Spreadsheets and Bedsheets (Havenwood #1)

5

JULES

T he late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the weathered brick facade of Havenwood High. The crisp March air carried the faintest hints of warmth, teasing the arrival of spring. Daffodils and early blooming tulips dotted the edges of the school’s walkway, while the trees, still bare from winter, showed the first signs of budding leaves against a pale blue sky streaked with wisps of cloud. The school was just as I remembered it, though it seemed smaller now, its edges softened by the years and my own nostalgia. Kids were sprawled out on the front steps, laughing and chattering, backpacks flung haphazardly around them. Their carefree energy was infectious, and for a moment, I let myself imagine what it would’ve been like to have a space like this back when I was in high school.

As I stepped through the school’s double doors, the familiar smell of pencil shavings and old textbooks hit me, a strange blend of comforting and sterile. It had been a week since the call from Elliott inviting me here, and we’d texted a couple of times to set up today’s meeting with the GSA. The hallways were quieter this time of day, save for the occasional echo of footsteps or a locker slamming shut. But the library? The library was alive.

The moment I pushed the door open, it felt like I’d stepped into a different world. Pride flags draped proudly across the tall windows, catching the golden light streaming in and casting faint rainbows across the floor. Hand-painted posters adorned every available wall space, boasting slogans like Love is Love and Be Proud of Who You Are . A display table near the entrance held a mix of queer literature, rainbow stickers, and information about the upcoming Pride Month event. The tables, arranged in a welcoming semi-circle, were already occupied by a lively group of students.

Before I could fully take in the scene, two figures darted toward me, practically skipping across the room with notepads in hand.

“You’re here!” Maya exclaimed, her voice a mix of excitement and relief, like she’d been worried I might bail at the last minute.

“Jules Moreno,” she said, holding out her hand as if we were meeting for the first time. “I’m Maya, and I’m, like, the unofficial president of the GSA, or maybe the very official one. Still waiting for confirmation on that.”

I laughed, taking her hand and shaking it firmly. “Nice to meet you, Madame President.”

Jayden, standing slightly behind her, offered a shy smile. “I’m Jayden,” he said softly. “Thanks for coming. Everyone’s been really excited about this.”

“Yes, we met before. Nice to see you again. Well, I hope I live up to the hype,” I replied, flashing them both a grin.

“Oh, you will,” Maya said confidently, looping her arm through mine like we were already old friends. “Come on, we’ve got the best seat in the house for you. And wait till you see the room, it’s fabulous. We went all out.”

As they led me further inside, I took in the details. Pride flags weren’t just hanging from the windows; they were everywhere, miniature versions taped to the backs of chairs, larger ones draped across bookcases. A corner of the library had been turned into a photo booth, complete with glittery props and a makeshift backdrop that read, Proud and Fearless. The students had poured their hearts into this space, and it showed.

By the time we reached the tables, the room had quieted, all eyes turning toward me. There was a moment, a heartbeat where everyone seemed to hold their breath.

“Alright,” I said, throwing my arms open wide and letting my voice fill the room. “Who’s ready to make some queer history today?”

The silence broke in an instant. Laughter rippled through the group as Maya let go of my arm and practically launched herself into the air.

“That would be us!” she said, her enthusiasm bouncing off the walls.

“Good answer,” I replied, laughing as I made my way toward the tables. “You’re already my favorite.”

I took my time greeting the students, making a point to connect with each one. High-fives for some, fist bumps for others, and quick compliments that earned bright smiles. “Rainbow sneakers? Iconic. Love the flair.” One kid’s denim jacket was covered in pins, and I couldn’t help but gush over it. “Okay, where did you get that ‘Bi-Furious’ button? I need it in my life.”

The tension melted quickly, replaced by easy laughter and chatter. It always amazed me how these moments played out, people hesitating for just a second, unsure of me, and then opening like flowers as soon as I made the first move.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of a familiar figure standing near the back of the room. Elliot Brooks. Mr. Baldwin himself. Clipboard in hand, glasses perched neatly on his nose, watching the room like he wasn’t sure where he fit into the scene. His expression was unreadable, but I could sense the nerves beneath the surface.

I gave him a quick nod and a smile, hoping to ease whatever tension he was feeling. Something about him always seemed just slightly out of step with the chaos around him, like he was trying to map everything out before he made a move. It was… endearing, in a way.

Maya leaned toward me, her voice dropping to a stage whisper. “That’s Mr. Brooks. He’s the one who reached out to you.”

“I know,” I whispered back, my grin widening. “We’ve met. He’s the reason I’m here.”

“Well,” she said, crossing her arms and smirking, “he doesn’t know what he’s in for.”

“Neither do you,” I teased, before stepping forward to take my place at the head of the room.

I moved to the front of the room, letting my stride slow as I reached the table. I leaned against its edge, keeping my posture relaxed but grounded. My grin softened into something warmer, something inviting, as I took in the faces staring back at me. The semi-circle of students seemed a mix of eager and unsure, their energy buzzing just under the surface.

“So,” I began, my voice cutting through the hum of the library, “let me tell you something about this person standing in front of you. I didn’t always look or feel this confident. Growing up, I didn’t even have the words to describe who I was. But that’s the thing about being queer, you’re constantly discovering new pieces of yourself. It’s like the world hands you a puzzle with no picture on the box.”

The room shifted, the students leaning forward slightly in their chairs, their expressions sharpening with curiosity. I felt the weight of their attention and took a deep breath, letting the moment settle before continuing.

“I get it,” I said, pacing a step or two in front of the table. “It’s messy. It’s confusing. There were moments when I felt like I’d never figure it out, like I was fumbling around in the dark trying to find something, anything, that felt real. But every time I found a piece of the puzzle, it felt like coming home to myself. And let me tell you,” I added, letting a grin curl onto my lips as I perched on the edge of the table, “protesting in six-inch heels? A choice I will never make again.”

That got the laugh I was hoping for, a big, wonderful laugh that rippled across the room. Even Elliot, standing near the back, let the faintest smile tug at his lips. It was subtle, but it was there, and for some reason, it felt like a tiny personal victory.

“But here’s the thing,” I said, letting the laughter fade naturally as I adjusted my tone. “Being queer isn’t just about surviving, it’s about thriving. It’s about finding your people, your purpose, and your power.”

The words hung in the air for a moment, and I could see the way they landed, the little nods, the quiet shifts in posture, the way some of them seemed to straighten their spines like they were holding onto the idea with both hands.

The room had settled into a quiet hum of reflection when, from near the middle of the semi-circle, a hand hesitantly rose. I straightened slightly, making sure to keep my expression warm and inviting. “Yes, friend,” I said, nodding toward them, “what’s your name?”

The student hesitated, their face partially hidden by their bangs as they glanced around the room. “Alex,” they murmured, their voice barely audible.

“Hi, Alex,” I said gently, crouching slightly to meet their gaze better. “What’s on your mind?”

They shifted in their seat, their arms folding protectively across their chest. “But… what if you can’t find your people?” Alex asked, their voice quiet but weighted with vulnerability. “What if you always feel like you don’t belong?”

The question struck me in the chest, its weight sinking in immediately. I pushed away from the table and crouched down to their level, making sure to meet their gaze directly. Their uncertainty was mirrored in the way they sat, arms folded tight, eyes darting between me and the floor.

“Belonging isn’t about fitting in,” I said softly, my voice steady and measured. “It’s about finding people who celebrate you exactly as you are. And trust me, those people are out there. Sometimes it takes time, and sometimes it feels like forever. But I promise you, you’re not alone in this. Not now, not ever.”

The room went completely still. For a moment, all I could hear was the faint rustle of the Pride flags by the windows, the hum of the library’s fluorescent lights, and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. I stayed crouched, waiting, not wanting to rush the moment.

Maya, ever the natural leader, broke the silence with a clap that quickly turned into a round of applause. It wasn’t polite or perfunctory, it was genuine, loud, and full of warmth. The rest of the students joined in, their clapping filling the room as Alex’s expression shifted from uncertainty to something softer, something lighter.

“Thank you,” Alex murmured, their voice just audible over the applause.

Maya beamed, turning to me with an expression that said, this is exactly what we needed. “You’re amazing, Jules,” she said, grinning so wide it looked like her cheeks might burst.

I stood, giving Alex a reassuring pat on the shoulder before facing the rest of the group with a playful grin. “Alright,” I said, gesturing to the circle of students. “Who’s ready to take over the world? Or at least make some noise while trying?”

Their cheers and laughter filled the room, and I felt a surge of pride, not just for them, but for the community they were building together. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Elliot watching, his expression still guarded but noticeably softer. I didn’t need to catch his eye to feel the weight of his presence; it was steady, quiet, and there all the same.

When the meeting ended, the library burst into a whirlwind of energy. Students crowded around me, their excitement filling every corner of the room. Questions came rapid-fire, about activism, identity, and everything in between, and I did my best to answer each one with humor and heart. Phones were handed to me for selfies, their owners chattering happily about how inspiring the talk had been.

“You’re going to be such a hit at the event,” Maya gushed, practically vibrating with enthusiasm as she clutched her phone.

“That’s the plan,” I replied, laughing as I handed her phone back after yet another selfie, this time with her throwing up peace signs while I pulled a dramatic face.

I thrived in moments like this, moments where I could connect, inspire, and feel the pulse of a shared experience. Each student’s story, each hopeful or hesitant question, only fed my energy. It was the kind of chaos I lived for; the kind that made everything I’d been through feel worth it. And yet, amid the buzz of it all, my gaze kept flicking toward the back of the room, where Elliot stood like a quiet sentinel.

He was a stark contrast to the rest of the space, still, composed, and unobtrusive, his hands clasped neatly behind his back. His presence grounded the room, even from the edges, and I found myself wondering what he thought of it all.

As the last student lingered for a quick goodbye, the crowd finally began to thin. The library grew quieter, the echoes of chatter fading into the hum of the fluorescent lights. Slinging my tote bag over my shoulder, I made my way to Elliot. He straightened slightly as I approached, his expression as reserved as ever.

“Ah, Mr. Baldwin himself,” I said, grinning as I stopped in front of him. “What’d you think?”

For a moment, he hesitated, his gaze flicking to the now-empty room. It felt like he was carefully choosing his words, weighing them as though they mattered more than I’d expected. “That was… impressive,” he said finally, his voice softer than I anticipated.

“High praise from the man of few words,” I teased, though something in his sincerity caught me off guard. “Thanks, Teach.”

We stood there, a strange quiet settling between us. The air felt charged, humming with something I couldn’t quite name. His gaze was steady, though his expression remained unreadable. I felt a flicker of curiosity about what might be going on behind those neat glasses and that composed demeanor.

“You know,” I said, tilting my head with a playful smile, “you’re not as scary as you look.”

That earned me a raised eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware I looked scary,” he replied, his tone as dry as a textbook.

I laughed, the sound breaking the stillness of the empty library. “You know, the whole stoic history teacher vibe. It’s a lot.”

To my surprise, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make me wonder what else was hidden under that reserved exterior. For someone who seemed so buttoned-up, there was an undeniable warmth lurking beneath the surface, waiting to be uncovered.

“Well,” I said, stepping back toward the door, “I’ll see you around, Teach.”

He gave a small nod, his gaze following me as I turned to leave. The evening light filtered in through the library windows as I stepped outside, painting the school grounds in hues of gold and pink. The breeze was a welcome relief after the buzzing energy inside.

As I walked away, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Elliot Brooks than met the eye. Behind that quiet demeanor and carefully structured exterior, I sensed a depth that made me wonder what it would take to unravel the layers.