The Queer Rebels

Chapter 11: Styling

As people finish eating, they bring their cleared trays over to a rolling cart that's parked along the back. Near it, Harry leans on the serving counter, talking to someone who I don't recognize.

Ever since he walked away from our table, I've been wondering what sort of tips and tricks he plans to show me. Will I be my true self by tonight? Or is that too much to hope for?

"You should go over to him," Marcy says, jutting her chin in Harry's direction.

Jenelle is still eating, but the rest of us are done. My plate is clean.

"Yeah, go," Tyree agrees. "We'll keep Marcy company."

My eyes shift over to Jenelle, who I catch watching Marcy. Something twinges in my gut.

Again.

Why am I feeling jealous? If Marcy was interested in dating women, I would know that about her. Wouldn't I?

We know everything about each other.

I'd always assumed that once I had a male body...

Marcy nudges me before I can finish my thought.

Shit. Was I staring?

"Sorry," I mutter. "I–I just hope I don't disappoint Harry. All this tech stuff is so new."

Even though that wasn't what was occupying my mind, it's still true.

Marcy smiles at me, melting away my fleeting insecurity. "Look at how much you've already accomplished. You're going to do great."

I match her smile, and as I look into her warm, brown eyes, my creeping jealousy fades away.

"Yeah, yeah, I shouldn't worry." I stand. "Okay, you guys have fun. Let me know what I miss."

Then, without delaying any further, I walk over to drop off my tray.

As I approach, I hear Harry whispering something about Sequoia. I don't catch the whole sentence, but he definitely said her name and something about muscle. Whose muscle or what muscle, I don't know.

I assume it has something to do with the noise earlier, and I want to hear more, but I stop a respectful distance away. I don't need to come off as too nosy or rude.

Harry looks over at me. "Hey, Charlie. You ready?" he asks, his voice carrying a hint of excitement.

I nod, and my stomach flutters in anticipation.

He says a quick goodbye to the person he was talking to and leads me back to the escalator. We take it to the first floor, walk through the atrium, down the main corridor, and around to a part of the building I haven't yet explored.

After a few minutes, Harry comes to a stop in front of a plate-glass window decorated with red, blue, and white stripes, and an old-timey mustache. Gold lettering on the door confirms this is a barber shop.

Harry holds up a ring of keys, selects one, and unlocks the door. As it swings open, he flips on the light, revealing antique mirrored walls and a row of gleaming chrome and black leather chairs. I step over the threshold and am embraced by the scent of aftershave and leather.

Harry gestures to one chair. "Take a seat."

I step onto the checkerboard tiles and my eyes scan over a small shelf of pomades, gels, and tonics as I settle into the plush leather.

As soon as I'm seated, Harry swivels the chair around, and I am confronted with my own anxious face staring back at me from the mirror. He drapes a thin robe over my clothes and then pumps the chair up to bring me to his eye level, and I watch as my light brown ponytail swishes with the movement.