She is Not Made of Roses

thirteen: i'm gettin' a lot of sapphic vibes up in this bitch

THIRTEEN: I'M GETTIN' A LOT OF SAPPHIC VIBES UP IN THIS BITCH

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ROSIE, HISTORICALLY, HAS always been the only person to set up the meetings of Mid-Twentieth Century Feminist Literature Studies and other Feminist Media Club, and today is no exception.

And while Maia, Danielle, Lilly, and even Aurora’s allegiance to the club and its values is unquestionable, Rosie often feels like she’s the only one who pulls the weight. And right now, she’s literally pulling its weight, dragging each chair in the back of the library around to form a perfect circle. And as she picks up the last chair by its armrests, it snags the pocket of her cardigan, ripping her phone out and sending it onto the floor. She sighs, leaving it for a moment as she marches off the finish setting up. But just as she’s setting down the last chair, she hears a familiar song buzz across the room from her phone, lying on the floor: Irreplaceable by Beyoncé.

And it’s been a while since Rosie’s heard this song – the last time she’d heard it was after the 8th grade dance, when Nicky Reese had brazenly refused her offer to dance, and she played this in the car the whole ride home – and she thinks that experience might’ve scarred her a bit, but she can’t deny that this is catchy. And uplifting.

Marching back to her pile of things to assemble – their books, the newly arrived copies of Ms. Magazine, and such – she finds herself scoping out the room, looking to check if there was anyone around. Usually no one ventured to the library at this time, and often even the librarian had returned home, so Rosie quickly finds herself slowly picking up pace and dancing along with the rhythm, singing along to herself. When Beyoncé says to go “to the left, to the left,” Rosie finds herself obeying, moving back at forth excitedly as she sets each of the books down on the chairs. And she’s gotten to at least the second verse when the rest of the world comes crashing down, and she hears the smallest of giggles behind her.

Rosie turns around, immediately greeted by four red-faced grins. Ella stands front and center, looking shamefully apologetic as three vaguely familiar followers hang behind her on her coat tails: Alan Walker, Tessa Van Ness, and Willa Mock.

“Did we interrupt something?” Willa snickers, trying to stifle her grin as best as she can.

Rosie flushes, trying her best to recompose herself as Ella scrambles to make an excuse. “I…I’m sorry, Rosie. I didn’t mean to surprise you.”

Alan puckers his lips pensively, “Not bad. We can improve that ball change, though,” he says, gesturing to her posture.

Flustered, Ella grasps for an explanation. “S…Sorry about them. Alan’s the choreographer for the musical.”

“It’s fine,” Rosie says softly, shaking her head as the color slowly returns to her face. She sighs, turning to the other three, “What is it that you guys want?”

“Oh,” Alan says, intrigued. “The rumors are true. You are this friendly.”

Rosie smiles ironically, “You’d be correct.”

“Ella brought us here,” Tessa speaks up, stepping forward. “She approached us during theatre the other day and asked if anyone wanted to join.”

Willa shrugs, “And I’m not in theatre, but my parents think I’m at a college seminar right now, so…”

Rosie’s eyes widen, and though she’s alarmed, she feels a bubble of joy clogging her throat. “Wait – you guys want to join?”

“I told them what the club was about, and they said they wanted in,” Ella says, all smiles.

Immediately, Rosie feels a surge of excitement run through her. With a grin, she marches towards the new recruits with excitement, grabbing them by the hands, “That’s amazing. Thank you so much, I never thought we’d have more than five people here—”