The Inside of Out (35 page)

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, she 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.”

And there he was, my ace reporter—not fidgeting, not slumped, wearing a tuxedo with such aplomb that I wondered suddenly whether he'd been a spy all along, sent here to report on me and defend my life if necessary.

Adam's hand slipped into mine, keeping me from flying away.

“You came,” I said.

Adam laughed. “Kudzu Giants are playing, and
that's
what you want to say?”

“Your brother. He's in Kudzu Giants. I cannot believe I never made that connection.” I blinked up at the stage, where they were strumming the opening bars of the lead single from their last album. “Why didn't you tell me?”

He swallowed. “You seemed to find me interesting. And everybody always finds Eli interesting. I didn't want that to change.”

“Yes, you're interesting, Adam.” I laughed. “You're completely insane! You did
this
.”

He grinned. “I did do this.”

I started to tear up. He grabbed my shoulder, but I shook my head, smoothing my crinoline skirt. “I thought you were done with me. Now that the story was over.”

Adam winced. Then he shrugged, and in the tuxedo, the movement looked quite rakish.

“On the one hand,” he said. “A journalist must never get involved with his subject. And on the other hand . . .”

His still ink-stained fingers rose to tuck my newly bobbed
hair behind my ear. The gesture rendered me immobile.

“On the other hand,” he finished. “There was no way in hell I was going to miss your song's world premiere.”

I was so dazed by his sudden appearance, and the rather impressive
appearance
of his appearance, that I nearly missed that last part.

“World premiere? What are you—”

The lead singer spoke into the microphone. “This next song goes out to Daisy Beaumont-Smith!”

Everyone at the dance started looking around for me. I gave a feeble wave.

“Not only was she the force behind creating this awesome party—she's also turned out to be quite the songsmith.”

My breath caught. I grabbed Adam's lapel.

“You didn't.”

He flashed a wicked grin. “I did.”

There came a strumming from the stage, a sort of flamenco sound, and then a plaintive whistle from the lead singer—a tune I recognized as well as my own heartbeat.

“
Out on the sea, you see the flag, the flag of Bloody Stede, and you know your fate is sealed as tight as a basket of woven reeds
.”

The band erupted. It was “The Ballad of Bloody Stede,” my ballad, but so much better, jolted to life, every instrument dancing around the tune, teasing it, illuminating it instead of just playing it. My stupid song was now an actual song, a viable one, and everyone was dancing to it. Something I'd made up in the shower!

Adam dragged me into the fray. “Come on, Daisy. This is my first high school dance. We're not gonna sit it out.”

His hand found its way to the dip in my back and pulled me close and it suddenly became incredibly difficult to focus. The biggest band in the world was singing my song, and Hannah was jumping up and down next to me, shrieking, “I cannot believe they're playing ‘The Ballad of Bloody Stede'!” and Adam was just looking at me, a smile flickering over his face like light on water.

And before I knew it, the strangest thing was happening. Everything else faded, sunk, disintegrated. I could hardly even hear the song anymore, because this was real. Not a daydream or a delusion. This was the moment. We were here, pulling closer and closer in a riptide.

And then, connecting. His lips were warm, firm against mine and then parting them, his hands were in my hair and mine in his, then lower, tracing my shoulder blades, my waist—and holy
wow
, did I know who I was.

I was me. Daisy Beaumont-Smith. And I liked boys. But no, not all boys—
this
one—specifically and exclusively. Kissing Adam was terrifying one second and so perfect the next that my body forgot what terror even meant.

When I came to several hours later, only a few seconds had passed, and we were grinning at each other, Hannah and Natalie gawking at us in happy shock.

“Happy homecoming,” Adam said.

We got to the Moonlight Coffee Shop just after midnight, once we'd thanked all the vendors and volunteers and staggered out to find some sustenance, our bodies still too giddy to go home.

A few booths were closing out their checks, but the reporters who'd swarmed the place were gone—probably off filing their stories or heading home, ready to find the next scoop, the next big hashtag movement.

Not Adam. As we settled into a corner booth, he announced his unofficial retirement from journalism.

“I'll stick with the major, but I might add in something like poli sci.”

I frowned, tucking my feet so Natalie and Hannah could fill in opposite. “But you're such a good writer.”

“Thank you.” Adam squeezed my hand, then let his fingers linger against mine, more steady than I'd ever seen them. “Here's the thing, though. I thought I was cut out for journalism because I was so objective. I could remove my personal feelings from any situation. But it turns out I'm not as neutral as I thought I was.”

I batted my eyelashes.

He laughed. “About any of it. Anything important, anyway. I can stay neutral about cat boutiques.”

“So what's the career plan now, Mr. Journalism-slash-Poli Sci Major?”

“Cal Montgomery gave me his boss's business card? Said to call her firm when I graduate.” Adam shrugged, turning the card over in his hand. “Sounded interesting.”

“You could try it out.”

“For a little while. And then maybe archeology.”

“See, you're kidding, but I think that sounds like a perfectly good plan.”

Adam put his arm around me and my voice sputtered into a pleasant nothing as I nestled against him in the booth.

Hannah watched us, her mouth twitching with the effort not to grin like a goon. She lifted a plastic menu as a distraction. “The usual?”

“I
love
the usual,” Jack said, craning his neck from the next booth over. “What is it?”

“Mozzarella sticks, chicken fingers, and a salad,” Natalie recited. “And I'm gonna add onion rings if nobody objects.”

She looked at me, eyebrows raised in challenge, but I smiled. How could anybody object to onion rings?

“How dare you,”
Hannah said, grabbing Natalie's face. Natalie matched her grave expression for a half second, then darted in for a kiss. They smiled, still lip-locked. Hannah whispered something to Natalie and I cast my eyes away, happy for the opportunity to
finally
mock them for a glaring example of PDA. Not tonight, though. First thing tomorrow.

My fingers slid back between Adam's.

“I think I'll go for pie,” he said. “What was that one you got the first time I interviewed you?”

“Coconut cream,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder. “It was excellent.”

Hannah raised her eyebrows, taking in the fact that Adam and I already had a history to reference. It was Hannah's turn to let somebody else into our carefully calibrated routine. I had a hunch she'd handle it a lot better than I had.

“So.” Adam pointed at me with a spoon, his face taking on a stern edge. “Tomorrow. Driving lesson.”

I whimpered.

Hannah clapped. “Are you
finally
learning?”

“Stick shift.” Adam leaned back like he was already behind the wheel. “We might even try some defensive driving maneuvers.”

“I don't think you're appreciating the magnitude of the challenge before you,” I said.

Adam smirked. “Give me a month. You'll be ready for Formula One.”

Incredibly, I could picture it.
Daisy Beaumont-Smith, idling at the starting gate of the Monaco Grand Prix, giving a gloved thumbs-up to the bespectacled hottie in the pit, narrowing my eyes through my helmet, revving the engine as the first flag waved.
Tonight, I could picture just about anything.

The booths quickly filled with GSA members and friends, the now-frenzied Moonlight waitresses bustling in and out of the kitchen with our orders, everybody buzzing from the concert, the game, the magnitude of what we'd pulled off.

“Today went well,” Raina said, perched on her knees in the
booth behind me. Her voice was back to business but hoarse from screaming at the dance. “I think we should all start brainstorming next steps.”

Sean, Sophie, and Kyle groaned in harmony.

“What?” She glanced around. “This isn't the end. We can leverage this, make even more of a difference.”

“Prom?” Sean suggested, wincing more than smiling at the prospect.

“We're off the hook,” Jack said, arms stretched grandly across the booth like he owned the place. “Before we left, Principal Zimmer told me same-sex dates are a go. I don't know if the school board got tired of reporters chasing them around Publix or what, but he said they're planning to officially cave at the next meeting.”

We all fell into relieved silence at that news.

“Also,” Jack said. “He and Prof Hélène are probably boning as we speak.”

“Nasty!” I shouted. “Yeah, they probably are.”

“He's not gay?” Kyle rubbed his temple.

Jack offered him a fry as consolation. “Even the experts are wrong from time to time.”

“Next steps? Can we focus?” Raina capped her question with a noisy slurp from her strawberry milkshake, then scowled as everybody laughed. “What?”

“I'm up for it,” QB said, interrupting his conversation with Diego about the relative merits of European vs. American football. “Whatever it is.”

Whatever it is.

I cleared my throat.

“If we're looking for a way to make an impact on local youth,” I started. “I might have a suggestion.”

The Alliance turned to look at me, alert, ready for the next great challenge.

I smiled. “How do you guys feel about public art?”

And I could see this too, so beautiful, illuminating a once bleak, barren space—a grand ocean-scape teeming with life, a majestic temple, a fallen statue, an entire continent waiting to be discovered.

I mean, okay—not an
entire
continent. A glimpse of one, Messy strokes, flawed perspective, amateurish execution and yes, probably a random whale—I still had a perverse attachment to that whale—but still,
ours
. Days of working side by side. Jack and Sean keeping a laughing catalog of our mistakes. Me and Raina squabbling over whether the columns should be Ionic or Corinthian (
obviously
Corinthian). Sophie in the corner doodling fairies, which don't even belong in Atlantis but are absolutely lovely too. Natalie getting chartreuse paint on her face, this being
my
fantasy and all, Adam distributing shreddie fries and Hannah snapping photos and QB talking sporty-sport-sports with Kyle, and the lacrosse boys flirting with the drama girls, everybody adding a stroke to that wall.

The end result would be bright and hopeful. At the very least, bright. Neon.
Blinding
.

I leaned back in the booth and started to drift, picturing it. But then I blinked and focused. Here was reality: the curling corner of Adam's lips, laughter rippling through the air, a jagged, peeling crack in the royal blue plastic tabletop, friends (plural!) in every direction—like Kyle, his cheek faint green
where the bruise hadn't completely faded, Natalie, whose eyes clouded whenever she glanced out the diner window toward home, and Hannah, drawing her back with clasped fingers and smiling whispers.

Tonight couldn't last forever. They'd walk out to face a different kind of reality from the one in here—not just joys and hopes and first dates and triumphs, but parents waiting in darkened living rooms, hurtful, tossed-off jokes, a hundred microaggressions a day, wounds I couldn't understand or even hope to heal. After all, I'd turned out to be a pretty crappy champion, hadn't I? But as Becky approached, sliding a massive plate of mozzarella sticks in my direction, I realized there was at least one thing I could offer.

Crisp. Golden. Its own kind of miracle.

It was a start.