Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Our ever-growing union has nearly outgrown the Formica table above Lou’s. Eden’s already volunteering to take minutes. And
thanks to Lola, Jaime’s here—they’re still working on Blake.
Everyone wants to know what happened at my meeting, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell them. I turned down offers not
to face down management by myself, insisting I could handle it, and I ended up freezing when Dagny offered me a deal that
benefits me alone.
I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t say no, either.
I swear to God I meant to refuse; I wanted to object with my every moral fiber. I would’ve told Dagny to take her sweetheart
deal and shove it—but I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t claw the words out of my throat before Dagny left.
I didn’t say yes, but I didn’t have to. Dagny took my silence as assent.
I have no intention of betraying the union, but even I know what it looks like. Dagny thinks I agreed, and she was actually there. What would the real story sound like to anyone who wasn’t in the room?
“Delayed processing” is the cat-got-your-tongue, dog-ate-my-homework excuse. I doubt I would believe me.
“Management didn’t change their minds,” I finally choke out. “They’re not going to lift the button ban.”
“But you explained to them how wrong it is,” Efraín states. Strange to think that just a few weeks ago I would’ve found that
level of faith in me—that missing question mark—a shocking show of support. Turns out I don’t deserve that faith after all.
“You explained why it’s wrong.”
“They weren’t concerned with ethics.”
“And you talked about how it’s harmful,” Lola says, “and the damage it does to you. As a trans person. As a person.”
“They definitely weren’t swayed by emotion.”
“You had legal arguments, too,” Naomi says. “You proved that their reasons—”
“Didn’t make sense?” I ask with a wry smile. “I broke it all down. I thought I was getting through to them.”
And I did. For one shining moment, I thought they were coming around.
“What did they have to say for themselves?” Stanley asks. “I’ve known Dagny, Anya, and Billy for a long time. They’re good
people, at heart. I thought they’d be reasonable enough to avoid a potential lawsuit.”
But who actually believes a lone seventeen-year-old is going to sue anyone? Me and what army? Sure as hell not the friends I left at the door.
I can’t tell them the truth. No one would believe I just froze up. They all know how badly I want the internship.
Naomi has been acting weird and avoidant for months, probably because I was willing to let her get fired for her hair color;
she has good reason to think I’d sell them all out for personal gain.
Lola offered to come with me, after already sticking her neck out as the other trans employee.
Stanley . . . okay, no, Stanley would take me at my word because his tragic flaw is trusting too much.
TJ, Jaime, and Eden barely know me and have no reason to trust me.
Efraín accused me of being a sleeper cell spy after our first meeting; wouldn’t it serve him right if I’d been the Manchurian
union member this whole damn time? I doubt he’d even be surprised, not really.
I don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt. I’m not a credible witness. I tried to warn them that I’m not equipped for any of
this, but the union made buttons for me. They put their faith in me.
I can’t tell them how badly I fucked it all up.
But I have to say something, so I tell them as much as I can.
“Do you think they know?” asks Naomi. “About the union?”
“I made sure Anya knew Eli didn’t make the buttons,” Lola says. “Everyone saw Stanley and me handing them out.”
“So they know it was a collective action,” Naomi concludes.
“They know more than that,” I say. Here, at least, I can help. Dagny’s loaded phrases and the “deal” itself only make sense
if she thinks there’s a game afoot. “They know it was union activity—or at least they suspect.”
“And as soon as bosses suspect workers are organizing,” Efraín explains, “they do everything they can to kill the union. Union
busting is a whole industry. Bosses pay corporate consultants to come in and quash any signs of worker unrest.”
A laugh gurgles up my throat. Dagny would never pay for a consultant when she won’t pay for a batch of pronoun buttons. Besides,
why pay anyone when she can bribe me to spy on my friends for the low cost of an internship?
Stanley agrees. “Even if they suspect something, Dagny would want to handle it quietly, in-house.”
Bingo.
“Especially with the anniversary party coming up,” Eden pipes up. When all eyes turn to her, she self-consciously tucks a
few braids behind her ear. “It’s a major fundraiser. The surviving cast members will be there, and media, too. Any whiff of
controversy could be dangerous.”
“That’s bargaining power,” Efraín says.
“But the party’s not for three weeks,” TJ protests.
“It’s not about the party,” Stanley muses. “It’s about—”
Simultaneously, I say, “The press.”
And Efraín says, “Escalation.”
We exchange a look. On his end, it’s . . . fond? Like he’s proud of me for being on the right side of history.
I don’t know about my face, but my stomach is in more knots than the garlic challah knots on the table.
Maybe that’s why I can’t just confess. Even though I know, objectively, I haven’t betrayed anyone, I can’t stand the thought
of losing the way Efraín’s looking at me right now.
“I know you guys think you’re finishing each other’s sandwiches right now,” Lola says, “but from where I’m sitting, that makes
as much sense as peanut butter and sardines.”
“It’s a gift,” Efraín says. “If management knows about the union, we don’t have to hide because they’re already desperate to keep us quiet,
compliant.”
“Meanwhile,” I continue, picking up the baton as if we’ve trained for this relay, “we need to decide what to do next about
the pronoun buttons. If we want to, I mean. But if we do, we have to escalate. We had impressive participation with the email zap, but we need to
ramp up the intensity.”
“Hit ’em where it hurts,” Efraín says. “Money and reputation.”
I clarify for everyone in the cheap seats, “We escalate by going to the press—or threatening to go to the press.”
Efraín disagrees. “We need to shame Dagny into changing museum policy.”
“No, Eli’s right,” Stanley says. “If Dagny thinks we’re about to go to the Egan’s Creek Citizen-Courier, she’ll compromise to prevent us from going public.”
“So we write a letter to the editor?” TJ asks.
“We draft an open letter,” I say, feeling more confident with every word, the plan crystallizing in my mind. “Gather signatures—”
“I can help with admin staff,” Eden volunteers.
“Do we actually send it to the E-triple-C or just threaten to send it if they don’t lift the button ban in twenty-four hours?”
Lola asks. “Just want to know what kind of hostage-ransom situation we’re getting into.”
“If we do go wide for support,” Stanley answers, “word will get around. Management will hear about the letter.”
Relief washes over me; I can see the escape hatch now.
No one needs to know how badly I screwed up, just as long as I fix this. If the open letter is effective and thoroughly shames
management, then Dagny can’t come after me, either.
I won’t get fired. I can make my down payment. I may not get the internship, but no one in this room will have any reason
to call me a traitor or worse, a scab.
All I have to do is write one perfect letter.