If I endure another year of Critical Theory with you, will you return the favour?
This morning’s lecture was titled ‘Persistence of Hegemonic Discourse in Post-human Narratives’—or, ‘why the zombies never win’—so Noah was decidedly not chill and scribbling fast enough to set his notebook on fire. My phone buzzed—text from Matty: Team Jesse is On Da Campus!—just as the lecturer was finishing up with a clip from Return of the Living Dead as an example of a marginalised youth subculture violently revolting against hegemonic authority. It was definitely revolting and, quite frankly, a bit much for my still-delicate stomach.
“Gonna have a quick chat about my diss,” Noah informed me as we packed up to leave.
“OK. I’ll head over to the SU. Leigh and Matty are here, by the way.”
“You haven’t seen Leigh yet this morning?”
“No. Why?”
Noah smirked and diverted towards our lecturer. He wasn’t telling. Guess I’d find out soon enough.
The wind whipped around my back as I stepped out of the theatre, and I tugged my jacket tight around me. It wasn’t just because I was out of sorts; the full force of autumn was emptying the trees of their leaves, and the sky was a dull, cloudy grey. It made a stunning backdrop for the pride flag flying outside the SU building, even if I couldn’t see all those colours.
I wasn’t nervous. With Danny Goodman out of the running, we were guaranteed a good result for inclusion officer. The Union Council had hauled him in, and he’d initially denied responsibility for the derogatory tweet, then defended his actions as the poorly formed opinion of an immature first-year student. Whatever, he was disqualified for election misconduct. He’d also been reported to the Vice Chancellor, who had suspended him, pending further investigation.
As for the rest of the roles? Leigh and I had spent the previous afternoon working through all the campaign videos, tweets, discussions, debates and so on, and we’d made our choices. Now we needed to cast our votes. The polling station was the computer suite on the first floor of the SU building; Pride had the use of the ground-floor meeting hall for the day, as a base for us candidates and our campaign teams—with catering—and later, for the announcement of the results.
I walked around to the front of the building, each step a notch up in my anticipation, both for the election and seeing Leigh. Would we get a good turnout? Would the members make good decisions? And where was Leigh? I was seventy-two hours clear and ready to collect on those kisses just as soon as they were. Slowing as I approached the main entrance, I made sure I was presentable, stepped inside…
“Hi.” I exhaled the word as my back hit the wall next to the door through which I’d just come, pinned to it by Leigh’s body. They flung their arms around my neck.
“Hi. Better?”
“Y—” That was as far as I got. It had only been four days, but God, I’d missed this. Leigh was so familiar to me now, and yet the kiss felt like our first, under the tree in the storm. The thrill that we were actually doing this, the touch and taste and citrus scent, the being squished…
There’s this bit in Nineteen Eighty-Four when Julia tells Winston that marching and waving flags was just ‘sex gone sour’, and how the Party was anti-sex because when people made love they were happy and didn’t care about anything else. I could totally see where Orwell was coming from. Election? What election?
At Matty’s unsubtle throat-clearing, we emerged, giggling, from our kiss, and I shifted my eyes upwards to Leigh’s hair.
“Not rainbow colours.” I tangled my fingers in it.
“Nope. You like?”
“I do, very much.” Definitely blue and yellow.
“Yep, just go on up,” I heard Matty say, and watched him hurrying people past us and up the stairs.
“We should probably get down to business,” I said and screwed my eyes shut as Leigh’s laughter exploded in a wet snort, spraying my face.
“Here?” they asked.
“You knew what I meant!” I was blushing like mad, and Leigh was still laughing. Ah, me and my daft mouth.
We entered the hall, and I spotted Neema and her girlfriend sitting on the edge of the stage. I waved; they waved back. “I’d best go say hello properly,” I said to Leigh.
“OK. I’m gonna give Matty a hand with overseeing voters. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” With a quick kiss, Leigh released me and went back the way we’d come while I dodged between the tables, trying to ignore the people from the uni newspaper who were currently talking to the social secretary candidates. Neema smiled at me as I approached, but I didn’t reach her, because Ben Fellowes intercepted.
“Jesse, can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Sure. Here, or…?”
“Somewhere a bit more private.”
“OK.” I wasn’t sure we’d find anywhere today.
Ben followed me out of the hall, and I asked Matty.
“Yep. Interview room. Up the stairs and that way.” He gestured right. “Next to the stockroom.”
“Cheers, Matt.”
We went upstairs, where we ended up in the stockroom—not by accident. There was someone using the interview room.
I shut the door and leaned against one of the many filing cabinets, as did Ben, to maximise space. He was on edge, so I didn’t push, and let him get there in his own time.
“Um…” he began, looking everywhere but at me. “First off, thanks for dealing with Danny.”
“I didn’t have much choice, really, did I?”
“I know.” Ben cracked his knuckles. I held back a wince. “You probably think I was passing the buck.”
“I don’t, actually.” Well, I did a bit. “I assumed it was because Danny was my opposition.”
Ben nodded and briefly held eye contact before looking away again. “Don’t you find it odd there were only three candidates for inclusion officer?”
“There were around that many for the other positions,” I reasoned. To me, it wasn’t in the least bit odd, but Ben was obviously of a different opinion.
“It’s the one employment area in which being a member of a minority goes in our favour. It looks great on your CV.”
“Yeah, you’re right, although it’s not why I stood for office.”
“I’m not saying it is, but for others, it might be. I mean, Neema Panda said it, didn’t she? It sets us up for the future.”
“I’m not sure she explicitly meant our careers.” In fact, I was pretty sure she hadn’t meant that at all. “Look, Ben…sorry to rush you, but I need to get going. Was there something else you wanted to say?”
“Er…it depends.” He was back to fidgeting—not the same kind as Matty’s, which was just as annoying but cuter.
“On what?” I asked.
Another knuckle crack. “Can I tell you something in confidence?”
“I guess?” I should probably have stipulated ‘depending on what it is’, but I had a feeling he’d been waffling around the point and it was about him being trans.
“I was going to stand for inclusion officer.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Threats.”
“Danny?” I asked, but I already knew.
“Yes, and not just me. I know at least one other student who was threatened. Well, kind of more advised against standing because it might not be in our best interests in the longer term.”
“A veiled threat.”
“Yeah.”
“He wanted the position that much?”
“Did you happen to notice his profile image in the screenshot?”
“No. What was it?”
“The England flag. He’s in the English Defence League.”
“No surprise there.”
Ben gave a heavy, exasperated sigh. “I need to spell this out, don’t I?”
I felt my temper simmer. “Yeah, mate. Might be a good idea.” That tone, like ‘you’re so stupid, you don’t get it’, was how he’d been with me at school. But I didn’t think he’d done
it on purpose, because he backed down immediately.
“Sorry. That was out of order. I’ve come to you because…well, because you didn’t out me.”
“I’d never do that.”
“And I’m grateful. I trust you, Jesse, but I’m worried about the repercussions of what I’m about to tell you.”
I really should’ve stipulated some terms, but it was too late now. “OK. Hit me with it.”
“Danny only stood for office to go against Neema. He’s not LGBT+. He’s not even an ally. He’s a Nazi, and you fucked up his plan. He got rid of all his opposition so it didn’t split the vote.”
Really wish I’d stipulated. This was so much more serious than a two-year-old racist slur. “We’re going to have to report it to the Elections Committee.”
“Please don’t. He’ll out me.”
“I don’t understand. You’re already out as gay.”
“Only at uni. We play on the same football team, Danny and me, and there’s another gay player. He takes a lot of verbal for it, and I could handle that. But if they find out I’m trans, I’ll be off the squad.”
“What about the other student Danny threatened? Would they be prepared to come forward?”
“I doubt it.”
“You’ve put me in a really awkward situation here, Ben.”
“I know, and I’m sorry. I needed to tell someone. Just do what you have to, OK? But if you can avoid bringing me into it, I’d really appreciate it.”
What I should do was tell the Elections Committee, and they’d probably suspend the election to investigate.
“OK. Let me get some advice. I won’t mention your name.” I stepped past Ben and opened the door before he tried to talk me out of it.
“Thank you,” he said. “And I’m sorry again…for everything.”
I nodded my acceptance and watched him go downstairs. I needed to talk to someone who knew the rules but would also understand Ben’s dilemma—Jazz, ideally, but she had lectures and wouldn’t be around until late afternoon. Carlos knew his stuff, but he’d sacrifice Ben to get Danny. Matty…I wasn’t sure if he was up on election regulations, but it was worth a try.
I moved towards the stairs…and stopped as the answer to all my wishes ascended in front of me. “Sarah.”
“Hi, Jesse. How’s it going?”
“Um…OK. Ish. Are you up to an off-the-record really sensitive consult?”
Her eyebrows arched. “You’ve got my attention.”
I led the way back to my very makeshift office. Sarah ran her finger over the top of one of the filing cabinets and examined her dust-covered fingertip in disgust. “You could’ve cleaned the place,” she joked and wiped the dust off on her jeans. “How can I help?”
I told her everything Ben had told me, but without mentioning his name. While I was talking, I noticed her breathing become faster and more shallow. I was beginning to think this had been a really bad idea. I finished with, “Are you OK, Sarah?”
“Yeah,” she answered breathlessly. “Yeah, I’m OK. Just… All this time I’ve been giving you hell about allies—how do we keep our members safe from crazies like Danny Goodman?”
“We can’t, is the honest answer. I think my source was wrong about him, though. Danny’s been in Pride for a year. He couldn’t have predicted Neema would stand for office, and he’s no way the sort of person who’d join as an ally.”
“You think he’s LGBT+?”
“I’d bet my student loan on it—if I had any left.”
Sarah smiled at that. She had her inhaler in her hand. “This situation…it’s…” She paused and puffed on her inhaler. “At school, there was a girl—my first girlfriend. It was a secret and we were caught out.” Another puff. “We both denied there was anything going on, and she went back to her boyfriend. I was devastated. Then another girl befriended me. She played me for months. I trusted her, Jesse…I trusted her.”
“She outed you?” I asked. Sarah nodded. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry you went through that.”
She sighed, defeated. “It’s not just allies, though, is it? We can’t even trust our own.”
“There’s bad apples everywhere,” I said philosophically.
“And what? The key’s not to let them spoil the whole bunch?”
“Pretty much. We could screen new members, I guess, although it probably wouldn’t have stopped Danny. I think, once we get some positive action in place, the problem will mostly solve itself.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Sarah vented a long breath. “I sorely misjudged you, Jesse. I’m sorry. But I still don’t agree with you on the allies issue.”
“That’s understandable. Thanks for telling me.”
“I owed it to you. When you asked me if I’d still believe you’re bi if you had a girlfriend, it hit me like a slap in the face. If I hadn’t been outed at school, I’d still be in the closet now. That’s what I thought Gina—my first girlfriend—had done. Chosen the closet over me. I’ve thought lots of horrible things about her since she dumped me. I resented her for being able to blend in. I didn’t have that luxury, but I finally get it, because of what you said. That Bi Pride slogan?”
“What Bi Pride slogan?”
“She’s got a boyfriend, and she might be in the closet, but she’s still bisexual.”
“Huh. I’ve got so much to learn.”
“You’re not the only one,” Sarah admitted humbly.
“So, what do we do about Danny?”
“Nothing. I’ll let security know in case he tries to come back on campus. As far as the election’s concerned, he’s already disqualified.”
“And the people who didn’t stand?”
“If they aren’t prepared to report it officially, there’s nothing we can do.”
That was a relief, in a way. I hated the injustice, but I wanted the election to be over already.
Sarah was moving towards the door. I caught up with her and held it open. “Thanks for the advice.”
“Glad I could help. Not long now.”
“No.” My belly cramped—just nerves this time, thank goodness. “I’m going to vote while I’m up here.”
“OK. See you later.” She grabbed the banister to go downstairs and paused. “I’m off until after Christmas officially, but I can come back in for the restorative justice session whenever suits you.”
I shrugged. “I might just take you and Carlos to Weight Watchers one evening.” I was joking, but actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea.
***
The Returning Officer was halfway through announcing the results; we had our new president, secretary and treasurer. Inclusion officer was up next.
Neema and I were squeezing each other’s hands so tightly I half expected to find our fingertips in a pile on the floor. It was an excellent turnout—in voters, not fingertips—91% across the six committee roles, with the highest percentages for president and inclusion officer, helped in no small part by Sarah’s resignation and the drama Danny had caused.
“The results for the election of inclusion officer for Pride are as follows.
“Neema Panda, three hundred and forty-one votes.
“Jesse Thomas, four hundred—”
Noise erupted. Cheers, whistles, applause. God, it was loud, and I was burning up.
“You did it!” Neema shouted inches from my ear. “Congratulations!”
“Cheers,” I said, distracted by the sight of Leigh up on Noah’s shoulders and high, high above the rest of the crowd. We made eye contact, and they stopped waving their arms to blow me a kiss. I laughed as I blew one back.
It was mayhem and the noise went on and on. The Returning Officer looked helplessly at the outgoing committee members clustered at the side of the hall—a prompt for Sarah to blow our ears off with a whistle into the mic. There was a communal groan as the noise died down, and the Returning Officer continued in the same dry tone, as if she hadn’t been interrupted at all.
“Jesse Thomas, four hundred and twenty-six
votes. Jesse Thomas is duly elected inclusion officer for Pride…”
***
As the hall began to empty, I shook Neema’s hand. “It should’ve been you.”
“No. You’ll be brilliant, Jesse.”
“You’re still up for consultation?”
“Absolutely.”
I was going to do everything in my power to get the rest of our new committee—which included Krystle, but sadly not Ben—to agree to us job-sharing.
“Night, Jesse.”
“Night.”
Neema jumped down from the stage, where her girlfriend greeted her with a hug and a kiss. Arm in arm, they strolled away.
The weight of responsibility settled on my shoulders—my duty to ensure Pride was a safe, welcoming space for all members, regardless of gender, sexuality, ethnicity, ability, religion and the myriad other things that made each one of us unique. Lucky I had big shoulders.
“Ahoy!”
Leigh was standing in front of the stage and peering up at me: one-eyed, arms stretched, fists furled as if holding a telescope. I laughed and shook my head. “You’re so crazy.”
They retracted their imaginary telescope and grinned. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Permission granted.” I reached down; Leigh gripped my hand and sprang up on stage, into my arms. We kissed…
A flash went off.
The uni newspaper. I’d forgotten all about them. Oh, so what? We’d make a great front page.
“I love this ship,” Leigh murmured.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’m quite partial to it myself.”
“Good to know. Should we hoist the Jolly Roger?”
I grinned. “I think you already did.”
Arrr.
* * * * *
Epilogue
Early August
I reckoned if I’d squeezed my hands into fists, sweat would’ve dripped from them like I was wringing a wet cloth. Auto-talk me had taken over. Was I making any sense at all? Probably not.
“Hm. Thanks, John. Last question—”
“Jesse,” Professor Parker—the dean of English—corrected a second time, the first having bypassed Brian completely.
The Making of Us Page 30