Fin & Rye & Fireflies

by Harry Cook

  I head straight up the three flights and up my ladder to my room. I lie on my bed and push my face into my pillow and scream silently.

  I think I’m safe to fall asleep when I hear a knock and the hatch to my room creaks open. I look over to see Dad regarding me with what I can only assume is despair. And anger. It looks like he hasn’t cooled down since Elliot and I stormed out of the house yesterday.

  “Son, I want you to think about what we discussed,” he says, his brow furrowed. “It’ll make you feel better.”

  “Re-Souled will make me feel better?” I say, sitting up on my bed to face him, all my fury bursting into flames. “Really? Or is it for you, Dad?”

  “Fin,” he snaps. “Don’t dare take that tone with me. This family is at breaking point right now, do you understand?”

  I turn cold. He’s looking at me like I’m a stranger and I can’t understand what it is that he’s trying to say. Is he honestly saying we’re all at breaking point because I’ve not chosen to be straight yet? As if I can shrug off being gay like it’s a jacket my parents would rather I didn’t wear?

  “I have tried to be reasonable. I have tried to be calm. I have tried to be understan–”

  “Is this some kind of joke?” I shout, feeling myself completely lose it at his self-righteousness. “How about trying harder? You’re the opposite of all of those things! You moved us to a new town! What the hell is that even about?”

  Dad looks up at me from the hatch in the floor, half suspended on the ladder. He stares at me for the longest time. It makes me want to curl up and cry. However hurt or angry I’m feeling, I can’t help but want his approval, his love – his acceptance. It’s horrible to see him look at me like I’m letting him down just by being myself.

  Memories from when I was a kid flash in my brain like some annoying old home movie: Dad running alongside me as I learned to ride a bike, teaching me how to choose the right line when we were all fishing down at the lake, joining in with silly songs for Trick or Treating at Halloween.

  I feel myself well up, but Dad’s face has hardened.

  “Night, Fin. You and I both know what options you have left.”

  30

  Rye

  It’s three a.m. It feels like I’ve been rolling around in my bed for hours, overthinking.

  I nearly passed out when Mum and Carl got home last night and told me they had gone to Fin’s place. SO uncool. Really, ridiculously, painfully uncool.

  Mum assured me that she didn’t talk about our relationship or anything, but Fin hasn’t replied to a single one of my messages.

  So, come morning, I’m awake. Wide awake, and feeling as jangled as if I’ve drunk about nine hundred espressos. Me and Thelma are in the kitchen and I’m making waffles for myself, because waffles fix everything, and Thelma loves them so it’s basically a win-win.

  I decide to put my headphones in and crank up some tunes, movie soundtracks and, of course, some Cher because it feels appropriate. I mean, can you even make waffles unless you have a soundtrack? I start with “Food Glorious Food” from Oliver!, then as I’m pouring the batter into the waffle maker I switch it up and put on “I Want You To Want Me” by Letters to Cleo from the all-time nineties classic 10 Things I Hate About You (Heath Ledger, my GOD).

  Thelma is dancing with me in complete silence because I have my headphones in, but she loves it regardless, her little butt wagging from side to side.

  When they’re done, I’m onto Cher and “If I Could Turn Back Time” and I’m randomly overwhelmed with emotion. I don’t think I’ve ever really understood just how painful it must be to have a family who don’t understand you, and who don’t really accept you at all. I turn the waffle maker off and sit at the kitchen table; Thelma’s head rests on my knee as I listen to Cher belt out the lyrics and wonder if Fin’s parents could ever know how much Fin needs them to whole-heartedly accept him.

  I sit for a while and consider what I could do to show Fin that he may not have people at home who are there for him, but I care. I’m there for him.

  I harpoon a bit of waffle and dollop it in some maple syrup. As I’m chewing, I decide exactly what I’m going to do to prove to Fin just how special he really is.

  *

  I arrive at school feeling like I’ve been up all night . . . Because I have. My eyes are carrying more bags than Anne Hathaway in The Devil Wears Prada and there’s been multiple times that I have considered simply crawling up into a ball and napping on the pavement.

  But no. Onwards and upwards. I need to find Fin.

  I arrive at my locker and check my phone. Still no word from him. I don’t quite know what I’m going to say but I know it needs to be along the lines of: “I’m sorry about my lunatic mother and her pants-free, Candy-Crush obsessed, yoga-fanatic boyfriend, please don’t hate me.”

  I open up my locker and am taking out my maths books when a text from June wakes my phone up.

  June: Did you bring your sign?

  What is she talking about?

  I start typing back but feel a tap on my shoulder and she’s standing behind me.

  “Hey,” she says, her eyes bloodshot.

  “You been crying, June-bug?” I ask, motioning to her unhappy, swollen cheeks.

  June sniffs and shakes her head. “Nope. Not at all.”

  Lying through her teeth.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “So, can I see your sign? I wanna make sure we have no double-ups,” June says, her eyes like saucers.

  “My what? I’m sorry, can you refresh my memory? It’s been a day. I’ve been up all ni–”

  “The counter-protest, Rye. Are you freakin’ kidding me?”

  I’m stunned, because June never gets mad at me. Like ever.

  “I’m . . . Shit. I’m so sorry. I’ll make one at break. It’ll take no time and I –”

  “You AND Poppy. Wow. I’m dumb.”

  “June, what?” I ask. I am not in the mood to have a falling out with her this morning.

  “This is the first and only trans issue I’ve ever raised at the QSA meetings. The first one. I totally expected you guys to be there the way I am with, I dunno, every other queer issue. We’ve been organising this protest for months.”

  June gives me the hardest stare ever and I feel a pang of guilt in my chest.

  Actually, more like a sledgehammer in the face that’s rammed full of guilt. I hate it because she’s right.

  “June, I’m going to fix this,” I promise her, but she’s already shaking her head and walking down the hall. She strides straight past Poppy, whose guilty expression mirrors exactly how I feel.

  “You didn’t bring a sign either?” she asks, scrunching her face up. “We’re total friend failures and activist assholes.”

  I lift my shoulders in agreement. “On top of that, my mum and Carl decided to visit Fin’s parents last night.” Poppy grimaces at me. “So yeah. This is really fun. I’m having such a great day so far.”

  “Okay. Let’s tackle this one thing at a time,” Poppy says, squarely facing me like we’re about to do battle. “We can make the signs at break. Very simple. We’ll then rally up next to June and make sure she knows we’ve got her back.”

  I nod as Poppy takes a breath before storming into more battle-talk.

  “As for Fin, do you think he’ll be pissed at you?”

  “No, but I’m pissed at me,” I say. “Well, more Mum and Carl. But still.” I shrug.

  “You really like him, don’t you?” Poppy asks, softly.

  “I do,” I tell her.

  “Then show him. Show the guy he means more to you than Eric ever did. Show him how much you care.”

  I stare at Poppy. Did she read my mind? I’ve never heard her talk so openly about any of this stuff. There’s no sarcasm in her voice at all, which is a little unnerving.

  “What’s got into you?” I ask with a smile.

  “I feel like I’m blowing it,” Poppy says, looking down at her beaten-up sunshine yellow Conve
rse.

  “Blowing it?” I ask.

  “With June . . . She’s way too good for me.”

  It’s my turn to be all insightful and sage-like. “Poppy, you both love each other. Very much. The pair of you need to stop this dumb-fuckery and get on with that bit. The loving each other part. I think that starts with you showing June how much you care too.”

  Poppy cracks a smile. “What wise being gave you that advice?” she asks with a wink.

  “A wise being with such insight and knowledge she forgot she wore two different coloured socks this morning,” I say looking down at her feet.

  “Aw shit,” Poppy says, breaking into a proper giggle.

  “Catch you later,” I tell her as I head for B-block.

  That’s when I see him. Well, I see the back of his head.

  I race up and catch his arm just as he’s about to enter the science building.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” Fin says, flustered but seemingly glad to see me.

  “You okay?” I ask.

  “I am,” Fin says.

  “So, I heard about what happened last night,” I start, but Fin puts his hand up.

  “Don’t worry.”

  “But I –”

  “Honestly. It’s cool. Not your fault. Or your mum’s. I know she was only trying to be nice.”

  He smiles at me and my heartbeat kicks into fourth gear and revs my body into full-on tingling.

  “So, you’re not mad?” I ask.

  He looks at me and laughs. “Mad?” He shakes his head and takes my hand in his. “Mad that my boyfriend’s mum tried to convince my parents that their son isn’t a complete degenerate?”

  I smile.

  “No, Rye. I’m far from mad.”

  I take a breath. “This weekend I think you should stay at mine,” I tell him as he squeezes my hand. “Mum and Carl are having their annual ‘Intents Barbecue’.” Followed up with, “That’s spelled I-N-T-E-N-T-S, because they put up a bunch of tents in the back yard so people can crash for the night.”

  Fin’s answering smile lights up the hallway. “I’d like that.”

  I check my phone for the time. “Okay, I gotta go to class and then make some signs with Poppy for the counter-protest today. Did you wanna come?” I ask, stuffing my phone in my backpack.

  “I got to school early and made mine in the library,” Fin says.

  “I’m impressed.”

  “But I’ll come with you to your crafting session, if that’s still cool?” he says.

  *

  At break I find Fin and we head to the library to find Poppy amid an assortment of cardboard, crêpe paper, glitter and glue.

  Fin unfurls his rolled-up creation which is made to look like a bathroom sign with a male symbol, a female symbol, a non-binary symbol, followed a bit randomly by a mermaid, a dinosaur and an alien. Underneath the artwork reads:

  “please! just wash your hands.”

  Poppy smiles. “I love it.”

  He blushes, which is the cutest thing ever, and I lean over and kiss him.

  “Ew,” Poppy says laughing.

  “Now you’re being homophobic,” I say which sends her into a snort laugh.

  We spend our lunch break working frantically on the signs and, when we’re finally done, we assemble like the Avengers before heading off to our afternoon classes.

  I take my phone out and text June:

  Me: Please don’t hate us. We love you.

  *

  By the time the bell goes, and last period approaches the adrenaline has kicked in and I’m in full blown nervous mode. I really hope June forgives us. And I really hope this protest doesn’t turn nasty.

  On my way to the library, where June instructed us to meet, I catch a glimpse of a crowd near the oval.

  Above a poster that reads “Get Your Agenda Out Of Our Restroom”, I see Bronwyn’s dumb head and my nerves disappear. I almost want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. How sad does your life have to be to bother putting up a fight against a minority using the bathroom?

  When I get to the library, June is at a table fixing a trans flag semi-permanent tattoo on her upper arm and painting the colours in broad strokes across both cheeks.

  “Hey,” I say.

  “Hey,” she says, not looking up.

  “Did you get my text?” I ask timidly.

  She just looks at me.

  “I’m so sorry, June,” I say.

  “Me too,” comes a voice from behind me.

  I turn and see Poppy walking super-cautiously towards us.

  For a moment I think June is going to ignore us, but then she takes a deep breath and looks us both square in the face.

  “Show me your signs,” she says, her voice as clipped as a lieutenant leading her troops into battle.

  We unfurl our cardboard for her approval just as Fin arrives, adding his creation to the set for June to survey.

  A few moments pass as she examines them closely.

  Mine says, “Trans is Beautiful”, painted in the trans flag with multicoloured glitter.

  Poppy’s is a giant picture of a toilet with the words “Keep Calm, It’s Just a Toilet”, plastered across the top in rainbow sparkles.

  The room is quiet when June finally looks up at us.

  “Forgiven,” she says, which sends Poppy off like a rocket to plant a kiss on her lips.

  “You ready?” June asks as the remaining QSA squad make their way into the room holding their signs like gladiator shields.

  We shout “Yes” in unison and head out the double doors towards the oval.

  *

  When we get there Mr Wilkinson is speaking with a woman I’m assuming is Paisley’s mum while Bronwyn stands with hers off to the left with a look on their faces like they’ve been sucking lemons all afternoon.

  A collection of other parents and kids stomp around together holding up signs and frowning like the very idea of a gender-neutral bathroom is too heavy a cross to bear.

  “Mrs Sharp, please. You are fully aware that the school supports transgender students and refuses to discriminate based on gender, sexuality, race, or relig–”

  “Oh, stop being such a tree hugger,” Mrs Sharp spits. “Not everything needs to be politically correct –”

  “Excuse me,” June says, holding her own sign up high as she marches into their midst. “But I do find it funny how those who cry about ‘political correctness’ are the ones who political correctness doesn’t really help.”

  Mrs Sharp stares at her in disgust. And then in horror when she catches sight of Chrissy standing right next to her with a banner which declares: “my faith keeps me queer!”

  June’s parents are here now, too, and they’re ready for battle. Their signs are enormous. One saying: “back off bigots”, and the other saying: “the ‘t’ in lgbt is not silent”.

  “I mean, surely you don’t actually care where trans students pee, do you?” June continues. “This is all about you and your outdated values.”

  I look over at Fin whose mouth is hanging open in admiration. Next to him, June’s mum and dad lift their placards higher.

  My arms erupt in goose bumps as June stands her ground like Wonder Woman.

  “I simply don’t feel comfortable with a boy using the same restroom as my daughter,” Bronwyn’s mum snarls, stressing the word “boy” while giving June her best evil eye.

  I feel the anger ripple through the ranks of the QSA – and the adults supporting us. Poppy squares off with her like a ninja warrior.

  “But you’re okay with Bronwyn sneaking into the boys’ restroom to fool around with Mark Jefferson every lunch break?”

  A couple of “Oooh snaps” come from behind us.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bronwyn’s mum says, outraged.

  “Yeah, I bet you don’t,” Poppy says.

  “Regardless,’ she goes on, drawing herself up as Bronwyn squirms. “Our children have the right to feel safe at school.
We have a right to protest.”

  “And we have a right to counter-protest your utter stupidity,” Fin says, his voice fierce.

  I look over at him and he’s staring them down. I’m almost embarrassed to say that it’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen.

  “How dare you –” Bronwyn’s mum splutters, looking around for back-up.

  “Ignore him, Van,” Mrs Sharp says snidely, “He’s new to this town and has obviously fallen in with the wrong crowd. I don’t see your parents here, young man, do they not support your life choices? Ashamed, are they?”

  She’s way too close to home – and I instantly turn to Fin to comfort him but am amazed to see how calm and composed he looks.

  “I’m not ashamed, Mrs Sharp,” Fin announces. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Can you say the same? Standing outside a school making a fuss about toilets, really?”

  At which point Mr Wilkinson steps in between both parties. Obviously he’s decided not to let the school yard turn into an actual battlefield.

  “It’s very clear. Our policy is that we do not discriminate,” he declares. “There’s nothing further to discuss. Like all policies, if you attend our school, you abide by it.”

  I look over and see June’s eyes sparkling with pride. Her dad is next to her now; one arm round her, the other holding his badass sign aloft. June’s mum needs no words to destroy Mrs Sharp; her death stare does it all.

  I’m amazed at how proud I feel to be at a school where our teachers can be counted on to stand up for all of us not just a select few of us.

  Bronwyn, Paisley and their dinosaur crew look about ready to breathe fire but instead elect to turn their backs on us, grumbling to one another.

  We all stand rooted to the spot not saying anything while we gather ourselves.

  Poppy holds June’s hand and I have my arm around Fin’s waist.

  “Right then.” June mentally dusts herself off. “I think we could all use a debrief.”