He frowns, deep in thought for a minute, and then his eyes widen. “I totally forgot about that. Oh my god.” He claps a hand to his face. “No. That was just ...I was texting with my dad right before you walked up, and he was just really pissing me off, so I was already in a bad mood. I...” He grimaces. “I’m sorry. Have you been thinking about that all this time?”
I shrug, staring out the window as we pull into one of the downtown stations. “Not really. I just remembered it now. Because of what you were saying.”
“Sidney.”
I turn my head slightly so I can look at him, just barely. His eyes are fixed on me as he pulls off his hoodie and turns his body toward me. His knee presses into my thigh.
“You are serious, but it’s not a bad thing,” he says. “You’re also super funny, and really smart, and you have really good ideas.”
“What?” I crinkle my nose.
“It’s true.” He smiles. “Look, I’d almost always rather have a party, because I think you can’t really get work done unless you have fun too. Look at Pride parades. They started as a protest,andthey were also a way for the community to get together, support each other, and celebrate who we are. Nowthey’re giant parties, and yeah, the capitalism of it all is irritating, but they’re also fun, and beautiful, and we need that. We need that to keep going.” He pauses. “Sorry. I’ll get off my soapbox, but the point is, we need fun because it keeps us going through the serious shit. The work. Changing things, and raising awareness, and building power. Like your exhibit idea. Yeah, some of our newbies at QA came because of the party, but half the new people who were there came because of the exhibit. Because it taught them something new, or made them curious, or whatever.” He clasps his hands. “It all works together.”
“Thatis deep,” I say.
He blushes, something I’ve never seen before; his cheeks and forehead redden, even the bridge of his nose under his freckles. “Thanks.”
“I had no idea you were into social justice like that,” I say.
He tilts his head. “You thought I was just an annoying class clown?”
“No, no—” I protest, even though that’s exactly what I think. Or used to think. The longer we’re co-presidents, the less I remember exactly why I found him so annoying before.
He laughs. “I’m just teasing you. But yeah, that’s one of my other things. My hyperfixations, or whatever you wanna call it.”
“That’s cool.”
He shrugs, smiling. It’s hard to believe the revote is happening in two weeks. I haven’t been thinking about it asmuch lately, and the idea of not sharing the presidency with Forrest anymore feels a little odd, almost wrong somehow. Add that to the list of feelings I never thought I’d have. It seems like there’s more and more of those lately.
I look out the window as we pull into another station, and—
“This is us!” I jump out of my seat, and he follows me off the train with a crowd of commuters headed home.
We’re both quiet on the elevator ride up to street level, checking our phones, and I text Mom and Shar to let them know I have a friend coming over. It doesn’t even feel weird to call Forrest a friend.
Should it feel weird that itdoesn’tfeel weird?
When we get to my front walk, the nerves kick in. Did I leave anything embarrassing lying out in my bedroom? Maybe my journal is open on my bed, or there’s a box of tampons on the bathroom counter, or—but this is Forrest. He’s trans. He knows what a tampon is.Don’t overthink it.
Inside, the house is quiet, except for Brekky’s demanding meows as he trots toward us, tail high. He goes straight for Forrest, bypassing my outstretched hand altogether.
“Betrayal!” I gasp, and Forrest chuckles, kneeling to scratch Brekky behind the ears. The cat arches his neck and purrs, leaning his head into Forrest’s hand.
“Guess I’m not the only animal whisperer,” I say. “Earl Grey will be the real test, though.”
As if on cue, a tiny mew comes from the direction of the kitchen. Earl Grey peeks around the corner and, as I watch, slinks along the wall until she stops a few feet awayfrom Forrest. She sits upright, gazing at him with her round green eyes.
“Wow,” I say, and she flinches, dashing behind the armchair. We both laugh.
Forrest sets his stuff down and follows me to the kitchen, boosting himself up to sit on the counter while I scoop the cats’ food into their bowls. Once they’re eating, I rejoin him.
“Do you want anything?” I ask, opening the fridge. “We have some soda, and sparkling water, and juice...”
“What kind of soda?”
“Ginger ale.”
“I’ll have that.”
