The Queer Rebels

Chapter 4: Packing

Panic crawls up my throat and threatens to take control as I push the door closed behind me. I need to think.

But as the door thuds against the jamb and the latch catches, I hear a loud exhale come from the closet. I turn my head and see Marcy crouching, grasping a loafer in one hand.

Before I can say anything, she is on her feet.

"Oh, thank God," she sighs, dropping the shoe and stepping into me, grabbing me in an embrace. "I'm so glad it's you and not them again."

"Them?" I ask, alarmed. My arms wrap around her waist reflexively, inhaling her scent.

Still holding onto me, she whispers into my ear, "They're looking for you. We need to get out of here. I've packed our bags."

"Is that why you were holding a shoe?" I can't help but ask. "You were packing it? It looked like you were about to throw it at me."

"Well, I would have thrown it if I needed to." She leans her head back to look at me, but keeps her fingers interlaced behind my neck. She cocks her head. "You're still you," she says as her eyes meet mine.

"I am," I agree, feeling an odd mixture of regret and relief.

Instead of responding, she rests her head on my shoulder and hugs me tighter. "I thought I lost you."

"Never." I hold her tighter. "Never," I repeat, knowing the truth of it. But then, after a moment, I have to ask, "Would you really have thrown a shoe at a guard? Because that sounds like a pretty stupid idea."

I laugh, and she pushes me back and whacks my shoulder. "This isn't the time for jokes."

"No, I know. You're right."

"I usually am." She smiles, and I can't help but feel lighter than I have all day. But then her smile fades as she turns and stuffs a flashlight into one of the open bags on the floor just outside the closet.

"What are you packing?" I ask, my eyes skimming over the disarray, and in doing so, catching the time displayed on the wall clock. It's a quarter to four.

"Honestly, I don't–I don't know." Her voice breaks, and while she doesn't look up, I can sense the tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. "I have so many questions," she whispers.

"Me too," I respond. The question I really want to ask, though, I don't dare say out loud. Why is she willing to run away with me? Does she know how I feel about her?

Instead, I say the stupidest thing, "You don't have to come with me. I'm the freak. Not you."

"Charlie." She glances up, blinking away tears as she meets my eyes. "Shut up."

I bite down on my lip. "We need to get back to the Choosing Center now. I was supposed to wait for someone to guide me to some secret hideout, but I left to find you instead. We've only got an hour to get back before his shift ends."

I walk over to the window, slip a finger between two of the metal blinds, and peek out. In the fading evening light, and despite the incoming fog, I can make out the edge of the quad, one of the walking paths, and the nearest street. The cruiser is still parked on the corner and several guards are stationed around the periphery.

"There's just one problem," I say. "They've got the place surrounded."

Marcy sits down on her bed, rests her chin in her hands, and juts out her bottom lip. I go sit on my twin and face her.

"How'd you get in here?" she asks.

"I walked in with Renee. Just kept my hood up and walked casual."

Marcy nods. "So, Renee saw you. Did she know you were using her for cover?"