Chapter 12
The Eidola Student Center is a massive, multi-purpose facility that includes a full cafeteria, administrative offices, meeting rooms, and event space for student organizations and clubs.
Back when Theo and I toured the campus before applying, this was where the group spent the most time. It’s at the very heart of campus.
“I’m glad you’re tagging along, Oliver,” Theo declares as we walk through the courtyard.
“Yeah, me too,” Max adds. “We love a good ally.”
I smile. Yep. That’s me—just a really good ally to the LGBTQIA+ community.
I wonder whether Caleb told Theo about our interaction on Sunday, and how he considers me an “honorary queer person.” I wonder if Theo would agree.
Given that I haven’t experienced any prejudice for being who I am, I would assume not.
But hey, that’s why being an ally is important, right?
I can use my privilege to help those who do experience prejudice. I can fight for them.
And that’s all that really matters.
As we enter the Student Center, it’s surprisingly just as bustling as it would be in the middle of the day.
There must be several other organizations and clubs that meet here in the evenings for activities.
Fortunately, there’s a bright, multicolored sign by the entrance with “EQA” written in glittery letters, guiding us toward the elevator, where several other students pile in with us.
In the elevator, Theo and I exchange nervous glances.
Theo has an unfortunate history of social anxiety, especially in large gatherings of strangers, so it makes sense that he looks so worried.
I, however, have been the designated Friend Group Extrovert for years.
I love people. I’m great at these types of interactions. So why the hell is my heart pounding?
We arrive on the second floor, file out, and follow the next colorful sign to Room 207.
Max eagerly leads the way through the door, where three chipper individuals greet us from behind a table.
From the center, a tall man with umber skin and braids flashes Max a smile.
“Hi, welcome to the Eidola Queer Alliance!”
“Thank you!” Max says with a grin, stepping forward with Theo close behind. I hover a few steps back.
“Come on up,” the man gestures to the plethora of items on the table.
“Please, take a swag bag. It’s got some EQA-branded goodies, some information about the Alliance, and an activity schedule for September.
We also have some pride friendship bracelets handmade by some of our members in the pink bucket here. ”
Max and Theo comply, each taking a yellow bag, then peeking into the pink bucket. Their eyes light up as they dig through the beads.
“We only ask that you don’t take more than three bracelets so that there’s enough for everyone,” the man adds, still smiling widely. He then turns his enthusiastic gaze to me. “Swag bag?” he offers.
I hesitate. “That’s okay, I’m just here for—”
“Oh, it’s okay! We have plenty for everyone!”
Not wanting to appear rude, I grab my own yellow bag and peer inside.
As described, there are several EQA-branded items: a tube of lip balm, a miniature spiral notebook, a koozie, a heart-shaped keychain, a couple of pens, and, my favorite, a rainbow foam Eidola Phantom stress toy.
There are also a few paper items that the greeter described, but I can look at all that boring stuff later.
I excitedly pull out the foam Phantom and give it a firm squeeze.
The man laughs. “Yeah, that’s definitely been the crowd favorite.”
“I’m obsessed. He’s coming everywhere with me.”
“Happy to hear it!” He turns his attention back to Max and Theo.
“Once you’ve picked your bracelets, feel free to mingle!
There are name tags over here where you can also include pronouns if you’d like.
And, of course, the pizza and soda are set up against the wall to the left.
If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to come talk to us! ”
Theo’s arm emerges from the bead bucket, adorned in two bracelets—one with what I recognize as the bisexual flag colors, and the other a classic rainbow. “I got one to give to Caleb, too,” he says to me, beaming ear-to-ear.
Max follows, sporting three bracelets, and leads us to the name tag table.
I try to figure out which flags they represent without asking, but Max spots me.
With a knowing grin, he points to the pastel blue, pink, and white one.
“Transgender.” Then, for the bracelet with different shades of blues, greens, and white, he says, “Gay Male Pride.” And finally, the bracelet with yellow, white, purple, and black. “Nonbinary. This one is for Jude.”
I smile. “Thanks, dude. I think I knew the trans and nonbinary ones, but I didn’t realize that gay men had a separate one.”
Max nods. “Yeah, the rainbow pride flag has kind of become the umbrella flag for the whole LGBTQIA+ community, so I guess gay men felt like they needed a men-loving-men specific flag in the same way lesbians have one.”
“That makes sense,” I say. “Those are dope colors, honestly.”
“Crap, should I get that one for Caleb instead of the rainbow?” Theo asks, a furrow in his brow.
“Here, I’ll grab the other one so Caleb can pick between the two,” I offer.
Theo smiles, relieved. “Thanks, man.”
I backtrack to the pink bucket, peer inside, and freeze. Holy shit, there are so many other colors and combinations. Pink, orange, and white. Pink, yellow, and blue. Purple, white, and green. Pink, white, purple, black, and blue. Black, gray, white, and purple. Green, white, gray, and black.
Are these all real? Are there really this many orientations and genders?
Maybe there’s a chance that whatever I am is in here, too.
It takes a few more seconds to spot the unique shade of teal from Max’s bracelet, so I reach in and grab it. Without another word, I slide back to Theo and slip the bracelet to him.
“Awesome, thank you so much, Oliver.”
“Anytime.”
“Time for pizza?” Max asks as he sticks his nametag on his shirt: Max, he/him.
“Yes, please,” Theo replies.
I choose not to make a nametag. I’m not here to socialize, I remind myself. This is for Theo and Max. I’m here for moral support. Nothing more.
The three of us grab our pizza and find a small table to huddle around as we eat.
Max, however, ends up in a conversation with another short-statured student with cobalt hair and multiple facial piercings.
His nametag reads “Greer, he/they,” and he’s wearing a transgender bead bracelet, too.
He also has one I don’t recognize—pink, yellow, and blue. Interesting.
I take this opportunity to curiously glance around the room at other people’s bracelets, names, and pronouns.
“Ash, they/them” has two unfamiliar bracelets.
“Bailey, she/they” has a nonbinary and bisexual bracelet.
“Jackie, any” has a bisexual bracelet and one I don’t recognize.
“Mal, they/them” has a nonbinary bracelet, and that pink, yellow, and blue one that Greer has.
“Alex, he/him” only sports a gay-male pride bracelet.
“Sarah, she/her” only has the one made of pinks, oranges, and white.
I have to do a double-take when I see “Raven, xe/xyr,” certain that I misread the pronouns.
That individual has three bracelets, and I can’t identify any of them.
Damn. I have a lot more to learn than I thought.
“Hi, I’m Quinn!”
I turn to find that Theo has been replaced by a cheery student wearing an EQA Volunteer t-shirt.
She has wavy, shoulder-length, chestnut hair with red under shades, soft brown eyes, and a septum piercing.
Her nametag says “Quinn, she/her”, and she’s donning a single bracelet with purple, black, white, and gray beads.
“Hi, Quinn. I’m Oliver.”
“Nice to meet you, Oliver! Welcome to EQA! Is this your first meeting?”
I grin. “Is it obvious?”
Quinn shakes her head, her curls bouncing playfully around her round face. “Only because I don’t recognize you. I’ve been a member for two years, and I’m really good with faces.”
“Wow, two years?”
“I know. Crazy, right?”
“You must really enjoy the Alliance then, huh?”
Quinn’s eyes light up even brighter. “I love this community with all my heart. I’ve made so many friends here, learned a lot, and helped with fundraising and activism. This group has seriously changed my life for the better.”
“Wow.” The purple beads of her bracelet catch my eye again, and I tilt my chin towards it. “Is that one of the bracelets from up front?”
“Oh, yes! I’m actually one of the ones who makes them.” She glances at my bare wrists and frowns. “We didn’t run out already, did we?”
“No, no, there were plenty. I’ve honestly never seen so many different color combinations. Are they all pride flags?”
Quinn nods. “Yep! We try to include flags from all the different sexualities, gender identities, and expressions, as well as just general rainbows for anyone who doesn’t want to get too specific.”
“Cool! Yeah, my buddies I came with grabbed a couple.” I rub my naked wrist apologetically. “I didn’t—I mean, I just wanted to make sure there was enough for everyone.”
“Oh, trust me, there are,” Quinn insists. “And if there aren’t, my buds and I have more. Making those bracelets has become one of my favorite stress relief activities.”
“That’s cool,” I repeat, still eyeing hers specifically. “So, can I ask which flag that one represents?”
Quinn beams. “Absolutely! It’s the asexual flag colors: black, gray, white, and purple.”
Asexual. I turn the word over in my head. I’ve heard it before, of course—and not just in biology—but I guess I didn’t realize it was part of the queer community. “So, you’re asexual?”
“I am!”
I chew on my bottom lip for a moment before asking. “I’m going to sound like an idiot, but…what exactly does being asexual mean?”
“You don’t sound like an idiot at all! Being asexual can mean a lot of different things to different people, but the general definition of asexuality is experiencing little to no sexual attraction to any gender.”
Something deep in my chest loosens. “Huh.”
“Like most things,” Quinn continues. “Asexuality is a spectrum, often called the gray-ace spectrum. Some experience sexual attraction occasionally, while others are completely averse to it. For example, demisexuals are a subgroup within the gray-ace spectrum. They don’t experience sexual attraction until they really get to know another person on an emotional level. ”
I frown. “Wait, is that—is that not the norm?”
Quinn grins. “When it comes to sexuality and attraction, I’d argue that ‘the norm’ doesn’t actually exist.”
“I mean, sure, but like—” I sigh, struggling to verbalize my thoughts in a concise, non-asshole way. “But isn’t that what attraction is? Like—I don’t know. I’m not trying to be antagonistic, I swear—”
“I know, you’re fine,” Quinn interjects, an earnest smile still on her face. “Please continue.”
“Can you define demisexual again?”
Quinn pauses. “Let me make sure I don’t misrepresent it,” she says as she retrieves her phone from her pocket.
A few taps later, her confident smile returns.
“Okay, according to Wikipedia, ‘demisexuality is used to describe individuals who feel sexually attracted to someone only after developing a close or strong emotional bond with them.’”
I blink, trying to process her words. “Okay, can you tell me what the Wikipedia definition of heterosexuality is?”
She laughs. “Really?”
“Please? I need to see something.”
Thankfully, she goes along with it. “Here we go: ‘As a sexual orientation, heterosexuality is an enduring pattern of emotional, romantic, and/or sexual attractions to people of the opposite sex.’” She frowns.
“I’m not sure that’s a good definition because romantic and sexual attraction are separate, but either way–” She glances back at me. “Does that answer your question?”
I shake my head. “So, being straight is simply being attracted to every person of the opposite sex? It doesn’t matter if you have a close emotional bond with them or not?”
Quinn presses her lips together thoughtfully. “I think you’d have to ask a straight person. Or at least someone who is not ace.”
“I guess I just don’t see what makes demisexuality different from being straight or gay.
For example, my buddy always thought he was straight, but one day he met this guy and started hanging out with him.
It wasn’t until they were friends and spending time together that he realized he was attracted to him.
Or… at least, that’s how I think it went down. ”
“As I said, everyone’s experience is different,” Quinn explains. “Does your friend identify as demisexual?”
“No, he’s bi. I’m pretty sure he’s never heard of being demisexual because neither have I.”
Quinn opens her mouth to respond, but hesitates.
“Here, I think I have some material that might explain this better. Plus, I know a few members of our group who identify as demi, and they can give you a far better perspective on what it means to them than I ever could.” She opens her cross-body bag, pulls out a black binder, and thumbs through the tabbed pages until she finds what she’s looking for.
She carefully slides out a tri-fold pamphlet and a couple of additional sheets, handing them all to me.
I give the pages a quick scan—they’re full of informative graphics, definitions, and bullet points that I’m sure will be helpful, but something in me isn’t satisfied. Even so, I manage a smile. “Thank you.”
“Of course! Also, let me give you my number,” she adds, retrieving a blank index card from an outer pocket of the binder, scribbling her digits on the back, and passing it to me. “If you have more questions about being ace, or would just like a friend to talk to, shoot me a text!”
I add the index card to my stack of paper, folding everything to match the card’s size so they’ll fit in my pocket. “Thanks, Quinn.”
“You’re very welcome, Oliver!” Her eyes land on my wrists again, and before I can stop her, she removes her bracelet and offers it to me.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to–”
“Please, I have so many more,” Quinn insists, gently taking my hand and sliding the bracelet onto my wrist. “Even if this isn’t your identity, it matches your outfit.”
I glance down at my ensemble and, sure enough, she’s right. I’m wearing my dark purple Saint Motel band t-shirt, black gym shorts, white socks, and gray sneakers. “Oh, damn,” I mutter. “Would you believe me if I said this wasn’t intentional?”
Quinn studies me with a knowing expression. “You know, I think I do.”