Chapter Fifteen Assembly Line
“I’ll come back for coffee,” Emerson said to the person behind the counter with such intensity it sounded like a threat.
But Emerson didn’t have to come back for coffee, because it was waiting for her in the back room.
Everyone was waiting in the back room.
Parker and Nylan were there, and Kodi and James, and Stella, sitting by herself at the farthest corner of the table, fingers scrolling across the screen of her phone. Sam was there too, putting the top on a giant carafe of—
“COFFEE!” Emerson squealed. “Oh, bless you, Sam. You know, I’ve always said—that Sam. They’re so good.”
“Nice to see you too, Emerson,” Sam said, and they laughed. “When Parker told me you’re putting the zine together today, I figured y’all could use it.”
“It may or may not have been a ploy for free coffee,” Parker confessed.
“All that matters is it worked,” said James, and he stood to join Emerson at the small folding table Sam had set up for their coffee station, crowded with disposable cups, creamers, and almost enough sugar to keep Emerson happy.
“Thanks, Sam,” Mal said as the rest of the MixxedMedia staff swarmed the coffee station. “That’s really cool of you.”
Sam shrugged. “I think it’s cool what you’re doing here, so I’m happy to support. Consider it my Elder Queer duty. Oh, also—I brought you some more goodies. Come here.”
Mal followed Sam to the worktable, where there were now a handful of tools: hard plastic bone folders, very sharp awls with wooden handles, sturdy sewing needles, and some dangerous-looking cutting tools.
“What’s all this?” Mal asked.
“Tools of the trade,” Sam said, smacking the table like it was a used car they were selling.
“I’m basically a zine major—I’m doing an Interdisciplinary Studies major that’s technically under the English and gender studies umbrellas, but my focus is on queer literature and specifically on DIY zines in queer history. ”
Mal huffed a laugh. “That’s not something you can do at real college.”
“Uh, excuse me,” Sam said, raising a hand to their chest and pretending to be hurt. “Northern Kentucky University is real, and I am doing it, so.” They shrugged. “I think it is.”
Mal blinked at Sam. “But what even is that?”
“Really, it’s just way too many words to say that this”—Sam waved at the box of papers Mal still hadn’t put down on the table—“is super my shit. And I think it’s rad y’all are doing this so, just another Elder Queer pay-it-forward donation from me.
As long as y’all are working on the zine, you’re welcome to use these tools.
They’re from my personal collection, though, so please treat them kindly. ”
“This is…” Mal sorted through the sudden soup of thoughts that sloshing in their head.
They had never heard of Interdisciplinary Studies as an option, for one.
For another, they had never even imagined they could do something with zines outside of this room.
Those ideas seemed like small revolutions inside their head.
As they tried to absorb them, what finally filtered out was something easier to understand: “This is really nice of you, Sam.”
It wasn’t right, wasn’t enough, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. They shrugged. “Make cool stuff, okay? And if you need any more coffee, let me know. My treat.”
“You are the treat,” Emerson said, joining them at the end of the table.
“For this coffee. And, oooh, are these goodies? Punk rock, Sam, you’re a beast. Though I maintain I could have made this work with a regular needle and thread and these claws!
” She fluttered her fingernails: short, painted in glittery purple, bitten almost to the quick.
Sam laughed. “Well, you’re welcome to, but this should make it easier on the rest of your team.” They waved to the room. “Y’all have fun, okay?”
“We will.” Parker nodded, grinning. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, of course.”
And then Sam was off, and the MixxedMedia staff were looking to Mal like they needed a plan.
Luckily, that was Mal’s strong suit.
“Okay,” they said, finally clunking the hundreds of pages they held down onto the table. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”
What they had been thinking, honestly, was that it would just be them and Emerson chugging away for most of the day alone.
A part of Mal really wished it was—just the two of them at the desk, their knees touching.
And though they still didn’t understand why everyone had shown up—this was the boring part of making a zine, as far from the fun writing bit as you could get—they could put them to use.
They created an assembly line on the fly: themself and Emerson carefully ordering and folding the pages (with sharp edges, thanks to Sam’s tools); Parker and Nylan using the awls to poke holes in the spine; James and Kodi sewing them together with an assortment of embroidery floss Mal had scavenged from the Glen’s clearance craft hoard in their room; and Stella at the end as quality control, making sure everything came together as it should.
Stella seemed pleased with that—“If my name’s going on it, it has to look good”—and the rest were content with the work.
After a bit of trial and error, they all fell into an easy rhythm of pulling pages, folding pages, stacking pages, and sewing pages.
Emerson chatted easily with Nylan and Parker about anime, while Kodi and Stella talked about the new café-slash-bakery opening up where a stuffy old coffee shop used to be, farther down Greenup at the corner of 13th.
Mal was quiet for the most part, falling into the blissful sameness of the work.
“This looks so much more official than I thought it would,” James said, leaning in toward Mal like he was sharing a secret.
“Like, I honestly didn’t think it would look this good.
No shade to Ms. Merritt, but I think this may be better than Collage?
” He pulled string through the binding smoothly.
“And I am so glad. I need this to be official.”
“What do you mean?” Mal asked.
“Well, this was my thing.” James waved his hand at the work. “This is what I want to do. Not a zine, or whatever—writing. It’s what I’m good at. When it went away, I thought I was done for. What was I supposed to do, sports?”
Mal snorted a laugh along with James. He raised an eyebrow at them.
“Listen, I seriously considered it until you and Emerson proposed this thing. My brother was a big football deal, got a full ride to Ohio State. I thought, Maybe that could be me. But these wrists are for writing, not for throwing a football. That’s why I needed this to be real.
I’m already so in Peter’s shadow. Without writing?
I’d have nothing. But you must know how it is; you’re Maddie Flowers’s big sibling. ”
Mal’s stomach sank and they thought of this morning, of the quiet and the eggs and the comfort… and the holes in Maddie’s conversation.
“Yeah,” they admitted, their voice small. “I know how it is.”
But before they could let the sting of that sink it, James was laughing. “That’s why I’m glad this looks so classy—and that this ragtag group of gays stuck together.”
“Hell yeah,” Emerson said. She must have been listening to the tail end of the conversation.
“I mean, not to assume,” James said, putting up his hands in peace.
“Nope, gay as hell over here,” said Kodi, smiling bright. “As if you couldn’t tell by these butch-ass vibes.”
“Listen, just because everyone else knew I was bi before I did doesn’t make me any less bi,” Emerson said, pretending to fuss, then dissolving into laughter at Kodi’s knowing look.
“Literally no one straight can wear this much pastel at once and get away with it,” Parker said. “Also, the subtle and always there pan rep with all this pink and blue and yellow should be a giveaway.”
“I’m ace,” Nylan said, her voice quiet but comfortable. Mal caught her eyes darting to Parker. “And maybe panromantic?”
“Ooh, I have a button for that,” said Parker, oblivious, and put her awl down to reach down for her tote bag.
“We know Mal’s the OG enby,” Emerson said, eyes shining. “And I know you’ve dated at least one girl because I got super jealous freshman year when you and Jess were a thing.”
The side of Mal’s lips quirked up in an involuntary smile. “One, you’re super weird, Emerson, but two, yeah—guilty as charged. I’m bi too.”
“I’ve got a button for that, too,” Parker said, riffling through her bag.
A small lull opened up in the conversation, and it was only after a beat that Mal realized it was because of Stella.
She sat at the end of the table, suddenly very interested in the zine she was checking.
Mal instantly recognized that look: the look of someone crawling out of their skin with discomfort.
They cleared their throat. “It’s also super okay to not disclose,” they said—not to Stella but to the room. “It’s not mandatory, of course, for MixxedMedia staff.”
But Stella looked up at Mal, her face a strange mix of things Mal couldn’t untangle. For the space of a breath, they stared at each other, something unspoken but important passing between them. It reminded Mal of the looks they’d shared once, back when they had still been friends.
“I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a bad person,” Stella said finally, her eyes shifting around the room.
“Careful,” said James at the same time Mal said, “It’s okay; this is a safe space.”
“I…,” Stella started, and then stopped. She looked down at the table, sliding over the zine she was inspecting to start a new pile of approved copies. Then she said, like it was a confession, “I’m not queer.”
“Oh,” said Mal.
Stella looked up, eyes sharp, pleading. “Like, not in a way that—I mean, obviously there’s nothing wrong with being—I’m an ally! But also just—I’m straight, I’m sorry!”
Parker was the first to snort a laugh, followed by a soft chuckle from Kodi, and a whispered “Bless” from James.
“Stella, you don’t have to be queer,” Mal said gently.
“Yeah, every group needs their token straight,” Emerson agreed.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone come out as straight before,” Nylan said, “but obviously we accept you for who you are.”
“Even when that’s kind of a jerk sometimes,” Emerson said, and then added, when Mal stomped her toes under the table, “Which is not now, for the record! You’re being honest and I appreciate you!”
“I feel like I’m crashing a party or something,” Stella admitted. “I don’t want to take up space I shouldn’t, but I really love writing, and these zines look amazing, if I’m being honest.”
“It’s not specifically a queer-only space,” Mal said, and nodded their head toward the community rules posted on the wall. “We’re inclusive, Stella. It’s The Rules.”
“And you know Mal loves a rule,” Emerson said, winking at Mal across the table.
“Really?” Stella asked.
“Really,” Mal said.
“Thanks.” For the first time Mal could remember, Stella smiled at them. “Also—stupid straight-girl question, but—wow, that was hard. Is that what it’s like to come out?”
“No,” James said, and laughed loudly.
But at the same time, Nylan shrugged and said, “More or less.”
And Kodi said, “Yeah, but over and over again to everyone you meet.”
And Parker said, “I don’t know, but I have an ally button too.”
After the others had all weighed in, Mal said, “Thanks for sharing, Stella. Can we get back to work?”
“Yeah, sure,” said Stella, smiling a little.
And though they hadn’t planned for it, they stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening: working together, laughing and sharing stories and drinking fresh coffee when Sam brought more in around dinner time.
They took breaks only to eat lunch, or to bandage paper cuts, or to have a Group Wiggle, once, at Emerson’s suggestion.
They worked into the night, until the first run of MixxedMedia was ten neat stacks of ten zines at the center of the editors’ desk.
“We’ll send an e-mail later with a plan for tomorrow, for sales,” Mal said.
“And we’ll come up with it after everyone leaves?” Emerson asked under her breath.
Mal nodded, then said to the room, “Thanks for the hard work today, everyone.”
“Yeah, this was really fun,” Nylan said.
“Despite all these silly Band-Aids,” said James, showing his right hand, which now sported three bandages with smiling pink cats on them.
“Those are limited edition!” Parker said.
“Not the aesthetic I’m going for,” said Kodi, “but thanks for having them, Parker.”
“Yeah, I literally can’t believe we didn’t think of that.” Nylan laughed.
“But everything else went really smoothly,” said Stella, coming to stand next to Mal and crossing her arms over her chest. “We only had to redo—what? Five?”
“Seven,” said Kodi, her voice firm but her expression friendly. “And I still maintain that at least three of those were just so you had something to fuss over.”
Mal tensed, but Stella laughed—a strange sound Mal was not used to hearing anymore. “Okay, yeah, at least one was.”
“You’re a menace,” said Parker, but she laughed too.
“But hey!” Emerson interjected when the look on Stella’s face started to sour. “We did it! That’s the first run done.”
“We did it,” Mal echoed, looking at the neat stacks on the desk.
Somehow they had pulled it off.
Now they just needed to see if they could send it off.