Amidst the GSA.
45
I meant to linger in the hall. Wait for Bowie to finish. Do my homework. Instead, I’ve stepped right into the unicorn’s den.
A strange hand claps me on the back. For a second I think it’s Liam, getting ready to tuck in my tag, or maybe just rescue me, but no. This hand is callused, and it doesn’t linger on my tag; instead, it gives my shoulder a squeeze and a shake.
“Glad you finally decided to join us, bro!” Braden drops into the seat next to me, leaving his arm across my back like we’re old friends.
I glance from Braden’s gap-toothed smile to Bowie, whose cheeks are puffed up like they’re trying to contain a laugh.
“Uh...”
Braden finally takes his arm off me. “You know your tag is sticking out?”
“Oh. Thanks.” I reach back and tuck it in.
“No worries, bro. It’s nice to have you.”
He looks like he really means it, as he pushes his swoopy hair off his forehead and turns to Bowie. “Cheyenne gone again?”
“Another college visit.”
Braden shakes his head and turns back to me. “Well, you came on a good day. We could use your help, bro.”
Mr. Cartwright emerges from his office and spots me. His eyebrows shoot up. Did Dr. L tell him about the lists? About me getting kicked off the play? I think about bolting, but it’s too late for that.
I’ve already beenbro’d into a corner.
I keep mostly quiet as Bowie runs the meeting. My hands itch with the urge to take notes—force of habit—but Nadine, the GSA’s secretary, is already doing that, seated stage left of Bowie at a folding table. Bowie stays standing as they work through the meeting’s agenda: an upcoming movie night, volunteer shifts at one of the local shelters, aMario Karttournament fundraiser.
I raise my hand.
“Why notSmash Bros?”
“We did that last year. It got a little messy.”
I blink. I never heard about that.
Braden leans over. “Two drag queens got into something-something.”
“Huh? Got into what?”
“A fistfight. I guess some people are really picky about which Bayonetta costume they wear.”
“Wow.” I never knew about the Toxic Bayonetta Fandom.
“Anyway,” Bowie says. “Mario Kartis the name of the game, and Braden has gotten a few football players to work as security to prevent any more incidents.”
Braden pounds his fist over his heart. I want to laugh, but it’s strangely sincere of him. “I got you, Bowie.”
I raise my hand.
“Yes? Jackson?”
“I can help. If you need anything. Like, tech-wise.”
Bowie nods. “Great. I’ll put you down. We actually need someone to chair the event, if you’re up for it.”
