Chapter 3
On Monday morning, I’m ready. I’ve been thinking about this presidency thing all weekend, and I know what to do. Sometimes my brain’s inability to shut up is a curse, but sometimes, it does come in handy.
I can hear Mom out in the kitchen as I get ready, and then the front door slamming as she leaves.
Shar is long gone, up three hours before we are.
Rummaging through my dresser, I pick out jeans, a green-and-blue-striped shirt, and my favorite hoodie.
In the bathroom, I brush my teeth and wash my face, avoiding the mirror.
The person I see in its reflection never looks the way I expect.
Not that I really look like anything in my head; the world constantly reminds me that I’m seen as a girl, even though I’m not super feminine.
I’m not masculine either, and I try as much as possible not to think about how everyone sees me.
When I’m alone, I forget gender exists, and I feel like a formless blob.
If I could be an animal, I’d say maybe a lizard, the kind that runs really fast, or a small bird, so I could fly.
Just not who I see in the mirror: an awkward-looking kid with shoulder-length, wavy brown hair, freckled white skin, and behind my glasses, eyes gray blue like my Dad’s, the only way he’s ever been a constant presence in my life.
I pop on my headphones as I walk to the light rail station to catch the train, picking Olivia Rodrigo’s latest album for the soundtrack to my morning.
There’s a slight chill in the air, big clouds drifting in front of the silvery morning sun every now and then.
The air smells good: earthy and crisp, like fall, my favorite season.
Late roses bloom on the bushes in our neighbors’ yards, their scent fruity and light.
My heart is pounding, not because I see the school but because of what I’m about to do. Inside the building, I wind my way through the masses of kids crowding around lockers, chattering in clumps, goofing off outside classrooms while they wait for the doors to open.
I find him at his locker, thankfully with none of his friends in sight.
“Hey Forrest,” I say, and he looks up from his phone, a slightly dopey expression on his face like he just woke up.
Which he probably did. Or he’s stoned. I don’t smell weed, though.
He’s got the same hoodie on that he wore yesterday, and as he turns to me, he pushes the hood off, shutting his locker door with a bang that makes me twitch. Hopefully not enough for him to see it.
“Hey,” he says. Gone is the jovial shout; his voice is subdued, and he doesn’t smile as he looks at me. He points at me. “Co-President. What’s up.”
“Not much.” I shrug. “So. About that . . . I really think it would be best for the club if there was one president, and I was wondering if we could talk and maybe—”
“If you’re trying to get me to step down, it’s not happening,” he says.
“Um—” I start, but my brain freezes and I don’t know what to say next. It seemed like a good plan last night, when I rehearsed it in my head, but Mind-Rehearsal-Forrest was way more agreeable than this Forrest.
“What’s your problem with me, anyway?” he says, crossing his arms.
“I don’t have—”
“You think you’re better than me?” I grimace, avoiding his gaze. “That you have some kind of claim to Queer Alliance just because you got to it first?”
“No, I—” My face is hot. A few people murmur as they pass us.
“I have just as much right to be president as you, and last I checked, half the club voted me in. Fair and square. So I’ll see you at lunch on Friday, Co-President.” He says the last word extra loud, swivels around, and walks away into the crowd.
I stand there staring down at the ground, not wanting to see any of the eyes that might be on me right now. I really don’t think I’m better than him. But I have been involved longer. And I have done more than he has. I think that gives me a little more knowledge about how to run the club.
I blink against the tears that well up suddenly.
Everyone saw that. Or at least, everyone passing us in that moment saw it, and now people just see me, standing in the hallway by a locker that isn’t even mine, about to cry.
I hurry down the hall, in the same direction, then turn, heading for the nearest bathroom.
The gender-neutral single stall is open, and I lock myself inside, letting my backpack fall to the floor and slumping against the door.
I slide down until I’m sitting on the tile and take off my glasses, pressing my hands against my eyes.
I can’t believe I thought that was actually going to work.
I’m such an idiot. Now he really thinks I’m an uptight bitch, just like the Forrest in my anxiety movie did.
Stop, I tell myself.
Stop.
Stop.
I shake my head to get rid of the thoughts, and open my eyes, staring at the beige wall behind the toilet.
My throat tightens again, and I swallow the tears down.
The bell is going to ring soon, and I have to go to class, and I am not giving Forrest the satisfaction of seeing how much he’s upset me.
After our showdown in the hallway, I’m on guard for Forrest behind every corner.
In our class together, first-period English, he totally ignores me, but every time I see him in the hall my heart rate jumps.
His words ricochet around my brain, the scene replaying at totally random and completely inconvenient moments: as a teacher calls on me to answer a question; in the middle of dinner; while I’m working on homework.
I do my best to get through the day, but the whole time in my mind, Forrest is glaring at me and saying I must think I’m better than him.
What if he tells his friends what I did, and they tell everyone else in the club, and everyone thinks I’m completely out of my mind, and they don’t even wait for the revote, they just make me leave Queer Alliance immediately, and my friends abandon me, and—
“Sidney?” A finger poking my shoulder makes me jump. When I look up, Anna is watching me with a concerned, wary expression on her face. It’s Wednesday, and we’re sitting in the hallway for lunch, and my thoughts are going haywire, like they have for the past few days.
“What’s up?” I try to smile, but my lips won’t make the shape; they just pull tighter, into something that feels and probably looks like a skeleton pretending to be human.
Jayden and Makayla are watching me now too, and I look down at my sandwich, swallowing against the lump rising in my throat. If I tell them what I’ve been thinking, I’ll sound totally unhinged.
“You’ve been super spacey the past few days,” Anna says. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” I say. “I’m just . . .” I wave my hand vaguely. “Anxious.”
“Is it about Queer Alliance?” Anna eyes me. She is way too perceptive sometimes.
“Ummm . . .” I lean back, letting my head fall against the wall with a light thump. “Yeah.”
“You’re gonna be a great president,” Makayla says.
“Co-president,” I say, and I don’t mean to sound bitter, but the word comes out like burnt coffee.
“Maybe Forrest will be . . . OK-ish?” Jayden says.
I raise my eyebrows at him. “What a vote of confidence.”
He rubs the back of his head, grinning. “I mean, maybe he’ll surprise you! He’s not that bad.”
I sit upright. “Not that bad? Are you two secret besties? Should I be worried?” I’m joking, but what if whispers the voice in my head. I mentally bat it away.
“No!” Jayden holds his hands up. “I’m still your right-hand man. We just got assigned to a project together in history, that’s all, and he’s been . . . fine. Alexander is in the group too.”
“I’m very happy for you.” I roll my eyes. He shrugs, smiling.
Anna squeezes my arm. “You’re going to do great. No matter what Forrest does.”
I wish I believed her, but I can’t seem to stop replaying the confrontation with him over and over, picking out the moments where I could have said or done something, anything, different.
The moments where I could have rattled off the perfect comeback speech, which of course I can think of word for word now that I’m not right in front of him.
Where I could have said the right thing to disarm him, calm him down, get him to see what’s best and give up the presidency.
Where I could have started the whole conversation off differently, approached him with friendliness instead.
My brain is like an entity unto itself, a whole other being inside me that I have no control over.
It bombards me with images and thoughts like I’m in some horrible gym class dodgeball game where no matter how I move, I get hit in the face.
It’s me on one side and everything inside my brain on the other, throwing itself at me.
I’m so tired.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
That’s not real. It’s not happening.
As my friends chatter, I say it to myself three times, then again, because the thoughts are still coming.
And again. I do seven sets of three, for an odd number of twenty-one.
Then I do seven more sets. Then seven more, for three rounds of seven sets of three repetitions each, twenty-one times per round, sixty-three repetitions overall. All odd numbers. I’m safe inside.
When my friends and I walk into Mr. Harrison’s classroom on Friday, Forrest is already there, and the circle is half set up. I stop short, Jayden letting out a noise of surprise as he almost bumps into me.
“Hey.” Forrest hefts a chair over his head, grinning at us.
I cringe inwardly, waiting for the thunk when it lands, but he sets it down gently next to another one.
Jayden crosses to him and they fist-bump.
He glances back at me, and I widen my eyes at him.
He shrugs, giving me a guilty-looking smile.
OK, so Jayden and Forrest are cool with each other.
That’s fine. My friends can be friends with whoever they want.
I join the others as we push the last chairs into place. Forrest and I slide ours in at the same time, next to each other.
“How’s it going, Co-President?” he asks, his voice light. Too light. And he’s still calling me Co-President, like he wants to rub it in.
“Pretty good,” I say back, matching his casual tone.
The others filter in, and Mr. Harrison pops his head out of his office, making eye contact with me and Forrest for a thumbs-up that we’re good to go. Then he disappears again, and it’s just us and the rest of the club. It’s still early in the year, so the turnout from last week is holding.
“All right,” I say when everyone’s seated.
I have the perfect idea for an event, one that will show everyone why they should stick with me when it’s time to revote.
“So, October is coming up. It’s LGBT History Month and we usually do something for National Coming Out Day on the eleventh.
I don’t think we should pressure people to come out, but it would be great to do something educational around what it means to come out and how to make the school a place where people don’t have to come out, they can just be who they are. ”
The freshmen are nodding. “Maybe, like, an assembly?” one of them says in a soft voice.
“We did an assembly last year,” Forrest says.
I smile at the freshman. “That’s true, we did, still a good idea though. Maybe something similar to that?”
“Like a speaker?” Riley says.
“Oh yeah!” I turn to them. “That’s a great idea. We could even do a panel. Maybe from one of the local nonprofits?” Across from me, Stef scribbles in her secretary notes.
“I have an idea,” Forrest says. His voice rings out even louder than normal, and when we all turn to him, he’s looking right at me. “We should have a party.” He grins. “A Coming Out Party.”
I open my mouth but Riley beats me to it. “Like a themed party?” they ask.
“Yeah!” he says. “We could have it in the library, and have cupcakes with colored frosting for all the flags, and a supergay playlist, and games where you have to like, I don’t know, name the queer celebrity or something—”
“How is that going to make a difference at the school?” I ask, and the room goes totally silent.
Forrest raises his eyebrows. “It’s . . . fun? And having fun is nice? We shouldn’t have to be educating people all the time.”
“Why don’t we do both a panel and a party?” Riley says, chewing on their bottom lip as they look back and forth from me to Forrest.
“That sounds—” Forrest starts.
“Expensive,” Anna interjects. She’s on her laptop, tapping rapidly. “I have the spreadsheet for our club income and expenses here, and we can’t afford both.”
“Nonprofits aren’t gonna charge a school to send out some panelists,” Forrest says. “And someone can make cupcakes at home.”
“It’s not that simple,” I say, keeping my voice calm, even though I want to scream.
“We should have vegan and gluten-free cupcakes to be inclusive of dietary needs, and we should reimburse whoever makes them if we want to be really fair about it. And not everyone wants to eat cupcakes, so we should have some other options too. That will add up quickly.”
“OK, but that’s the only thing,” he says. “We can print posters using school tech and put them up ourselves. We can make decorations or bring stuff from home. All of that is free.”
“Have you ever set foot inside a grocery store? Do you even know how much food costs?” I ask.
“Are we seriously that broke?” he says. “I bet we can get all the food we need for less than fifty dollars.”
Everyone turns to Anna, whose eyes widen, then jump down to her screen. “We have . . . ten dollars,” she says.
“Huh,” Forrest says. “Well. We could ask places to donate food?”
“Do you think every single business is just dying to give high schoolers free stuff?” I ask.
“Are you always this negative?” he snaps back.
“Guys—” Jayden says, but the bell rings. The freshmen stand up, murmuring among themselves as they head for the door. Riley catches my eye and grimaces in solidarity.
Or in irritation? Maybe they’re mad that I got into it with Forrest today? I can’t tell. My heart is pounding, anger and anxiety surging in my chest. Our first meeting, and Forrest completely derailed it. Just like I was afraid of.
“Hey, Sidney—” Forrest says, but I slide out of the desk, grabbing my bag.
“Congratulations on getting us nowhere,” I say. “Co-President.” I glare at him and head for the door before he can say anything else.