by Alex Gino
“Excuse me,” the kid said, and Rick moved out of the way.
Rick took another sip of water, and as he wiped his chin, he told himself, “This is it.” His legs drove him toward the door before his brain could disagree. He slipped in right behind two tall kids wearing matching T-shirts that said Jung Middle School Spring Musical on the back.
The classroom was bright, and a dozen kids were scattered inside. Mostly, people were gathered in twos and threes, though a few sat alone. Kelly and Melissa were there, of course, in the front row, along with Leila. Today her hair was back in a long ponytail instead of a braid. The three of them were talking to the teacher adviser, who sat in a chair across from them. There was another kid Rick recognized from his Spanish class chatting with the green-haired kid. The spring-musical-shirt kids joined a tall girl who wore a jean jacket covered in patches of the titles of Broadway shows.
Rick took the seat at the end of the third row and watched the clock as more people trickled in. It was 2:55 and the meeting wasn’t set to start until 3:00. They were long minutes. Rick looked over the room, wondering who these kids were and whether they had told anyone where they were going, especially the ones who sat alone like he did. The Latinx kid with glasses and a comic book T-shirt. The white kid with a thousand freckles who was biting her nails, a tennis bag slung over the back of her chair. The East Asian kid with long, purple-tipped hair and a hat that looked like a cupcake.
Right at three o’clock, the teacher adviser popped up from his chair. His short sandy hair was only a shade darker than his suntanned skin. He was wearing a lavender shirt, khaki pants, and a purple bow tie.
“Good afternoon, everyone, and welcome to the Rainbow Spectrum. My name is Mr. Sydney, and I’ll be your group adviser this semester. As some of the seventh and eighth graders know, Ms. Abrams, who usually runs this group, is on leave this semester. I’m happy to report that she had the baby three weeks ago.” He waited for the wave of whoops, whispers, and awwwws to pass. “And that she, her wife, and little Max are all doing wonderfully. Ms. Abrams will be coming back to school in January.
“In the meantime, I am elated, enthralled, and exhilarated to be here. When I was a kid, groups like this were barely starting up at a lot of colleges, much less in middle schools. I can already tell this is going to be an exciting year. Before we do anything else, let’s do a go-round, where we all introduce ourselves. In addition to sharing your name, grade, and preferred pronouns, I welcome you to tell us briefly what brought you here today. It’s not required, but it would be nice to hear some of your thoughts. Zoe, I believe you were active in the group last year. Will you start us off?”
Zoe was the girl with the patched-up jean jacket. “Hi, I’m Zoe, I’m in eighth grade, and I’m bisexual. My preferred pronouns are she and her. And I’m here because I think LGBTQIAP+ rights are really important.”
“Thank you, Zoe. To be clear, you don’t need to tell us your sexual orientation if you don’t want to,” said Mr. Sydney.
“Oh, but I want to!” said Zoe. “How is someone supposed to ask me out if they don’t know I might be interested?”
The two kids wearing the spring musical T-shirts went next—Xavier, who shared that he had been coming to the group since he’d started sixth grade two years ago, and Yaya, who announced that he was “supergaaaaaaay” with a wave of his hand.
“I’m Ellie, lesbian, eighth grade. She, please,” said the girl with the cupcake hat.
A soft-spoken kid with dark hair and bright red glasses said, “Hi, I’m Mika. And I guess I use she and her, but I never really thought about it before.”
Then it was the kid who had rushed past Rick in the hallway’s turn. “Hey, everybody. I’m Green.”
“Like the color?” asked Ellie.
“Yep!” Green said with a wide smile. “You’ve heard of people with red hair being called Red? Well, I’m Green.”
“Cool,” said Ellie, with a toss of her purple- tipped hair.
“Yeah, so I’m Green, and I’m in sixth grade and enby.” Green saw some puzzled looks from around the room and clarified, “Enby from NB, or nonbinary.”
Mr. Sydney addressed the class. “Nonbinary refers to people who do not identify as either male or female. Do I have that right, Green?”
Green nodded.
“And your preferred pronouns?”
“I’d prefer not to have pronouns at all,” Green said with a shrug.
Yaya joined in. “It is kind of messed up that we talk about the pronouns we prefer. Like it’s our favorite flavor of ice cream or something.”
“Right?” said Zoe.
“What if we ask what pronouns a person uses?” asked Ellie.
Green nodded. “Okay. Hey, everybody, I’m Green. I’m in sixth grade, and I use the pronoun I. And I have no idea what you all are supposed to do.” Green sounded a bit annoyed, but grinned to show that their annoyance was at pronouns, not at anyone in the room.
A few of the kids turned to Mr. Sydney, who shrugged back.
“You could use the singular they,” said Yaya.
“What’s that?” asked Leila.
“Ooooh! The singular they!” Kelly’s already naturally musical voice sounded ready to break into song. “I read about that this summer. Like, They don’t want to use either he or she for their pronoun.”
“I am an English teacher, you know,” said Mr. Sydney, frowning.
“I know. And I also know that we already use the singular they all the time,” said Kelly.
“Maybe you do,” said Mr. Sydney. “But my sense of grammar is pretty strong.”
“But what if someone really wanted it?” asked Melissa. “Wouldn’t you use it for them?”
“Well, I would try, but I would think it would get really complicated,” said Mr. Sydney.
“You didn’t seem to mind when I did it.” Melissa grinned.
“Pardon?”
“I asked whether you would use it for them, and you didn’t even notice.”
“Notice what?”
The room was silent for a moment.
Yaya was the first to say something. “Oh, I get it!”
Green’s smile turned into an audible chuckle, and Ellie joined in half a moment later with a long “Ohhhhhhhhh.” Soon half the room was either laughing, ohhing, or nodding, while the other half was looking at them with puzzled faces.
“Would someone care to enlighten the rest of us?” asked Mr. Sydney.
Zoe spoke up. “Melissa used the singular they. She asked if you would use it for them, but she was only talking about one person.”
Mr. Sydney’s mouth hung open until he shut it with a snap. He looked at Zoe, and then over at Melissa, who smiled. He closed his eyes for a few moments, and when he opened them, he said, “Fair point. So, Green, what’ll it be? Care to navigate unexplored linguistic terrain with me?”
“What?” asked Green.
“I think he means, ‘Do you want to use they?’” said Kelly.
“Oh, um, sure. I mean, I guess that’s better than anything else.” Green tossed the long part of their hair out of their eyes and gave a thumbs- up. “Next?”
“I’m Ronnie.”
Rick’s head shot up from where he had been staring at the ground, listening to all these kids who sounded like they already knew everything about themselves. It was Ronnie, from homeroom and the Cafeteria Ketchup Kerfuffle.
“I’m in sixth grade, and my pronouns are he and his. I’m a straight guy, as far as I can tell, but my moms are queer.”
Rick had known Leila and Kelly would be there, and he wasn’t surprised to see Melissa. But he hadn’t expected Ronnie. It made him worry who else could be hidden behind some other kid. For a moment, he even wondered whether Jeff could be out in the hall, overhearing everything that was being said. Meanwhile, the circle continued around him.
“I’m Leila. I’m in sixth grade and use she and her, and I don’t really know yet, but I’ve been doing a lot of reading and thinking,
and I might be bisexual.”
Then it was Melissa’s turn. Rick wondered if she would tell everyone. He decided that he wouldn’t if it were him.
“Hi. My name is Melissa, and I use she and her. I’m in sixth grade, I’m Kelly’s BFF, and my connection to the community is that I’m a transgender girl.”
“Aw, yeah!” said Green. Melissa gave Green a thumbs-up.
“And it’s not a secret, but it’s also my information to share. So I’m happy for all of you to know, but please don’t tell people outside of this room.”
“So, uh,” asked Mika, “what was your name before?”
“That”—Melissa paused—“is nonov.”
“Nonov?”
“Yeah. Nonov your business!”
Melissa shared a high five with Kelly. A few kids chuckled, and the theater kids laughed out loud.
“Good one, Melissa!” said Mika. “Sorry I asked.”
Kelly went next. “Hi. I’m Kelly Arden. I’m straight, but I’m a proud ally.”
“Not to be harsh,” said Zoe, “but ally isn’t really an identity to be proud of. And you’re new, but we talked about this last year, and we don’t use that word as a noun here anymore. Allying is something you do, not someone you are.”
“Then what’s the A for in LGBTQIAP+?” asked Kelly.
“Asexual,” said Zoe. A few kids nodded, but others looked confused. “Asexuality is when you don’t have any interest in, like, ever doing the deed with anyone.”
The word asexual buzzed in Rick’s head like a fly looking for a place to land as introductions continued around the room. His stomach felt tingly. Not nervous, exactly, but not calm either. More like drinking soda too fast and having the bubbles dance around inside his body. Rick’s turn was only two kids away, and then one.
“I’m Sam,” said the kid next to Rick. “I’m so glad this group exists. I’m in seventh grade, and my pronouns are they and them.”
That made it Rick’s turn. “Hi, I’m Rick, I’m in sixth grade, and I’m a he.” He might have stopped there, except that everyone was looking at him to continue, which both made Rick feel like he needed to say something and made it harder to talk. “I’m … um … just here to check things out.”
“Welcome, Rick,” said Mr. Sydney. “This is a great place to explore.”
“Um, thanks.”
After introductions had finished and Mr. Sydney had talked a little bit about how the group would be a “safe and affirming space,” with the focus of the group driven by student interest, they brainstormed plans for the year.
Some students wanted a place to talk about the problems they were dealing with, especially at home. Others wanted to protest local businesses that didn’t support LGBTQIAP+ rights. Pretty much everyone said they wanted a space to be themselves. No one said they wanted a space to figure out who that was. But then again, neither did Rick.
When the meeting was over, Rick slipped out the door while the rest of Spectrum was chatting and gathering their things. He jogged down the hallway, jumping down the last four steps of each flight, and ran down the block, new words buzzing through his head. According to the schedule, the next bus was leaving in three minutes.
There would be another bus in ten minutes, and another ten after that, but Rick was hoping for a quiet ride. Even if none of the kids from Spectrum took his bus, the other after-school clubs were letting out too, and the next bus was sure to be full of kids laughing and pushing each other and knocking into the people who were getting up for their stops with just enough of a sorry to not get lectured by some angry-looking old man.
Rick could see the bus pulling over while he was still half a block away, and he waved his hands above his head as he sprinted. He reached the corner, panting, as the last of three women with bright scarves over their gray hair stepped down.
A blast of air-conditioning welcomed Rick in. He swiped his pass and took a single seat halfway back. There were a couple dozen people on the bus, some with shopping bags, and one with a tall cardboard box. Most of them traveled alone and stared at their phones, unaware that they had just missed sharing the bus with a rowdy pack of middle school students.
Rick wished he had a phone, but Mom and Dad said that he wouldn’t need one until high school. When he had asked how high school was any different from middle school, Dad had asked whether he would like to wait until college to get a phone, and that was the end of that. If Rick had a phone, he would look up the word asexual. He glared at people with their phones, probably playing games and refreshing their social media accounts to find out who just ate a bacon sandwich. They had no idea how much some people actually needed access to information.
At home, Rick was relieved to see that Dad wasn’t in the kitchen on a coffee break. Most days, Rick didn’t mind chatting with Dad, as long as he didn’t mention girls. He was a funny guy, and if he didn’t have too much work to do, he would sometimes challenge Rick to a game of checkers. But today, Rick was on a mission. He pulled out his laptop and typed asexual.
The screen filled with links to essays, glossaries, and checklists. Asexual meant you weren’t sexually attracted to people, or didn’t want to do that kind of thing with them. You could want to have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, though. If you were aromantic, you weren’t romantically attracted to anyone. There were other words too, like grayromantic and graysexual to describe people who were occasionally attracted to people romantically or sexually, and demiromantic and demisexual for people who only had those feelings after developing a deep connection. It was a little confusing, but also a relief to see so many possibilities.
Maybe there was a reason Rick didn’t know who he like liked, and maybe it was that he didn’t like like anyone. When Jeff, or someone else, said a girl was hot, Rick could sometimes name the reasons they said that—hair and face and bodies and all that. He could guess which boys Diane would say were cute too. But he never would have thought about those people that way if someone else hadn’t said it first. And he had had that tingling in his pants grown-ups talked about, a few times, but it was never about a person. It warmed up something deep in his chest to know that he wasn’t the only person who felt that way. Or rather, didn’t feel that way.
Friday evening, Rick was on his computer, waiting for Mom to arrive home with Diane. He had three tabs open to lists of ways people named how they felt about themselves and other people. He didn’t know which of them he was, or if he was any of them at all, but the words were exciting to read. And lots of people online shortened asexual to ace, which sounded downright cool.
Rick was still in front of the screen when he heard Mom’s car pull up. He shut his laptop and ran into the living room so that he could be sitting there, watching television and looking casual, when Diane came in. Rick couldn’t have explained why he wanted to act relaxed for his own sister, but there he was, remote in hand, rapidly flipping for something halfway decent to watch. He settled on a cooking channel. It was a commercial, but whatever was on couldn’t be too bad.
The door opened moments later. Diane dropped a large duffel bag by the front door, kicked off her shoes, and was already sitting next to Rick on the couch before Mom was inside.
“You mind?” Diane asked, her hand out. “I haven’t had time to watch a thing at college, and after listening to Mom in the car for the last hour, I just need to chill, you know?”
Diane popped through a dozen channels until she found a show she liked called Happy Trailers to You about converting old RVs into surprisingly luxurious homes.
Rick found himself looking more at Diane than at the television. She looked different, but he couldn’t say how. Her long straight dark hair was the same, and the way she curled her feet under her legs as she sat on the couch was the same. She was wearing a new university sweatshirt, but that wasn’t it. It was like she was shinier somehow, but he didn’t think she had started wearing makeup.
“What are you staring at?” asked Diane.
“Nothing.”
> Diane didn’t say anything else until the start of the next commercial. “So how’s life been here on the home front?”
Rick shrugged. “Not too bad. Dad discovered green smoothies last week and has been serving them for breakfast, but he calls them super shakes and doesn’t mention the kale.”
“Ugh!” said Diane. “Thanks for the warning. My roommate’s been making them too. There was a recipe on the internet that went viral or something. What I don’t get is why you would ruin a perfectly good drinkable treat by throwing grass and leaves in it. Literally grass and leaves.”
“That sounds like the kind of thing a kindergartner gets in trouble for.”
“It sounds like a sin upon fruit smoothies.”
They laughed together, then grew silent.
“Diane?” Rick asked quietly.
“Yeah?”
“Can I ask you a question?”
Diane let out a deep sigh and flopped her head in Rick’s direction. “If it’s anything more complicated than whether secret kale is a good idea, I’d wait until tomorrow.”
Rick took the hint and went to his room to twirl Washingtons. Asexuality was definitely more complicated than kale.
Tomorrow came, and with it a thousand near-but-not-quite opportunities for Rick to bring up the topic with Diane. And limitless opportunities to wonder about her reaction. She would probably be surprised but nice. Maybe even too nice—so nice that it was clear she was faking.
Rick worried so long that it was time for the Ramsey family barbecue before he said anything. Mom grilled burgers and Dad made vegetable skewers. Grandpa Ray came over with a big bowl of salad, Rick made a fruit-and-cheese plate, and Diane baked cookies.
The barbecue wasn’t terrible, but Rick wished that he and Grandpa Ray hadn’t had to skip a week of The Smithfield Specials for it. Diane talked a bunch about college and how great it was to have control over her schedule. Mom and Dad reminisced about their own times in college and how they had met as seniors and Mom had almost failed her last semester classes and how Diane had better never do anything like that. Grandpa Ray was the quiet guy in the corner that Rick barely knew from family events, not the Rogue Space lover he had met a couple of weeks ago.
