16
MORGAN
I couldn’t sleep last night.
My mom called after dinner saying there was yet another complication with the “St. Mary’s thing,” as she’s taken to calling it lately, and that my team needed another essay about what happened and the impact it had on my “emotional well-being.”
Between that and my earlier conversation with Ruby, I was so riled up that I spent the next two hours writing countless drafts, until it turned from a short, professional statement into a rage-filled ten-page missive about everything effed up at St. Mary’s and how the culture of conservatism and homophobia in such an elite academic atmosphere impacted not just me but other kids that I won’t name out of fear for their safety. Kids that turned their backs on me so fast when things went down. Kids like Molly Valentine, my first kiss and longest friend, whose parents made her block my number before the ink was even dry on my transfer.
Turns out, spite is a powerful motivator.
But when I finally closed my laptop and regained some semblance of calmness, I still couldn’t stop running through my conversation with Ruby. I lay in bed, tossing and turning, trying to shove all the puzzle pieces of our interactions together—though at this point I’m not even sure if they’re from the same set.
By midnight, I resolved to ask her flat out. But by two a.m., the doubt slipped back. What if you make a fool of yourself again? it whispered. Or worse?
And yet this morning, I’m still searching the hallways between classes, hoping for a glimpse of her—as if seeing her again will somehow make it all make sense. Or maybe the truth is, I don’t care if it all makes sense. I just want to see her. I try to will away the excitement as I walk into Government, our only shared class and the one place she can’t avoid me, because I know Dylan is right. I deserve more. But . . .
Allie sits down beside me, and I’m only half listening as she goes over the logistics of our next meet, which I’m still not allowed to compete in. There has been absolutely no movement with my waiver—it’s like St. Mary’s hit pause on my entire future—but I really can’t think about that right now.
I try to keep up with the conversation, nodding and saying “uh-huh” at appropriate intervals, while keeping my eyes fixed on Ruby’s empty spot, my heart thrumming double speed while I wait for her to appear.
She eventually bustles in with her headphones on, her backpack bumping against my elbow as she pushes past without so much as an apology. I want to know what she’s listening to. I want to know what she likes.
My mind wanders, imagining us lying side by side, sharing her knockoff AirPods. Ruby with her hair splayed out beneath her. Me on my side, propped up on my elbow to see her better, waiting for just the right moment in the song to lean forward and—
What? Ruby mouths from across the way, her forehead crinkling. Crap, I’ve been staring this whole time. I look away, squirming in my seat and turning my attention to Allie.
“So, um, will Coach put Lydia in the sixteen hundred again since I’m out?”
“Hello, Morgan, welcome to the conversation.” She raises her eyebrows. “Glad to know I’ve been talking to myself for the last five minutes.”
“Sorry, I was zoning out.”
“Yeah, I caught that,” she says with a pointed glance in Ruby’s direction. My face must look nothing short of terrified, because she quickly adds, “Or whatever,” and pulls out her book. Lydia drops into the seat beside us just as the bell rings.
“Okay, class, let’s get started,” Mrs. Morrison says with a huge smile. “You know what today is, right?”
A couple students, including Ruby, groan in their seats. I lean toward Allie and whisper, “What’s today?”
“Group project,” Allie whispers back. “She’s been teasing it all year. Lucky you, you transferred in just in time.”
“Group project for what?” I ask, trying to figure out what we could possibly be doing for an easy class that I was told only required, like, one more essay, max.
“That’s right! It’s the best time of the year, teamwork time!” Mrs. Morrison continues, passing back some handouts. “For now, I’ll let you choose your own groups of two or three, but if you can’t figure it out, I’ll assign you to one. Now, drumroll, please.” She pauses, like we’re actually going to do a drumroll, before continuing on.
“Okay, then, since we’ve been studying the different ways the American government works all semester, I’m going to ask that you choose a major act of legislation that was successfully passed from our history and explore it more deeply. You’ll see a list of approved options on the handout, along with important dates. Now, remember, as you do this: I’m not just looking for information on the act itself. I want you to use your critical thinking skills, which means I want to understand context. I want to see the reasons it came to be and society’s reactions to it. I want to know everything. We’ll be in the research phase for the next two weeks, which will culminate in a written essay by each student—so if you’re the group project slacker, I am going to find out—and also in a shared presentation to the class.”
I glance across the way at Ruby, who is looking very uncomfortable in her seat, and then at Allie, who’s already eagerly circling acts and making notes in the margin. I look down at the page in front of me, seeing everything from the Judiciary Act of 1789 to the legalization of gay marriage.
“The presentation should run about eight to ten minutes in length,” Mrs. Morrison says. “Use visual aids like a PowerPoint, or write a song, recite poetry, reenact key moments! The sky’s the limit!”
I scan the room. Most people are already frantically gesturing to one another to secure their groups for this exercise in ridiculousness. Who would ever voluntarily recite poetry in front of the whole class?
“Okay, I’ll give you a moment to split into your groups,” Mrs. Morrison says. “I also have some books up here to help you choose, although I trust you all have your phones in your pockets and thus access to Google. You have the rest of the period to settle on partners and topics, and then I want one member from each group to come up to have it recorded. If someone else has already selected your topic, you will be asked to choose another, so decide fast.”
Allie grabs my arm, along with Lydia’s. “Got my group,” she says, and Lydia nods. “So what do we want to do? I’m thinking the National Minimum Drinking Age Act or the Animal Welfare Act, but I’m definitely open to any of the others. Those two just sounded the most fun.”
I flick my eyes over to Ruby, still sitting there alone, as Lydia looks over the list. “I like the Endangered Species Act,” she says.
“Ooh,” Allie says, “that’s another good one. What do you think, Morgan?”
“Hmm?” I ask, still watching Ruby. She doesn’t get up, though, doesn’t even try to join a group, and that’s so frustrating. Just get up, Ruby. Get up. Go after what you want. Is that really so hard?
“Class, do we have any group of two willing to take on a third or a group of three that will possibly split off?” Mrs. Morrison asks after a minute or two. When no one says anything, she sighs. “Please don’t make me assign groups.”
Maybe I should take some of my own advice.
I shoot my hand up into the air. “I’ll switch, Mrs. Morrison.” I grab my stuff with a quick apology to the girls and then move next to Ruby. And yeah, maybe working on a presentation together isn’t exactly the same as asking her if she like likes me, but it’s a start. Or it would be, if Ruby didn’t look so pissed right now.
“I don’t need a pity partner,” she grumbles. “I can do it on my own.”
“It’s not pity,” I say, remembering her words from yesterday. “It’s my civic duty.”
Her lips curve up for a second, like a smile tried to escape before she thought better of it. “So which one do you want?”
“I was thinking about the Marriage Equality Act.”
“Of course you were.” She rolls her eyes. “And no.”
“Let me guess, you want Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?” I mean it as a joke, but her face goes hard.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I was . . . You know, what you said yesterday in the car.”
She narrows her eyes.
“About me being loud and quiet being easier. It was a joke. Sorry. I just picked a super-gay one, and yesterday you were telling me to shut up about being super gay, and so the joke was—”
“Please stop talking.” She sighs. “We’ll do the Endangered Species Act.” She says it so matter-of-factly that I almost agree right on the spot. “Almost” being the key word.
“I think Allie and Lydia want to do that one. Maybe we could do—”
“Then I better get up there first.” Ruby stands up, and I swear to god, she’s not full-on stomping to Mrs. Morrison’s desk, but it’s close.
Mrs. Morrison glances at me and then writes something down with a smile before handing her a packet. Ruby carries it over, looking smug.
“What?”
“We got it,” she says. “The Endangered Species Act. All ours.” And she’s absolutely preening over the idea of getting one over on Allie and Lydia. I should feel guilty about that, probably. Especially when I see them walk up to Mrs. Morrison’s desk a few minutes later and she shakes her head no. But I kind of don’t. I like seeing Ruby this way.
“So, what’s all this?” I ask, gesturing to the mammoth packet of papers in front of us.
“We have to fill all this out for the research portion. There’s a bunch of different questions to guide us or whatever.”
“Got it.” I scan through them quickly. They seem pretty straightforward but also like a lot of work. It clearly says on the top that while class time will be given to complete the assignment, students are expected to meet outside of school or during activity period in order to complete whatever we don’t finish in class. “Want to meet me at the library Saturday? There’s a meet that day, and I can’t go. I could use the distraction.”
“I’m . . . busy Saturday.”
I wonder if it’s another pageant but don’t ask. She wasn’t exactly receptive when I showed up at one the first time. “I guess then another time?”
“Yeah, maybe.”
And, oh. Oh. Nooooow I get why nobody else wanted to partner up with her. Well, it’s not my first time doing all the work in a group project, and it probably won’t be the last. Mrs. Morrison will have to figure that out on her own during the essay portion, though, because I’m not about to let Ruby sink my grade on the research end.
“You know what? I’ll get a jump on things by myself. It’s fine,” I say. “We can compare thoughts during activity period or something. I need the info for my essay anyway. It doesn’t matter.”
“Obviously, it matters.”
“Look, I know how it works. I don’t mind doing all the research stuff, but I’m not writing your essay for you. And you have to pull your weight during the actual presentation, so you don’t screw over my grade. Deal?”
“I’m going to help with the research. I just . . .” She trails off, shaking her head.
“I said it’s fine.”
“Will you stop?” She huffs out a breath. “I’ll be there, okay? It’s just gotta be later, like four. Can you at least wait until four to get a ‘jump on things’?”
“Yeah, I can wait until four,” I say slowly. Because I thought I at least had this part of her figured out. But nope, Ruby Thompson remains an enigma.
“Okay, awesome,” she grumbles. It does not actually sound like she thinks it’s awesome, though.
“It’s a date,” I say cheerfully, out of habit and instinct and nothing else, I swear. But she scowls anyway. “I mean not a date date, obviously. Just a date, as in a date and time. More of an appointment, really. An appointment to complete an assigned task.”
“Stop talking,” she says again.
And, right, yes. That’s probably a good idea.