The Making of Us

by Debbie McGowan

  Leigh had stayed quiet throughout our conversation, sketching and scribbling notes, or sitting with pencil poised over the page, but I knew they were listening.

  “What are you working on?” I asked, leaning closer to take a look.

  “Oh, some design ideas. Fun stuff, not work.” They flipped their notebook shut, put down their pencil and offered me a smile I didn’t buy, but I waited until Matty had left and Noah had popped to the loo before I asked what was wrong.

  “Nothing, really. I was just thinking… You’re a very kind, forgiving person.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” It sounded like it was.

  “Of course not. It’s one of your greatest strengths. Not everyone would’ve accepted Sarah’s apology.”

  “Would you?”

  “Honestly? No. Not without her proving she’s changed her attitude.”

  “I can’t make her like me.”

  “Oh, you could.”

  “How?”

  “Become what she thinks a bi person is.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “OK, well…I came out as queer when I was fourteen, so…about five years ago.”

  “Right?”

  “Right, and for four years, I came out over and over and over again. The first time I met someone new, no problem. They just went with ‘it’s a girl’ or ‘it’s a boy’ depending on what I was wearing. But if I was wearing something totally different the next time, I’d get, ‘Oh! I thought you were a boy!’ Just because I’d been wearing a shirt and tie the last time, and now I was wearing a skirt.

  “Or they’d ask outright—‘I’m sorry, but are you a boy or a girl?’ So then I’d have to tell them, nope, I’m queer. Yeah, it’s kind of rude, and sometimes I lose it and end up swearing at someone, but mostly it’s tedious, and why do they care anyway? It’s nothing to do with them. But then, all of a sudden, they stopped asking. D’you want to know why?”

  “Why?” I asked. I genuinely had no idea.

  “This—” Leigh tugged their hair “—and these—” and prodded at their nose and lip studs. “I love piercings, and I love dying my hair wild colours. It was the first thing I did when I left school—dyed my hair bright red and got my ears pierced again—but now, I almost want to stop. Now, I ‘look’ queer, everybody thinks they know who I am just by looking at me. That’s why I don’t mind you, or anyone else, asking questions instead of making assumptions.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Why are you sorry?”

  “I did it, too.” It was horrible to see myself in the description Leigh had given.

  “No, Jesse, you didn’t.”

  “I thought you were a girl.”

  “Because of how you felt about me. And yeah, OK, the underlying assumption is still the same, but you made it about yourself, not me.”

  Noah came back, got a book out of his bag and started reading. I couldn’t decide if he’d done it to avoid getting involved or to give Leigh and me time to talk.

  “What do you think, Noah? Did I let Sarah off too lightly?”

  “You’ve got to do what’s right for you, mate.”

  “So, yes, then.”

  “It’s not for me to say.”

  “But I’m asking.”

  Noah closed the book and set it on the table. “All right, I’ll tell you. Her attitude stinks, not just towards allies—towards you, me, Jazz, and anyone else she decides doesn’t belong. So she’s sorry—for what? That you caught her out? That doesn’t change anything, other than next time she’ll make sure the mics are off before she lays into someone.”

  “That’s what I meant before,” Leigh said. “You’re not what she thinks queer looks like.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” I meant Sarah’s attitude, not what Leigh and Noah were saying, because now they’d spelled it out for me, I could see for myself. “I’m too introverted for this,” I joked. Kind of joked. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life sharing personal information with strangers who didn’t need to know.

  “Yep.” Leigh turned in their seat, hooking their legs over one of mine, and studied me intently for a minute or so, then said, “If you don’t want to do this, I’ll understand.”

  “Don’t want to do…what? The election?”

  “No. I mean, if you want to keep us low-key so you get less hassle.”

  “Leigh…” I was literally stunned to silence, within which my anger grew and grew, until it was too big to contain. I slid away from Leigh and heard their feet thud against the floor as I got up. “No,” I said. Nobody was shoving us away out of sight.

  “Where are you going?” Noah called after me.

  “To withdraw from the election.”

  ***

  I’d gone straight from the café to the SU and told them I was withdrawing. They said I needed to confirm it in writing. Carlos was in the office, and he wanted to know why. I told him I’d put it in my official withdrawal letter, and I would, once I’d calmed down, because two hours on, the page was still blank. I felt like such an idiot, like I’d played into Sarah’s hands, except I couldn’t figure out whether that was through standing or withdrawing. Either way, I refused to be her puppet. This wasn’t about the allies issue; it was about excluding anyone who didn’t fit, and that was the absolute opposite of what an inclusion officer was supposed to do.

  I was also torn between relief that it was over and guilt for all the hard work my friends had done on my behalf. Leigh had sent me a text to say they supported me, whatever I decided. Matty had sent one promising to talk to me later. Jazz was livid, and Noah seemed to be ignoring me, or maybe not, because he was sitting across the desk from me with his head in a book, as usual. I checked the time on my phone.

  “Are you getting the four o’clock bus?”

  “Yep.”

  “OK. I’ll stay here and get this letter done.” When Noah didn’t make a move, I said, “You know it’s quarter to, don’t you?”

  “Yep. I’m waiting for Matty.”

  “Oh, OK.” They usually met at the bus stop.

  Noah nodded past me. “He’s here now.”

  I turned to see. “Oh, for fu…” I covered my face with my hands and muttered into my palms, “You…bastards.”

  “Alright, Jesse?” Neema asked.

  I moved my hands away and sighed. “I’ve been better.” I looked at the four of them—Neema, Matty, Jazz and Carlos—standing in a line. “What are you? The Horsepeople of the Apocalypse?”

  “You can’t withdraw,” Neema said.

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re in the lead.”

  “Then they’ll have to vote for you instead.”

  “Danny’s in second place.”

  Carlos pulled out the chair next to mine and sat on it, backwards. “If Pride goes down in history as the launch platform for Danny Goodman’s political career, I will hold you personally accountable.”

  “And there was me thinking you wanted me for my body.” I hadn’t intended to say that. Well, I’d intentionally swapped out ‘political prowess’ before I reached the end of the sentence, which made everyone laugh, even Noah.

  “Look, Jesse,” Carlos continued, “if this is about what I said…”

  “It’s not. It’s about Danny’s minion calling me a yes-man, and it’s about allies, and Sarah, and the fact I keep changing my priorities. I’ve rewritten my manifesto four times already.”

  I noticed Matty’s eyes shift to Noah. I knew what they’d both be thinking. I was an obsessive essay redrafter; why should my manifesto be any different?

  Jazz’s eyes were burning into me, and I didn’t dare meet her gaze as I asked, “What’s your winning argument?”

  “I haven’t got one.”

  “Neither have I,” Matty said. “We’re here for our instructions.”

  “For what?”

  “What you want us to post to tell your followers you’re dropping out.”

  “Just post…” Unfortunately, J
esse Thomas had to withdraw due to personal circumstances. That sounded crap. …had to withdraw due to…being a big wuss. I gave up. “I hate you all. Really bloody hate you.”

  Neema’s turn again: “If you truly want to withdraw, we won’t stand in your way.”

  Easy for her to say. She didn’t have Matty and Jazz on her campaign team.

  “You think I should keep going?”

  “Yes, I do. You need to get out there and talk to Pride members. Your online campaign is fantastic…”

  And not my doing.

  “…but they want to see you in person, ask you questions.”

  “They’ll see sense soon enough if they do.”

  “They’re rooting for you, Jesse.”

  Crazy people.

  “The meeting hall is free tomorrow afternoon if you want it,” Carlos said.

  “We’re not holding the debate.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a…question panel.”

  Same difference. Clearly, they weren’t going to let it rest. If nothing else, it would show the members what they were really voting for, and help me make up my mind about withdrawing. I was still very reluctant, but I had nothing to lose. “That OK with you, Neema?”

  “Let’s do it.”

  “Great.” Decision made. Now to fit two days’ work into one evening. Guess Weight Watchers would have to manage without me this week.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  “Oh my god, it’s like a circus in there!” At Matty’s gleeful declaration, I did an about turn and legged it back the way I’d come, or at least, strode away very, very quickly.

  “Jesse, wait!” Leigh caught up with me and jogged at my side.

  “I can’t.”

  “OK.”

  I racked my brain, trying to think of a get-out—diarrhoea? I was nervous enough to turn that into a reality. God, why did I agree to this? What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t talk sense to one person at a time when we were on our own, never mind having a discussion in front of a roomful.

  “What am I going to do?”

  “Stop still a minute and we’ll talk about it.”

  I kept going. Leigh gripped my arm and tugged. It took a few seconds for the message to reach my feet. I stopped. A growl of fear and frustration rumbled in my throat, and I fought it, focusing on the pain of staring at the low sun, albeit hidden behind clouds. The growl broke free. Leigh took a step back from me and mouthed ‘whoa’.

  “Sorry. I’m not mad at you.”

  They laughed and tutted. “I know that.”

  “It’s my own fault. I should’ve kept my mouth shut.”

  “You could still withdraw.”

  I couldn’t. No way was I letting Danny Goodman win, even if there was a part of me that thought Pride members who fell for dirty tricks deserved everything they got. “I should’ve gone to the bar at lunchtime. Couple of double vodkas? Sorted.”

  “Too late now,” Leigh said, but I wouldn’t have done it. I needed my wits about me, such good as they’d do me.

  “OK. I’m done now.”

  “OK.” Leigh held out their hand to me. I took it, and we walked back together. “Where’s Noah?” they asked.

  “Emergency dissertation meeting.”

  “Emergency?”

  “In Noah’s world. Probably can’t decide which font to use.” I was kidding, of course, although it had been a serious consideration of his in our first year. I nodded at the queue of people waiting to go in. “How is it ‘a circus’? The debate doesn’t start for another half an hour.”

  “Goodman’s crew’s already in there, Matty said.”

  “Crew? As in…media?”

  “Not sure.”

  We got our answer soon enough. As we walked in, several people passed us on the way out—camera, boom mic, some sort of stand…

  I frowned after them. “D’you think they know they’re going the wrong way?”

  “Jesse!” That was Carlos…somewhere. It was bright outside and dark in the hall, but from what I could make out, before I stumbled into the back row of chairs, the stage was already set.

  “Excuse me!” The shout came from somewhere to my left as Carlos materialised in front of me.

  “Sorry, won’t be a sec…” he said to me and then intercepted the guy with his hand in the air who was walking towards us.

  “Why did you send my media crew away?”

  That had to be Danny’s PR guy.

  Carlos shrugged—he was a condescending git, but I’d let him off on this occasion. “I didn’t send your media crew away.”

  “Well, someone told them to leave.”

  “That was me,” Matty called from across the hall.

  “For what reason?” Danny’s guy demanded.

  “No public broadcasts without students’ consent.”

  “We’ll tell them what we’re doing. If they don’t like it, they can leave.” The guy was still addressing Carlos, but Carlos deferred to Matty.

  “We have a duty to safeguard vulnerable students who are unable to give consent.”

  “Unbelievable!”

  Whether Matty had made it up or not—I was pretty sure he hadn’t, God, I had a lot to learn—I, for one, was grateful we weren’t being filmed.

  “We will be streaming the discussion to our members,” Carlos said.

  Crap.

  The guy took out his phone. “Deets?”

  “It’s a private stream, sorry.” Carlos’s smarmy grin lingered as he turned away, clapping his hands in a down-to-business motion. “Right. Jesse, Neem—”

  “A private stream?”

  Carlos muttered, “Fucking hell,” and turned back. “Look. This event is not a marketing exercise for your client.”

  “I’m simply doing what I’ve been paid to.”

  “Is there a problem?” Sarah edged past Leigh and me without acknowledging either of us.

  “I think we’re all sorted now, thanks, Sarah,” Carlos said.

  “And you are?” Danny’s PR guy asked.

  Sarah’s nostrils flared, but she conjured a smile and held out her hand. “Sarah Willis, Pride President. I’m sorry, but I don’t know why you’re here?”

  Leigh tapped my arm and thumbed the suggestion we get out of the way. We went over to join Matty while the disagreement continued.

  “You OK, Jess?”

  “So-so.” Better than when I’d arrived but expecting fallout with Sarah anytime now.

  “We asked them to tweet questions and picked the ones that got the most likes. Check your email—I sent them to you.”

  “OK, cheers.”

  “And to Neema. Sadly, I don’t have Danny’s email address, but I’m sure his people are right on it.”

  I started laughing but was silenced by a yell from the back of the hall.

  “So butt out or I’ll call campus security!”

  “Uh-oh!” Leigh said. “Think someone’s upset Sarah.”

  “Hmm.” And not just Danny’s PR guy. I didn’t know how much effort she’d put into getting me out of the debate, and OK, she owed me, but I’d wasted her time. However, there were people coming in, and she wouldn’t challenge me with an audience again—I hoped.

  I unlocked my phone and found Matty’s email—no trick questions, which was good: the allies issue, addressing discrimination in campus sports teams and societies, gender-neutral toilets, and inclusion of students with disabilities and/or from ethnic minorities.

  “I’m going to take the last question,” Matty said. “It’s already in the uni’s equality policy, but that would be where you could say something about positive action.”

  “OK.” My mind was starting to spin up ideas. Carlos and Sarah were on the move; it looked like they’d dispatched Danny’s PR guy. “Is Danny here?” I asked Matty.

  “Yeah,” Matty confirmed with a weary eye roll. “Backstage—preening.”

  “Jesse, Neema…” Carlos called and hopped up on the stage.


  “This is it, then. Wish me luck.”

  Matty hugged me. “Break a leg.”

  “Cheers, Matt.”

  I took in a good, deep breath and met Leigh’s gaze. “I’ll be all right, yeah?”

  “No. You’ll be amazing.” They smiled into the kiss I gave them and murmured, “I’m proud of you.” I eased back and Leigh nodded. They meant it, and if I was honest, I was proud of me, too. Or I would be in a couple of hours’ time, when this craziness was over.

  ***

  “…onto the next question: How do you plan to address the lack of gender-neutral toilets on campus?” Carlos’s gaze zeroed in on… “Danny.”

  We were three questions in, and all was well so far. I’d reiterated what I’d said at the hustings about voting on whether to include allies, but I’d also shared my thoughts. Specifically, I pointed out that some people might join as allies because they didn’t feel able to be open or might not know yet and left it at that rather than risk losing my cool over how wrong it was to judge a book by its cover. For exactly that reason, Neema disagreed on holding a referendum, so I guessed that would be the decider for a lot of members. Meanwhile, Danny…

  Well, it was clear Danny Goodman couldn’t bullshit his way out of a wet paper bag. There was no substance to his manifesto, and he’d quickly run out of soundbites. Whether his mum was an MP or not, he was absolutely not cut out for a life in politics, not that that had ever stopped anybody.

  “I’ll leave this one to you,” he offered pompously. I couldn’t say I blamed him, seeing as he’d made such a hash of it at the hustings.

  “It seems pretty straightforward to me,” I said. “There are more female toilet blocks than male, so as an interim measure, I’d propose to the campus building management that we designate some of those unisex.”

  “That will mean there are fewer girls’ toilets on site,” Danny argued.

  “No, it won’t. It means anyone can use them. But it’s temporary. We need a commitment from the university to make all of the toilets unisex in the redevelopment.”