Page 112 of How to Be Remy Cameron

I run to Room 302. Electricity surges through my blood. A smile pulls at my mouth. I can’t help it.

I passed, I passed, I passed.

My Vans squeak against the terrazzo floor. I’m almost there. I nearly collide with three people loitering outside Mr. Riley’s classroom.

“You’re late,” says Sara. Alex and Zac are behind her.

I’m breathless and sweaty. “Um. Sorry?”

“Whatever.” Sara rolls her eyes, but her mouth twitches. She’s anxious.

“What’s going on? Is this officialThe Leafbusiness? Student council stuff?”

“We’re here because…” Sara trails off, eyes lowered.

Zac steps forward. “We’re here for the meeting. For the club.” He fiddles with a seashell bracelet around his left wrist. “To join. As students who belong.” A careful emphasis is put on that last word.Belong.

Alex raises a hand. His hair’s exceptionally blue today. “I’m here as an ally.”

I give him a thumbs-up—message received. Then, I glance at Sara. She swallows, nodding gently. I don’t need to ask more. I don’t need her to identify or wear a label. I realize I only want Sara to be Sara, whatever that means.

“Cool.” I step around them, opening the door. “We’re just about to get started. Would you like to meet the others?” I’m still holding Sara’s gaze.

Her mouth pinches. Thick, beautiful eyelashes flutter. Finally, she gives me the one answer we’ve both waited for: “Yes.”

Epilogue

“Okay,” Free takes a giantswig of Cold Body, “this placemightbe cooler than Little Five Points.”

“I know. Right?” I wave a hand around the air. “It’s the ambiance.”

She rolls her eyes. “SAT Prep doesn’t give you an excuse to toss words like ‘ambiance’ into our conversations.”

“No,” I grin slyly, “but being gay does.”

She spits out her coffee over the table we’re sitting at, snorting. I mop it up with a stack of paper napkins.

“Jesus. Little bro, you’re not some silver fox on a queer makeover show. You’re only seventeen.”

“Yep,” I say. “But I’m crushing this adulting thing.”

Free reaches over to scrub my curls. We share a smirk, the Ruby smirk. Zombie is so chill today. Maybe because it’s two days before Christmas. The city is pretty dead. Only the local college kids crowd the prime real estate inside with hot cocoas while a happy rotation of music plays in the café—all ’80s Christmas tunes. I know who’s responsible for that.

Ian’s at the bar, talking to Trixie as she prepares his latte. Matcha—the green stuff his kisses taste like.

“He’s cute,” Free mentions, nudging my foot. “It’s the glasses.”

“Yeah.”

“And the dimple.”

I shake my head. It’s a thing, okay?

“He’s nervous about meeting you,” I tell her. I’ve caught at least five panicked stares whenever I peek at him. I’m nervous too. Not about him meeting Free. Ian’s mom will be in town next week for New Year’s. I’m having dinner with them, meeting Ian’s mom.

Ian insisted on it. I gladly held his hand, kissed that dimple, and promised I’d only spill one drink the entire time. Something relaxed in his eyes. Something relaxed in my heart too.

“Heshouldbe nervous.” Free fixes her curls; they’re big and wild and fierce today. “I plan to give him The Speech.”

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