“Forrest,” Mx. Prager calls out, and he grimaces.
“Sorry!” He whisper-calls over his shoulder, and everyone laughs. He shrugs, smiling, and scans the room until he spots me. He looks different, and it takes me a minute to pinpoint why: He’s wearing jeans instead of sweatpants, and sneakers instead of slides. His hood is pushed off his head for once, his curls spilling out in full view. It’s so cute, the way he clearly tried to spruce up for this.
When his gaze falls on me, it’s like a spotlight, and I can’t help but smile. I press my lips together, feeling the ghost of our kiss. He motions for me to come to him, and with everyone watching, all I can do is stand and weave through the spaces between chairs until I reach him.
“Hey,” he says. His eyes are sparkling.
“Hi,” I say. I sound stiff, and his smile falters for a second, but he pulls his backpack around, digging out a couple sheets of paper.
“I printed out the questions for us,” he says, handing me one of the pages.
“Great,” I say.
He steps closer, and I freeze, my eyes widening. He stops, frowning, and starts to say something, but then someone comes up beside us and we both turn.
“Sidney, Forrest, I’d like to introduce you to our guest,” Mr. Harrison says. “This is Dean Foster, executive director of the Trans Youth Center here in town.” He gestures to the man standing behind him.
Dean is clean-cut and slim, a few inches shorter than Mr. Harrison, with strawberry-blond hair in a tight fade. He’s wearing a dark green sweater and black jeans, with new-looking sneakers. I always pictured executive directors in collared shirts and suit pants, like Mom in her blazers and slacks, but Dean looks more like a fun older cousin.
“Hi there,” Dean says, shaking each of our hands with a smile. “It’s an honor to meet you both. I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Sweet,” Forrest says. “Shall we?” He sweeps an arm toward the front, and then we’re all walking there together, taking our seats as Mr. Harrison calls the room to attention.
“Welcome, everyone,” Mr. Harrison says. “As the advisor for Queer Alliance, I’m going to take a moment to introduce our speaker, and then our co-presidents will chat with him. There will be time for Q&A at the end, so hold your fire and we’ll try to get to everyone.” He glances over at us, smiling. “It gives me great pleasure to introduce Dean Foster, the executive director for the Trans Youth Center here in Seattle, and a former student of mine.” Dean does a half bow from his seat, as if he’s onstage. “Dean was once a dorky teenager walking these very halls—”
“And now I’m a dorky adult,” Dean interjects.
Mr. Harrison laughs. “We didn’t have Queer Alliance then, but Dean was a trailblazer in his own right. I’ll leaveit to him to talk more about that, but suffice to say he made quite an impression as Romeo in the school play. Sidney and Forrest, take it away.” He gestures to us before retreating to a chair in the front row.
Everyone is looking at us now. I feel hot and cold with fear, stomach turning over. Am I going to faint? I might faint here, in front of everyone, and I’ll ruin the panel and everyone will be mad at me because they worked so hard on it, and—
“Dean, thanks for coming today,” Forrest says. His voice cracks on the first word, but miraculously no one laughs, and Dean acts like it didn’t happen.
“Glad to be here,” he says. “It’s quite a throwback for me.”
“For sure,” Forrest says. “So, you were in theater, and now you’re the executive director of the Trans Youth Center. I went there to get on hormones last year, it was super chill. How did you end up in that role?”
“I’m glad you had a good experience with us,” Dean says. “In my time here, I played Romeo in the school play, and that actually led me to come out as trans. I think I was one of the first students to be openly trans at Jefferson High.”
The crowd murmurs. “That’s really cool,” Forrest says. “I mean, it must have been hard too.”
“It was a lot of things.” Dean smiles, his eyes flicking to Mr. Harrison and then back. “My experience at Jefferson was part of what led me to create the Trans Youth Center after I graduated from the social work program at the University of Washington. I still do theater on the side—I’m involved in an all-drag production ofHamletright now—but the Trans Youth Center is my life’s work.”
I peer down at the page in my hands. I should say something, but Forrest has already asked the first two questions, and the conversation is flowing. I’ll just interrupt it if I speak up.
“Sidney,” Forrest says, nudging me with his elbow.
I look up, and everyone is staring at me, waiting for me to speak. Dean is watching me too, eyebrows raised, as if he doesn’t understand why I’m here.
“Are you going to help me co-moderate at all, or are you just going to sit there?” Forrest asks through a clenched jaw. The crowd murmurs in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, and he scoffs.
“Whatever,” he says. “You clearly aren’t fit to be president. Good thing I’ve been campaigning behind your back this whole time.”
My mouth opens, tears stinging my eyes, and I turn to Mr. Harrison for help, but he’s just standing there, glaring at me, arms crossed.
Everyone laughs, and I twitch, breathing shallowly. Forrest and Dean are talking, Forrest’s elbows firmly by his sides. I sneak a glance at the audience; everyone is watching them, smiling and nodding along, including Mr. Harrison. No one is looking at me.
