The Inside of Out

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  “Come on, Daisy,” Jack said. “We’re your friends. Give us something.”

  His words hit me like a net.

  “You’re my friends,” I said, glancing back to include Hannah, who was beaming, and her girlfriend, trying desperately not to. “I think that’s my big news. You’re my best friends. So thank you.”

  A warm silence fell. Sophie reached out for the candle. I pulled it back.

  “Oh, and I totally have the hots for that reporter, so cross me off the asexual list!”

  Raina smacked the table. “I knew it!”

  “I hereby apologize to all asexuals I have offended by appropriating that title.”

  “The college reporter?” Hannah pulled on my chair to ask. “I have got to meet this guy.”

  “Is that the—?” Kyle glanced at Sophie. She shushed him.

  I’d opened my mouth to ask what he was about to say, when Jack leaned forward.

  “Wait, did you introduce yourself?” He glanced around. “We’re supposed to introduce ourselves.”

  “Oh right.” I waved to all the semi-strangers I’d known most of my life. “I’m Daisy. And . . . I’m not anything.”

  Jack snorted. “Straight, Daisy. It’s called straight.”

  Straight. Duh. It was a sexual orientation. Why had I forgotten it?

  My chair seemed to sink. The room seemed to grow.

  Because straight was the default. Because it was the perceived “norm,” no need to question it. Because everywhere I turned, I was blinded by privilege.

  The room snapped back into proportion.

  But it looked ever so slightly different now.

  “I’m Daisy and I’m straight,” I said, and everybody clapped, laughing, like I was the one coming out of the closet—except with none of the pressure and fears and irrevocable life-changes that came with it. I winced. I wanted to give each and every one of them a bear hug right now—starting with Raina, who was sitting closest to me.

  As if sensing my intentions, her shoulders tightened and she stood just out of reach. “Okay. Now that touchy-feely time is out of the way, let’s talk homecoming.”

  She gave us the rundown. Vendors were in place, except for a cowardly few that had dropped out in the last week. The mayor of Charleston was coming, along with a couple of senators and other Democrats I didn’t care about. The cast of Triplecross was confirmed to be holed up at a hotel downtown, dodging paparazzi on their way to local clubs.

  That news sent the drama girls into a flurry of whispers. I said a silent prayer that Chase Hernandez wasn’t their new collective crush. It was time to move on to straight boys.

  The parade was prepped, voting boxes set up for our gender-neutral queen, king, and attendants. The floats were “very colorful,” Sophie said. And the dance was, in Jack’s words, “Going to be incrediballs.”

  “Except for the band,” I couldn’t resist putting in. “Sorry I couldn’t deliver on that. What is the entertainment?”

  “A DJ,” Kyle blurted, just as Jack answered, “A local band.”

  “Both, actually,” Raina said. “We got lucky.”

  “Cool!” This was awkward. “What’s the local band called?”

  Everyone stared at Jack. He must have booked them. “The Rhythm Squad.”

  Sophie started giggling and I couldn’t resist a snicker myself. Not the most auspicious name, but at least we had somebody to entertain the masses.

  “How many RSVPs so far?” Raina asked Jack, changing the subject. He consulted his handy phone.

  “Thirteen hundred and seven.” He glanced up, frowning. “Some of them will be no-shows.”

  “I hate to say it, but we’d better hope so. Okay, guys, thanks again for coming. We’ll see you all tomorrow—eight a.m. sharp—to set up for homecoming.”

  I was following Hannah and Natalie out into the hallway along with the rest of the mostly straight crowd when Raina stopped me. “Daisy, we need to talk. I wasn’t sure how to bring this up before, but . . . Cal wants you to become our spokesperson again.”

  I had to lean against the doorframe to keep from keeling over. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  She shrugged.

  “Homecoming is tomorrow. Why do we even need a spokesperson?”

  Sophie stepped up behind Raina. “If we don’t have one tomorrow, the loudest voice the media will hear is Cindy Beck’s. So no matter how well it goes, it will seem to the rest of the world like she’s won.”

  “Okay. Yes. Fine. But.” I motioned wildly to myself.

  Raina understood. “You’re not ideal. But you’re what we’ve got. I mean, I’ll do it.”

  I hopped in celebration.

  “I can’t guarantee I’ll smile. Or that I won’t assault someone on camera for asking some asinine question—” Raina cracked her knuckles, incensed by the very thought of being interviewed.

  I turned to Sophie. She did her best to hide behind her braid.

  “Okay . . .” I clapped. “What about Sean? He’s so photogenic. And all that theater training—”

  “He’s afraid of cameras. They don’t even allow them at school performances.” At my aghast expression, Sophie laughed. “I was surprised too!”

  It was too tragic to contemplate at the moment. “Umm . . . the guy from Triplecross.”

  “Not a teenager,” Raina answered, glancing at her cell phone. “Cal says we need a Palmetto student. Listen, he suggested you say you’re bisexual.” I gawked at her. Her expression stayed guarded. “And that the way the media handled that kiss was just another example of how they misrepresent sexual identity in the press.”

  “I’m done lying, Raina.”

  She nodded. “I thought you’d say that.”

  “And anyway, you were right. I’m not the right spokesperson. I never was.” I glanced behind me to see Natalie and Hannah laughing along with Jack. As the three of them disappeared down the hall, Natalie’s ponytail swung back and forth like a flickering torch. “But I think I know who is.”

  34

  “No.”

  A forkful of zucchini-wrapped grouper hovered a half inch from my mouth, forcing me to set it down in shock. “That’s it? Just ‘no’?”

  Natalie had no problem taking a bite of her meal. “How about ‘hell no’? That clear enough for you?”

  Hannah eyed us nervously, her takeout still untouched on her lap.

  I leaned over a pile of throw pillows to grab the remote and pause the TV. “Miss Beck. Have I not adequately described to you how important it is that we have a spokesperson right now?”

  “And have I not adequately described just how very in the closet I am right now?” She took another giant bite of food as if to throw another obstacle in the way of this conversation. “I’m taking baby steps,” she added through a full mouth. “Showing up to homecoming is a baby step. Going on national news to talk about how gay I am constitutes throwing myself off a cliff.”

  “I get that,” I said, using my kindest voice. “And I would never want you to throw yourself off a cliff.”

  Natalie lobbed a pillow at me, knocking the fork out of my hand. She giggled so maniacally that Hannah let out a giant snort through a mouth full of food.

  “Okay,” I groaned. “I tried. I’ll tell them I tried.”

  “We’ll be there early to volunteer,” Hannah said.

  “Yeah, about that,” I started.

  “Yes, you can have a ride.”

  Natalie shouted “Shotgun!” a millisecond before me.

  “Gah!” I fell backward.

  Hannah grabbed the remote. But before she pressed PLAY, she grinned. “This is fun.”

  “This is weird, is what this is,” Natalie said, echoing what I was thinking. “Weirdly fun.”

  “This is what I pictured,” Hannah added. “Except in like a cast
le where we’re staying because we got lost backpacking in France in the middle of the night but the owner was really nice and gave us our own wing for the week. And there’s a vineyard. With horses.”

  “A horse vineyard,” Natalie said drily. “Yes. We should definitely do that.”

  “Spring break, maybe?” I suggested.

  Natalie and I exchanged a veiled smile before our eyes darted away again. Fun might take a little longer for us. But seeing her happy made it worth the effort.

  “So, hey.” Since we were already in Hannah-weird territory, I turned to the two of them and asked, as casually as possible, “Which of you is better with scissors?”

  Saturday morning, October the twenty-second, as Hannah followed signs to the “America’s Homecoming Staff Only” parking lot, a beautiful sight greeted us.

  Protesters. Mobs of them. Hundreds, carrying hateful signs, chanting sick, offensive, cheerful rhymes.

  Sigh. But hey—at least we were still relevant!

  The press siege had begun in earnest too. Their vans formed a satellite-dish-festooned wall just outside the blue police barricades penning in the tent-covered field. Reporters hovered outside their vans, holding microphones in one hand and paper coffee cups in the other, chatting while scanning the parking lot for somebody to accost.

  If they saw me, they’d stampede. Luckily . . .

  “You’re in disguise!”

  At the sound of Adam’s voice, I couldn’t stop myself from doing a wobbling pirouette to greet him. He grinned and loped across the field, hoisting a Starbucks bag.

  “This is the guy?” Natalie muttered. Hannah shushed her. “Surprisingly hot.”

  “Your hair,” he said, motioning to his own head. “It’s—”

  “Blond,” I offered. “Light brown, depending on how picky you are. Hannah cut it for me. It was time for the blue to go.”

  “Nice job,” Adam said to Hannah. She smiled at her loafers in reply. “Smart too. They won’t recognize you without the stripe.”

  “You recognized me.”

  He shrugged. “Of course.”

  “Awwww,” Natalie said.

  My hand flattened, slap-ready, and she danced away, grinning.

  Adam glanced between us. “I was just at Starbucks, so I grabbed you your usual—fruity soda, cookie?”

  “That’s so sweet,” I said, taking the bag from him. “Literally!”

  He chuckled, pointing at me.

  Natalie made a gagging noise.

  “I think they’re waiting for us,” Hannah said over her, nodding to the volunteers gathering outside the main gate.

  “I’ll catch up in a sec,” I said, waving them on.

  Adam rocked back onto his sneakered heels.

  “So . . .” My heart started to thud so hard I wondered if he could hear it through my Bertie and the Bots hoodie. Here went nothing. “I don’t know if you were thinking of coming to the dance tonight, but I have an extra ticket. For a date. So it’s yours if you want it.”

  His hands started tapping against his pockets. “Oh.”

  “I mean, I know you’re over the whole high school thing, but it’s technically an all-ages event.”

  “Yeah, of course.” He glanced over his shoulder as if looking for the best path to run screaming, but I kept. On. Talking.

  “We’ve got a DJ and a local band, I think. Not exactly the biggest band in the world, but oh well. Can’t have it all, right?”

  Whatever horrible thing I’d just said had sent his glasses careening off his face. He caught them as they were falling and shoved them crookedly back.

  “Yeah, I don’t know,” he said, wincing. “I’ll have to file my homecoming story tonight. My last one. Crazy.”

  “Crazy,” I echoed, sinking steadily into the mud. “Yeah. You should do that. Just . . . let me know if you want an interview with anybody. I’m not the spokesperson anymore, so it won’t be me!” I laughed for no reason. “But I’ll see who I can get for you.”

  Adam looked regretful as I waved and raced away across the field. He must have meant to let me down more easily than that, but hey, at least I knew now, right? At least I wouldn’t spend the whole day pining after somebody who I’d so completely, ridiculously, disastrously misread the entire time I’d known him.

  It was a good thing. I appreciated his timing. I could focus on the day ahead, instead of daydreaming about the dance. The dance wasn’t for me, anyway. It was for my friends. This whole event was about their romances, not mine. Which was convenient, because I was clearly going to die alone in a forest cabin where I would live out my life with only deer and songbirds for company. That actually sounded kind of awesome, so whatever, I’d be fine.

  Raina pulled me aside as soon as I got to the clutch of gathered volunteers waiting for Sean and Sophie to hand out assignments. Before she could ask, I shook my head. “She said no.”

  “Just like that? Just no?” Raina glared at Natalie’s head.

  “It was a stretch, Raina. She’s not out to her family yet, and her mom is—”

  “Captain of the Hate Squad, yes.”

  I raised my eyebrows. Had Raina just made a joke?

  She sighed and brushed her hands off on her jeans—by far the most casual thing I’d ever seen her wear. “Okay. We’ll deal. I’ll tell Cal that we’ll all do interviews and pull people from the crowd to do sound bites. The important thing is the event itself, right?”

  At my nod, we broke and joined the group, where Sean was looking dazed and Sophie was asking each person who walked up, “What would you enjoy working on this morning?” to which every single person was answering, “Parade floats.”

  Hannah raised her hand and ducked through the crowd. “I’m not sure if it’s my place, but if this is helpful . . .” She handed Sophie a printed-out list of tasks, along with several sign-in slots under each category, from Ticket Collection to Vendor Management to Football Game Coordination. “Daisy told me a little bit about what needs to be done and I . . . well, I like to organize things.”

  “You’re a genius,” Sean breathed, snatching it out of her hand and brandishing it like a flag. “Come! Sign up! Who’s got a pen?”

  “I already signed myself up to take photos.” Hannah pointed to the bottom of the list. “Hopefully that’s okay? Obviously anybody can take photos, on their phones or if they brought cameras or . . . yeah, I’m gonna stop talking now.”

  Natalie kissed her neck. “You’re an excellent visual communicator, my dear.”

  Hannah glowed. “Thank you.”

  I watched her dig through her bag and pull out a camera. An unfamiliar one.

  Her eyes flew up to meet mine. “It’s . . . um . . .”

  “A thirty-five millimeter,” I said. “Nice.”

  “I got it for her. As a homecoming present. A real camera.” Natalie popped gum into her mouth, grinning as she chomped, like a hyena gnawing on a zebra leg.

  She offered me some. I snatched it out of her hand.

  “Don’t be mad,” Hannah said.

  “I’m not mad!” I chewed my gum. Chewed and chewed. “There is no getting mad today.”

  Natalie pouted.

  I whapped her arm. “I’ll get mad at you tomorrow.”

  “You’d better.”

  I was faux-growling over my shoulder at Natalie, scribbling my name onto the list under “Misc,” when my mom’s farm group ladies turned up wearing matching T-shirts saying: “We’re proud of our gay children!”

  A few feet away, Sophie’s face went sickly green when she spotted them. It struck me that she was probably the only gay child they had between them, so the shirts should really have read: “We’re proud of Sophie!” I was glad for her sake that they didn’t.

  A familiar face, pale and bewildered, was bobbing between all the women as they approached us. My mou
th fell open.

  “Dad?”

  I reached out to steady his elbow, but he perked up at the sight of me.

  “I’m here to support!” He shot me a shaky thumbs-up. “Plus your mom needed a date to the dance.”

  I snickered at the thought of the two of them dancing romantically to the dulcet tones of the Rhythm Squad. But then my fake smile became a real one. When was the last time my parents had gone out together, or danced together, or even spent a Saturday together, uninterrupted by video games?

  Mom rested her head on his shoulder, poking him in the side. Even though it was heartwarming and everything, I thanked them both and darted away before they could ask to tag along with me for the rest of the day.

  My first “misc” job was to set up trash cans throughout the venue, which turned out to be the perfect job. I got to wander the lot, marveling at its transformation.

  There were multicolored tents everywhere—the biggest strung with fairy lights for the dance—aisles upon aisles of sponsor-branded food stands, booths selling America’s Homecoming T-shirts and distributing free rainbow flags and buttons, and off to one side, a fully lined gridiron where, sure enough, teams were already lining up wearing competing fuchsia and silver uniforms. Our fifty-plus volunteers seemed like a skeleton crew as they milled through the sprawling grounds, checking off Hannah’s “To Do” boxes. As I shook an industrial-strength plastic bag into the last trash can on my map, I spotted a laughing group led by Diego and Sean putting the final touches on astonishingly ornate floats—pirate ships and fortresses, a submarine float, a giant peacock—like Mardi Gras, with even more sparkles.

  Just as I was wondering whether Diego ever got roped into building a pseudo bonfire, I wandered into the center of the lot—and stopped in abject wonder. Lovelorn as he was, Sean hadn’t exaggerated one bit about his boyfriend’s talents. Our bonfire was incredible, a colossal, swirling pyramid of gauzy orange and yellow cloth that caught the light and shone so brightly, you could swear it was emitting heat. It wasn’t just gorgeous. It was homecoming.