“You’re totally right,” I said, eyes widening. “I just had no idea you’d feel this strongly.”
She ran her hands through her hair and took a deep breath. “As a bi woman, I’m sensitive to anyone being made to feel shame over their sexuality. That’s not something I take lightly. And I’m sick and tired of hearing about books kids need—not just queer kids, but all kids—being banned,especiallyhere in Texas.”
“That makes total sense, Zo. I agree and I’m sorry I didn’t think about that before bringing it up. Do you want to be involved in my petition?”
Zoey had a faraway look. Suddenly her whole face brightened and she snapped her fingers. “Forget the petition. You’re right, it’s way too small. We’re doing a protest.”
My stomach dropped. “A what?”
“A public rally.” She must’ve read the look on my face. “Don’t worry, we do it all the time. I swear, these days I go to one a week. They’re always a good time and they always make the news. Half the time they even move the needle, which as you know is high ROI when it comes to protesting.”
I did not know that because I’d never been to a rally before. I thought back to what Nora said, that love was political, whether you acknowledged it or not. I added to that: simply existing was political—taking up space in the world, on bookshelves.
“When you say ‘we do it all the time,’” I asked cautiously, “who’s this we?”
Zoey waved a hand at the courtyard. “The Austin art community. A free speech issue? They’re going to be all over it, trust me. And I have a friend over at the Austin Queer Caucus who I know would get her network on board. They’re a force—always standing up for people’s rights. They’re amazing.”
I gulped. “It sounds like this could turn into a big thing.”
“No, don’t worry. We have it down to a science—the permits, the participants. It’s practically paint by numbers. You just worry about rounding up the librarians.”
Could we actually pull this off? I was nowhere near what anyone would consider a leader. I’d spent a comfortable—if lonely—life in the background, and my resolve to be a new Alexis felt outmatched by this idea.
“Please?” Zoey pressed her hands together. “Just a tiny baby rally in front of the capitol. It’ll be great.”
As she stood there with her wide eyes full of hope, my heart filled with affection: for her, for Gabby and her schoolkids, for my own kids at the library. And the love made me feel brave.
“Okay,” I said, and she whooped. “Just a very small,tamegroup marching down Eleventh Street. Mild chanting—noair horns. And only tasteful signs.” I glanced down at my barely there leaf top. “Actually, scratch that—onlysubduedsigns allowed.”
“Ah,” she squealed, rushing over to hug me. “Thank you! I promise, we’ll be so small and subdued, you’ll have zero regrets.”
18
Get Your Ass Down Here,
It’s a Free Speech Rager
The crowd pulled me like a riptide toward Eleventh Street, only tobe stopped by the sudden appearance of a full-blown marching band. They were decked out in Texas Longhorn regalia, cowboy hats and fringed shirts and all, and immediately burst into a jazzy rendition of Britney Spears’s “Hit Me, Baby, One More Time.” Squeals went up around me. I looked around, dazed. There had to be hundreds of people pouring through the streets of downtown Austin.
“Alexis, thank God.” Quinn Xavier, the head of the Austin Queer Caucus, rushed toward me, defying the crowd. She gave me a once-over, then spoke quickly into a walkie-talkie. “Yes, I found her. She appears to be hypnotized by a Britney Spears song. Bringing her back now.”
Quinn took my elbow and gently steered me back to where I’d come from. “Darling, do you want the Longhorn marching band to go before or after the First Amendment Fire Eaters? The march is about to start.”
“March?” My voice was hollow. My eyes had been so wide for so long I was afraid they were going to be stuck like this. “It was supposed to be a tiny baby rally.”
“Oh, this?” Quinn jerked her chin at the crowd. “This is nothing, just a little Saturday pop-up. We got who we could last minute. Now where are you on the band and fire eaters?”
“How did you get the actual college marching band? Andfire eaters?”
“Turns out the marching band’s a staunch supporter of freedom of speech, go figure, allies in unlikely places and all that. And the fire eating’s someFahrenheit 451reference, I don’t know, do I look like the kind of person who paid attention in middle school English?No offense, darling, the work you do as a librarian is vital, obviously, that’s why we’re here. My two cents: the fire eaters are divas, but the news likes them since they make a good shot, so you might want to let them go first. Then if there’s an accident like last time, the marching band can swoop in and distract everyone.”
I turned to her, mouth agape. “Who’s, uh, legally liable in case of a fire? Not the person in charge, right?” I crossed my fingers. Fire insurance aside, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something. Something I was supposed to do but forgot in the whirlwind of planning.
“Alexis!” The shout broke through the noise. “I was worried the crowd ate you.” Quinn and I were back at the protest’s central command station, aka a folding table loaded with water bottles, walkie-talkies, and clipboards. Zoey hurried over, Muriel and Gia right behind her. “Isn’t this great?” Zoey squealed. “Fabulous turnout!”
The mastermind behind the mayhem. I was ready to unleash a very sternly worded reprimand—tiny, my butt—when I registered her outfit. “What are you wearing?”
Zoey stood next to Muriel and Gia in, as best I could tell, the erotic movie version of their outfits. Her hair was pulled back in a bun with a pencil tucked through it, and she wore a cardigan like Muriel and Gia, except hers was cropped. Instead of their sensible jeans, she wore a slitted miniskirt. All three of them blinked back at me from behind matching pairs of thick-framed glasses.
