6: Your Mission, Should You Choose to Accept It

☽ Peter ☽

As it turns out, Nicole is thrilled about the whole club idea. I have no idea why, but she's been bugging me about it endlessly, and after a few days of listening to her preposterous club names, I finally shut my locker and give in.

"I will agree to this—"

Nicole jumps to wrap her arms around me, squeezing until I nearly can't breathe. "Finally! I was starting to annoy myself with that."

"If," I continue, turning to look at her, "you take care of the talking."

She nods, nearly knocking her heart-shaped glasses off her face in the process. "Like, for the club?"

"No, for the rest of my life," I joke, shifting my textbooks to my free hand and glaring at Nicole from my periphery.

The bell rings three times, signalling the start of my first-period class, Chemistry. Nicole and I didn't end up with the same teacher, so we walk through the hallways together until we reach the blue wall where she has to head to the left, and I have to go right.

"Think about club names!" she shouts as she departs.

Sighing, I take a step into the classroom. The seat closest to the door is unoccupied, so I set my textbook down and carefully scan the room. My hands are shaking from the stress, and the chairs surrounding me are empty.

Throughout the class, I focus on getting my assignment finished. I'm done before the hour is up, so I log onto my blog. The little icon in the bottom left corner shows over a hundred messages. I move past that to my most recent post, which sits at the top of the homepage.

Facts at midnight was a series I started in my ninth grade year, after staying awake for hours trying to finish my homework. I'd waste my time scrolling through Wikipedia, and I wanted a place to drop the random facts I'd learned, but couldn't include in my projects. It's the only part of the blog that ever gets me views, but this is different. Mostly because I wrote it a few seconds after reading Sam's post.

Tentatively, I open the comments. The first poster, clearly from a new account with no icon, reads, What came first, the obvious dig at culture, or the obvious homophobe?

The response after it chimes in with: Don't be naïve. It wasn't homophobic. Nothing about this town is. We fly the flag in June. We have pride parades. This is not about sexuality, plain and simple.

Both commenters have a thread about a mile long. I rub my forehead and scroll down a little further, spotting Nicole's username amongst the fray. The picture of herself is wearing comically large purple glasses with a flannel she stole from her aunt. There's no text to her response; it's just a screenshot of the timestamp on Sam's Instagram post in comparison to mine.

I'm really not sure what that proves, if anything.

After class, the teacher calls me over to her desk. Ms. Crozier is the head of the science department, and I've taken quite a few of her classes.

She's sitting behind her computer when I approach but stands once I'm in front of her. "Peter, first of all... I can't imagine what's happened. I just thought I should warn you, there are a lot of rumours circulating. And we got the custodian for the—the writing left on the bathroom wall. I'm not exactly sure what it says, but Mr. Kennedy noticed it. It's... it's a lot."

"I'm so sorry," I say.

Ms. Crozier nods. "I'm not technically allowed to involve myself in school drama, but this is out of my depth. It's out of everyone's depth, I suspect. And if there's anything I can do..."

My eyes flicker over from the floor, resting on her computer screen. "Uh... yeah. Actually, I've been thinking about starting a club. For my friends. I don't know what we're going to do yet, but we need a teacher to sign off on the idea before we take it to the student council. I'm not entirely certain how it works, but I know North High is sort of lacking any science clubs."

Her expression brightens. "Oh, that's a wonderful idea, Peter. Don't worry about dealing with staff or anything. I can take care of the bureaucratic nonsense, and if you want a place to hold it, I can free up some space. Hold on, let me check my schedule."

She turns to the adjacent wall and drags her finger across the calendar for September. In varying coloured-pens, she's written her extra help sessions for each class, her department meetings, and the list continues. After a pause, she declares, "Thursday! That would be my only free day. Does starting later today work for you? We don't have to do anything major, it's just a formality. Introductions and all that fun stuff."

"Sure. Fine with me," I say with a shrug.

Ms. Crozier claps her hands together. "Great. I think it would be nice to have some time to cool off, right? Somewhere to go. I'm sure it'll get approved, so just keep planning for the meeting, okay? No pressure."

"Yeah," I say, a bit unsteadily this time.

My steps speed up on my way out of the classroom. My next period is free, so I head down to the library for the time being. It's quiet enough that nobody bothers me, and I sink into the cycle of finishing my homework.

My pencil is tapping against the page when the door swishes open and Nicole wanders in. "There you are."

Her voice is a bit too loud for the library, and she scans the nearby tables before settling down.

"You're awfully good at disappearing."

"Thank you."

"It wasn't a compliment."

I set my pencil down, knowing I'm not getting anything done for a while. Once I've looked at her, Nicole smiles and opens her binder. The loose paper hastily clipped into place falls out and scatters across the desk.

North High: Science Club, it reads. The last two words are crossed out and replaced with, That sounds lame. Maybe specify?

"I need ideas," Nicole says. "Planning clubs is a lot of work."

"Clearly." I stare at the various pages she's used to taking note of her ideas. Most of them are half-formed, and it almost makes me smile. "I got permission for a club room. Not that I have any idea what we're going to do with it. Maybe this was stupid."

Nicole blinks. "It was stupid. Really stupid. I think we have to accept that and move on. Let's be stupid and embrace it. The Idiots Club."

"Not entirely a horrible idea," I reply.

She lowers her glasses and squints at me. She only wears them for the fun of it, unlike mine. The last time I asked why, she said it was to avoid wearing 'those ugly safety goggles' during science laboratories. "I can't tell if you're kidding."

"Sure, I let you call me stupid. I'm not publicly announcing that to the whole school, though," I say simply.

Nicole glides her finger against the table, scratching at the dents on the shiny surface. She falls into an alarming silence, so I have to ask, "What?"

"What?" she retorts.

"Nicole. Tell me."

She clicks her nails together and looks at me apologetically. "Let's get this straight. You can let the rumours get out of control, so the whole school thinks you were wrong and Sam was right, but this—this is where you draw the line?"

If I hear about another rumour, I think I'm going to scream. "I didn't start anything. Why did you have to reply to the blog post, anyway? It's pointless. You can't argue with them."

Plain and simple. I wish I had the ability to see this situation as easy and fixable. Like I can slap a bandage over it, and the problem will heal. Maybe if I just ignore it, eventually everything will go back to being okay again.

"I know that," Nicole replies. "You think I don't remember perfectly what happened in seventh grade with me? That I don't still think about it—that I can't stop thinking about it? The hate is not going to slow down, Peter. Neither are the assumptions. I was offering the only proof I could."

I sigh and place my hand against my temple. Seventh grade Nicole was pre-transition, long before she changed her name and told me that she preferred female pronouns. We'd been friends since the fourth grade, or probably even longer, and in my mind, she had always been Nicole. Nothing else. The aftermath of her coming out was different from this, and the effects lasted until she came to North High, where nobody knew who she was.

"It's different," I point out.

She scoffs. "Obviously. I'm not comparing. Not really. I'm... suggesting that you need to decide what you're doing about it."

There's no logical answer. This isn't a calculus problem, like the homework sitting in front of me. There's no reasoning. No explanation for why x equals to y. "Nothing."

"Seriously?" she asks. "And you're not planning on forgiving him?"

Of course, I already know how Nicole feels about Sam. She never liked him and pestered him about ignoring me during school hours. It takes me a minute to process what she's asking, and I stall for a response. Sometimes staying silent is easier—and I'm not sure what I can say, other than admitting she's sort of right.

And I'm not doing that. "I realize that. It just happened, though. I'm not pardoning him. As long as he leaves me alone, it'll be fine."

Nicole heaves a sigh and runs her hand through her blonde hair, twirling the strand around her index finger. Wordlessly, she crosses out her suggestion for club names and turns the sheet over to the blank side.

I try to make progress on my schoolwork, but it's useless. I'm not getting anything done, especially not with Nicole staring at me. She keeps looking away from me when I move, but I can feel her gaze, so it isn't helping.

Eventually, I give up. "Fine. Here's my idea."

I take my pencil and write: Astronomy Club.

Nicole reads my handwriting upside down and grins. "I'm cool with that."

She rustles through her backpack for the laptop, placing it on the table. The sound of her typing echoes through the room.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

The screen is reflected in her glasses; the white webpage blurs beyond recognition, and I can't tell what she's looking at. Knowing Nicole, it's probably nothing good. "I'm illegally downloading photoshop."

"I figured you already did that," I say.

"Funny, because I'm pretty sure the version the school uses isn't legit either."

I cast a look at the row of computers against the wall. Three of them have sticky notes sitting on the table to indicate they're broken. The rest are occupied by students staring at the bright blue home screen. "Well, those computers are ancient."

"Which is exactly why I don't use them. The moment I log onto my school account to do research, whoever monitors it knows everything about me. I'm not letting that happen," Nicole tells me.

I don't think I want to know what she's searching for. "But you will download random files off the internet?"

She laughs humourlessly. "Okay, I see what you're doing. It's not very subtle."

"I wasn't trying to be."

After about forty minutes of interlude mixed with furious typing, Nicole stands to place her laptop on top of my mountain of homework.

Sighing heavily, she switches tabs and shows me her screen. The document is a navy blue poster with a golden border, coloured with tiny fingernail-shaped crescent moons and lopsided, hand-drawn stars. It reads:

North High's very own

Astronomy Club!

Every Thursday at Lunch

Starts Thursday, September 17!

Visit Ms. Crozier's room (C-225) for more details.

"Ah," I whisper, pausing for a moment. "That's a lot of exclamation points."

Nicole's index finger taps the screen twice for effect. "Two times. I could sprinkle some more in there." She grins, tapping the button with pizzazz. Five more exclamation points appear on the screen.

I wave my hand to get to her to cut it out. "I hate you."

"I know." She hastily presses the print key and ducks underneath my arms, scurrying over to the printer near the front of the library. Carrying the stack of papers in her hands, she circles around the table and playfully hits me over the head with the posters.

"Well, no time like the present. Let's go hang up some posters, shall we?" Nicole says, hooking her arm with mine. She parades out of the library, forcing me to close my backpack with my free hand as I attempt to keep up with her.

She hands a pile of posters to me. Begrudgingly, I take it and follow her down the hallway. Every so often, Nicole lifts her hands to slam the paper against the wall before moving along. Her fingertips are covered in tape, and I have to keep bargaining with her to keep it low-key. I don't want to shove my new club in everyone's face—what would be stellar is if nobody shows up.

Nicole reaches the water fountain, which is directly across the hall from the bathrooms, halfheartedly sticking a poster below the sign.

"Hold on," I say, dimly remembering what Ms. Crozier told me. The writing on the bathroom walls. Has it been erased yet? A quick check of the first inside stall reveals nothing but the usual pencil markings. A couple marked the beginning of their relationship and crossed it out two weeks later.

In the next stall, covering the peeled paint, is the same link to my blog that was posted on Instagram. It's accompanied by a phone number I don't recognize.

Plain and simple, right?

"What is it?" Nicole shouts from outside.

I head to the sinks and grab a wad of paper towels. "How difficult is it to remove Sharpie?"

She pokes her head into the room and extends a bottle of hand sanitizer towards me. "Use this. It should come off with a bit of warm water. Plus, it smells like coconut."

I sigh, staring at my reflection in the mirror as the tap drips. For a moment, I'm transported back to the party—back to that stinging emptiness that I wanted to escape. I guess I got what I wanted.