She studies my face, searching for something, then nods slowly. "Okay. One night. What do you need?"
"Time. And a printer."
The next seventy-two hours blur into controlled chaos.
I gather every scrap of poetry I've ever scribbled, all the awkward half-formed thoughts about wanting to belong while staying whole, about loving someone across the gaps people insist matter. Pages torn from ledgers, napkins with verses scratched in haste, the back of a grocery receipt where I once tried to rhyme "tusks" with "dusk" and gave up.
Darius helps me type them up proper, fixing spelling without mocking too hard. "This one's actually good," he admits, reading a piece about Lacy's hands on old books.
"Don't sound so surprised."
"You usually rhyme 'meat' with 'eat.' This has actual emotional depth."
We print fifty copies at the community center, spiral bound with clear covers. "Stone Venn: Poems of In-Between." The title makes me cringe but Lacy insists it's perfect.
Next, the food. I recruit six orcs from the enclave who can cook, who want to show humans what our food actually is instead of the scary exoticism the clips suggest. We plan a spread: roasted root vegetables with fire spices, the sweet berry bread my clan makes for celebrations, tea blended with mountain herbs that smell like home.
"You sure about this?" asks Mara, an older orc woman who lost her placement at a school after parents complained. "Putting ourselves out there again? They'll just twist it."
"Not if we control the story from the start. We invite everyone, human and orc, media too. Let them see us as we are, not cut into bite-sized fear."
She considers, then nods. "I'll bring my storytelling drum. If we're doing this, we do it right."
I rent folding chairs, string lights, borrow sound equipment from the cultural center. Tess helps with social media, framing it careful: "Community Reading Night - All Welcome." No mention of damage control or viral clips. Just an invitation.
Lacy watches me work with this look I can't quite parse, something tender and terrified mixed together. "What if no one comes?" she asks the night before.
"Then it's you and me and fifty chapbooks."
"What if too many come? What if they're angry?"
I pull her close, resting my chin atop her head, breathing in the scent of her shampoo mixed with old paper. "Then we're angry together. Better than being afraid apart."
She holds on tight, her arms barely meeting around my back, her heartbeat quick against my ribs. "I'm scared."
"Me too."
"But you're doing it anyway."
"Only thing I know how to do. Keep trying, even when it's stupid."
She laughs, the sound muffled against my torso. "Your stupid got me through a hearing. Maybe it'll work again."
The night arrives cold and clear, early spring wind rattling the bookstore windows. We arrange chairs in a semicircle, leaving the center open for readers. The food tables line one wall, covered in simple cloth, the berry bread cut into generous slices that fill the space with sweet earthiness.
My chapbooks stack beside the register, their covers gleaming under the string lights Lacy helped me hang. Each one feels like exposing something raw, every bad poem and earnest thought I've ever had about not fitting and wanting to anyway.
Darius shows up first with four more orcs in tow, all dressed careful-casual, trying to look approachable. Then Aunt Rene, carrying her famous pie and a gleam of mischief. Tess arrives with a photographer she trusts, someone who'll capture the real moments instead of hunting for controversy.
Seven o'clock. The posted start time.
A handful of humans drift in, curious locals who know Lacy, who maybe saw the invite and wanted to support her despite the clips. They take chairs cautiously, eyeing the orc food with interest and uncertainty.
Seven fifteen. More arrive. Some I recognize from the hearing, allies who testified or just showed up to witness. Othersare strangers, and I can't tell if they've come in good faith or to gawk at the spectacle.
Seven thirty. The room's half full, maybe forty people, mixed species, the murmur of conversation building like water finding its level.
Lacy touches my arm. "Ready?"
