LGBT+

What This Means

Dedicated to blurryface17, the winner of my Christmas contest, and Depressing_Thoughts_, who contributed to this plot idea. However, they are not to be blamed for any negative feelings you may experience from this story.

All I can say is....certain parts of this were very difficult to write.

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"So who are you asking to the Sadie Hawkins Dance?" Brooklyn asked me exactly one week before the dance itself. It was Friday and the final bell had just rang, so my friend's voice was barely audible over the sound of rowdy teenagers rushing to start their weekend.

I used the noise as cover to pretend I didn't hear her, and said nothing as I shoved my textbooks into my locker. And I do mean literally shoved, as my personal half-rectangle of space was about as spacious as a tuna can with all the crap I had packed in there. Weeks' worth of trash tumbled out as I tried to make space for my Geometry book, and a half open soda bottle that I didn't remember buying spilled onto the floor right next to Brooklyn.

"Aww, dammit Izzy!" she complained loudly. "I just cleaned this stupid thing."

She was talking about her wheelchair, the left wheel of which had just been thoroughly doused in week-old Dr. Pepper.

"Shit, sorry!" I said, picking up the bottle only to promptly drop it again, like the spazoid that I am. "Sorry!"

Brooklyn sighed impatiently as I ran to the bathroom to grab paper towels, but I couldn't just leave the spill there for the janitor to clean. Not only would that be terribly rude, but I had a thing about spills. I just had to clean them. Quite ironic considering both the state of my locker, and my tendency to spill things.

Only once the mess was all cleaned up and my garbage successfully crammed back into my locker did the two of us head out in our usual, unhurried fashion. Brooklyn wheeled herself alongside me as I strolled on my two working legs, still not much taller than her.

Outside, the cold Kansas winds stung me through my hoodie. My teeth chattered. The strong gusts hit me forcefully, almost knocking my tiny frame to the ground. Brooklyn had to stop to tie her chocolate brown hair up into a bun, keeping her locks from being thrashed about by the wind, making me extra glad that I had chopped all my own off a few months prior. Then she pulled up her hood and we continued.

"So?" Brooklyn prompted me once we were about a block away from the building. "Who are you gonna ask?"

I groaned. I had hoped she had forgotten her question. "I'm not asking anybody," I told her. Luckily, I had no shortage of excuses for this. I just didn't know if she'd buy any of them. "I've been at this dumb school for exactly two months. Do you really think I've met anyone I'd be willing to ask to a dance?"

Admittedly, my tone came out quite a bit more spiteful than I had intended. Brooklyn scoffed, carefully rolling her chair over the familiar bumps on the sidewalk leading to our street. "Wow, a bit uppity, aren't we? Are you honestly still bitter about being kicked out of your fancy art school?"

I grimaced, choosing not to respond. Kicked out. Yeah, that's the story Mom and I had decided to go with. Allegedly, I had been expelled from the Manhattan Institution of Art- a brilliant magnet school I had attended for the past year and a half- because my grades weren't good enough. Better than admitting the real reason why I had to transfer back to regular public school mid year, I suppose.

Brooklyn nodded at my silence. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Well, you can get over it. While I'm sure that none of the boys here can possibly measure up to the ones at your old school, you could at least give one of them a chance."