Page 9 of Perfect on Paper

We turned to Brooke as one. She tented her fingers and looked between us, frowning. I was glad to see her taking the role of adjudicator seriously. After a couple of seconds pondering, she spoke. “I guess I’ll allow it, on the condition that Darcy gets to pick two more things, now, and they’re automatically hers. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said.

“Don’t hold back, Darc,” Brooke warned.

I stuck my hands in my lap. “I won’t.”

“Oh, but not the Eve Lom,” Ainsley said, lifting a hand. Brooke shot her alook,and Ainsley stuck her lip out. “Fine, deal. No conditions.”

I was sorely tempted to snatch up the Eve Lom cleanser just to make a point. But I settled for a tinted moisturizer that was more my shade than Ainsley’s anyway, and a perfume sample, ignoring Brooke’s side-eye.

What could I say? Something about having Brooke nearby made me want to spread love.

It was a good thing she was so often nearby.

And damned if I was going to let Alexander Brougham mess with that.

THREE

Self-Analysis:

Darcy Phillips

Have known I was bisexual since I was twelve and I got so invested in a female character from a kids’ show my stomach fluttered whenever she was on-screen, and I used to think about her when I fell asleep.

Despite the above, have never even kissed a girl. To be fixed.

Have kissed a guy, once, in a Target parking lot. He flicked his tongue in and out of my mouth without warning like it was a hole he’d been assigned to jackhammer.

Despite the above, still definitely get crushes on guys, too.

Almost-definitely in love with Brooke Nguyen.

Believe love can be simple… for other people.

The Queer and Questioning Club—or Q&Q Club, as anyone who didn’t have time for seven syllables called it—held meetings every Thursday lunch in classroom F-47. Today, Brooke and I were the first ones to arrive, and we set about pulling the chairs into a semicircle formation. We knew the drill.

Mr. Elliot burst in a minute after we had things set up, looking frazzled as usual, carrying a half-eaten rye sandwich. “Thank you, ladies,” he said, shuffling through his messenger bag with a free hand. “I got held up by a crazed fan. I told him I didn’t have time for autographs, but he started raving that I was his ‘teacher’ and I needed to ‘sign his pass’ so he could ‘access the music room.’ The demands of fame, am I right?”

Mr. Elliot was one of the youngest teachers in the school. Everything about him screamed “approachable,” from his twinkling eyes, to his deep dimples, and his soft, rounded edges. He had dark brown skin, a pigeon-toed gait, and a chubby baby face that probably got him carded about as often as the seniors. Also, not to be dramatic, but I would have killed for him.

One by one, the rest of the club trickled in. Finn, who’d been out as gay for a year now, made a beeline for Brooke and me. Today, he wore a tie in a shocking yellow shade consisting of, upon closer inspection, rows upon rows of rubber ducks. Apparently, he was still testing the boundaries of how “appropriate” should be defined. Against his impeccable grooming, from his tidy black hair to polished black shoes to his high quality rectangular-framed glasses, his tie choice only stood out more. I’d both hate and love to see what would happen if boys were allowed to wear printed socks. Anarchy would be renamed Finn Park.

Raina, the only other openly bi member, came in next, scanned those of us sitting with a disappointed expression, and took a seat at the head of the semicircle. Raina was the student council leader, and had run against Brooke for the spot last semester (our school allowed both juniorsandseniors to apply to hold the position). It’d been a tense race, and there was no love lost between the two girls. For a hot minute I’d thought Brooke had a chance of beating Raina, too.

Lily, who was somewhere on the ace spectrum but she wasn’t sure where yet, came in with Jaz, a lesbian like Brooke, and Jason, gay. Finally, Alexei, pan and nonbinary, brought up the rear and we closed the doors to start the meeting.

We took turns running meetings, rotating every week, and this week was Brooke’s turn. She sat up a little straighter, with her legs crossed at the ankles. When I first met her in freshman year, she’d hated public speaking to the point where I’d had to leave class to talk her through breathing techniques in the hall before she had a presentation. Then, after a year of working with the school counselor, she gained enough confidence that sometimes she even volunteered to speak. Like today, and when she ran for student council president. I didn’t think she loved presenting, even now, but she was much harder on herself than she was on everyone else, so the less she wanted to do something, the more she forced herself to do it anyway.

“Let’s start with”—she scanned the notepad she held between her shaking hands—“check-in. Clockwise, from me. I’ve had a generally good week, my mental health is in a good place, and everything’s great at home. Finn?”

One by one, we went around the room, Mr. Elliot included. During these meetings he tried not to take on toomuch of an authoritative role. He said as long as the door was closed, we could view him as more of a queer mentor than a teacher, and it was a safe space to discuss inappropriate behavior or comments from other teachers without having to feel uncomfortable around him.

This week, check-in went fast. Some meetings we weren’t able to get past check-in, because someone would bring up something they were struggling with, and the rest of the group would jump in to problem solve, offer support, or listen. It wasn’t unusual for check-in to end with the whole group in tears.

“Next on the agenda was going to be the multi-school mixer, but we’ve postponed the date to next month because Alexei’s going to Hawaii…” Brooke said in a voice so small it was like she was speaking to herself. I gestured for her to speak up, and she got a little louder, a small smile spreading. “Mrs. Harrison has given approval to do a presentation to the freshmen about how to contribute to safety in schools. Does anyone have any suggestions for specific topics to touch on?”

Finn cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could try and lean into this as a recruitment session,” he said in a serious tone that didn’t quite match the glint in his eyes. “I’m picturing all of us in glitter and feathers, choreography, maybe some laser lighting if we do well at the bake sale, that kind of stuff. By the end of it, if membership doesn’t go up by two hundred percent, you can put me in solitary confinement.”

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