by Katie Heaney
“Ruby broke up with Mikey,” said Alexis. “And Sweets is fine, for now…but apparently Mikey revoked use of his brother’s house as, like, punishment for the breakup, I guess. So they need a new venue.”
“What a little bitch,” said Ronni. We didn’t have to ask—we knew she meant Mikey.
“I wonder if they could play at Triple Moon,” said Jamie.
“Ha!” I laughed. “Right. I’m sure those guys would love to play at a lesbian coffee shop.”
“Why not?!” Alexis nearly shouted. Alexis was very offended on Jamie’s and my behalf whenever someone did or said something vaguely homophobic. Because Jamie was Jewish and Ronni was black, Alexis also took anti-Semitism and racism very personally. Needless to say, she found most things sexist. Her backpack was covered in pins that read STRAIGHT BUT NOT NARROW and COEXIST and WHO RUN THE WORLD? GIRLS and BLACK LIVES MATTER, the last of which Ronni gave her to replace one that read ONE RACE: HUMAN.
“They need somewhere to play, don’t they? And Triple Moon has shows,” said Jamie.
“Yeah, like…spoken-word shows.”
“I dunno,” said Jamie. “I think Dee and Gaby would be down. A lot of people like Sweets. It’d be good for business.”
“I’m sure they’d be fine with it. I just think those guys would sooner play a Panera Bread than Triple Moon.”
“Maybe a break will be good for them,” said Ronni. “You know, take some lessons…learn to read music…” (Fine: I’d sent Ronni the link I’d listened to.)
I cracked up. Jamie looked annoyed. “They know how to play. You guys just don’t get it.”
“You got me there.” Ronni shrugged.
“I get it,” I argued. Suddenly I was mad. “I just don’t like it.”
“The one song you listened to?”
“One was enough.”
My heart hammered against my ribs, and I saw Ronni and Alexis exchange a quick look, just like I knew they would. We were making them uncomfortable, which was the last thing I wanted. No matter how stupid Jamie had made me feel, I had to be cordial. I didn’t want to give them the opportunity to pick sides unless I knew for sure they’d take mine.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Triple Moon isn’t a bad idea.”
Jamie stared at me for a moment. It took everything I had not to look away before she muttered, “Thanks.”
Under the table Ronni grabbed my wrist and squeezed it. I couldn’t look at her or I’d cry, so instead I slid an Oreo into my mouth and focused on chewing that instead.
* * *
—
The good thing about not having Civil Liberties until last period was that I got a break from seeing Jamie for two hours. The bad thing about having Civil Liberties last period was that I spent those two hours dreading seeing Jamie. She shouldn’t have even been in Civil Liberties, which was, for most people, a civics graduation requirement taken at the last possible second. Jamie, however, had already taken AP Government junior year, and was taking Civil Liberties for “fun,” which to me felt a little like a billionaire choosing to take the bus.
At passing time I stepped into a stall in the girls’ bathroom and waited the remaining four minutes out, not wanting to get there before she did. When the warning bell rang I checked my teeth in the mirror and pulled and poked at pieces of my hair until it looked almost normal, and then I walked into class. And for a moment—just a moment—I considered walking right back out.
There was only one open seat left: the one closest to Mr. Haggerty’s desk. Sitting in the seat directly behind that one was Jamie.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered to myself.
I dropped my bag alongside the desk, and Jamie gave me a bashful, closed-mouth smile.
For the first time in my life, I prayed to be given a seating chart. And I prayed it would put me as far away from Jamie Rudawski as possible.
Mr. Haggerty introduced himself and took roll call, pausing to make notes when someone corrected his pronunciation or specified a nickname. We could have done the whole routine collectively, on each other’s behalf, so many times had we heard each other’s names read aloud over the last three years. I stared at the surface of my desk, imagining I felt Jamie’s eyes boring into my brain. Don’t let her catch you thinking about her, I thought. Ah, I mean—shit.
Then Mr. Haggerty called out, “Ruby Ocampo,” and I looked up.
You know those people who were a little too good-looking as fifth graders? Like, so good-looking that you knew, as a fifth grader yourself, that something deeply and biologically unfair was afoot? Before fifth grade, my classmates and I were on pretty equal footing, looks-wise—all of us barefaced and missing teeth, wearing braids and ponytails that hung loose and weird by the end of each day. Back then the only person fit for a crush was my teacher, Ms. Urlacher, who had a bottle-blond newscaster blowout and wore blue mascara and Britney Spears perfume. (I knew this because she kept a bottle on her desk, and once I’d pretended to leave something behind so I could run back and sniff it.)
Then fifth grade started, and a few of the girls I thought I knew came back to school so pretty it embarrassed me to look at them. That was when I learned two very important things: one, that I was super gay, and two, that life wasn’t fair.
Ruby didn’t go to my elementary school, or my middle school for that matter, but I knew, I just knew she’d been one of those fifth-grade girls. You could see it in her face, in the way she sat in her chair: the mind-numbing boredom of lifelong beauty.
When Mr. Haggerty called Ruby’s name, she didn’t say anything. She just lifted the hand she’d been using to hold her head up. She was seated across the room from me, so it was easy to get away with looking at her, which I felt like I hadn’t done in forever. When Jamie and I were together, other girls stopped existing to me. But way, way back before Jamie and I got together, I had a not-so-tiny crush on Ruby. So did Jamie. Once we figured out we both liked girls, but before we figured out we liked each other, we spent a gleeful afternoon listing all the girls we thought were prettiest at school. All of them were straight, just like everyone we knew. And lo, the Straight Girls We Wish Weren’t list was born. It was a joke, obviously, and I’d fully forgotten at least five of the fifteen or so names we’d written. I no longer knew where the physical list was, and I kind of hoped I’d never find it. But I would never forget writing Ruby’s name in the number-one spot. She still belonged there. That much, at least, hadn’t changed.
Ruby was—how to put this?—so hot I wanted to die. Her hair was incredible: long, shiny, and black, the tips currently dyed emerald green. This was one of her signatures. In fact, I had a theory that Beauty Supply Warehouse based its Manic Panic stocking decisions on the color of Ruby’s tips. When she showed up to school with a new shade, it was like a pandemic: at first there would be one alt-girl copycat with a streak in the same color, and then there were three, and suddenly there were twelve. Ruby had the kind of hair you’d naively bring a picture of to your salon, as if there were any way a mere mortal could turn the mess on your head into that.
Ruby also had high cheekbones, straight teeth, a sharp jaw. All the desirable adjectives, correctly applied. Back in freshman year, the unconfirmed rumor (circulated thanks to Alexis) was that her bra size was 32E. I hadn’t known such a size existed.
I was for sure staring, I realized. I returned my attention to the front of the room, but the problem was that nothing there was hot or interesting. Slowly my eyes crept back. While I was sure my newfound singleness was as visibly disfiguring as a horn growing out of my forehead, Ruby looked refreshed, light, happy. For her, anyway. She wasn’t a big smiler, so it was hard to say. Maybe I was reading too much into nothing because of what Alexis had told us. Maybe it wasn’t even true. But every time I looked at Ruby during class (and it was a lot of times), I felt a tiny but inarguable fluttering in my chest.
<
br /> The first time she caught me staring at her I looked away quickly, giving the notes scrawled on the whiteboard an unfocused once-over. My chest burned, and I felt Jamie’s presence behind me, mocking me. You’re kidding, right? I heard her say. You stood a better chance with Ms. Urlacher.
But what, romantically speaking, did I have left to lose? Not one thing. So the second time Ruby caught me, I kept looking. She held my gaze for two full seconds, which—in every bad lesbian movie I’ve seen, anyway—is usually all it takes.
When the bell rang, everyone leapt from their seats, and I grabbed Jamie by the backpack before she could escape down the hall. I pulled her close enough to hear me whisper, ignoring the flip in my stomach, “You should tell her about Triple Moon.”
“What, now?”
“Yeah, why not?”
“I mean, so many reasons…”
“I’ll go with you.”
Jamie threw her arms up in the air. “Oh, well, then.”
“If you won’t, I will.” I gave her a second to reconsider, and when she didn’t, I booked it out the door, searching the hallway for the back of Ruby’s head. I found it ducking into the restroom I’d hidden in before class, and, as casually as possible, I followed her inside. Two of the three stalls were occupied, and Ruby walked into the third, a favored graffiti spot so thick with layer upon layer of rust-colored paint the door barely shut.
I washed my hands until I heard a flush, and when the person that joined me at the sinks wasn’t Ruby, I kept washing. My heart pounded in my chest, but I couldn’t just walk out. I couldn’t have needlessly washed my hands all that time for nothing. Somehow I’d committed myself entirely to a bathroom ambush, and I wouldn’t leave until I did what I went in there to do.
When Ruby emerged, I pounced, casually.
“Hey,” I said.
This was the second time we’d ever spoken. The first was sophomore year, in 2-D Art, when I leaned over to ask if I could borrow her eraser. She’d handed it to me wordlessly.
“Hey.” She looked neither especially happy to see me nor confused as to why I was talking to her, which I took as a win.
“This is kinda random,” I continued, “but I heard you might be looking for a new space for shows.”
Ruby frowned, shaking her hands dry over the sink. “That’s a thing people are talking about?”
“Well, your fans are concerned.”
She smirked. “Is that so?”
“Anyway, I only mention it because I know a cool place that might be into having you guys. It’s called Triple Moon?”
“Isn’t that a bookstore?”
“It’s more of a coffee shop, but they sell some books, yeah.”
“They do live music?”
“Sometimes.” Please don’t ask me for examples, I thought.
“Huh. Cool. Guess I’ll look into it.”
“I know the owners, if you want me to put you in touch.” I held back a grimace. Surely there was a cooler way to say what I’d just said.
Ruby hesitated, and for a long, terrible moment I worried she’d say something devastating, like no thanks, or that’s okay.
“Um, sure,” she said. “Should I give you my number, or email, or…?”
Both, I wanted to say. All of it.
“Number works,” I said.
I pulled out my phone and handed it to her, and just a few seconds later, I had Ruby’s number. It was crazy, and a little terrifying, how quickly things could change. For almost a year I’d been Jamie’s girlfriend and then one day I wasn’t. For a full month I’d been sad and lonely and absolutely without-a-doubt certain I’d never feel good again. And while what I felt in that moment didn’t quite qualify as good, exactly, it was something in the vicinity. A little spark of hope, maybe, for the first time in what felt like forever.
“I gotta get going, but talk to you later,” said Ruby.
“Yeah,” I said. “Later.” I hung back for a minute after she left, and then I sprinted for the locker room, barely suppressing a full-blown grin.
* * *
—
That night after soccer practice I got a text from Jamie.
Soooo…did you talk to Ruby
I stared at the screen for two minutes before texting her back: Yep.
I watched the three little typing dots flicker and disappear and flicker again. I waited.
Two minutes later: And?
I could have kissed my phone. So rarely was I the one making someone else wait around for my response. Especially with Jamie. For more than two years every text I got from her had felt like a ticking time bomb I could only defuse by replying within seconds. I’d been desperate to give her the go-ahead to text me again. Desperate and Pathetic: The Quinn Ryan Story.
I took my time tapping out a response, imagining Jamie on the other end, forced to watch my infuriating bubble. I hit send, and heard the whoosh, and I thought, This is what drugs must feel like. I wrote: Well, I have her number now. A masterpiece. My finest work.
Then the dots appeared, and I held my breath, and then they disappeared, and I let out an aggravated sigh. There I was, waiting for Jamie’s words again. The bubble reappeared and I inhaled. It was a reflex I’d have to unlearn. At a later date.
Wow, she wrote. #1 straight girl. Congrats.
You didn’t have to know Jamie as well as I did to know that congrats followed by a period was essentially equivalent to how embarrassing for you. But I did know Jamie that well, and I could tell that congrats was a front, and that I’d gotten to her. And that made it pinch a little less.
I didn’t say I was trying to date her, I wrote, regretting it instantly. Defensive. Not good.
You can date whoever you want, Jamie wrote.
“Oh, reallyyyyy?” I said in a high-pitched whine. I was furiously typing a reply when she texted again.
Sorry. Patronizing. I meant, you don’t have to explain yourself to me.
A pause, and then: But she is straight.
Ugh. As if I needed reminding.
Yeah, as of two years ago, I wrote.
Lol, she replied.
Was that the last time she registered?
I accidentally laughed, even though I was furious.
That’s when we made the list.
I know. I was jk
Well— I started.
Look, she wrote.
We both waited. I watched her bubble flash and disappear four times at least.
It’s none of my business, she wrote finally. That’s it? I thought.
There were a dozen angry texts I wanted to sling at Jamie like arrows. I typed and deleted I get to decide if it’s your business or not, which I wasn’t even sure made sense. Telling Jamie I’d gotten Ruby’s number hadn’t felt as good as I’d expected, but I also hadn’t really thought it through. What else was there for her to say at this point? I had a hot (straight) girl’s phone number, but I hadn’t done anything with it. Jamie clearly didn’t believe in me. So maybe I’d have to make her.
But in the meantime, I wanted peace, and I needed a friend. Specifically, my gay friend, still the only one I knew. God bless Ronni and Alexis, truly the two best straight people I knew after my mom, but there were things they’d never understand the way Jamie did. She wasn’t my girlfriend anymore, but what if I still needed her to be everything else?
Evidently I’d waited too long to compose a reply because Jamie texted again.
Is this always going to be weird?
It was like she’d been reading my mind long-distance. Only it was different coming from the person who’d made it weird by doing the dumping.
You don’t get to ask me that.
OK. That’s fair.
I blinked back surprise tears and took a deep breath. I didn’t want things between us to be wei
rd forever, either. So I offered her an out. I wrote: Sorry. You know how emotional first days make me.
Haha. I do.
I remembered our first day of sophomore year, when Jamie’s mom dropped us off outside, and how I’d teared up on the curb, thinking about how serious life was about to become now that we were no longer freshmen. We didn’t even have drivers’ licenses yet, but we still felt so grown up. Everything up until that point had just been practice; sophomore year was when high school really began. Jamie had had to pull me toward the door by the arm. Somehow I knew she was picturing the same first day I was. I felt my heart grow two degrees warmer. Maybe we really would be okay.
Do you wanna go to Triple Moon on Saturday? Do homework? I wrote, surprising myself.
Are you sure?
Yeah, I texted. Gotta start somewhere.
It wouldn’t be easy, I knew, to go back there. Triple Moon had been our place. But Triple Moon was also my favorite place in the world, and I couldn’t stay away forever. Two weeks earlier I’d gotten a concerned email from Dee asking where we’d been, and I’d had to tell her that Jamie and I broke up. Her reply was brief, but so gentle and kind it made me cry. I wanted to see her again, and Gaby, too. And as much as it might hurt to go back there with Jamie, I couldn’t imagine being there without her.
* * *
—
Jamie was the one who found Triple Moon, obviously. When she told me about it freshman year, I didn’t know this would become our dynamic: Jamie told me what we should do, or where we should go, and I followed.
We met in Algebra I, though we only sat next to each other for a week and a half before it became clear to our teacher that Jamie did not belong there. He arranged to transfer her to Algebra 2/Trigonometry, the students of which called it “Squeeze” for short, because as geniuses, they were far too busy to say the whole name. Jamie and I were devastated. We acted like she’d been conscripted into the army. I had other friends, from soccer and middle school, but the thought of getting through the day without seeing this girl I’d only just met was unbearable. Jamie told me she’d flunk out on purpose, that she’d be back in Algebra I in no time. I held out hope until the semester ended.