Exotic - Chapter 57: Chapter 57

JULY
We took Mum's ashes to the coast, early in the morning on her birthday. Reece bought a stack of CDs, and we left the doors of his truck open so the music filled the air as we staggered over the dune, bare toes gripping uselessly at the sand. All her favourites, low bass and wailing lyrics, drifting down after us.
I held her urn tight to my chest as we surveyed the deserted beach. Come On Eileen was playing, and I began to drum nervously against the lid. I was pretty sure dumping remains was illegal on public beaches, though I doubted anyone would say something if they came across the sight we made.
"Want to say something?" I asked him as the sun created the horizon. It created a staircase of light in the ocean.
Reece rubbed his chin and cast his eyes down. "Yeah. Yeah... I should, shouldn't I?"
"Only if you want."
Reece nodded slowly, shoulders hunched. I offered him the urn. He didn't take it but placed a hand heavily on the lid.
"G'day Grace," he began weakly, thumb tracing circles absentmindedly on the rim. "I tried to be funny in your eulogy and that went down like a fart in church so... just want to say goodbye now. Just want to say I love you. Just..."
His voice cracked slightly, and I knew his eyes weren't red from the blistering cold.
"... really wish you were here. So much," he continued, jaw quivering. He patted the urn and blew out an unsteady breath. "Happy birthday, Gracie."
Reece wiped his nose on his collar, and I didn't know what I was supposed to do if he started crying. In the past, I would have overcomplicated his response into crocodile tears, even though there was no one around. I'd learned a lot about Reece from the day I'd decided to stay. The biggest advance we'd made was me accepting that he missed my mum as desperately as I did. I liked sharing the memory of her with someone who'd known as much of her as I did.
We stood side by side on the beach we used to have Boxing Day lunch on, and Mum was cradled in my arms and the skyline was painted in colour. And I wouldn't have felt out of place taking his hand, but I didn't, not yet.
"Fifty years young," I told Mum's urn. "I thought you might want to stretch your legs."
Reece snorted, but it broke into a sob almost immediately.
"Wish you were here. Wish I could hug you. Wish I could just talk to you again," I worried at my bottom lip with my teeth. "Wish you could see that we're doing alright. Really."
The sun was like molten gold in the spectrum of the sky.
"Wish I'd written something down," I unscrewed the lid of the urn and dropped it in the sand. "And I'm sure I'm forgetting something. I'll come back and tell you when I remember."
With tears finally breaking the floodgates and streaming down my cheeks, I took a handful of her and scattered her to the wind. It picked up and carried her into the sunrise.
"I love you!" I called after her. "I love you forever!"
Reece took a handful and let her slip through his fingers. We moved to the sea so the parts of her that didn't get picked up by the wind fell into the ocean and got washed away across the world. The earth was ninety-nine percent water, and I wanted her to keep travelling forever. Exploring every intimate corner of the world she hadn't had the chance to see.
There was a lot of Mum to scatter. Once the urn was empty, washed in the saltwater so none of her was left trapped in that dark metal cylinder, we sat on the dunes as the early surfers arrived in their wetsuits. The front of my shirt clung to my collar, wet with tears. Reece tapped his palm against his knee to the rhythm of Valarie.
"Miss Riley says I'll make enough C's this year to graduate," I told him because there seemed like no better or worse time to say it. "And if I really pull my socks up in time for exams, I have a good chance of passing them too."
"That's good, Miles," Reece sounded genuine, and I'd come to realise over the last few months that he always had been. "That's really fucking good."
I tucked my knees under my chin and closed my eyes. Someone laughed far away, and I knew it wasn't Mum, but it pulled a vivid memory to the surface, of her holding a towel over her head like a flag and running up the beach with huge sunglasses and a floppy sunhat. More and more memories had been making appearances lately - good memories, without beeping machines and tubes and surgical scars. Memories I sometimes shared with Reece. Memories I sometimes tried to draw, even though those pictures stayed tucked away in books and stacks of papers because I hadn't quite figured out her nose yet.
"I wish I'd married her," Reece said out to the beach, and it felt like he was confessing out to the universe, not to me. "Well, wish I'd asked. No telling what she'd have to say to it."
I smiled, open-mouthed, between my knees. "You would have had to put on a show. Really made your case."
"And so I should have," and he was talking to me then, head turned and tired eyes searching for mine. I grant him a look. "Wish I'd been around more before."
"We might have killed each other. We scarcely survive two years."
"We might have," he mused. "We might have gotten along, too."
I grinned. "Is that what we're doing now?"
He reached out an almost timid hand and gripped my shoulder. It was a comfortable weight, and I allowed him to rest there as Amy Winehouse finished her set and the sun arched high into the sky. People began to populate the sand, shaking out towels and running shrieking into the waves. Knowing she was among them all but bought her back to life. I could see her so clearly.
Mum was paddling alongside the surfers. Mum was kicking up sand as she ran along the beach. Mum was the colour in the last hints of the sunrise.
Mum is here.
AUGUST
"What?" Alba's face was an impervious mask, but I could tell my unprompted gasp had unnerved her. I reached to pull another four tissues from the box between us, blowing my nose loudly and mopping my cheeks to little results. The tears would not stop coming, and I was beginning to worry for the state of my mascara. By the time I finally pulled myself together enough to speak, she was reaching for another box.
"Your dad is a fox."
She snatched the tablet from my hands. "I will only entrust you with these if you don't use them compromise our professional relationship."
I hiccupped with teary laughter. "I think that ship has sailed."
I'd never expected Alba, with her tattooed ring and unorthodox partner, to have such a fairy-tale wedding. She wore white, despite her mother's protests (said mother looked like she'd bitten on a lemon in every one of their photos together, but Alba assured me that was just her resting face), a tight bodice with a mermaid flare at the ankles, so fitted that I wondered if she had to be wheeled down the aisle on a hand trolley. Rory's dress was a stark contrast, an explosion of tulle I was surprised they could fit in a limo. In every photo of the two of them, they were smiling in that helpless, abandoned way that most people couldn't muster with a camera pointed at them. Obnoxiously, obliviously happy. I'd been crying since she'd handed me the tablet
"You look so beautiful," I sniffled. "I can't believe you didn't invite me."
Alba chuckled as she swiped through the tablet herself, grinning wider at each image. I could see her reliving each moment in the gleam of her eyes. "It would have been highly inappropriate."
"Then you should have waited until I graduated. Your wife is my number one fan, after all."
The day after the most awkward meeting with the principal that I believed Truman had ever had, and everything that followed, Alba had called me out of class for a chat. I was anxious to know if she'd been at all punished for her brief experiment with vandalising school property, but she'd laughed it off.
"After all the fuss Mr. Troutman made, it was all but forgotten," she'd reassured me. "Ms. Hudson was far more concerned about the state of the soccer team than my criminal activity. I was asked to pay cleaning fees. Don't you dare offer to cover it."
I closed my mouth. "What is the state of the soccer team?"
"Oh, I have a group session with the team tomorrow. I've already had eight referrals from parents, bemoaning all the infighting and Mr. Troutman's previously covert homophobia. Apparently, he called a team meeting shortly after he was dismissed from the office yesterday," she massaged her temples. "He wasn't as collected as he was in front of Ms. Hudson."
If Mr. Troutman had been collected when he'd been yelling about my perversion, I felt sick to think of Caleb having to sit through his worst. "Will he stay on as coach?"
"It's hard to fire a male teacher on tenure. Everyone would kick up a fuss about losing a positive male role model in a female-dominated workforce," she shrugged helplessly. "He'll definitely be under some watchful supervision for the next few months. "
I hoped that would be enough to deter him from targeting Caleb. He'd rightfully earned his captain position; I had no doubt Trout would be vying to have him discreetly removed so he didn't have to face his own bigotry every time they shook hands. "Is the team behind Caleb?"
"A fair majority," she worried at her lip, leaving streaks in her matte lipstick. I wondered if any of the events of yesterday had hit home for her. I had no idea how Alba had come out if she'd been so in high school, or how the people around her had responded. She seemed comfortable enough in her skin now, but preparing to run therapy sessions with people who potentially found your identity something worthy of ridicule must have been stressful. "You leave it to me. I wanted to talk about you."
And she asked me about the make-up. It became quickly obvious she had made out the bruises it was concealing, and she had questions about Reece.
I considered lying through my teeth, since the full story involved a lot more of my life than I'd entrusted her with, but when I opened my mouth, the whole truth came out. Aidan's shit-eating grin, the fire alarm, Reece, the drinking, Peter, the attack. The police station. The reason I'd been set on finishing up my graffiti.
Alba did what she did best and listened.
When I shrugged to indict the story was over, she crossed her ankles and knotted her hands under her chin, deep in thought.
"You should have been safe to speak on whatever you wanted to without another student overhearing. I'm so sorry that safety was compromised," she said softly. "I wish you'd told me at the time."
I looked down at my feet. "I wish I'd done a lot of things differently."
"Aidan McCaffrey..." she hesitated, clearly fighting against her professional instinct to never speak about other students in her sessions. "He's an angry young man. I feel I achieved very little with him in that session, though his smug demeanour makes sense now. He's on his last warning, so you know. The school is taking this seriously. One more black mark and he's out of here. If anything happens, you come straight to me."
I gaped at her. "They can do that? So close to graduation?"
"He didn't seem to think so, but he's sourly mistaken," Alba was wringing her hands. "It has him shaken. And he isn't welcome back on the team. From administration or his former teammates."
That was it then. Aidan had been vanquished as a threat, and he had only himself to blame. "Will you keep seeing him?"
"That's his choice," she said vaguely. At my look of disgust, she shook her head. "My door is open to anyone. Maybe this can push him towards a better future, maybe he'll dig deeper into his anger. It's on him now."
We sat in comfortable silence after that, until I leaned forward. "And Caleb?"
"Miles..."
"Okay, okay, I know, confidential," I raised my hands. "I hope he does see you though. And if he does, be gentle. But also honest. And please tell him he's brave. He needs to hear it from someone with gravity."
Alba was shaking her head, slightly exasperated, but she looked up at that. "Don't worry. I will. Now, back to you."
I lounged back in the chair, stretched out, at ease. "To be honest, today... I feel pretty good. Thanks to you. You vandalised school property for me. Without even..."
I trailed off. Why had Alba done what she'd done? When in that moment, my half-finished instagram account should have been nothing but letters to her. I imagined it would take a lot to have Alba hitching up her designer skirts and committing acts of civil disobedience. "Did Aaron... tell you about Sephora?"
Alba, for the first time since we'd meet, seemed to fluster a little. She adjusted her glasses, humming and haring as she searched the air for the right words. She finally settled on, "In the interest of full transparency, I've known about Sephora... for a few days now."
Sephora Utah, until yesterday, was the closest card I held to my chest. It felt odd for her name to be spoken so frankly. I up back in my seat, staring across the desk at her with a head full of questions.
She elaborated with an uncharacteristically sheepish smile. "You ran into my fiancée the other night."
Memories of the Rocky Horror night leaked back to me. Rory. So much had happened that night. I'd forgotten the reason I'd even ended up outside the club, how I'd ended up in the alley with Zsa Zsa. Fleeing from Rory Pike, who could have been the one to bring my entire, carefully crafted narrative down around me with just a photograph.
I let out a startled huff of air. "I was pretty rude to her."
"She did mention something like 'Never meet your idols'," Alba mused and then smiled when I looked despondent. "Don't be silly. She does adore Sephora Utah though. She had hoped to take me to see her that night, but I was swamped with work. But she did show me your Instagram that night. At first, I thought you might have been the victim of art theft, but then I saw the photos..." She paused to allow me to interject, but I didn't.
"You didn't tell me," I murmured.
"Your private life is yours," she smiled earnestly. "It wasn't my place, and I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I just don't want to lie now that you've shared this with me. And thank you, for sharing it."
I fidgeted with the straps of my bag. "I never thanked you. For hiding it."
Alba seemed to think for a while, before reaching out to lay her hand over mine where it lay on the desk. A warm, comforting cocoon, her fingers resting on my knuckles. "When I saw when you'd written above the school, knowing you were doing it to transfer backlash onto yourself, a part of me nearly died. Because you were resigned to turning that account, and its artistry, into a piece of nasty gossip. People shouldn't discover Sephora Utah that way, because she, and you, deserve nothing but love. So, it wasn't even a decision, really. Aaron helped."
He'd told me he had, and that he doubted anything could top the high school experience of helping the school therapist deface the very school that had driven you to meet with the school therapist in the first place. "You're right. It would have reduced her. So, thank you."
"She's pretty spectacular," Alba added after a beat of silence.
I gnawed the side of my cheek for a solid minute before wrestling my phone out of my jacket. "Want to see what you were missing on Rocky Horror night?"
After that day, Alba and I felt a permanent shift in our relationship. Suddenly, there were no secrets I felt I had to guard against her. I could speak to her frankly about anything; Reece, the court case, Sephora, school. How people had reacted when I'd made a habit out of wearing make-up to school. I still got some venomous remarks and shoulder-checks in the hallway, but at least Aidan kept his distance. I learned Alba gave the best advice when she knew everything. Months later, we were still catching up once a fortnight; though more and more our sessions were diverging into conversations that had little to do with my mental health. Or maybe everything to do with it, considering I was finally in a place where I could bawl my eyes out in front of her, even if it was over her wedding photos.
Alba was shaking her head, exasperated but smiling. She was still glowing from the weekend, I could tell. Despite my teasing, I could see from the photos they had waited long enough. "I'll tell you what, I had to print and annotate a copy of my teacher's handbook before she stopped talking about you as an option for the live band."
I wondered how appropriate it would have been to ask if she wouldn't mind me borrowing Rory's dress. I had bought an incredible lilac wig that would have complimented it perfectly. Maybe next month. "I sing a killer rendition of "Thinking Out Loud". In case you're considering anyone when you renew your vows."
"You're basic as hell, Miles," she shook her head with a smile and started to flick through the tablet. "You have to see my mum's face when we had our first dance to Megan Thee Stallion."
SEPTEMBER
We were set up in one of the science rooms, not quite as visible as we'd hoped but with a decent amount of space. Aaron had dragged all of the tables together to form a large U, with one at the front door for sign-in. He was fretting, as to be expected.
"I should have bought my own posters. Can you take down the frog dissection one? No one wants to look at that. Should I have written meeting points? I'm not going to seem like I know what I'm doing. But who am I to write meeting points? No one says I'm chair because I started this. We'll do a vote. Can you take minutes? What if no one shows up?"
I clicked the compact mirror I'd been examining myself in closed and walked across to wrap my arms around his shoulders. "Breathe in, breathe out."
He did, shakily, and looked at me apologetically. "Sorry. This means a lot to me."
"I know," Aaron had followed through on his decision to start Truman's first ever Gay-Straight Alliance Club with impassioned visits to the principal's office, rallying against being assigned a five pm slot he knew no one would attend, and dealt with people vandalising his sign-up sheets by going online for registration. Today was the inaugural meeting, and despite the overwhelming interest, I could tell he was nervous it was all one big set-up.
The door creaked and Aaron rushed to the sign-in desk, shoulders straight, smiling welcomingly. But it was just Max, slouching through the door with his bag over one shoulder. He whistled as he looked around the room and held his hand up for Aaron to high-five. "Nicely done, Double-A."
Aaron beamed. Max swung his bag onto the counter and grabbed the pen next to the sign-in clipboard. He glanced across the large jar of homemade pins that Aaron and I had spent all night making, representing every flag on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. The bottom part of my hands were still numb from the badge machine. Aaron and I wore matching rainbow badges, pinned over the school crest on our uniforms.
"Do I get a badge?" Max asked.
Aaron rolled his eyes. "Of course, for the customary straight pride flag. I have one right here."
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his middle finger. Max smirked, signed the sheet with a flourish, and walked over to perch beside me on one of the tables.
"It's okay for me to be here, right?" he whispered to me. "Aaron said I should come, but I don't want to step on anyone's toes."
"It's a Gay-Straight Alliance Club," I reminded him. "Allies welcome. Just listen and don't make jokes about bisexual women and threesomes."
He looked aghast. "If anyone does, I'll kick their ass."
"No, you won't," Aaron called out. "We want to create a safe space, but we also want to educate people on being a good ally. If people slip up, we'll correct them. If they don't want to learn and upset people, then you can kick their ass."
Max nodded compliantly and turned back to me. "Hey, do you think he'll come?"
Before I could respond, the door swung open, and a gaggle of middle schoolers congregated around Aaron. Some took pins as they signed their names and introduced themselves to Aaron. Several wore the pink, purple, and indigo of the bisexual flag, and someone with perfect winger eyeliner took a badge for genderfluid. Aaron looked elated, directing them to make themselves comfortable and get to know each other. I pushed myself off the table to socialise, not really prepared to talk to middle schoolers but found them easily chatty. Sure, they talked a lot about things I'd outgrown and couldn't look back to without cringing, but it was nice to see people their age so confident in who they were.
Aaron had to get more paper as more people arrived than his modest clipboard expected, including Raegan, Rachel, and Greta from our year and several of their friends. I saw more badges than I had expected. A timid-looking kid with a mane of blonde hair introduced themselves to me as Opal, and I noted the pink, white, and blue badge on their sleeve. I had thought the LGBTQIA+ community in Truman was limited to a few outliers and rumours, but it appeared to be far more vibrant than my blinders had allowed me to see. What pleased me more was the amount of arrives who didn't take a pin, but signed their name and took a seat without a second thought.
Not bad, Truman, not bad at all.
"I dig your eyeshadow," a girl I didn't recognise beamed at me. She was made-up like a colouring book, with green lips, red eyeliner, and white blush. My tiny dabs of blush and eyeshadow paled in comparison. Since I'd relaxed my life compartmentalising and started to let night and day Miles overlap, a lot had changed for me at school. My sexuality was common knowledge, though my love for heels and skirts remained somewhat private, and I'd started to make myself up a little for school. Nothing that breeched school policy, just enough to bring Sephora's bravado with me everywhere. It had caused a stir the first few times it was noticeable, but I wasn't the Miles who shied away from whispers anymore. Who wouldn't dig my eyeshadow? I thanked her, and we swapped brand names until Aaron called the room to attention.
One face was still noticeably absent from the crowd. But he'd never promised me he'd come, just told me he'd try. I tried not to hold it against him. Like me, he was relatively new to the scrutiny of being out of the closet, and maybe this was a step too far for him yet.
I found a seat next to Max and gave Aaron a thumbs up from the front row.
"Thank you all for coming to the inaugural meeting of Truman's Gay-Straight Alliance Club," he took a few seconds to find his footing, stammering a little over his notes, but I knew it was only because this meant so much to him. He didn't want to mess things up. "Now, today I mostly for mingling and getting to know one another, but I thought I'd just speak about the purpose of this club and what I think it can offer to..."
The door clicked and hesitated when Aaron trailed off to look at it. Whoever was on the other side had clearly hoped to slip in unacknowledged. After a beat, the door cracked wider and Caleb slipped inside, eyes down and cheeks flushed, pushing the door closed and dropping into the first seat available. Aaron, clearly sensing Caleb was embarrassed by the attention, continued smoothly. People were still staring – Caleb Proust being gay was still a novelty everyone was getting their heads around – but Aaron persisted until all eyes slowly slid back to him.
Caleb lifted his head and met my eyes, and I gave him what I hoped was a brilliant, encouraging smile. His cheeks speckled with colour again and he shifted his focus to Aaron, clearly engrossed in what he was saying. Or at least, trying to be.
Aaron established a blind voting system to assign a club president, vice, and three rotating scribes. While everyone was chatting as they placed their votes, I leaned into Max so as not to be overheard.
"I can't believe he came," I murmured to Max, who was writing AARON in block letters on every available voting slip. Adorable.
"Of course, he did," Max whispered back, a suggestive lilt to his tone. "You asked him to."
I felt my face heat at the implication. "We're friends."
Max paused writing to grin at me. "I know. The kind who have sleepovers and go on walks and have long contemplative phone calls on school nights."
"I do all those things with your brother."
"Except Maya doesn't make you sleep in the spare room after you're done cuddling on the couch."
I kicked him under the table. "Has Caleb talked to you about this?"
"What can I say, I'm a very patient and supportive friend," Max's smile slipped for a second. "I don't think he's used to having those."
My heart panged. Caleb hadn't stopped being friends with his soccer teammates after coming out, for the most part. A couple of the boys had made a stand, more in support of Aidan than against Caleb. There were coughed slurs into hands and illegal tackles during practice. Max and the older players wanted to hit back by kicking them from the team. Caleb, for his part, didn't punish the players who had it out for him; he ran drills with them, included them in game plans, and never hesitated to pass if they were in a good spot. After a few weeks, his refusal to retaliate paid off – the players backed off, and Caleb could get back to captaining without feeling like he was walking on eggshells. I admired him for his fortitude; I wouldn't have had the patience to do what he did, to live under constant scrutiny. I suspected that's why he spent more time with Max these days.
Caleb still hung out with his teammates, but he sat with us at lunch more often than not. It had been a surprisingly easy transition, with only minimal gossip surrounding it. The bitter part of me suspected people just accepted it because it only made sense to them Caleb would sit with the other gay kids once he was out. The rest of me was too happy to have Caleb around to care.
Max had learned about Sephora Utah and my history with Caleb when I'd realised he'd been the only person at the table who was out of the loop. It didn't feel right to have him blissfully unaware whenever Caleb and I touched feet under the table and jumped, and Aaron shot me meaningful looks whenever I got texts from Zsa Zsa. He reacted in the only way I'd expect from Max when he'd seen photos of Sephora; 'Dude. You're so hot. How are you so hot?'
"Anyway, I'm getting it from both sides," Max elaborated, leaning back in his chair and started folding his voting slips into little paper planes. "You're both as lovesick as each other."
"We... we're trying to just be friends," I sighed. "Normal, touchy-feely, sleepover-having, long-conversations-about-stupid-shit friends. I think we're doing remarkably well, considering how we started."
"You mean with your tongues in each other's throats?" Max clarified and laughed when I wrapped both hands around his mouth from behind. Aaron passed around a box for us to submit our votes into and seemed genuinely surprised when he won president in a landslide. No one else was.
"This school has a history of suppressing, erasing and ignoring the needs of its queer, trans, and non-binary students," Aaron said after the applause had settled. He made eye contact with me and smiled. "I want to make Truman a welcoming place for incoming students, and I want the facility to acknowledge its negligence and do better. All we have to do to make that happen is talk until they have to listen. So don't shut up, I guess."
Max and I set off another round of unnecessary applause. Aaron acknowledged it with an awkward nod, and I dared another glance at Caleb. He must have felt it, because he dragged his eyes back to me and smiled warmly, far more settled now that he was just part of the crowd.
Later that day, I would text him, Thank you for coming.
And he would respond, Thank you for asking me.
OCTOBER
Jamie placed my learner's permit down on the desk in front of him and interlaced his fingers in front of his face. His expression was unreadable, but Jamie had never been an open book.
"Happy belated birthday," he finally said monotonously.
I shifted awkwardly in my seat. Jamie's office slash bedroom had always been meticulously neat, unnervingly so, and as usual, it was doing little to calm my anxiety. My hair was combed, and I was wearing a starchy polo shirt because even under the circumstances it was important to look well-presented in a job interview.
"How's the trial going?" he shuffled my resume into a neat pile and promptly ignored it.
"Court date is set for next April," I told him, wondering vaguely if Jamie has the heating on. "With the security footage and Zsa's testimony and mine, they think he'll serve time. He's out on bail but they let us know he's staying with family in Port Hedland. Not that he'll be coming anywhere near us again unless he wants 'violating a restraining order' added to his list of charges."
Jamie nodded curtly. "Damn right."
I'd only seen Peter once since the night he'd assaulted me, at the committal hearing where he'd pleaded not guilty. It should have infuriated me to see him trying to weasel his way out of charges, but we'd been told to expect considering how he'd acted when the police bought him in; he'd doubled down, saying I was lying, trying to erase his relationship with Zsa Zsa until it became clear there was too much proof for that, then saying the abuse in their relationship had been exaggerated because Zsa was mad he'd ended things. Lies after lies on record, and Zsa's lawyer seemed confident they'd demolish him at the trial next year. Peter had looked so much smaller in the courtroom. I was still recovering, still couldn't walk down a dark street without panic gripping me, but it had helped to see his head down, shoulders sagged, blubbering until he'd been harshly cut off by the magistrate. That, and the VRO that kept him far away from my home, school, and the clubs Zsa worked. Everyone in the community knew what he'd done to us both. He was not welcome in the Perth scene anymore.
"Zsa said you were bought in for questioning," I recalled. "I'm sorry you got dragged into all this."
"Don't be. It was just fact-checking from the night he got attacked outside the club. I wish you'd told me," he sighed through his nose. "I'm just glad you're alright. Well. Alright as you can be."
A terse silence fell over us as Jamie picked up my ID once again as if he didn't quite believe it was real.
"Sixteen," he finally uttered. "You started working here when you were sixteen."
I knew better than to argue semantics, like the fact I was sixteen and seven months, nearly seventeen. But sixteen and seven months was still sixteen and underage was still underage.
"The police know I lied about my age. Under the circumstances, they decided to look the other way so long as I ceased work at all eighteen plus establishments," I rambled. "But... now..."
"You're legal," Jamie said flatly., "Always thought you had a baby face. Jesus, Seph - Miles. Do you have any idea how much trouble I could have gotten into?"
"I do. I'm sorry."
"Not just that," he weaved his fingers through his hair and tugged on it frustratedly. "I supplied you with alcohol. I let you work the bar. I drank with you."
"And I shouldn't have put you in that position."
"Yes. You shouldn't have," Jamie dropped his hands to his desk and looked defeated. "And you want to work here again?"
"I got my RSA last week," I offered. "That resume is legit. I don't expect to be on stage from day one. I can wipe tables down if that's where you need me."
Jamie laughed almost manically. "You've got to have balls like grapefruits, disappearing for three months and coming back freshly eighteen. After having me believing you were twenty-two."
I chewed the inside of my cheek for a solid minute until it was clear Jamie wasn't going to say anymore. "I just wanted to perform. I just wanted a place to be Sephora. And I lied, and I was selfish. And if you don't want to ever see me again, I get that, but I really like it here. And I really like you."
Jamie's nostrils flared and he hid his face in his hands. His fingers were long and decorated with silver rings. "Be honest with me. Are you coming to me because you know I'm a pushover?"
"No..."
"How many of the clubs you used to work are you planning on returning to?"
I rocked back in my chair, composing my response in my head. "I'm cutting back this year. I need to focus on graduating."
"So, it's not because anyone with any sense would kick you to the curb if you tried this?"
"You're sensible. You're the most sensible person I know," I argued, and leaned in as close as the desk allowed. "I'm the delusional one, sitting here asking for work. But I had to ask. You understand?"
Jamie dropped his hands and interlaced them again. He worried at his lower lip and let his eyes drift shut as he considered.
"Tell me I'm not a complete moron for trusting you again."
"You're not," I said immediately.
"And tell me I'm not totally soft for taking you back."
"You're harder than nails, Jame."
He nodded in withered agreement. He flicked my driver's license back across the desk and shuffled off my resume to the side. "Right. We're going to do things properly this time. Contracts and probation and... no drinking on the job. Unless I say so."
I nodded eagerly. "Yes. Yes. You won't regret this."
"Hell, I probably will," he stood up. "You're lucky I'm a masochist."
I arched out of my seat and took the hand he offered. "Thank you, Jame."
"See if you're still thanking me in a week when you're scrubbing the bar past closing and MCing Drag Bingo," he growled, but his tone was jovial. "Good to have you in the team, Miles."
It felt nice to be known by my name and not an alias.
Downstairs, Zsa Zsa was stretched out across the bar and chatting with Emanuel. He was dressed casually, wearing leggings and a shapeless turtleneck jumper. He'd insisted on coming for moral support, and I suspected so he could put a little pressure on Jamie if he didn't immediately acquiesce. As I descended the staircase, he bounced to his feet. He'd grown out his hair over the last few months and liked to wear it out like Aaron did. The crutches were long gone, and he was back to twirling and strutting on the runway. His impatience through his recovery made it all the sweeter to know he was back to doing what he loved; performing. Since the hearing, his eyes were brighter, his energy more infectious. He was not quite the old Zsa Zsa, but he was working hard to get somewhere like it.
"Well?" he demanded.
I played dumb until I reached the foot of the stairs. "I'm a working woman."
"Ahhh!" he cheered, wrapping both arms around my neck in a suffocating hug. "Knew you'd be fine. Jamie's an old softie."
"Shh," I laughed, peeling myself free of him. "I'm on probation."
"And I'm pretending not to hear you!" Jamie called from upstairs. Zsa Zsa cackled.
"Right. So tonight?" he ushered me through the doors onto the street, where the street was busy with daytime activity. In four hours, the bustling shoppers and prams and men in suits would be gone, replaced by the vibrantly dressed clubbing crowds; Zsa and I would be among them. "I can't believe you'll be having your first ever drink with me, completely legally, at your first ever club tonight!"
I grinned devilishly across at him. "You're impossible."
"No, I just missed you," he threw his arms around my shoulders and squeezed. "Does Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome want to join us?"
Most of my friends fell into that category, especially compared to me, but I knew who he was referring to. "You mean Caleb? I mean, probably. If I ask him to."
"Caleb," Zsa rolled the name around in his mouth like something sweet. "I haven't seen him around much, since you've been barred."
"His mother has him chained to his textbooks most nights," I smiled to myself, pulling on my jacket. The weather was warming, but the wind was still biting when funnelled through the blocky urban landscape. "Can I invite Aaron and Max too?"
Zsa looked genuinely perplexed. "Max?"
"Max. Maxim. Maximillian?" I prompted and then rolled my eyes. "Straight Aaron."
"Oh! Yes, of course. He's a delight." Without the clubs as our regular meeting spot, Zsa Zsa and I had decided to try out a friendship outside the realms of getting drunk in women's clothing together. Brunch, for the most part. Sometimes Aaron tagged along. Sometimes Max joined. Zsa and Max had seemed generally suspicious of one another at first, but since they'd found common ground in teasing me, they seemed to be getting along a lot better. That, and Aaron had explained to Max in no uncertain terms he didn't actually mind Zsa calling him 'honey bunches' in casual conversation.
"So, how dolled up are we getting this evening?" Zsa grabbed my shoulders. "I have a semi-translucent baby-doll dress in orange that I bought on a whim and can't wear without bike shorts. I need to live vicariously through your 5-foot nothing body."
"I am deeply offended and accept your generous offer," we linked arms as we made our way over to the bus. "How are you doing, Grayson?"
He looked thoughtful for a second and then smiled. "I'm getting there. How are you, Miles?"
Getting there felt about right. I rested my head on his shoulder. "I've still got some things to work out. Like what to wear to the school ball."
Zsa gasped and clapped his hands. "I styled thirteen people for my high school dance. Do you want to win Beau or Belle of the Ball? Because I can work in either category."