the chair next to him. “But I can agree that you don’t totally suck.”
I laugh. “Fair enough.”
And that feels like a win.