Laurel Melody Parker, October 2017, San Francisco, California
The sound that came out of Laurel's throat wasn't quite a scream and wasn't quite a sob. It was something rawer, more primal—the sound of something essential being torn away. She stumbled out of Richard's study, her legs unsteady, the polished hardwood floor seeming to shift beneath her feet like the deck of a ship in rough seas.
Eleanor was in the kitchen, arranging flowers in a crystal vase with the precise, methodical movements of someone trying to create order in chaos. She looked up as Laurel burst through the doorway, her face immediately creasing with concern.
"Laurel? Sweetheart, what's wrong?"
"He canceled my hormones," Laurel gasped, her hands shaking so violently she had to grip the marble countertop to steady herself. "He called the pharmacy. He stopped everything."
Eleanor's face went pale. "Oh, honey." She set down the flowers, her movements suddenly uncertain. "Maybe you should sit down. Let me get you some water."
"I don't want water!" The words came out sharper than Laurel intended. "I want my medication! I want my life back! I want my mom!"
The last word cracked like a whip, and suddenly Laurel was crying—not the quiet, controlled tears she'd been rationing since the memorial service, but great, heaving sobs that doubled her over. Eleanor rushed around the counter, her arms outstretched, but Laurel flinched away.
"Don't," Laurel choked out. "Just—don't. You knew. You knew what he was planning."
Eleanor's hands fell to her sides. "Laurel, we're just trying to do what's best—"
"Best for who?" Laurel straightened up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. "Best for me? Or best for your image? Best for your comfort level?"
"That's not fair."
"Fair?" Laurel laughed, a bitter sound that echoed off the pristine walls. "My mother JUST died. I've been ripped away from everyone I love. I'm being forced to live with people who think my existence is a mistake. And now you're taking away the one thing that was helping me feel like myself. Tell me what part of this is fair, Grandma."
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears, but Laurel couldn't bring herself to care. She turned and ran for her room, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the expensive artwork on the walls.
Her phone was buzzing on the nightstand—Dani, probably, or Sam, or one of the other people who knew her, who saw her, who didn't think she was a phase or a mistake or a symptom of her mother's mental illness. But Richard had made it clear that her contact with them was to be "limited and supervised." Another rule in his expanding collection.
She didn't answer the phone. Instead, she crawled into bed fully clothed and pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out the world, trying to pretend she was somewhere else. Anywhere else.
The next morning brought the first wave of what would become a familiar hell. Without the estrogen, without the testosterone blockers, her body would start to change again. All the progress she'd made—the softening of her features, the way her voice had settled, the peace she'd found in her own skin—it would all unravel.
She stood in front of the bathroom mirror, cataloging her face like she was memorizing it before it disappeared. Her face was still soft. Her skin was still smooth. The changes the hormones had brought were still there, but she knew they wouldn't last. Not without chemical reinforcement. Not without the tiny pills that had become her lifeline.
"How long?" she whispered to her reflection. "How long do I have?"
Her reflection didn't answer.
Richard had breakfast waiting when she finally dragged herself to the kitchen. Real breakfast—eggs Benedict, fresh fruit, artisanal coffee. The kind of meal that should have been a luxury but felt like a bribe.
"I've made you an appointment," he said without preamble, cutting into his hollandaise sauce with surgical precision. "Dr. Reeves at Washington State. She's one of the top childpsychiatrists. Very well-regarded. Conservative in her approach, which I think is exactly what we need."
Laurel stared at the plate he'd set in front of her. "I don't need a psychiatrist. Especially not one all the way in Washington.”
"Everyone needs support during grief counseling," Richard said smoothly. "And Dr. Reeves specializes in adolescents dealing with gender identity issues. She'll be able to give us an objective assessment of your situation."
"My situation?" Laurel looked up at him, her fork suspended halfway to her mouth. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
"Laurel." Eleanor's voice was gentle but firm. "Your grandfather is trying to help."
"By making me see someone who thinks I'm crazy?"
"No one thinks you're crazy," Richard said. "But you are a child dealing with extraordinary circumstances. Gender dysphoria is a serious condition that requires careful, professional evaluation. Not the kind of rushed, activist-driven approach your mother pursued."
The casual cruelty of it—the way he could disparage April's love and support in the same breath as ordering breakfast—made Laurel's stomach turn. She pushed the plate away, the sound of porcelain scraping against granite unnaturally loud in the pristine kitchen.
"I'm not going."
Richard set down his coffee cup with deliberate care. "Yes, you are. The appointment is in two weeks, Tuesday at two o'clock. I'll be flying with you there personally."
"You can't make me talk to her."
"No," Richard agreed. "But I can make decisions about your medical care based on her recommendations. And I can make decisions about where you live, where you go to school, who you're allowed to see. Would you like me to elaborate on those decisions?"
The threat hung in the air between them, clean and sharp as a scalpel. Laurel understood. Play along with his charade of caring, or lose what little autonomy she had left.
She nodded once, a tight, reluctant motion.
"Good," Richard said, returning to his breakfast as if the conversation had been about the weather. "I knew you'd see reason."
Dani Rivera, October 20th 2018, Laurel, Montana
Dani woke to sunlight stabbing through the thin curtains of the studio apartment, drilling directly into her skull with the precision of a laser. Her mouth tasted like something had died in it—stale beer, cigarette smoke, and regret, mostly regret. She groaned and turned her face into the pillow, which smelled like cheap detergent and the particular staleness of a furnished apartment that had seen too many transient tenants.
For a blissful moment, she didn't remember. Then it all came rushing back in a nauseating flood: the party, the drinking, Ana's hands in her hair, the fogged windows of the Saturn, the desperate heat of two people trying to outrun their loneliness, the way Ana had whispered “I want to feel you inside me”, the aftermath of tangled limbs and guilt.
"Fuck," she muttered into the pillow.
"Good morning to you too," Sam's voice came from across the room, dry and unimpressed.
Dani cracked one eye open. Sam was sitting on the futon that doubled as his bed, laptop balanced on his knees, still in his pajama pants and a faded hoodie. He looked at her over the screen, his expression somewhere between concerned and I told you so.
"What time is it?" Dani croaked.
"Almost eleven. You came in around two-thirty. Drunk. Again." He closed the laptop with a soft click. "Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"Tough." Sam set the laptop aside and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You promised me you wouldn't drink. You promised you'd stay focused."
"I know."
"So what happened?"
Dani sat up slowly, the room tilting dangerously before settling. Her leather jacket wasn't with her, her shoes were kicked off haphazardly. She was still in yesterday's clothes—jeans and a tank, both wrinkled and smelling like the party. She couldn't quite meet Sam's eyes.
"I went to the party. Like I said I would. And I… I ran into Ana again."
"The girl from the bar."
"Yeah."
"And?"
"And we…" Dani ran her hands through her hair, wincing as her fingers caught on tangles. "We hooked up. In my car…"
Sam was quiet for a long moment. Dani could feel his judgment even without looking at him, the weight of his disappointment settling over her shoulders like a heavy coat.
"Dani," he said finally, his voice carefully controlled, "what are you doing?"
"I don't know."
"That's not good enough." Sam stood up, crossing the small space to sit on the edge of her bed. "You drove hundreds of miles to find Laurel. You spent a year searching for her. You gave up your job, your life in California, everything—all for her. And now you're here, you've found her, and instead of waiting for her to be ready, you're getting drunk and hooking up with random girls at high school parties?"
"She's not random," Dani said defensively, then immediately regretted it. "I mean—she's not some stranger. We've… we've talked. She's dealing with her own stuff."
"Everyone's dealing with their own stuff, Dani. That doesn't mean you should be making out with them in parking lots." Sam's voice gentled slightly. "I'm worried about you. You're spiraling."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are." He put a hand on her shoulder. "You're doing the same thing you did after your mom kicked you out. You're running from the pain instead of dealing with it. You're trying to fill the hole with anything that makes you feel less alone, even if it's just for a night. You've been running since the day Laurel left. You haven't even slowed down to process April's death and what's happening now is you doing anything else to avoid it.”
Dani just stood up, anger on her face and stormed out the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
Sam examined the car keys he had taken out of his pocket, “Don't go too far Dani!”
Dani was already down the stairs nearly barreling over a woman in the process. She stepped out onto the stairway covered only by the awning and saw the icy rain pouring down.
“Oh!” Was the only thing that came from Dani as she slumped against the steps, before sitting down and checking her phone. The wind was cold and wet, icy rain splashing against the ground and ricochetting at her. She couldn't find her jacket and her skin raised and goosebumped.
The rain was relentless, that particular Montana brand of cold that seeped through skin and settled in bones. Dani sat on the steps under the minimal shelter of the awning, watching sheets of icy water cascade from the gutters, her phone clutched uselessly in her hands. The screen showed a dozen unopened notifications—Sofia checking in, a spam email, a reminder about her car insurance being due. Nothing that mattered.
She was scrolling through old photos, torturing herself with images from another life. Laurel at the beach, laughing at something off-camera. Laurel and Dani together at Pride, rainbow face paint smeared across their cheeks. Laurel in that yellow sundress April had bought her, the one that had made her cry because it fit just right.
"Dani?"
She looked up sharply, nearly dropping her phone.
Through the curtain of rain, a figure approached—blonde hair plastered to her head, makeup running in dark streaks down her face, shivering in what looked like an expensive dress that was now completely ruined. And over it all, incongruous and familiar, was Dani's leather jacket.
Ana.
They locked eyes across the rain-slicked parking lot. For a moment, neither moved. Then Ana was walking toward her, her heels clicking against the wet pavement, her arms wrapped around herself even with the jacket on.
"You left this," Ana said when she reached the stairs, her voice hoarse, barely audible over the rain. She started to shrug off the jacket, but Dani held up a hand.
"Keep it. You're already soaked."
Ana hesitated, then nodded, pulling the jacket tighter around herself. She looked like hell—mascara tracked down her cheeks in muddy rivers, her lipstick smeared, her eyes red and swollen like she'd been crying. She climbed the steps slowly and sat down next to Dani, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. They just sat there, watching the rain, two girls trying to figure out how they'd ended up here.
"I got into a fight," Ana said finally, her voice flat. "With Sarah. She saw us. At the party. When we were dancing."
Dani's stomach dropped. "Shit. I'm sorry."
"Don't be." Ana let out a bitter laugh. "It was going to happen eventually. She's been suspicious for a while. I've been too careful for too long, and then one night I just..." She trailed off, shaking her head. "I stopped caring. For like five minutes, I just let myself stop caring what everyone thought."
"What did she say?"
"The usual." Ana's voice was hollow. "That I'm disgusting. That I'm going to hell. That she can't believe she was friends with someone like me. She threatened to tell everyone, to out me to the whole school." She pulled her knees up to her chest, the jacket bunching around her. "But then I reminded her about what happened at Tyler Morrison's party last summer. She has as much to lose as I do. So we're at a stalemate."
Dani didn't ask what happened at Tyler Morrison's party. It wasn't her business.
"I'm sorry," Dani said again, because what else was there to say?
"Are you?" Ana turned to look at her, and there was something raw in her expression. "Sorry for me? Or sorry you kissed me?"
"Both. Neither. I don't know." Dani ran a hand through her wet hair. "I shouldn't have gone to that party. I shouldn't have drunk. I shouldn't have—"
"Don't." Ana's voice was sharp. "Don't do that. Don't make last night into something I forced on you. We both wanted it. We're both equally fucked up."
She wasn't wrong.
They sat in silence again. The rain showed no signs of letting up. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled, a low threatening sound that promised the storm was far from over.
"My mom," Ana said suddenly, "is paying for me to go to university in Washington. Washington State. Full ride, as long as I keep my grades up and don't cause any 'problems.'" She made air quotes with her fingers. "She has very specific ideas about what constitutes a problem. And being a lesbian is pretty high on that list."
"That's fucked up," Dani said quietly.
Ana laughed, but there was no humor in it. "That's my life. If she finds out—if anyone tells her—I'm done. No college. No future. She'll kick me out just like she's been threatening to do since I was fourteen and she found texts on my phone from a girl I liked."
The confession hung between them, heavy and painful.
"I get it," Dani said, and she meant it. "More than you know."
Ana turned to her, something sharp in her gaze. "How can you get it? Your mom was some liberal mom waving pride flags in California, right? That's what everyone assumes about Californians. That you all just... like that.”"
The assumption stung, but Dani couldn't blame her for making it. "Is that what they think of Californians here?"
"Yeah," Ana nodded. "Kinda."
Dani took a breath, the cold air burning her lungs. "My mom kicked me out when I was fourteen. I never came out to her, she knew when I took a girl to homecoming. I never told her I was a lesbian, and she told me to leave. That I was bringing shame on my father's memory. She gave me an hour to pack my things and then she locked me out of the house."
Ana's eyes widened. "Dani—"
"It was Laurel's mom who took me in," Dani continued, the words coming faster now, like a dam breaking. "April. She'd just moved to California with Laurel, they'd escaped from here actually, and she opened her home to me. No questions asked. No conditions. She just... saw a kid who needed help and she helped. She became more of a mother to me than my own ever was."
"Shit." Ana was quiet for a moment.
"She saved me…” Dani said softly. "And then she was gone. And they took Laurel away to live with her grandparents, and I never saw Laurel again. Until now. Until here."
"But she won't see you."
"No." Dani's voice cracked. "She ran from me. Like I was the last person on earth she wanted to see."
Ana reached out, her hand finding Dani's in the space between them. Her fingers were cold and wet from the rain, but she squeezed gently. "I'm sorry. That's... that's really shitty."
"Thanks."
They sat like that for a while, hands linked, two broken girls seeking warmth in the Montana cold. The rain continued its assault, but under the awning, they were mostly protected. Mostly.
"For what it's worth," Ana said eventually, "I think she's an idiot. For not wanting to see you. For running. You came all this way for her."
"It's more complicated than that," Dani said. "She's going through something I can't even imagine. I just wish... I wish there was something I could do."
"Maybe there is." Ana turned to face her more fully.
"I know," Dani whispered. "That's why I can't just leave. Even if she never talks to me again, I need to be here. I need her to know someone's here who sees her."
Ana looked at her for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. Then she leaned in and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Dani's cheek.
"You're a good person, Dani Rivera," she said quietly. "Your girl is lucky to have you. Even if she doesn't know it yet."
Before Dani could respond, the apartment door behind them opened.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Both girls jumped, turning to find Sam standing in the doorway. He was holding Dani's car keys in one hand and had grabbed his jacket with the other. His expression was carefully neutral, but there was concern in his eyes.
"Sam," Dani said, scrambling to her feet. "This is Ana. Ana, this is Sam, my—"
"Roommate," Sam supplied. "And keeper of the car keys, apparently." He looked between them, taking in Ana's ruined dress and borrowed leather jacket, Dani's wet clothes and guilty expression. "I came to tell you it's freezing and you should come inside before you catch pneumonia, but I can see you have company."
"I was just leaving," Ana said quickly, standing up and brushing off her dress in a futile attempt to look more put-together. She shrugged off Dani's jacket and handed it over. "Thanks for... everything."
"You can keep it," Dani said. "At least until you get to your car."
"I'm parked just over there." Ana pointed to a Mercedes in the lot, sleek and expensive and completely out of place in this neighborhood. "I'll get it dry-cleaned and return it to you."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to." Ana pulled out her phone, checking the time. "Shit. I need to get home before my mom realizes I never came back last night." She looked at Dani one more time, something unreadable in her expression. "Text me sometime? If you want to talk or... I don't know. If you need anything."
"Okay," Dani said.
Ana nodded at Sam, then hurried down the steps and across the parking lot, her heels splashing through puddles. They watched her climb into the Mercedes and drive away, the expensive car disappearing into the rain.
"So," Sam said, still holding the door open. "Want to explain what that was about?"
"Not really."
Laurel Melody Parker, October 20th 2018, Spokane, Washington
The bus ride to Spokane had been a blur of early morning fog and the rhythmic thrumming of tires on asphalt. Laurel had slept through most of the pass over the mountains, her head resting on Jess’s shoulder, Ashton’s varsity jacket draped over her like a security blanket. When she finally blinked her eyes open, the landscape had changed. Gone were the flat, imposing prairies and the singular, looming mountains of Laurel. Spokane was different—hilly, filled with endless ponderosa pines that lined the highway like sentinels, and the air, even through the bus window, looked damper, greyer, but somehow greener.
They pulled into the parking lot of the Joe Albi Stadium, a massive, aging concrete bowl carved right into the earth. The wind was already making itself known, whipping the flags on the perimeter fence into a frenzy. It was a different kind of cold here—less biting, more seeping.
“Alright, everyone up! We’re here!” Miss Vick’s voice cut through the sleepy haze of the bus. “We have a classroom assignment at the middle school next door for changing and warm-ups. Grab everything. Do not leave your uniforms, do not leave your gear, and for the love of god, do not leave your trash.”
Laurel sat up, stretching her stiff limbs. The anxiety that usually sat like a stone in her gut was there, but it was buzzing with a different frequency today. Excitement. Nervous, terrifying excitement.
“You ready?” Jess asked, stretching her arms over her head and yawning.
Laurel looked down at her guard bag. Inside, tucked beneath her practice sweats, was the women’s uniform. The silver and gold bodysuit. The one she was supposed to wear.
“I think so,” Laurel whispered.
They unloaded the bus in a chaotic stream of teenagers and equipment. The wind immediately assaulted them, tossing hair and stinging cheeks.
“Welcome to Spokane!” Chase yelled over a gust, clutching his rifle bag. “Where the wind is made of spite and the grass is fake!”
They trudged toward the school building designated for the visiting bands. The hallways smelled of floor wax and old lockers, a universal scent of public education. They found their assigned room—a math classroom with equations still scrawled on the whiteboard. Desks were pushed to the perimeter to create a changing space.
This was it.
Usually, the guard split up. The boys—Montana, Chase, and Drake—would go to a separate restroom or turn their backs in a corner, while the girls took the main space. Laurel stood in the center of the room, clutching her bag, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs.
The chatter died down as people started unzipping bags.
“Hey,” Laurel said. Her voice was small, barely audible over the rustle of fabric. She cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “Hey, guys?”
The room went quiet. Jess stopped unzipping her bag and looked at her, a silent beam of support. Evelyn paused, uniform in her hand. Chase, Drake, Hannah, Zoey, Charlotte, Daisy—they all turned.
Laurel took a deep breath. She had rehearsed this in her head a thousand times on the bus ride over. I’m transgender. My name is Laurel. Please don’t hate me. But looking at them—her team, the people she’d sweated and bled and spun with for months—the script evaporated.
“I’m not wearing the vest today,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.
She reached into her bag and pulled out the shimmering bodysuit. The sequins caught the fluorescent classroom lights, casting tiny fractured rainbows on the linoleum.
“I’m wearing this,” she continued, holding it up. “Because… because it’s the right one. For me.”
She looked up, meeting their eyes one by one. “My name isn’t Montana. It’s Laurel. I’m… I’m a girl. I’ve been hiding it because of my dad, and I still have to hide it from him when we get back. But here? Today? I want to be me.”
Silence stretched for a heartbeat, thick and heavy. Laurel braced herself for the confusion, for the questions, for the awkward shifting of feet.
Then, Chase let out a low whistle. “Finally,” he deadpanned. “I was wondering when we were gonna talk about why you have better eyeliner skills than half the team.”
The tension in the room snapped like a rubber band.
“Oh my god, thank you!” Zoey exclaimed, throwing her hands up. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the vest did absolutely nothing for you. The bodysuit is going to look so much better in the closer.”
Evelyn stepped forward, a grin spreading across her face. “Nice to finally meet you Laurel.”
“Yeah,” Laurel breathed, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s nice to finally meet you too Ev.”
“Laurel,” Drake said, testing the name. He nodded, his expression serious but approving. “It suits you.”
“Okay, okay, group hug later,” Jess interrupted, stepping in to play captain, though her eyes were shining. “We have a show to put on, and Laurel needs to get into that uniform. And we need to do hair. And makeup. Real makeup. No 'subtle boy' look today.”
“Full glam?” Hannah asked, already digging into her oversized makeup kit.
“Full glam,” Laurel confirmed, feeling a rush of pure, unadulterated joy.
The next twenty minutes were a whirlwind of acceptance that felt like a dream. There was no weirdness, no hesitation. The team simply shifted gears. They formed a protective circle around her as she changed, giving her privacy not out of shame, but out of respect.
When she pulled the bodysuit on, it felt like taking a breath after holding it for months. The fabric was cool and snug, fitting her frame in a way the boxy vest never had. It allowed her to move, to breathe, to exist.
She sat in a desk chair while Jess and Hannah went to work. Foundation that actually matched. Contour that softened her jaw rather than sharpening it. Gold glitter eyeshadow that matched the flags. Mascara. Lipstick.
When Jess handed her the mirror, Laurel stared.
The person looking back wasn’t Montana. It wasn’t the ghost she saw in her bathroom mirror at home. It was Laurel. Undeniably, radiantly Laurel.
“Wow,” she whispered.
“You look beautiful,” Evelyn said, leaning over her shoulder. “Now let’s go spin some flags and make the other bands jealous.”
Just as Laurel stood up, smoothing the sequins on her hips, the classroom door opened.
Miss Vick stepped in, clipboard in hand. “Alright, five minutes to warm—oh.”
She stopped. Her gaze landed on Laurel.
The room went silent again, a protective tension rising. Jess took a half-step in front of Laurel, ready to defend her.
But Miss Vick didn’t look angry. She didn’t look confused. She looked… struck. Her eyes widened, and her hand went instinctively to her chest, clutching the fabric of her windbreaker. She stared at Laurel—at the auburn hair pulled back in a complex braid, the gold makeup, the way the uniform fit.
“Miss Vick?” Laurel asked, her voice trembling. “Is… is this okay? For the performance?”
Miss Vick blinked, shaking herself out of whatever trance she’d fallen into. Her eyes were glassy. “Okay?” she repeated, her voice thick. “Montana—Laurel. It’s… it’s perfect.”
She cleared her throat, blinking rapidly, and turned to the rest of the guard. “Everyone, head out to the grassy area for warm-ups. Jane is waiting for you. Laurel, stay here for a second.”
The team hesitated, looking to Laurel. She nodded. “It’s okay. I’ll be right there.”
As the students filed out, Jess gave Laurel’s hand a quick squeeze before disappearing into the hallway. The door clicked shut, leaving Laurel and Miss Vick alone in the quiet classroom.
Miss Vick walked over to a desk and leaned against it, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose. When she looked up, her expression was so open, so full of raw emotion, that Laurel felt like an intruder.
“I knew you looked like her,” Miss Vick said softly. “But seeing you like this… it’s like seeing a ghost. A happy ghost.”
Laurel shifted her weight. “My mom?”
“April,” Miss Vick said, saying the name like a prayer. “We were… close. In high school.”
“She never told me,” Laurel said. “She said she had friends here, but she never mentioned names.”
Miss Vick let out a wet, breathless laugh. “We had to be careful. It was the nineties, Laurel. In Montana. It wasn’t like it is now—and god knows it’s still hard now. But back then?” She shook her head. “We were best friends. And then… we were more. Sophomore year. We dated for about six months.”
Laurel’s jaw dropped. “You and my mom?”
“We thought we were so sneaky,” Miss Vick said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “Passing notes in lockers, holding hands under the table in the library. She was… she was the brightest thing in this town. She had this fire in her. She wanted to burn everything down and build something beautiful from the ashes.”
She looked at Laurel, her eyes searching. “She talked about you, you know. Even after she left Derrick. We wrote letters for a while. She told me about California. She told me about… the changes.”
“She told you I was trans?”
“She told me she finally had a daughter,” Miss Vick corrected gently. “She was so proud of you, Laurel. She sent me a picture once, from your first day of school as yourself. You were wearing a pink sweater.”
Laurel felt tears pricking her eyes, threatening to ruin Hannah’s hard work. “I remember that sweater.”
“I stopped hearing from her a few years ago,” Miss Vick said, her voice dropping. “I knew things were hard. I knew the depression… it ran in her family. But I always hoped she’d find her way back.” She took a deep breath, composing herself. “When I saw you on the roster this year, as Montana… it broke my heart. Because I knew. I knew you were hiding. And I knew exactly who you were hiding from.”
“Derrick,” Laurel whispered.
Miss Vick’s face hardened. “Derrick Payton. We were all in the same class. He was… charming, back then. In a loud, take-up-all-the-space kind of way. April loved him, for a while. Or she thought she did. He promised her safety. He promised her normal. And April… she just wanted to be safe.”
She pushed off the desk and walked over to Laurel, placing her hands on Laurel’s shoulders. “I am so sorry for how he treats you. I’m sorry he can’t see what’s right in front of him. I’m friends with him, yes—in this town, you have to be friends with everyone to survive—but I have never forgiven him for how he dimmed her light. And I hate that he’s trying to dim yours.”
“He signed the permission slip,” Laurel said, feeling the need to defend the small victory.
“He did,” Miss Vick agreed. “But you’re the one who’s brave enough to stand here today. You’re the one wearing that uniform.” She squeezed Laurel’s shoulders. “April would be losing her mind right now. She would be screaming from the stands. She loved color guard, but she would have loved seeing you like this even more.”
A tear escaped, tracking through the gold glitter on Laurel’s cheek. “Thank you.”
“No,” Miss Vick said firmly. “Thank you. For trusting us. Now.” She stepped back, wiping her own eyes and putting her glasses back on. “We have a competition to win. And I believe you have a solo to nail.”
“It’s really windy out there,” Laurel sniffled, laughing nervously.
“Then hold on tight,” Miss Vick said with a wink. “And if you drop? Drop with style. Make it look like part of the choreography. That’s what April would have done.”
Laurel nodded, taking a deep breath. She felt lighter than air. “Okay. Let’s do this.”
They walked out of the classroom together, leaving the ghost of Montana behind in a pile of clothes on a desk.
The warm-up field was a chaotic tapestry of sound and color. Bands from all over Washington, Idaho, and Montana were scattered across the grass, a cacophony of drum cadences and brass warm-ups. The wind was relentless, whipping flags into tangles and threatening to knock over shakos, but the energy was infectious.
When Laurel jogged up to the Laurel High block, the band kids stared. Some whispered. But mostly, they just looked. And then, the drum major, a senior named Ed, gave her a thumbs up.
“Looking sharp!” he called out.
Laurel beamed. It wasn’t a secret anymore. Not here. Here, she was just part of the team.
They lined up at the gate, the adrenaline spiking. The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium speakers, distorted by the wind.
“Please welcome to the field… from Laurel, Montana… the Laurel High School Marching Band!”
They marched onto the field, the turf spongy under Laurel’s jazz shoes. The stadium was huge, the stands packed with spectators bundled in blankets. But Laurel didn’t look at them. She looked at her team. She looked at Jess, who winked at her from the front hash mark.
The music started. My Body is a Cage.
But today, the cage was open.
Laurel moved, and the sequins on her bodysuit caught the grey daylight, turning her into a beacon. She spun, and the flag snapped in the wind, a satisfying thwack that vibrated through her arms.
The wind was a nightmare. During the ballad, a gust caught Hannah’s flag, wrapping it tight around the pole. Instead of panicking, Hannah just pirouetted, unwinding it with a flourish that looked entirely intentional.
During the rifle feature—the one Laurel, Jess, and Chase had perfected—the wind took Chase’s toss and carried it three feet to the left. He had to dive for it, rolling on the ground and popping up just in time for the next count. He was laughing as he did it.
Laurel didn’t care about the score. She didn’t care about the clean lines. She threw her sabre into the grey sky, watching it spin against the clouds. For a terrifying second, the wind batted it sideways. She adjusted her feet, reached out, and—
Smack.
Solid catch.
She let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sob. She was dancing. She was spinning. She was a girl in a gold bodysuit in the middle of a football stadium in Spokane, Washington, and nobody could tell her she wasn’t.
The show ended with the final power chord. Laurel hit her pose—chest up, head back, looking straight up at the sky. She imagined her mom up there, sitting on a cloud with Miss Vick’s high school self, eating popcorn and cheering.
The crowd roared. It sounded like thunder.
“Clear the field!” Miss Vick shouted, though she was grinning from the sideline.
They ran off, breathless and giddy. As soon as they crossed the track and got into the tunnel, the decorum broke.
“Did you see me dive?!” Chase yelled, high-fiving Drake. “I looked like an action hero!”
“You looked like a fish flopping on a deck!” Evelyn retorted, laughing.
Jess grabbed Laurel and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug. The sequins scratched against Jess’s uniform, but neither cared.
“You did it,” Jess whispered in her ear. “You were amazing.”
Laurel pulled back, her face flushed, her hair a windblown mess. “I felt amazing.”
“Okay, guard!” Miss Vick corralled them. “Go change out of uniforms—keep the makeup if you want, I don't care—and get some food. We have two hours before awards. Meet in the stands, section 4.”
“Can I keep the bodysuit on?” Laurel asked, half-joking.
“You’ll freeze to death,” Miss Vick said. “Put some sweats on. But… you can keep the hair.”
Changing back into street clothes felt less like a defeat and more like a cozy intermission. Laurel kept the makeup on, the gold glitter sparkling defiantly above her hoodie. She pulled on her sweatpants and Ashton’s varsity jacket, which she had “borrowed” again for the trip.
They raided the concession stand like a swarm of locusts. Laurel, armed with the twenty dollars Drake had given her (and another ten Miss Vick had slipped her “for the road”), bought the biggest order of nachos available, and a hot chocolate.
“You gonna eat all that?” Chase asked, eyeing her haul as they climbed the stadium stairs.
“Watch me,” Laurel challenged. And for the first time in weeks, she actually felt hungry. The gnawing, anxious pit in her stomach was gone, replaced by the hollow ache of physical exertion.
They found a spot in the upper bleachers, huddled together against the wind. It was a pile of blankets, guard jackets, and teenagers. Laurel ended up sandwiched between Jess and Evelyn, with a blanket thrown over their collective laps.
“Okay, spill,” Evelyn said, stealing a nacho from Laurel’s tray. “How terrified were you when the wind took that sabre toss?”
“I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Laurel admitted, munching on a jalapeño. “I thought it was going to hit the judge.”
“That would have been extra points for impact,” Jess noted, blowing on her hot cocoa.
They watched the other bands perform. A group from Seattle did a show about space exploration that involved giant planet props rolling around the field. One of the planets was ripped away by the wind halfway through, causing the guard to dissolve into giggles.
“See?” Laurel pointed. “Everyone’s a mess today. It’s the wind.”
“It’s the vibes,” Drake corrected from the row behind them. “Spokane vibes are chaotic.”
Laurel leaned back, resting her head against the concrete wall behind them. She felt warm. She felt full. She looked around at her friends—Jess, who was currently arguing with Chase about whether a hot dog is a sandwich; Evelyn, who was braiding Hannah’s hair; Drake, who was quietly sharing his popcorn with Zoey.
They knew. They all knew. And nothing had burned down. The sky hadn’t fallen.
“Hey,” Jess nudged her gently. “You okay?”
Laurel looked at her. The gold eyeshadow shimmered in the stadium lights. “Yeah. I really am.”
“Good.” Jess smiled, wrapping an arm around Laurel’s shoulders and pulling her closer under the blanket. “Because you’ve got cheese on your chin.”
Laurel laughed, wiping it off. “Shut up.”
“Make me.”
It was lighthearted. It was fun. It was normal.
For the first time in a long time, Laurel didn't feel like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was just a girl, sitting in the stands with her friends, watching a marching band show, eating nachos, and feeling the cold wind on her face.
She pulled her phone out and snapped a selfie—just her eyes and the gold makeup, the stadium lights blurring in the background.
Jessica Perot, October 20th 2018, The Bus from Spokane to Laurel, I-90 Near Missoula, MT
The bus was a capsule of darkness and rhythmic vibration, hurtling through the emptiness of the Idaho panhandle. Outside the tinted windows, there was nothing but the occasional flash of headlights and the endless, oppressive black of the pines. Inside, it was a symphony of exhausted breathing, the soft click of someone texting, and the low hum of the engine.
But in seat 12B, it was bright.
Laurel was huddled next to me, her knees pulled up to her chest, Ashton’s oversized varsity jacket swallowing her frame. The blue light from her phone illuminated her face, catching the flecks of gold glitter that still clung to her eyelids. She was watching The Good Place, one earbud in, the other dangling loose so she could hear.
She wasn't just watching it, though. She was dissecting it.
"See, that's the thing about Chidi," she whispered, her voice rapid and light, buzzing with the residual adrenaline of the performance. "He thinks the ethical choice is always the one that follows the rules, but the rules are rigged. The whole point system is broken because it doesn't account for complexity. You can try to be good your whole life, but if you buy a tomato that was harvested by underpaid labor, you lose points. It’s impossible to just exist without being punished for it."
Jess watched her, not really listening to the plot, but listening to the cadence of her voice. It was the most she’d spoken in weeks. Maybe months.
"It feels like that sometimes," she murmured, her eyes glued to the tiny screen where Ted Danson was wearing a bow tie. "Like no matter what you do, you’re already in the Bad Place just because of where you started."
"You’re not in the Bad Place, Laurel," Jess said softly.
She glanced up at me, a small, tired smile touching her lips. "I know. Today was... today was a Good Place day."
"Yeah. It was."
She went back to the screen, but her energy was fading. The frantic joy of the performance was crashing into the reality of physical exhaustion. Her head, which had been hovering near Jess's shoulder, finally gave up the fight and settled against her.
Jess froze for a second, her heart doing a traitorous little flip in my chest, before she forced her muscles to relax, adjusting slightly, letting Laurel find a comfortable spot in the crook of her neck. Laurel smelled like concession stand popcorn and nachos, expensive hairspray, and the faint, clean scent of the cold wind that had battered them all day.
It was torture. It was absolute, perfect torture.
"Janet is the best character," she mumbled, her eyes drooping. "She knows everything... but she still has to update..."
"Go to sleep, Laurel," Jess whispered.
"Not tired... just resting my eyes..."
She watched her fight it for another minute, her lashes fluttering against her cheek. The gold makeup caught the light from the screen one last time before her hand went slack, the phone slipping from her fingers onto her lap.
Jess gently took the phone, pausing the episode—Eleanor was looking panicked, which felt appropriate—and locked the screen. The darkness rushed back in, intimate and heavy.
Laurel shifted in her sleep, burying her face closer to Jess's neck, Laurel's breath warm against her skin.
Jess stared at the seat ahead of them, the fabric worn and grey, trying to keep her breathing even while her arm was around Laurel, just to keep her steady as the bus took a curve, but it felt like she was holding something fragile and rare.
God, she was beautiful. Not just the makeup or the feminine clothes she’d worn today, but her. The way she tried so hard. The way she’d stood in that classroom in Spokane, terrified but determined. The way she trusted Jess enough to fall asleep on her like this, defenseless.
Jess looked down at her. In the shadows, the sharp angles of her face softened. She looked peaceful.
A dangerous, quiet thought bloomed in my chest. She could kiss her.
It would be so easy. Just a shift of an inch. A press of my lips to her forehead, or her temple. Or, if she was brave—if she was reckless—her lips.
My heart hammered against my ribs, loud enough that she was afraid it would wake Laurel. The attraction wasn't new—she'd known she was in trouble the moment Laurel had looked at her with those haunted eyes when she first tried on the uniform in Jess’s room—but tonight, it was an ache. It was a physical pain in the center of her chest.
She wanted to kiss her. She wanted to tell her that she saw her, every part of her, and that she loved all of her.
But she couldn't. She was her safe harbor. She was the one person she didn't have to perform for, didn't have to worry about. If she crossed that line and Laurel didn't feel the same way... if she made things even more complicated when her life was already a labyrinth of complications... She'd never forgive herself.
Jess let out a shaky breath and leaned my head back against the seat, closing my eyes. Just be her friend, Jess. Just be the captain.
"Jess?"
The whisper came from the aisle.
Jess snapped her eyes open. Evelyn was leaning over from the seat across the aisle, her dark hair falling over her face. The rest of the bus was asleep, a chorus of snores and deep breathing surrounding us.
"Yeah?" Jess whispered back, careful not to jostle Laurel.
Evelyn’s face was illuminated by the glow of her own phone. She looked grim. Not her usual sarcastic, tired grim. This was something else.
"You awake?" she mouthed.
"Yeah. What's up?"
Evelyn glanced down at Laurel sleeping on Jess's shoulder, then back to her face. She hesitated, biting her lip. "I just got a text. From my friend Becka. She was at that party last night. The one at Brett Cole’s house."
Jess stiffened. "Okay?"
"She said..." Evelyn lowered her voice even further, until it was barely a breath. "She said there's a rumor going around. Actually, not a rumor. Becka saw it."
"Saw what?"
"Ana," Evelyn whispered, the name dropping like a stone between the two of them. "She said Ana Yankowski was hooking up with a girl."
The air left her lungs.
Ana??? The girl who had terrified her out of the closet freshman year. The girl who had destroyed her to protect her own image.
"A girl?" Jess repeated, her voice barely audible.
"Yeah," Evelyn said, her eyes wide. "Becka didn't know who the other girl was. Said she was new, dark hair, But apparently, they were all over each other."
"Shit," Jess whispered into the dark.
Evelyn nodded, looking sympathetic. "Yeah. Bad news travels fast on a Saturday night."
She sat back in her seat, leaving Jess alone in the dark with the hum of the engine and the weight of a secret that was going to ruin everything. She just pulled Laurel closer, wrapping her arm tighter around her, as the bus hurtled us back toward a town that was waiting to chew them up.