“Really, it’s just way too many words to say that this”—Samwaved at the box of papers Mal still hadn’t put down on the table—“is super my shit. And I think it’s rad y’all are doing this so, just another Elder Queer pay-it-forward donation from me. As long as y’all are working on the zine, you’re welcome to use these tools. They’re from my personal collection, though, so please treat them kindly.”
“This is…” Mal sorted through the sudden soup of thoughts that sloshing in their head. They had never heard of Interdisciplinary Studies as an option, for one. For another, they had never even imagined they could do something with zines outside of this room. Those ideas seemed like small revolutions inside their head. As they tried to absorb them, what finally filtered out was something easier to understand: “This is really nice of you, Sam.”
It wasn’t right, wasn’tenough, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. They shrugged. “Make cool stuff, okay? And if you need any more coffee, let me know. My treat.”
“Youare the treat,” Emerson said, joining them at the end of the table. “For this coffee. And, oooh, are these goodies?Punk rock, Sam, you’re a beast. Though I maintain I could have made this work with a regular needle and thread and these claws!” She fluttered her fingernails: short, painted in glittery purple, bitten almost to the quick.
Sam laughed. “Well, you’re welcome to, but this should make it easier on the rest of your team.” They waved to the room. “Y’all have fun, okay?”
“We will.” Parker nodded, grinning. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, of course.”
And then Sam was off, and theMixxedMediastaff were looking to Mal like they needed a plan.
Luckily, that was Mal’s strong suit.
“Okay,” they said, finally clunking the hundreds of pages they held down onto the table. “Here’s what I’m thinking.”
What they had been thinking, honestly, was that it would just be them and Emerson chugging away for most of the day alone. A part of Mal really wished it was—just the two of them at the desk, their knees touching. And though they still didn’t understand why everyone had shown up—this was the boring part of making a zine, as far from the fun writing bit as you could get—they could put them to use.
They created an assembly line on the fly: themself and Emerson carefully ordering and folding the pages (with sharp edges, thanks to Sam’s tools); Parker and Nylan using the awls to poke holes in the spine; James and Kodi sewing them together with an assortment of embroidery floss Mal had scavenged from the Glen’s clearance craft hoard in their room; and Stella at the end as quality control, making sure everything came together as it should. Stella seemed pleased with that—“If my name’s going on it, ithasto look good”—and the rest were content with the work.
After a bit of trial and error, they all fell into an easy rhythm of pulling pages, folding pages, stacking pages, and sewing pages. Emerson chatted easily with Nylan and Parker about anime, while Kodi and Stella talked about the new café-slash-bakery opening up where a stuffy old coffee shop used to be, farther down Greenup at the corner of 13th. Mal was quiet for the most part, falling into the blissful sameness of the work.
“This looks so much more official than I thought it would,” James said, leaning in toward Mal like he was sharing a secret. “Like, I honestly didn’t think it would lookthisgood. No shade to Ms. Merritt, but I think this may be better thanCollage?” He pulled string through the binding smoothly. “And I am so glad. I need this to be official.”
“What do you mean?” Mal asked.
“Well, this was mything.” James waved his hand at the work. “This is what I want to do. Not a zine, or whatever—writing. It’s what I’m good at. When it went away, I thought I was done for. What was I supposed to do, sports?”
Mal snorted a laugh along with James. He raised an eyebrow at them.
“Listen, I seriously considered it until you and Emerson proposed this thing. My brother was a big football deal, got a full ride to Ohio State. I thought,Maybe that could be me.But these wrists are for writing, not for throwing a football. That’s why I needed this to be real. I’m already so in Peter’s shadow. Without writing? I’d have nothing. But you must know how it is; you’re Maddie Flowers’s big sibling.”
Mal’s stomach sank and they thought of this morning, of the quiet and the eggs and the comfort… and the holes in Maddie’s conversation.
“Yeah,” they admitted, their voice small. “I know how it is.”
But before they could let the sting of that sink it, James was laughing. “That’s why I’m glad this looks so classy—and that this ragtag group of gays stuck together.”
“Hell yeah,” Emerson said. She must have been listening to the tail end of the conversation.
“I mean, not to assume,” James said, putting up his hands in peace.
“Nope, gay as hell over here,” said Kodi, smiling bright. “As if you couldn’t tell by these butch-ass vibes.”
“Listen, just because everyone else knew I was bi before I did doesn’t make me any less bi,” Emerson said, pretending to fuss, then dissolving into laughter at Kodi’s knowing look.
“Literally no one straight can wear this much pastel at once and get away with it,” Parker said. “Also, the subtle and always there pan rep with all this pink and blue and yellow should be a giveaway.”
“I’m ace,” Nylan said, her voice quiet but comfortable. Mal caught her eyes darting to Parker. “And maybe panromantic?”
“Ooh, I have a button for that,” said Parker, oblivious, and put her awl down to reach down for her tote bag.
“We know Mal’s the OG enby,” Emerson said, eyes shining. “And I know you’ve dated at least one girl because I got super jealous freshman year when you and Jess were a thing.”
The side of Mal’s lips quirked up in an involuntary smile. “One, you’re super weird, Emerson, but two, yeah—guilty as charged. I’m bi too.”
