The Inside of Out

by Jenn Marie Thorne

  Hannah gazed up, one hand clenched in her mess of hair as if to keep her head from floating off her body.

  “Today is important—not just for me, but for millions of people like me who want to live their lives, enjoy a football game, and a dance without feeling hated. It’s a basic right—not to be irrationally despised, vilified, bullied. I deserve it. And so does everyone here. We’re not asking you to change. We’re just asking you to let us be who we are. And . . . this is who I am.”

  Natalie crouched, offering Hannah a hand.

  “Do you need a boost?” I asked, knitting my fingers together in preparation.

  Hannah smiled, electrified. Grabbed Nat’s hand. “We’ve got this.”

  She landed on the stage. They stared at each other for a second—two skydivers before the leap—and then, with a giddy giggle, they kissed.

  Not a forced one, like QB’s. Not a no-tongue peck. Not even a movie kiss where everything swirls around them. A real one—knees knocking, eyes half-open, hands clutching each other’s backs like life rafts. Their lips smiling, glistening as they broke apart.

  A hundred cameras flashed, and the crowd cheered, nearly drowning out the protesters, who booed like the children they were.

  “Please,” Natalie said, her arm around Hannah’s waist. “Just let us have our homecoming.”

  Chief Beck’s jaw was tight. Natalie watched him, eyes welling.

  He nodded. Just a nod.

  And then a wink.

  And Natalie let out all her breath, stretching like a flower in the sun. Apparently, a wink from her dad meant a lot. I was just starting to beam along when I watched Natalie’s smile waver and drop.

  Cindy Beck strode through the crowd with her hand covering her eyes, a blinder against the sight of her daughter. She grasped her husband’s arm over and over like it was slippery, hissing into his ear, gesturing everywhere but at Natalie. Her face was so taut it had become haggard, like whatever spell she used to keep herself camera-perfect had been broken by today’s events.

  Chief Beck stood still, not looking at her. Then he turned, hunching to say something to her that I wished like hell I could hear. She tensed, her mouth forming the word “no,” but he shook his head and took her gently by the shoulders—and unbelievably, she relaxed against him, closing her eyes. He kissed her on the forehead. She nodded, blinking back tears, turned . . . and left.

  And I exhaled.

  The cops stood waiting throughout the field, ready to disperse, make arrests, whatever Chief Beck ordered. He raised his radio.

  “Escort the protesters back to the Free Speech Zone. And keep a better watch on those gates. Anybody who seems like trouble, get ’em out of here. Let’s let these kids enjoy their homecoming.”

  The news spread slowly in wondering murmurs, nobody able to immediately process what had happened. The police had taken our side. Chief Beck had used the mysterious bonds of marriage to deactivate our arch-nemesis. We had won.

  Chief Beck strode to the stage, offering Natalie a hand down.

  “Thank you, Dad,” she said, letting him lift her like she was a toddler.

  “You got it, kiddo.” Chief Beck extended his hand up to the stage once more. “Hannah, is it? It’s nice to finally meet you.”

  She put her slender hand in his big one and smiled—a polite smile. A real one. “It’s lovely to meet you too.”

  In the dance tent, Mom and her army of community farmers had just finished counting the ballots for homecoming king and queen. They were tittering, delighted by the chance to take part in something they probably would have turned their noses up at when they were actually in high school.

  Like Adam. The thought of him sent my mood into the mud.

  When Mom spotted me, she waved the slip of paper she was holding. “Congratulations!”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Yeah, everything seems to be going great.”

  “No.” She took my hands. “You’re queen, Daisy—you’ve been named homecoming queen!”

  “What?”

  I stared down at the scribbled tally. There it was, my name at the top with over eight hundred votes. It took me a bewildered second to figure out why. Popular or unpopular, gay or straight, I was the one who’d been on TV. I was the only name most of these people knew.

  I pictured the view from our flagship Pirate Galley float, the crown glittering on my head as I waved to all the people who finally—finally—appreciated me, as I threw flowers to Hannah, who blew me a grateful kiss in reply. Then I opened my eyes, taking in reality—the tent, the lights, the ground beneath my feet.

  “You counted wrong, Mom,” I said. “Natalie Beck’s homecoming queen.”

  Mom stared at me for a full second before the mind-meld kicked in. Then she gathered my ballots and tossed them into the trash bag under the table.

  “Not Hannah?” she asked, watching me from the corner of her eye.

  “No,” I said. “She’d be mortified. But she’ll be happy for Nat.”

  “Ohhhhh,” Mom said. “We’re calling her ‘Nat’ again, are we?”

  “What? No.” I crouched, tying up the trash bag. “It’s just . . . quicker to say.”

  “Okay.” She was wearing her mom-instincts smirk again. She hadn’t been right about me being gay. Or dating QB. Wrong about Adam too, in the end.

  You never know, I thought. This time she might be onto something.

  And so, I got to watch as Nat-short-for-Natalie donned a glowing neon headdress and pink feather boa to stand at the prow of Stede Bonnet’s ship with Raina, our tuxedoed homecoming king by her side, and one step back, their attendants, Sean, Kyle, Chase Hernandez from Triplecross, and—the school secretary, Mrs. O’Brien? She was waving to a middle-aged woman in a maxi dress who was snapping photos of her from the parade route. I never would have guessed.

  As we watched the float pass, Hannah cheered with her hands over her head. Then she linked arms with me, resting her head against mine.

  “I never told you how it started, did I?” she asked. “Me and Natalie. That day in the car . . .”

  I nudged her. “Tell me.”

  She grinned, leaning her arm on my shoulder. “Okay. So. We had an away match. A summer tournament at a clinic. She and I were playing doubles in the final—winning—and one of the girls on the other side of the net got mad and made, like, slanty eyes at me.” She motioned to her face, then wiped her hand on her pocket.

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I know! I was thrown. My serves were off. They got ahead. But then it was Natalie’s serve. And . . .” Hannah wavered on her feet, remembering. “She was so angry. She looked like I felt. She served the fastest ace I’d ever seen—straight into that girl’s head. We got disqualified. Nat stormed off the court. I followed her into the locker room and . . . she hugged me. We’d always been friendly. But this hug felt different. And when we broke away, she kind of looked at me and I looked at her. And then some of our teammates came in to get ready for the next match and we broke away, but we knew. And that was the start of it.”

  Even as she smiled, tears flooded her eyes.

  “Oh, Han. I wish I’d—” I started, but she waved me off.

  “Listen, the message you left me.” She shouted over the roar of the crowd as the football team rolled by. “I don’t think you even realize how much it meant to me to hear you say what you did.”

  “That you’re ordinary?” I laughed. To anyone else, it would be a slap in the face.

  “Seriously. Do you know how we started, Daisy?” She poked my forehead. “Why you and I became friends? You were the only one that first day who didn’t ogle me like I was there for show-and-tell. Everyone else was like ‘What are you? Where are you from? What’s that accent?’ But you . . .” She snorted. “You asked where I got my backpack.”

  “I have to be honest, Han,” I s
aid. “That might have been coincidental. I mean, you’re ‘exotic’ and all, but that backpack was awesome.”

  “‘Exotic.’” She made a gagging noise. Then her face fell serious. “I was so freaked out. My parents had split. I’d left the place I’d spent my entire life. Left my father. Everything was so different and all I wanted was for something to feel normal. Anything. And then I met you.” She laughed. “Not that you were normal. You still aren’t. You’re always going to be you, Daisy, and I wouldn’t want it any other way—grand gestures, crazy plans, musical interludes, all of it. I love the you about you.”

  Hannah reached out with both hands and I held on.

  “But you and me,” she said. “Can we be boring? Can we talk about backpacks and endangered birds and shreddie fries and kind of just be . . .”

  She searched for the word. I supplied it.

  “Ourselves.”

  “Yes,” she said. “That. Exactly that.”

  “Deal,” I said. “And I think we should start being ourselves by jumping the line for corn dogs. We are the organizers, after all.”

  Hannah looked back at the parade route. “You were right. This was worth it.”

  And suddenly it was worth it. The sleepless nights, the fights, the days I’d thought I’d lost her. It led here, didn’t it? And here was fabulous.

  While we savored our delicious foot-long deep-fried sausages, we watched the crowd. Down the parade route, Sean’s boyfriend snapped an iPhone pic. That elderly couple had their hands clasped over their heads so they could wave together. Even QB had found someone to hit on—Sophie Goodwin! And it was working! She was laughing at something he’d said, twirling her braid around her pinkie. It was some kind of homecoming miracle—QB had managed to find the one lesbian in the school who might actually be interested. I smiled at him across the float, feeling hope for Chris Saunders at last.

  And then another face seemed to replace QB’s. One that wasn’t here. One that was observing journalistic distance and had gone home hours ago. I hoped Adam had at least stuck around long enough to hear Natalie’s speech and know that he had some part in it.

  “You okay?” Hannah asked, taking my picked-clean corn dog stick.

  “Me? Of course.” I grinned. “I’m perfect.”

  “I’m gonna find Nat,” she said, tossing our trash out. “Meet you at the dance?”

  “You got it.”

  At a wave from Sophie, I sprinted to the Porta-Pottys to change out of my volunteer getup. Raina was already waiting, her tuxedo jacket slung on one arm and a zipped-up dress bag hoisted on the other.

  As I was trying to slip into my dress without letting it touch the toilet walls, I heard a girl squealing outside my potty, her voice tinny through the plastic wall. “I can’t believe Kudzu Giants are playing!”

  I scowled into the door. Where had she heard that rumor? She was going to be pretty pissed when the Rhythm Squad took the stage. Unless they were awesome. I chose to assume that they’d be awesome. And if they weren’t, who cared? Our dance was happening. And that was the point.

  I erupted from my dirty stall, checking my high heels for toilet paper as Sophie descended elegantly from the one next to me, holding aloft the hem of a dress that didn’t look much different from her usual day-to-day attire. Raina gave a whistle to see us—but my jaw dropped at the sight of her.

  She was wearing a sleek, wine-colored gown that hugged curves her usual legal garb had never given a hint of. She looked like a movie star from the forties, flower in her hair and everything. Raina raised one shoulder coquettishly at my incredulous expression.

  “Had to do it up,” she said. “There are queer girls here from all over the country. This might be the best pickup opportunity I’ll ever get.”

  “B-but . . . you were just in a tuxedo,” I sputtered.

  “I’m a bit gender fluid,” she said. “A lot, actually.”

  “And your hair!” I gestured reverently to the ringlets forming perfect architectural spirals around her face. “Did you bring a curling iron? How did you—?”

  Raina snorted, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “One day, Daisy, I’ll walk you through the ninety-seven products I use on my hair. But for now, let’s just call it magic.”

  She stepped away, examining my dress, a 1950s confection in the same shade of blue and gold as my former hairdo. When her eyes met mine again, they were approving.

  “You clean up well,” she said, and I beamed. Any compliment from Raina was worth twenty from anybody else.

  As we started off, Sophie’s flats slipped in the mud and Raina caught her. They glanced at each other, grinning. My eyebrows rose.

  “Any chance . . . you two . . . ?” I waved my hands at them, feeling like a combination of Hannah’s mom and my own.

  Their arms still around each other, they burst out laughing, then said, in unison, “No.”

  “Just friends,” Sophie clarified, walking off—but the “just” rang false. A friendship wasn’t a consolation prize, was it? It was its own kind of miracle.

  On my way into the bustling dance tent, I passed Natalie and Hannah, exchanging corsages they’d bought for each other. I tried to get past without spoiling the moment—but Natalie grabbed my wrist.

  “We got you one too,” she said, sliding a blue carnation onto my arm. “Shut up, just wear it.”

  Then we all hugged, almost by accident, everybody going for everybody else, bonking hairdos in the process.

  “Ow!” I stumbled back.

  “That did not go as planned,” Natalie growled, fixing her bun.

  Hannah tugged on her arm. “Let’s go!”

  They waved and disappeared onto the dance floor, just as a DJ perched in a tall booth in one neon-lit corner of the tent started spinning songs that were way better than anything on our local radio stations.

  I started away, then hesitated, unsure where to walk. I’d never been to a dance before, solo or otherwise. Some people in the crowd seemed to be bunched up, dancing as a group. Others were doing the spotlight dancer thing, like they were out at a club. And yeah, others, like me, were standing awkwardly on the fringe watching everybody else.

  And then it hit me. I recognized them. The people along the edge of the tent—that was the freshman girl who sat next to me in French. And beside her, trying to flirt, a kid from Kyle’s lacrosse team. In a cluster in the middle of the dance floor—oh my God, was that Dana? With a bunch of junior girls? Had she canceled her party? And was that Darius high-fiving QB by the door, while he politely introduced Sophie?

  They were here. Palmetto had shown up.

  I danced into the crowd until I found Raina, who grabbed my hand and spun me around. This was a group song—one of those awesome dance numbers that felt iconic and important until you paid attention to how stupid the lyrics were.

  Then the next one was a slow song, and everybody paired off, so I ducked back to one of the benches lining the tent and kept counting familiar faces. There was Mrs. O’Brien, leading her partner onto the dance floor. And Principal Zimmer, dancing with Prof Hélène? Those two were an item? Wow. So much for gaydar.

  And despite all my fears, there were my classmates, people I’d known for years, passed in the hall, waited behind in the lunch line, said hello to and barely noticed until they’d become everything to me. This was their event—the homecoming of the century. And even more wonderfully, the boys and girls dancing together didn’t look at all uncomfortable dancing next to girls with girls and old men with old men and every combination in between.

  Cindy Beck was officially wrong. She was probably sitting at home realizing how very wrong she was even now. Or not. Something told me that people like her were only held together by the gravitational pull of their false convictions.

  I hoped it wouldn’t be too hard for Natalie to walk back into that house. But for the next few hours, s
he wouldn’t have to worry. She was here, out and proud, and even better than that, lost in a crowd, dancing with her girlfriend.

  An image wafted up from somewhere deep in my memory. Me and Hannah in sixth grade, hands clasped together as we ran across the room attempting grand jetés. And then I thought of Natalie, our many, many dances together, twirling until the garden became a blur of green, our hair whipping together so fast, it was hard to tell whose was whose.

  How could I not have seen it? They were perfect together.

  And I’m perfect as I am, I thought, tucking my high heels under the bench. All alone. I’ll be fine. It’s better this way. I’m going to make an incredible Yosemite homesteader, communing with the deer and the birds and the bears. Yes—even bears will love and fear me.

  The music swelled, swooning harmonies mixed with pulsing beats, and I had the sudden sense that the DJ was cheering me on, my choice to live and die alone.

  Then the music faded, the crowd murmuring, and the DJ leaned into his microphone to say, “Now here’s the act you’ve really been waiting for. Let’s hear it for Kudzu Giaaaaaaaants!”

  Um. No. I had lapsed into hallucinations. Maybe somebody had spiked our punch after all. Because I’d suddenly gone deaf from the sound of everyone screaming, and up there on the stage, a group of musicians was picking up instruments, and they looked an awful lot like my favorite band in all the world. There was the lead singer, Stu, a banjo strung on his back and a guitar on his front; back-up singer Lucinda with her fiddle and tambourine; tall Keyko on the drums; Becket, Ron, and Charlotte manning the keyboards, percussion and brass instruments; the new guy Eli Cohen on the bass guita—

  “Hang on a second,” I said, but couldn’t hear myself say it over the roar around me. “Hang! On! A second!”

  But I heard it when someone whispered low into my ear, “Surprise.”