Chapter Text
"Oh, hey. I wanted to ask you something."
Steph wanted to keep her cool, but now that the moment of truth was here, she could just feel her mouth go dry. She didn't want to have this conversation - but she needed to.
Chloe slowed, then dropped back onto the bench next to her. With the tiniest shrug, she replied, "Shoot."
Steph had been practicing the script since yesterday, and she already knew it by heart. It came out even though she couldn't focus on the words themselves at this point; "I've been planning to make a move on Rachel, but not if you two were together."
Chloe didn't reply immediately, as typical. She just sort of sat there, her eyes shifting around as she thought without quite making eye contact. It was always like she had some internal monologue going on, and although they hadn't talked much, Steph had already learned to just wait. Not everyone practiced these conversations - it was almost nice that Chloe took the time to take people seriously.
Finally, Chloe re-established eye contact and asked, "Make a move?" It was so flat that it didn't feel like a question.
She wanted an explanation? Fine.
Steph allowed herself a glance up at the sky, a space to make the words appear in her head, then asked, "So, are you?"
"Uh."
That's not a no.
"I mean, that's Rachel's business - or maybe yours and Rachel's business - but if you feel comfortable telling me..."
Steph wasn't sure what answer she could get at this point that would make her happy. Chloe had said yesterday that the two of them weren't even friends, and yet . . . Steph couldn't get that feeling out from under her skin that something was different. It started before the photo - the one from the concert, the first time she had ever actually seen Rachel and Chloe together - but it stayed with her like an itch.
"What? No - we've just hung out the once. I think you're good."
Steph would act all coy, try and hide her smile for a moment, but then Chloe would even encourage her - "Be brave, make a move. I hope it works out for you."
Of course, that's not how it went at all.
Chloe took a breath, and then, "I'm . . . I don't know." She wouldn't look at Steph again. "It's . . . it's confusing."
Steph wanted that to be a good sign, but even the tiniest thing was glaringly obvious - whatever images Chloe was replaying in her mind, whatever 'it' seemed to refer to that Chloe couldn't seem to keep back a smile from. That was enough. It was as much as she needed to hear.
Steph let out a sigh, mixed relief and agitation. "Yeah . . . I can imagine."
Being around Rachel is confusing, but it's never bad.
Steph knew the odds. She knew that about six in one hundred women in their generation identified as bi or lesbian, and in a class of 90 students (slight majority girls), that meant 3 were likely to be gay. She'd done the math long ago, and that's why she had noticed when Rachel had started to watch Chloe from afar, when she had started to ask questions about the weird, gangly loner who had never bothered to say a full sentence to her until she'd wanted a DVD. If Rachel and Chloe ever got together, she'd be the odd man out, and that? that was just the math.
That sucked, but queer girls can't afford to burn bridges about this stuff.
Steph leaned forward and said, "You ever want to talk to me, Chloe, you know you can, right?"
Chloe smiled more as she stood up, but it looked like that was the point she was done. "I'll see you later, Steph."
"Have fun storming the castle," Steph replied, resigned. Defeated. Exhausted.
Chloe gave a little wave as she swaggered off, and Steph deflated down into her knees. It was over. It was done. She had lost, and that was just the roll of the dice. She'd put herself out there, she'd done everything right, and Rachel had made her choice, and a part of her was glad for her.
But most of her really wasn't.
Steph stayed still until the fight behind her died down and Chloe got her way inside - despite being expelled - at which point she tried to just let the stress drop out of her like a cable given slack. It didn't work very well, but it was her best effort. Then she started picking up her art stuff, as it was starting to feel like time to go hole up in her room and listen to podcasts or something else that kept her from thinking very much.
"Hey Steph. Working on your portfolio?"
Steph started, her hand shoved in her bag as she looked up. Samantha Myers was standing nearby, raising a hand in 'hello.' The girl was so quiet, it was easy not to notice when she approached.
Normally she'd be all for a gentle conversation with the mild-mannered freshbaby, but Steph wasn't sure she could manage the gentleness every conversation with Sam took.
"Ah, uh, yeah. Just finished for the night, I think."
"Oh," Samantha replied, tucking her hair behind her ear, then folding her hands together.
She paused, and then asked, "Are you . . . all right?"
"What?" Steph said, looking Samantha straight in the eye. She was always a good dead-faced liar, but she felt like her face was twisting into a pained shape without her permission and looking at Samantha only made her feel like it was carving itself into a mask. "I'm . . . yeah."
As Steph turned away, Samantha reached out a hand. They both hesitated like that; Steph was too afraid to blow off someone so frail(; Samantha didn't want to let go of someone who might be in trouble. Not again).
Samantha asked, "Is there anything I can do for you?" She sounded a little scared.
Steph shook her head. "Nah it's . . . it's not that sort of thing, Sam. It's just . . ."
She hesitated. She had no way of knowing if Samantha was a safe person. Every girl at this school was just one of those liberals who wanted to show they were cool with the gays but fundamentally couldn't understand the situation of being gay in rural Oregon.
"If you . . . want to talk to me, Steph, you know you can, right?"
Steph chuckled, but that was enough to settle it for her. She gestured to the bench again and sat down, Samantha soon to follow. She pulled her beanie down over her eyes and held her head in her hands, blotting out all of the light. She didn't want to watch Samantha's face. She didn't need to see a face journey every time she complained about being single.
"Quick version? I like Rachel; she's out of my league; Chloe is apparently in her league; it's confusing, but it's definitely . . . happening. And that just blows, dude. Like, a lot."
"Oh." A short pause, and then, "Like, what's happening, though?"
"They are. Ugh, they're dating, I think, or they're going to. Point is I'm screwed."
A longer pause this time. Samantha probably had no idea what to say. After a few seconds, she stuttered, "That - that sucks. I'm sorry."
Beat.
"I didn't know."
Steph pulled up her beanie just enough to give Samantha a side-eye. "Know what?"
Samantha laughed nervously, then swallowed. "That Rachel was . . . into girls."
The way she pronounced every syllable of in-to girls so clearly made Steph laugh, but she got the sentiment. "Ha. Yeah. I guess you could say she's not quite as 'out' about it."
Entirely missing the (minimal) effort Steph put into that double entendre, Samantha said, "Well, I guess she just doesn't wear a," she pointed at her own head, "a beanie I guess."
Steph smirked, pulling the beanie off and holding it in her hands, just to have something to play with. "Yeah, I mean, it's sort of a teenage lesbian thing, I guess. At least outside of Portland. Rachel flies a little under the radar - if you're straight, at least."
"Oh. Okay."
Samantha might be eager to help, but, predictably, she had no idea what she was doing.
She asked, "Is - is Rachel the only girl you like?"
Steph scoffed, still kneading the beanie. "What's the point of liking anyone else? I know the junior girls - we've dated or we hate each other, or both. Senior girls are graduating next month. Freshmen? Seems . . . weird. I don't even know any queer freshmen as it is. Plus, Rachel's . . . Rachel, you know?"
Samantha nodded emphatically. "Yeah. I - I know what you mean, I think."
Steph's face showed her disbelief.
Samantha lifted her hands in a shrug; "I mean I think? At least, liking someone special and knowing the odds are . . . not good. Of you two . . . ever. Y'know."
There was a pause as Steph tried to sort out what that meant, but Samantha followed up with, "I mean, I know it's not the same as being a lesbian, sorry. I just get what you're feeling about Rachel, I think. Maybe . . . sorry."
God, she was doing that thing - precisely the thing Steph hadn't wanted to deal with right now. The apology spiral. But maybe Steph had a way to cut it off before it went too far.
"Who do you like then?" Steph redirected. "I mean, unrequited feelings suck, but I guess there's enough to go around."
"Um." Quiet. Then a shrug. "J-just a guy, I guess. It's not really a big deal."
Minimizing and evading. No, this was all the typical Samantha bullshit. And Steph's annoyance crept into her voice, "Look, just tell me. Or don't, that's your business. But it's not like it's going to weird me out that you like a boy."
"Um." Another pause. "Nathan? Uh, Prescott. I guess."
"Oh."
Well, fuck me. It is going to weird me out a little.
Why would she like someone so . . . weird and scrawny? And mean?
I don't get it.
Samantha scooted forward on the bench by a little, speaking faster, "Like, I know people think he's weird, but he's really smart and talented when you give him a chance. And he's really . . . not the person you've probably seen."
Steph raised her hands up to show her innocence. "Hey, I didn't say anything. You're into what you're into. And is he the only boy you like?"
Samantha grimaced at Steph's response, but didn't push it further. "He's . . . the only boy I've ever liked, I think."
Holy shit. That sucks.
"Uh . . . wow. Shit."
"Is that weird?" Samantha asked. Her tone definitely made it seem like she thought it was.
"No?" Steph had no clue. "I don't think so, at least. I mean, it's pretty hard for me to picture liking boys most of the time, so I'm not really a great person to ask, but-"
Samantha interjected (for probably the first time in her entire life) - "He's not like other boys, though."
Steph quirked an eyebrow. Played football? Check. Was a little bitch about dress rehearsal? Check. Spent too much time on 4chan? Check. Obvious inferiority complex due to self-doubt in own masculinity? Check.
Sure seems like any other boy to me.
"He's not, I promise. Nobody gives him a chance because of his dad, but he really can be . . ." Samantha shook her hand, as if trying to sift through all the words to find the right one. "Special. I don't know how to describe it. But I haven't met any boys like him."
"Huh," Steph replied, then chuckled a little. "Well, I guess your odds are worse than mine, huh? At least I've liked other girls - plus nobody wanted to beat them up because of their dad, so that was a plus."
This did not seem to make Samantha feel better. "I hate that," she replied.
Steph just nodded, but looked away. She knew how people treated Nathan. She was pretty sure she rationalized her dislike for him so she wouldn't feel bad knowing how the other boys treated him. But deep down, she knew that she, just like those boys, thought Nathan kind of deserved it. Not because of anything he did, per se, but when you come attached with so much evil, it's hard to see you as anything but that. Maybe it was good that someone at this school, at least, could acknowledge Nathan as a person. It's not like Steph was about to be that person, after all.
Steph cracked a smile, putting her beanie back on as she swung her legs. "Well, hey, this means you can only go up. If you go gay now you're only increasing your options."
They both laughed nervously, and Steph started to stand.
Samantha scratched the back of her head and said, "I thought you said there weren't any gay freshmen?"
That held Steph back for a second. "Not as . . . far as I know?" She wasn't sure she understood the point of the sentence.
Samantha was equally confused, and her next sentence came together slowly. "How . . . would? . . . you know."
What does that mean?
Steph shrugged. "I'm not really sure what you mean?"
Samantha tried again, smoother this time; "How would a girl let other girls know she likes girls?"
All of the heterosexuality from their previous conversation was keeping Steph from understanding the question. "Are you . . . asking about gay coding? Like, how do people trigger gaydar or not?"
Samantha nodded vigorously, and that was enough to drop Steph back into her seat.
"Are you . . . just curious or . . . is this a practical question?" she was at a total loss for what was happening right now, and it was making her talk just like Samantha.
Samantha tucked some of her hair behind her ear again. Her eyes were wide, and she looked as taken aback as Steph. "I'm . . . not sure."
Steph blinked. "Do you - do you like girls?"
The surprise seemed to be slowing falling into panic on Samantha's face. "I . . don't . . . know."
Awkward silence prevailed for a few seconds. Then Samantha continued, "But I think I want to."
What.
What the fuck does this even mean.
Is this the shit people talk about with girls in college.
It isn't even college what the fuck.
Did my suggestion just literally make a lesbian out of someone?
If it was this easy things would have been a lot easier.
Also what the fuck.
"Um . . . okay." Steph looked down at her bag for a second, adjusted her face to a more pleasant surprise, and said, "Well, fuck it. Yeah, uh, flannel is good. Putting lots of buttons on your backpack is good - getting some blank pride flag colors once among other buttons is really good. Undercuts and sidecuts are good. Dyed hair, leather jackets, um. And, oh, duh."
Steph pulled off her beanie again and offered it across the bench. "Beanies are a good starter. Low commitment, keep your head warm. Plus I've got like, five, so you can have mine."
Samantha just stared at it. "Uh?"
Steph opened her hand so the beanie was just lying in her palm. "Seriously, though. Like, I'm lice-free. If you want to start becoming a blip on every gay girl's radar . . . that might be all it takes."
Samantha's hand slowly extended out, hovering over the beanie as if she could feel the lesbian power emanating from it. Steph could feel the legacy somehow inherent in this one gift, and nervousness trickled into her body after she'd already done everything she needed to do.
And then, Samantha picked it up, looked it over for a second, and then put it on.
She looked . . . like a huge dweeb. But definitely gayer.
"Does it . . . work?" Samantha asked, as if hoping she had suddenly been transformed.
"Good start." Steph offered out an open hand for a swipe-and-bump. "Let me know if you ever need any help looking gayer or like, other gay stuff. I don't know. Good luck."
Samantha reached out and shook Steph's hand as if it were the most normal thing in the world, and Steph just went along with it.
"Thanks, I think."
Steph winked and finally stood up. It wasn't how she had expected this conversation to go - or the last five minutes to go - but it definitely made her feel better than she'd expected. "I'll see you later, Sammy."
"Sammy?"
Steph shouldered her bag and waved goodbye without another word.