The Inside of Out

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  “Hey, Daisy,” chirped Jenna, a senior I knew from Parapsychology. “You’re back!”

  “I am back,” I answered brilliantly as three freshmen from French class waved and Darius Williams fist-bumped me on his way to homeroom.

  I’d known these people for years. Passed them in the hallway, worked with them on school projects. But we’d never been on the hey level. The fist-bump level. Had we?

  In the crowded intersection of the English and language hallways, I spotted a pristinely gathered red ponytail swinging its way through the crush of students.

  “Morning, Daisy!” Natalie called out. “Lunch today?”

  Everyone in the hallway started walking in slow motion. This was unprecedented. Not just between me and Natalie. Between Natalie and anyone.

  Her expression didn’t waver.

  “Sure,” I said, pulling myself taller to match her false confidence. Then an idea bloomed. “Meet you on the stoop?”

  I had to fight to keep from skipping as I turned the corner. It was like I’d woken up and stumbled into a parallel universe. I liked this one so much better. Had it been here all along, waiting for me to discover it?

  But my step unstrutted when I reached French and found Raina waiting outside the door. I drew a breath and tried my best to fake nonchalance, raising my hand for a casual greeting. But before I could blurt it, she said, “Got a second?”

  “Um, yeah.” I shook my head, confused. “I mean, I have to get to class—”

  “We’re cool,” she said, nodding into the room at my teacher, who smiled and waved me on.

  I slid the door shut and turned to Raina, but she was staring into the distance at a group of black students clustered around their lockers, laughing at a joke one of them had made.

  “When I moved here, I tried to make friends with those kids.” Raina’s voice was low, distracted. I didn’t dare interrupt. “I just went up and introduced myself. You know, ‘Hey, I’m Raina, I’m from Winston-Salem, I’m black, you’re black, let’s hang out.’”

  Raina’s face had relaxed with the memory. She looked younger, somehow. More like the actual teenager she was.

  “I got stonewalled. They wanted nothing to do with me.” She leaned against the wall. “It was so easy for me to make friends back home. But they looked at me and saw northern, not Gullah, not us. Maybe they could tell I was queer, who knows. But I think the biggest thing they saw was privilege.”

  I stepped back, confused. Her eyes darted to mine and sharpened.

  “I don’t exactly qualify for scholarships myself,” she admitted. “My dad’s an attorney and my mom’s got family money. She ‘paints.’” She made air quotes, rolling her eyes. Then she sighed. “Listen, that’s not what I came here to talk about. When you were out this week, people were talking about you.”

  I shrugged, not surprised.

  “I didn’t like what I heard,” she said, crossing her arms. “In fact, it really pissed me off. And it made me realize that there is, in fact, some overlap in our Venn diagrams.”

  “You’re saying we’re alike.” I pressed my lips together, ironing down my smile.

  “In some ways.” She sniffed. “You’re you, no matter what people say, and yeah—I can respect that. Even when it becomes a major pain in my ass.”

  “About that,” I cut in. “I’m sorry for jeopardizing everything. You were right, I was careless with something that didn’t belong to me and—”

  “Stop.” She leaned against the lockers, her eyes boring into mine. “What happened at the rally is not just on you. The whole point of being an Alliance is that we become an ‘us.’ The kind of ‘us’ that stands up for ‘us’ when we . . . say . . . throw hot soup on some douchebag’s crotch.”

  “Vivid example.”

  “I cut you out so I could scapegoat you. I shouldn’t have. It was facile.” Her brow contorted at the word, like it was the ultimate insult. “Any mistakes we made—asking you to lie being the big one—they’re on us. All of us. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you.” My head swam as she stepped away. “That was some intense bonding right there.”

  A grin flitted across her face as her posture returned to all-business mode.

  “We’re meeting after school. Same room, A2. If you’re not too busy.”

  She smirked over her shoulder as she walked away, leaving that carrot dangling for me to chase.

  Hannah was already on the stoop when I walked out, a steaming Cluck-Cluck bag on the cement beside her. I hesitated a split-second in the doorway, wondering what her reaction would be, but she rose before I could come up with a good opening line.

  “You’re back,” she said. “At school.”

  I motioned to myself. “Voilà.”

  “Can we talk?”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, like, have a talk. Not, like, chitchat talk. Fair warning.”

  I walked closer. “I got that. And yes.”

  “Although hopefully we can chitchat after. I mean, I have nothing against . . .” She itched her chin, trying hard to smile. “Okay. Sorry. Starting over.”

  I could see now that she’d carefully left enough room on the stoop for me—and that the bag of food was way too full to just be for her. Her Moleskine was dangling open in her hand. On top of one page, I could make out the words:

  “To say to Daisy:”

  “First of all, you were right—I haven’t been myself lately, and I’m really sorry,” she started reciting. “You’re not the only one who’s been self-centered.”

  Even in her written draft, she was calling me self-centered. For some reason, I found this so funny I had to bite my knuckles to keep from giggling as she went on.

  “. . . I’ve been so focused on what’s been going on with me that I forgot how to be a good friend to you.”

  “That is so not true!” I covered my mouth. “Sorry. Ignore me, go on.”

  “It is true.” Her brow furrowed, the notebook flapping. “I feel like, the last few months, I’ve been watching myself from a distance, with absolutely no idea what I’m going to do next. I hate it.”

  That sounded like me all the time.

  She sat on the top step, tossing the notebook aside. “I’ve always seen myself as so rational and together and above it all. But lately I’m just one contradiction after another. I have no idea what I want from one moment to the next. I’m happy and then I’m, like, devastated. I’m . . .” I sat next to her. She mussed her hair. “A mess.”

  She’d stopped talking, so I offered, “Do you think this is because you came out?”

  She tucked her legs up and hugged them. “Probably.”

  “Or do you think maybe you’re just . . .” I thought of Sean and Diego and loaded sighs and best friends and tapping pens and steering wheels and glasses. “In love.”

  It looked like it hurt her to breathe.

  “Probably that too,” she whispered. Her hand crept over to the Cluck-Cluck bag, picking at the edge of the paper. Then she crumpled it shut. “Listen, I miss you. Lots and lots. And I want to do whatever—”

  Behind me, the door squeaked open.

  “Hey Han?” I got up. “We’ll pick this up later, I promise. But there’s someone else who wants to talk to you just as much as I do, and if I don’t give her a turn, she might burn my house down.”

  Natalie’s fingers were pressed under her chin as if in prayer. Hannah’s face had shifted from open to lockdown. After what felt like an epoch, she stuck her notebook in her backpack and scooted over—making room.

  Natalie’s eyes darted to mine. I motioned for her to take my place.

  “See you guys later,” I said, but they were already talking, quietly, carefully. I watched them from the doorway, then went to find my own lunch table.

  Nobody bothered me while I ate. And nobody ga
wked out the windows at my friends. They were too busy staring out the giant glass walls on the other side of the room— at the massive party being erected in a once-vacant field across the street.

  After lunch, we were excused from class to attend a homecoming rally in the gym. The cheerleaders cheered. The football team pounded the air. The homecoming court marched out wearing their silly crowns. I’d called it—Madison was queen. She didn’t seem that happy about it. Darius was king. QB was doing his best to look excited to be in the court again this year. And everybody in the stands clapped and cheered, but mostly muttered, distracted, as if this were a dress rehearsal for homecoming, not the real thing.

  The real thing was across the street.

  The school’s excitement only seemed to grow once the assembly was over.

  “Are you gonna go?” a freshman boy asked the girl who was walking out with him. I knew in my bones he wasn’t talking about Dana Costas’s birthday party.

  “I’m not sure my parents will let me,” she whispered back.

  “Don’t tell them!” he said, and I very nearly hugged him.

  But that was the dilemma, wasn’t it? All these kids who wanted to participate—who sensed that this was important, a key moment, an exciting one, or just a good party—but didn’t feel safe enough to be a part of it. That’s why we were doing this. To change that.

  In some small way, we already had.

  Seventh period. Club period. Technically they can’t stop me period.

  I turned the doorknob to the administration’s conference room, my heart racing with apprehension and hope.

  My eyes were glued to the carpet as I walked in, so it took me a second to realize that something was different today. Talk about an alternate universe.

  The room was packed. People were sitting on the windowsills, cross-legged on the floor, in extra chairs that they’d pulled from other offices. I recognized some of Sophie’s friends, a bevy of drama girls, Dan Sawtuck and Mara Thomas not making out, three kids from my homeroom, a dozen other vaguely familiar faces. Unless the past week had seen a huge uptick in Palmetto students coming out of the closet, the Alliance had enacted some policy changes.

  “Hey Daisy.” Kyle swiveled a chair in my direction. “We saved you a seat.”

  A couple of guys in lacrosse hoodies scooted to make room.

  Raina turned to the group with a tremulous smile—more nervous than I’d ever seen her. “Hi everybody, and welcome to our first meeting.”

  “First meeting?” I whispered.

  “You’ve all known us as the school’s LGBTQ Alliance for the past few years. But now that we’re part of the Gay Straight Alliance Network, we’re looking at today’s meeting as a fresh start.”

  She stood, hands pressed against the desk.

  “As you know, we’ve got kind of a big party scheduled for tomorrow.”

  Everybody laughed, settled.

  “We never would have gotten as far as we have if it weren’t for the help of supporters like you.” She meant everyone, I knew, but she was looking at me. “And if we’re going to see this through, make it happen, make it what we know it can be, we’ll need your help tomorrow too. We’ve been so overwhelmed by your support, but as you know, some people in the community are not as—”

  The door whined as it inched open.

  “Sorry we’re late!” said the most beautiful voice in the world. Hannah’s eyes danced through the crowd until they found mine.

  Natalie trailed behind, fingertips lightly touching Hannah’s. Lunch must have gone well. I waved them over. They whispered to each other and slid down to sit against the wall behind me.

  Raina motioned to Sophie, who took the stage.

  “We do have a few requests,” she said.

  “Rules,” Raina corrected.

  “Anything anyone shares in this room is private. This hasn’t worked out in the past, but we’re trusting you now. Please don’t violate that trust.”

  She had her grandma smile on. No one made a peep.

  “Second, this is a supportive environment. If you have negative feelings about the things we talk about, please find a way to express them diplomatically. If we feel like anything is veering into harassment, we’ll ask you not to participate anymore. And lastly, we ask that if you’re an ally in here, you become an ally out there. If you see anyone being bullied, please speak up, speak out, do what you can to fight back . . .” Sophie flushed bright red. “In a non-violent way. Does everyone agree?”

  As everyone nodded, Sophie sat and glanced at Sean, who was waiting by the door to dim the lights.

  “And with that,” he said, his voice dropping into a sultry hush. “Let’s start this meeting by testing your discretion.”

  Girls all over the room giggled with appreciation.

  As he rejoined the table, Sophie pulled out her tiny fake candle and clicked it to life.

  “I’ll start,” she said. “I’m Sophie. I identify as bisexual. So . . . things have been easier for the past few days. The guys who used to bother me have pretty much stopped, which is . . . really good. I’m grateful to my friends for standing up for me. I’m going to do more of it for myself now too.”

  She glanced at me so fleetingly that I almost missed it. Before I could shoot her a thumbs-up, the candle had passed to Jack.

  “Update time: I told my parents I won’t be going to church anymore,” he started, and my next breath sputtered audibly out of me in my excitement. “Not their church, anyway. I said it was important to me to find a congregation I connected with, so I’d be going to the Unity Church’s services down the street from now on. I . . .” He sighed. “I didn’t tell them why. But they let me try it out and they asked what scripture we talked about and that was it, so I’m hoping it’s a good first step. Or only step. I don’t know, we’ll see. But I like the new church. Reverend Jim and the youth group are all coming to homecoming, so I’ll look forward to introducing them.”

  It was a small thing—and it was everything. He hadn’t been totally honest with his parents. He might never. But he was wearing his cross proudly outside his collar today, as if those two parts of himself could finally coexist. I beamed over the table at him and he nodded, mouthing a silent “Thank you,” that made me glow from my toes to the tips of my ears. Then his eyes sparked.

  “Oh, right, and I’m Jack and hell yes, I’m bi!” He lifted the candle in the air like a torch and everybody whooped. Nice.

  As he passed the candle to Kyle, I looked down, trying to keep my eyes from spilling over.

  “Um. I’m Kyle? And I’m gay. Or . . .” He glanced at Sophie. “Queer maybe? Is that different from . . . ? I’m still trying to figure out, um, what all the words mean. So. My only real news is that they arrested the guys who jumped me.”

  The room erupted in cheers.

  “But um . . . I decided not to press charges. I thought really hard about it, and I told my parents the truth.” Kyle glanced at me as if to gauge my reaction. “But in the end, I just wanted to be able to enjoy homecoming. You know, focus on the positive.”

  I opened my mouth, full of arguments in the other direction. If it were me, I’d have found out their names and publically shamed them and then pressed charges and prepared a fiery speech for the courtroom—

  But it wasn’t me. I wasn’t the one who’d been attacked. I wasn’t the one who was fourteen years old and coming out of the closet with the whole country watching. I couldn’t possibly understand what he was dealing with.

  Privilege, I thought. This was Kyle’s decision.

  “First of all, I’m so pumped for homecoming!” Sean grinned, working the room as he grabbed the candle. “I’m calling it now—party of the decade. My only . . .” He slumped into a sigh. “My only issue at the moment is that I really wish my boyfriend were here.”

  The drama girls went “Awwwww,” but
Sophie hopped in her chair like it was giving her a series of static shocks. What was her deal?

  “He’d love to see what we’ve managed to accomplish in such a short amount of time. Be a part of it.”

  “You must really miss him,” Sophie said in a slightly louder murmur than usual.

  “I do,” Sean said. “A lot.”

  Sophie’s eyes darted to the doorway. Just past the glass, I could see a skinny, floppy-haired silhouette.

  “You must really miss him,” she said again, marginally louder.

  Sean stared at her. “I do. Anyway . . .”

  The door didn’t open, and by now I’d figured out her dastardly, wonderful plan. I stood.

  “I think what Sophie’s trying to say is that you must really miss him!!!” The windows practically rattled.

  The door flew open, and in the hallway appeared a charmingly gawky Spanish kid, his eyes widening as they met Sean’s.

  “Holy shit, you did not!” Sean screamed to Sophie.

  “Go,” she said, shooing him. “We’ll fill you in on the rest—”

  But he was already gone, in the hallway, kissing his boyfriend in a stumbling twirl while the rest of us cheered. The drama girl closest to the door swung it quietly shut, sharing a sad smile with the brunette next to her.

  When I looked up, Raina had the candle. I expected her to click it off and start talking business, but her eyes were clouded. She glanced up. At me.

  “I’m Raina Moore. I’m not a huge fan of labels, but for today’s purposes, let’s just say I fill out the Q and L in QUILTBAG.” Her voice cracked. She coughed to clear it. “When I moved to James Island, I wasn’t sure what my place was. And then, after the first GSA went up in flames, I kinda stopped trusting people. I stopped . . .” She drew a breath, turning one of her legal pads end over end. “I stopped trusting that good things could happen. But what’s happening in here, and across the street, and everywhere people are cheering us on, is good. I’m grateful for it. And you guys. And that’s all I’m gonna say about that.”

  “Raina talked!” Jack said. “Woohoo!”

  In the haze of camaraderie that swept the room, I hardly noticed that Raina had risen from her seat and handed me the candle. It took a few awkward seconds of everyone in the room staring expectantly for me to blurt, “Oh! No. I’m not—I don’t feel qualified to share anything.”