Chapter 8 Keeley #2
“That sounds great,” she says. “I’m thirsty.”
We lock eyes for a moment, and I feel frozen. Was talking about Shadowgirl Jane’s way of telling me she’s into girls? Or is she doing the thing straight girls do when they talk about other women as if they find them attractive, but are really just admiring them and being ridiculously confusing?
No, that’s not like Jane. Suddenly, I have to know. I can’t stop thinking about what it would mean if she was into girls. If she was…fuck, I’m scared to even go there.
And we’re not in high school anymore. I can’t pass her a note like:
Hey Jane,
Do you like girls? Check Yes or No
Do you like me? Check Yes or No
Love, Keeley
God, that would make it so fucking easy.
But we’re not teenagers the way we were before, strangers sitting in the same Pre-Calc class, only interacting to compare answers on homework before that fateful summer at music camp when the Glitter Bats were born.
If only I’d have had the nerve to tell her I was into her then.
When you’re in high school, everything feels so important—but looking back, the stakes were so damn low. I could have said something.
Maybe our story would have turned out differently if I had. Now, I’m too afraid of exploding our relationship—or hurting the band—to say anything. Not when I can’t gauge her interest because I’m overanalyzing everything.
Before I can figure out what I even want to say, the buzzer sounds. “I’ll go get the pizza!” I say quickly.
We watch another episode of Epic Theme Song while we eat, and I do my best to focus on the screen and not the girl next to me.
When I finally manage to follow the plot, I’m once again struck by what an incredible show this is.
I know Valerie isn’t happy with how she and the rest of the cast were treated by the previous streamer—The Network, who also happens to own Jane’s show.
They basically shamed Valerie for her sexuality and tried to force her to “clean up her act” to get the show renewed, then cancelled it anyway.
But next time I see Valerie, I’ll tell her how proud I am of her hard work.
After I give her shit for the song about the subway, though.
The episode ends on a cliffhanger, with Valerie’s character kissing Lola’s before jumping off a roof to see if her powers are back, which would cement their rekindled romance…
if she’s not pancaked on the city street below. God, this show is fun.
“I think I love this show,” Jane says when I pause the TV. “Like when we were teens, there wasn’t anything like this, where characters were so casually queer and it was never a plot point, you know? They just get to be who they are. I’m shipping Wendy and Madison so hard.”
I nod, even as blood rushes in my ears. “It’s kind of amazing.”
She stares at her empty plate. “I can’t help but think it would have made things easier to figure stuff out if there were characters I could relate to on TV. Instead, it took me way too long to realize a lot of things about myself.”
My breath tightens. This conversation feels important once again, and I don’t want to scare her off. I try to keep my voice as casual as I can when I respond with nothing more than “Oh?”
She flushes, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m, um, bisexual.”
I blink, completely frozen. I guess I didn’t need to pass a note.
“Cool. Thank you for telling me,” I say, because it’s what I’ve said to so many other people, when all I want to do is pump my fist and scream, Jane Mercer is into girls!
She laughs nervously. “I know I don’t talk about my personal life with everyone, not the way the rest of you do.
I never told you if I was seeing someone, or even about the kinds of someones I’m into.
Because I’ve been in a few relationships.
I just keep them quiet, because I don’t trust the press not to catch something my parents will see, and I’m not ready for them to… ” She trails off.
“I get that,” I say, even though all I want to do is ask her a million questions. I know how fragile it can feel, coming out to someone, even if you know they’ll be chill about it. You’re still revealing a part of yourself that is personal and intimate and entirely up to you to navigate.
Keep it together, Cunningham.
“I’m honored you shared that with me,” I say.
She laughs ruefully, playing with an errant curl. “I don’t know why I never told you before. It’s not like I thought you, or anyone else in the band, wouldn’t be cool about it. Obviously.”
I smirk. “Obviously.”
She looks at me, biting her lip. “Well, actually…Riker knows.”
I clench a fist to fight back the jealousy that barrels in. They’re just so fucking close, and it’s hard not to wonder how far that goes.
“Naturally,” I say. I try to keep my tone light, but I can’t hide part of the bite in it.
Her eyes widen. “Oh. Not like that. It’s only because he caught me kissing Savannah Jude in the greenroom on that last Glitter Bats tour before hiatus.”
My jaw drops. “You hooked up with Savannah Jude? Actually how dare you.” Jude—Savannah’s family folk band—opened for us on one leg of our last tour before the hiatus. They’re these incredibly talented sisters, and they’re all superhot.
She giggles, tossing her hair playfully like she’s proud of herself, even though I know she’s only doing it to mess with me. Jane isn’t the type of person with conquests. “Only during the tour. We agreed it was casual.”
“How did I not know this?” I ask. I pride myself on being observant, and I’m kind of shocked I never put it together.
Jane is not only queer, but she’s known for a long time.
That tour was seven years ago. Maybe I never saw it because I was scared to see it, but looking back, those two were pretty inseparable as the tour stretched on.
She shrugs. “I’m discreet.”
“Who else did you hook up with?” I blurt, and then my neck warms. “I’m sorry, that’s none of my fucking business. Like at all. Shit, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” Her cheeks somehow turn an even deeper shade of pink, more like magenta. Redheads, I guess. “Uh, so being involved with musicians we toured with was kind of a habit? I might have slept with Charlie from Lime Velvet back in Denver.”
We played exactly one show at Red Rocks, and it was opening for them years ago. A lot of years. “Oh my god, wasn’t he like thirty-five?”
“He was twenty-nine!”
“And you were twenty!”
“Yeah,” she says, biting her lip. “Not my best decision ever, but he was actually pretty sweet and really respectful with me, which wasn’t bad for my first time. We’re still in touch—I went to his wedding, and his wife invited me to her baby shower.”
“Wow.” I laugh. “What else don’t I know about Jane Mercer?” Something darkens in her eyes, and I wonder where her mind went just then. Instead, she laughs.
“You know everything. I’m a workaholic with religious trauma who doesn’t even know how to have fun anymore.”
My mind snaps onto the new direction of this conversation, because thinking about everything Jane just revealed is too much. So I put on the smirk I love to hide behind. “I can help you with that. I’m good at fun.”
She rolls her eyes. “Wow, you must think I’m pathetic.”
“You know I don’t,” I say seriously. And maybe I can give Jane a little honesty too. “I should tell you the reason I got so panicked in the studio last week,” I say. It’s only one reason, but it’s still important.
Jane nods. “You can tell me anything, Keeley.”
Fuck, I wish that were true. “I haven’t felt happy with my studio work in a long time.
” She opens her mouth to protest, but I put up a finger.
“No, I know I’m really good at it. I’m just getting really bored and restless.
I don’t know—until Glitter Bats got back together, I wasn’t feeling very fulfilled creatively.
I don’t mind playing on other people’s albums, but the work never felt like mine.
Now that we’re making music again, I just remember how it feels to be so invested in our work. I’m so proud of More to Say.”
“Me too,” Jane says quietly.
I clear my throat, leaning back against the pillows. “I don’t want to lose that feeling, but I’m worried that without Glitter Bats, I’ve peaked. There’s nothing more impressive for me to accomplish.”
She nods. “I understand that, the need to feel like you’re achieving something—but it’s not like you’re a slouch, Keeley.
I mean, look at ‘Your Body and Mine,’ or that work you did on the Pizza Dream album.
That was super technical, and you made it sound effortless.
You’re so good at what you do.” She stacks the plates but doesn’t move to get up.
“I saw your wall of drummers in your studio. You belong up there too.”
The fact the most talented person I know thinks I belong on my own inspiration wall might just make me do something reckless, like closing the distance between us. I blink, trying to banish the thought. “Uh, I don’t, but I appreciate that.” I swallow.
“No, Keeley, truly. You’re the best drummer I’ve ever worked with. I’m proud of you—and proud to be your friend.”
God. The earnestness in her tone just might destroy me.
I wish there could be more to it than friends, but I’ll take what I can get.