“You didn’t have to walk me to school, Dad.” The wind whipped around the edges of a hand-hemmed skirt, the stitches slightly erratic but strong.

“It’s your first day at a new school. I wanted to make sure you got here okay.” The late summer sun beat down on a button-down shirt and tie.

“We’re five blocks from home.”

“Most accidents occur within five miles of home.”

“That’s in cars.”

“Good thing we walked, then.” As they neared the campus a swirl of minivans, bicycles, and skateboards passed them by, ignoring them save for a few headturns. “I see other parents around.”

“Great, you’ve joined the helicopter squad.”

“You have your class schedule printed out?”

The backpack shifted over a broad shoulder, the blouse beneath showing stitches similar to the skirt. “First period English, snore. I’ll navigate alright.”

“You have Mrs. Feld’s number?”

“Saved on speed dial, right after ‘Over-Protective Parent’ at #1.”

As they neared the building they slowed, their steps growing short. “Her office is on the east side of the gym, you can always go there if you have any problems. Don’t forget to stay on campus - remember to make allies, not just friends. Kids who will jump into a fight instead of Instagramming it.”

“Really?”

“I mean it, find a few honorable delinquents and gain their trust. I hid some JUUL refills in the bottom of your backpack, you can use them to buy influence.”

″Seriously Dad?” The backpack came down with a soft thump, hands covering it protectively. “What the hell??”

“Hey, if you don’t use them you can leave them there. They’ve got my fingerprints on them, I'll go down for them if anyone asks.”

With a sigh, the backpack shifted back up into place. “You’re certified, Dad. Past the helicopter brigade, you’re a drone parent now.”

“I...” The footsteps stopped, stalling on the sidewalk. “I know I’m not brave, okay? You get that from your mother. But that doesn’t mean I’m not damn proud of you. If the world has improved at all since my time in school, kids like you made it that way.”

A lip-glossed smile crept up beneath long, semi-curled locks. “Is this my obligatory pep talk now? ’Cause I’m good. Really. You can go back to work now.”

“Right, unnecessary dorky Dad moment.” Cuff links clinked as large arms wrapped around the slightly shorter figure next to them, encompassing them in a hug. “I love you, Sam.”

Reflexively the shoulders stiffened, then sagged as smaller arms wrapped back around. “It's Samantha, please."

"Crap. I'll get that right, one day."

"I still love you too, Drone Dad.” They held together for a couple seconds more. “You know this looks worse when I’m dressed like this.”

“Oh well. I’m already going down for contributing nicotine to minors."

The hands pulled away, latching back onto the straps of the backpack and shifting it again. "Go to work, Dad. I got this."

"I know." A warm smile and a wave bid the teenager goodbye as a bell rang in the distance. "Have a good day!"

There was a quick wave back before lightly tan sandals hit the pavement and disappeared in a sea of puberty.

Wow he's grown so much. The father thought, then corrected himself. She - she's grown so much.

With a heavy sigh, he waited and watched until the long, flowing locks disappeared indoors, looking for any signs of nerves or second-thoughts but seeing none.

One day I'll get it right.

Turning, he smiled and walked back towards their home, so conveniently close to the local high school. Not that he would ever tell Samantha he'd taken the day off to work from home. She'd never let him live that down. Drone Dad, indeed.

In the meantime...maybe he'd gotten enough right, at least for today.

Much of my life has been shaped by shame. Be it because of the abuse I went through, because my mother insisted that everything about me was shameful, or because I just didn't (and often still don't) like what I see in the mirror. My family and bullies have conditioned me to look at myself as if I'm something to mock or to be embarrassed about. I was recently hospitalized because of mental illness, having two mood disorders and two anxiety disorders. Seeing myself celebrating pride in who I've become is often rather difficult.

I refuse to continue to let shame rule my life, though. I have a long way to go before I'm the person I want to be, but when I look at how far I've come, I know that I have a place among the Unashamed - be it at Pride or elsewhere.

It took me until I was twenty years old to realize that I'm sapphic. It took two more years to realize that I'm a lesbian. The reason I couldn't commit to men wasn't because I was "damaged goods" (as certain members of my family referred to me as when they thought I couldn't hear them), but because I'm simply not wired to be romantically or sexually involved with a man. I'm not damaged. There's no shame in loving other women as people believe I should love a man. I wish I realized this before I was an adult, but I can't change the past.

In this stream of consciousness, I hope to reach other people like me. People who've had their head down out of fear - be it fear of the unknown in identifying as something you don't completely understand yet, fear of how people will treat you, fear of how your identity fits into other parts of yourself (culture, religion, etc.), I know it's a lot. It's downright terrifying.

But I've found that being able to express more of myself after pushing through those fears has been very rewarding. As I've said, I'm not where I want to be. But I'm a few steps farther than I was three years ago, when I thought I was straight. Embracing yourself is difficult and often requires sacrifice, but it can also bring rewards. And Pride is what you make it. To me, it's about standing among the Unashamed. Standing tall, and telling the world that despite what it throws at me, I am worth fighting for. I have the right to carve a place and make a difference, even if it's only a personal difference.

You have the power to carve out your place and to fight for yourself. You have the power to live your life in a way that's fulfilling to you. You have the power to be Unashamed.

"Um, Mom?" she said in a quavering voice.

I looked up from my cooking magazine to find my 15 year old daughter shifting from one leg to another like she needed to pee, gnawing on the fingernails that hadn't grown past the quick since she was born. Her face was somewhat green. I wondered if she was catching the flu. "Are you feeling ok honey? Do you need some Tylenol or something? You look green and like you need to pee."

She grimaced slightly and said, "No, I need to tell you something."

At this point, multiple thoughts raced through my head. Was she pregnant? Did she fail a test at school? Did she break a neighbor’s window? Eat all the ice cream? Perhaps she was running off to join the circus? I tilted my head to the side and just said "ok." We had a pretty open, trusting relationship, and I couldn't imagine why she was so worried.

In a rush it all came out, "Mom I'm bisexual." Then she just stood perfectly still, holding her breath like a deer frozen in the headlights of a car.

I stood up, I hugged her and I told her I loved her. I was so proud of her courage, and so touched that she trusted me enough to share that part of her life with me. I was not really surprised, because she had always seemed to find other females attractive. If anything, I wondered if she was kidding herself about being bi, when she was actually a lesbian. It did not matter to me, though. My opinion of her did not change.

She was still the kid who loved macaroni and cheese, and who danced around the house all the time. She loved art and music and hated my sense of fashion. ("Are you seriously wearing that to work? You know that doesn't match, right?") I chuckle even now, remembering how many ugly, mismatched outfits she saved my co-workers from having to endure. This beautiful, talented, compassionate, sensitive soul was entrusted to my care in this life. Who was I to judge who she loved or what she did with her genitals? She was - and is - a bright and capable human being. That doesn't change based on her sexual preference.

After she came out, I began to do more research on the LGBTQ+ community, and spent some time getting to know a few of her friends from the Gay Student Alliance (GSA) at her school. I learned that LGBTQ+ kids are much more likely to commit suicide than their straight counterparts, and they are also more likely to run away from home and live on the street. I took that information like a glass of ice water thrown in my face. It has always been important to me to support my kids no matter what, but seeing what the LGBTQ+ community is up against was really sobering.

One night, the GSA gave a presentation at the local library on transgender issues. Following the meeting, some of the kids’ parents came to pick them up. They were either not able or not interested in attending the meeting. The curses and hate those parents slung at some of those kids was disgusting; I would never say some of those things to my worst enemy, let alone to my own flesh and blood. One child kept screaming, “I’m Theo, I’m Theo” and their mother was coldly hissing “Annika, get in the car NOW.” Theo was doubled over, as though punched in the gut, crying. Every molecule within me wanted to get involved and take Theo home with us. Yet this was an issue between a parent and their minor child. Somebody called the police.

I was up all night, worrying about Theo and wondering what would happen to him. I asked my daughter about him, and she said Theo had gone to live with a relative in another city and was no longer going to her school. Honestly, the memory of that night haunts me and I pray that Theo is ok wherever he is.

I worry about all the Theo’s out there… is anyone watching over them? Is anyone hugging them and making sure they have food and a roof over their heads? Is anyone telling them they are wanted and loved, as they are?

At the time, I comforted myself that my child was not transgender, and I didn’t have to worry about that. It seems like so many people are accepting of gay and lesbian couples these days; it almost felt pedestrian to me. At least I didn’t have to worry about my child being transgender, with all the bullying and hatred that comes with being part of that community.

Well, at least I thought I didn’t.

It was about a year after my daughter told me she was bisexual that she came out as non-binary and pansexual. I asked her if that meant she was attracted to rocks. Yeah, that went over like a ton of, well, rocks. After I scraped her off the ceiling, I told her I was just teasing her; things were so serious and I was just being my normal, goofy self.

She explained that she was no longer a “she.” Non-binary meant that she was neither fully female nor fully male. She was both. Being non-binary meant she was part of the transgender community. Her pronouns were now “they, them, theirs” not “she, her, hers.” I admit I still struggle sometimes to call my child “them,” but I do the best I can. My child also decided to change their name from Emily to Bo. We had a celebration back in April when we went to the courthouse to witness the official, legal proceeding. I now have no daughter named Emily.

This has probably been the hardest thing for me to accept. If she was a lesbian, and her name was Emily, she would still be female and still my daughter. Now, I no longer have that.

But I choose to focus on what I do have rather than what I have lost. How lucky I am to have a beautiful, talented, courageous child, who is true to themselves, who stands up against inequality and yearns to make the world a better place. Sexuality and gender are frosting; it’s the person underneath that really matters.

I’m sorry that I lack affection and am hard to understand

But I like it when you kiss me and want to hold my hand

I’m sorry I get scared and think it’s wrong at times

But growing up I was told our love would be a crime

I’m sorry I don’t write you things when you’re my wish upon a star

It’s just hard to talk about us when we're scared of what we are

I’m sorry people stare at us and friends say things that hurt

But you and I will grow from the times they buried us in dirt

I’m sorry that we didn’t work out and the world got in our way

But one day we’ll be strong enough to admit that we are gay

I’m sorry that it’s not today or anytime that soon

And I hope whoever you end up with gives you all the stars and moon

I’m sorry we were meant to be but your touch opened up my eyes

To love the things I want to love like girls instead of guys

I’m not sorry about us or anything we’ve done

We might not be together but you’ll always be the one

I usually think my sexuality is fairly straight forward, despite it taking me a while to figure it out. Thing is, whenever I say I’m asexual, I’m always met with confused stares.

“So.. You don’t like anyone?”

“You don’t want sex?”

“What about kids?”

“How does being asexual even work?”

“Are you sure you don’t want to have sex?”

“How do you know you won’t like it?”

“At least try it!”

It gets exhausting after a while and I hate the question. But, I have friends who support me and help with this. Explaining it to my Mom was extremely hard, especially since she didn’t really understand what I meant. I decided to let her believe what she wanted and wait until I was more ready.

I am asexual biromantic. I may not be sexually attracted to anyone, but that doesn’t mean I can't care for somebody. It’s not something, I like to explain, but I should. So, in the future, other aces don’t have to.

As a transgender male, choosing a name that fits perfectly with yourself is something that I feel is one of the most important things in transitioning. It’s one of the first things people get to know about you when you meet them.

Seems easy enough, right?

Wrong.

No.

Absolutely not.

Maybe it is if you’re not me.

But as for myself, it’s been a mess. My parents have told me that the reason why they still call me my birth name is because they spent so long trying to decide on the perfect name for me. I never used to understand that, it’s just a name, right?

Wrong again.

There’s so much behind a name. Why did you choose one over another? Does it sound okay? Are you comfortable with hearing it all the time? Apparently according to other people, “Why is your name [insert name], you don’t look like a [name].”

Sure, I don’t look like it (and my first and last name both start with the same letter just to annoy me) but I also don’t exactly look like a guy yet either, so there’s no way I could look like whatever name I’ve chosen anyway.

I chose the name because I feel like it. It felt right for me, so I kept it. That is, I kept this one, after the five other ones from before. (I told you it was a mess.)

Something that sounds good to me one day might annoy the hell out of me the next, and that’s how I ended up with six names in the past five months or so.

I also didn’t fully understand the stress of having to tell everyone every time I felt like my name wasn’t working. It’s difficult enough to come out once to a person, much less six times, especially if they’re trying to get used to a name. My natural inclination to avoid risking annoying people has led to me not correcting them or not coming out at all simply due to my own insecurit about other people, even though I have no idea how they’ll actually respond when I tell them.

In part, this is probably because most of the trans people I know in my social life outside of the internet chose and were happy with a name after maybe one or two, or even their first one. It makes me feel weird to go through so many in my search to be comfortable, since it originally didn’t seem to be that hard.

I’m not usually the type of person who gets upset immediately if someone misgenders me or uses the wrong name, partially because I’m not that kind of person and partially because my own name changing has even driven me a bit crazy. I get that it’s difficult to keep up with, but hey, we’re in this together with trying to figure it out, so I mess up, you mess up, it’s probably okay.

I’ve always heard that names hold a deep meaning to them, but I never realized how damn important it actually was until I had to do it myself. And it is not fun when you only have a partial grasp on who are and want to be as a person.

Hello, I am Lunaria. I'm a non-binary, pansexual, demiro. Which is a lot! But here I am, talking about how gay (gay used as an umbrella term in this context) I am. Why is that? I am not sure, ya'll can debate with me if you don't believe I exist or something. I'm obviously here though, so umm... Yeah.

Recently I've been questioning my gender again, due to dysphoria. I'm not sure if it's because I've been feeling demasculinized or because I'm actually a boy. Oh well! the reason I believe I'm just non-binary is because I only get ghost dck sometimes. Which I guess might classify me as gender fluid or possibly a demiboy. Idk gender like sexuality is a spectrum.

Speaking of spectrum, rainbows are very pretty. That is all! Have a good pride month! :3

Not a time for fear,

But a time for joy

Not a time for ignorance,

But a time for understanding

Not a time for hate,

But a time for love

Not a time for shame,

But a time for pride

#poetry #micropoetry #lgbt #pride #pridemonth

Carissa's chestnut brown curls bounced relentlessly as she marched with fellow members of the queer community. She yearned for the day in which a march would no longer be necessary. Until then, she marched, she yelled, she stood for those before her who lost the battle, and for those who currently exist in the chaos.

Beads of sweat rolled down her face like tears as the torrid heat rippled off the charcoal pavement. Chants echoed from the silver skyscrapers. The sounds of passion, of love, of unending pride filled the air. A sea of color could be spotted from blocks away.

As they jaunted through the otherwise mundane streets, people from around the world united over the universal purpose of inclusion regardless of status. Couples held tight to their partners, arm in arm, hand in hand. Some clutched posters with words of encouragement, with demands, with affirmations. "Queer is queer, we are here," read a banner braced by a group of glorious drag queens. As they suddenly halted, so did the thousands of lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer, intersex, asexual identifying citizens and their straight allies.

The words "homosexuality is a sin" were scrawled in a blood red spray paint across the walkway. After a two-second pause, the queens started dancing, laughing, hugging, as if their eyes had yet to glance over those sharp letters. "Love is love," they spoke quietly until the phrase roared into existence. Thousands of throats chimed out those words in unison.

That's the whole point of marching for your rights. That's the whole point of expressing pride for yourself and your community. At the end of the day, we are all people who laugh, who love, who live, and what could be better than that?

Air was the perfect picture of a lesbian, the kind you’d see in pictures. Except for one small problem. She didn’t like girls. She had girls ask her out all the time. She turned them all down. But, all the guys avoided her. Because they thought she was lesbian. Everyone called her Air, but her full name was Arabella, a name which she hated with a burning passion. She ran a hand through her bleached white hair that sat on her head in a mop. All her friends told her that she rocked the short haircut, so she kept it, even though she didn’t really like it. It had been her mom’s choice to get it short.

“Ugh,” I mutter. “This isn’t turning out right.” What is it missing? I wonder. Should I switch it to first person? Is it too cliche? Stupid Hazel, I curse myself. You’re supposed to be a writer. That’s what writers do. They write. Well, before this, writing had never been hard. But this project was being particularly elusive. God only knows why. At any rate, it was time for school.

“And,” I say, rubbing the bags under my eyes. “This is why I should sleep instead of hanging over the computer like a drug addict over cocaine.”

“Haze— oh, hi honey. You’re already up.”

“Yep,” I say. “Something like that.” I shove my laptop into my bag for use after school. My mom works, a full time job as a lab technician. I get picked up at six but school ends at four. That’s two hours to do whatever. For me, whatever means hiding in the girl’s restroom and typing. Hence my shitty social life. And, as for the storyline of Discovering Her, the novel I’m working on, I won’t have any luck with a new kid at school, as there hasn’t been a new kid at Giovani High since freshman year. I’m currently a junior. Next year, I’ll be a senior. And then, who knows? I might go to college, I might not. I haven’t decided yet. For now, I’ll reluctantly sit through seven hours of classes, and then I’ll sit in the bathroom and write for the next two.

First period. English. The best period of the day, but painfully tedious. I learned grammar up to college honors over the past few summers in the hopes of improving my writing. Now I have to sit through the class without actually learning. Not good planning on my part. Oops.

Next to me is Joli Brown, a cheerleader whose cup size is only matched by her ego. She’s got a boyfriend named Horace Green (his name is even more stupid than he is, which is saying a lot. His report card is all Fs, except for PE, his only A plus).

All sides of the classroom are filled with drooling teens. Half of them doodling, the rest of them a mix between picking their noses and actually taking notes. I am in the former (not the nose picking, the doodling...). My blank notes paper is filled with character sketches of Air and her future girlfriend, Hira. Air has her short bleached hair, six piercings on each ear, and wears all black. She’s really tall, unlike Hira, who is short with dark skin and long braided hair. Hira comes in as a new student and makes a ton of friends. Air assumes that she doesn’t stand a chance with Hira, until Hira is raped by one of the boys and cast out of the popular club. Now with the unfair reputation of a slut, Hira starts becoming withdrawn. She runs into Air when she starts skipping lunch and finds Air in the restroom. The rest is just development and shit. And, Hira’s parents are homophobic, all that crap goes down, etc. All I have is that. I haven’t really figured out the ending yet.

“That looks really nice,” someone says behind me, making me jump.

“Th-thanks,” I say, turning to see the face of the person who just complimented my art. I turn to see a girl I haven’t spoken to before. Her name is Mia. She has black hair with blonde streaks and skin the color of a Starbucks latte. Her eyes are a startling color, somewhere between blue and green. Like aqua, but more powerful. She hasn’t said a word to me in my life before this. I smile. “Thanks.”

“No problem,” she says. I see her go sit down a few tables away and a boy next to her says,

“Why are you talking to the weirdo?” I look down quickly.

“Danny, come on, she’s not that bad.” I bite down on my tongue so hard that I start bleeding. Is Mia Kingston standing up for me? Hazel Lovecraft (yes, like the author. My mom was a big fan. I’m pretty sure she married my dad for his last name. Maybe that’s why they didn’t work out.)? It can’t be. This isn’t happening.

“I mean, look at her,” Danny says. “She’s obviously some kind of lesbian slut with that fuckin’ hair.”

“Girls can have short hair too, Danny, come on. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Why are you standing up for her?” Good question, Danny. I don’t know.

“Dan—”

“Let’s just... forget it. Okay? Come over tonight. We’ll study.”

“Dan, I already told you, after we graduate! Jesus! Can’t you listen to me?” As I sit there and listen to this exchange, I mentally file it away for use in Discovering Her. What if my life turns out just like Air’s? I laugh at myself when I think that. No way. I’m not that lucky. I let my eyes drift back towards Mia. She’s bent over her notes. She’s in the group that actually does the work. How’d she end up with the likes of Danny and Kyriah and the other popular kids? She’d fit in more with Opal and Ryan and Ariel. Those three are the “nerds”. But, I concede to myself, Mia is too pretty to be in a nerd group. Not to say that Opal, Ryan, and Ariel aren’t. Mia just has a... a vibe. I don’t know how to put it. She’s likeable.

The rest of the school day passes in a blur. A slow motion blur, but still a blur. I got a C on my science test. Nothing else notable happens in any of my other classes. I didn’t eat lunch. It sucks, being a vegetarian who doesn’t have time to make their own meals. The only lunch option available was a soggy salad and a piece of bread that had more in common with a rock than actual food. The hot lunch entry was beef tacos. Despite my intense aversion to meat, the sight of the kids eating it made my mouth water. If only...

I had to go vegetarian two years ago. I was developing a rash all over my arms that itches like Hell. My mom took me to the doctor, who dismissed it as acne and hormones until they ran a test a week later and found out that I had some kind of reaction to meat. Not sure what. Some chemical or something that naturally occurred in processed meat. Unavoidable, incurable, and all that bullshit. Ever since then, I’ve been subsisting on salads and tofu. It’s great, but I really miss beef tacos.

Lesbian, vegetarian, antisocial writer, insomniac... I’m going to have a great Tinder profile.

The bell rings for the end of an unusually long last period. Music theory. My mom insisted I join choir, even though I can’t sing, and music theory is choir’s stunt double. It’s required than anyone taking a music class has to take music theory as well. I never knew someone could spend an entire class period talking about the quarter note. A-freakin-mazing. I learned absolutely nothing.

Anyway, it’s now time for my favorite part of the day. Sitting in the bathroom and writing.

Okay, so where was I...

Air walked into her first period with no notion of what was about to happen. She sat in her chair and stared blankly at the whiteboard. Written on it was

Welcome Hira! Who’s Hira? Air wondered. As she puzzled over the words on the board, the teacher walked in, along with a new girl. She was a full foot shorter than Mrs. Jones, with long braided black hair down to her ankles. Her coffee colored skin shone. She sat down alone at one end of the room, and was instantly swarmed by Becky, Rita, and the Jonathans. They were called that because their names were both Jonathan. Jonathan King and Jonathan Stewartt. With two Ts.

“Hey girl, how you doin’?” asks Rita, flipping her curly blonde hair.

“I- I’m doing fine,” says Hira. “Who are you guys?”

“These are the Jonathans, their names are both Jonathan, and this is Becky, my best friend.” Becky raises a hand to her wavy maroon hair. The hair bounces as if jumping on a trampoline.

Here we go, thinks Air while she brushes eraser bits off her paper. Another beautiful girl wasted away in the popularity contest. Kind of sad, really. But there was no time to dwell on that. There was class, work, all that. Boring shit. Not nearly as fun as watching Rita interact with Hira. But it was necessary. It had to be done. She writes several lines of notes about infinitives, participles, and gerunds. Infinitives are super easy, she decides. Way easier than social interaction. Why hasn’t her mom agreed to homeschool her after last year? Last year when she was expelled? Sometimes her mom had a hard time catching a hint. Humans are annoying. Best to interact with as few of them as possible.

Anyway, the bell was about to ring. Air shoved her work into the basket right as the bell rang. She swung her back over her shoulder. Perfect. Only six more periods to go.

Oh shit, someone’s coming. The bathroom door makes a hideous sound as it opens, making it easy to tuck your feet up and make it look as though the room is empty.

“Oh my God, Allie. I am so sick of Danny! He is such an asshole sometimes.”

“What happened?” asks another girl, presumably Allie.

“Okay, so, I said hi to that girl, um, I think her name is Hazel, and he was all like: ‘oh my God why are you talking to the weirdo?’ And I was like, what the fuck man, what did she ever do?”

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.... it’s Mia.

“He’s so dense sometimes, Mia. It’s okay, girl. But... why were you talking to her?”

“I saw her drawing. It was badass. Seriously. You should have seen it.” My face flushed and I was suddenly glad they couldn’t see me.

“Hey, maybe we could... invite her to sit with us or something. Cause, I mean, if she can draw good.. that’s cool, right?”

“Yeah. I agree. Screw Danny, anyway.”

“Yes girl, let’s do this. Totally.”

My muscles tensed in... fear? Excitement? Was I really going to be in with the popular girls? And Mia? Is this really happening?

I’m too excited to write now. Maybe I’ll finally have something to do besides sit in the bathroom! Holy shit!

The rest of the two hours passed faster than the speed of light. Before I knew it, I was getting into my mom’s sky blue sedan, covered in about eighty different symbols. I’m pretty sure she didn’t know what half of them even meant. She had a cross country sticker, even though I’d never been in cross country in my life. I had convinced her last year to get a rainbow. Not sure if she knows why, but, oh well. Some things can’t be changed.

The next day brought a flood of pouring rain. Is it really only Tuesday? Ugh. This week is longer than the neck of a giraffe. Hey, that was a good analogy. I’ll have to save that for later.

In first period, Mia walked up to me. I kind of expected it, but it was thrilling nonetheless.

“Hey,” she said shyly, tucking a rogue strand of hair behind her ear. “Uh, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing okay,” I say. “You?”

“I’m doing good,” she says. “So, do you want to, like, sit with us at lunch today? If you don’t, like, have something else.”

“That would be great!” I exclaim. “I will. Thanks.” Mia grins and walks back over to her table. Danny gives her a what the hell? look, and she just shrugs him off. Feeling victorious, I start doodling more character sketches of Discovering Her. On the next blank page of my sketchbook, I draw a picture of the two girls holding hands. I’ve gotten lots of compliments about how great my art is, but if you compared it to my friends in Utah, it was utter shit. Yeah, I used to live in Utah. I went to an art school. It was awesome. But then, two years ago, my mom lost her job. The only other employment option for her was here, in some obscure Idaho town. It struck me as weird then, and it’s still weird. My conclusion was that she wanted to be far away from Dad. Dad left a while ago, and my mom gained custody of me. Which, I have to say, I’m extremely glad about. My mom divorced him for a reason. The only good thing about this state is the potatoes. Me and my mom never have a day in which one of our meals doesn’t involve them. They’re everywhere. But, Idaho isn’t so bad. The other option was Italy. And I was like, what the hell, Ma? Italy? No way. So, Idaho it is.

Lunch came fast. Soon enough, I was standing in the middle of the lunchroom, more in common with a lost dog than an actual human.

“Over here,” Mia beckoned. I turned and saw a table full of all the popular people. Was this really happening? A fresh wave of white hot anxiety washed over me. This was happening. I was going to sit at the same table as Mia Kingston. Holy fucking shit. I slid into the seat next to Mia, my sketchbook clutched to my heart like a life vest. This. Is. Absolutely. Terrifying.

Joli and Horace are both here, along with Danny (I don’t know his last name, sue me... I can’t know everyone...) and Allie Omar, the girl from the bathroom. There’s also a girl who catches my eye immediately, she has short black hair and a studded leather jacket. I think her name is Erin. I’ve seen her around. I didn’t know she hung out with the popular group.

“Hey, guys,” Mia says. “This is...” she trails off and looks at me. “Hazel, right?” I nod. All the people at the table are staring at me. Danny has a soggy cafeteria french fry hanging from his mouth. I swallow hard.

“Uh... hi?” I say.

“Hey,” says Allie with a sympathetic look. “Mia says you’re good at drawing.” I look down.

“I guess,” I say.

“Let’s see it,” says Erin. I open my sketchbook to the page I drew earlier, of Air and Hira holding hands. I didn’t really want to show them this one, but, there’s no helping it now. Erin, Allie, and Joli are all eagerly hung over my shoulder like an unwelcome cape.

“Holy shit, Mia, you weren’t kidding. This lady can draw!”

“I told you,” Mia says with a smug grin. "She's badass."

"So, is she going to, like, stay here?" Danny asks. Mia shoots him a glare sharper than a new pencil.

"Fuck yeah, she's going to stay here," Erin says. "She's awesome." I bite my lip. Why is everyone being so nice to me? My art isn't that good. And why now? It can't just be Mia. I went from no friends to a ton in.. what, two days? How is that even possible?

This must be some kind of school project. Acts of kindness. Something. Maybe the principal, Mrs. Morrison, put them up to it. Yeah. That must be it.

This is not real. I look at Mia, who smiles at me. My heart flutters. I’ve had a crush on Mia for, what, two years now? No. Longer.

I notice I’m not the only one skipping lunch. Erin and Mia are, too. Interesting. Danny, meanwhile is eating about three trays worth of French fries and greasy potatoes. Yes. Today’s lunch is loaded baked potatoes. Filled with the meat of a half-dozen cows. For real. There’s more meat than actual potatoes.

**UNFINISHED**