The Queer Rebels

Chapter 15: Intertwining

As I step into the atrium, the sun suddenly pours into my eyes. I squint until my pupils adjust.

Even my physical reflexes are being taxed by all the sudden changes happening right now.

Before I step forward, I turn around to say goodbye to Harry, but he's already disappeared into the shadows.

"Come on," Alex says, nudging me gently. "Let's see what we've missed."

I nod, but my attention is elsewhere. Scanning the crowd, I quickly spot Marcy. She's still with Jenelle, and whatever tension was there earlier seems to have dissipated. They're sitting in a small group, both hunched over, engrossed in something.

Alex catches my questioning look and offers a casual shrug. "Sequoia often gives different types of assignments," they explain. "Keeps things interesting, I guess."

As I'm about to respond, a voice calls out from across the atrium. "Alex! Over here!"

A tall figure with vibrant blue hair waves enthusiastically from a group huddled around a table with a glowing screen in its center.

Alex waves to their friend, then glances at me. "Coming?"

Instead of following, my eyes drift back over to Marcy.

Her shoulders are moving. I think she's laughing at something Jenelle just said.

It doesn't bother me.

Why shouldn't they be friends? We need all the friends we can get.

Just then, Jenelle's sharp eyes catch mine. She leans in and whispers something to Marcy, who turns her head in my direction.

Marcy's gaze finds me, and she beckons me over. "Charlie, come here! You've got to see this."

"I'll catch up with you later, Alex," I say, already taking steps towards Marcy and Jenelle.

Alex nods, smiling. "Sure thing, Charlie. Catch you in a bit."

"What are you guys looking at?" I ask as I approach.

Marcy shifts slightly, making room for me beside her. "Where've you been?"

Our eyes meet, and I realize that I don't know how to answer, especially in front of the others. Harry told me not to tell anyone that he's making a plan, but he didn't say that I had to lie about speaking with him. "Just talking about tech with Alex and Harry."

Marcy nods, accepting my answer at face value. In her hands, she holds a sleek, portable screen. Its surface is alive with images and text.

"Here, look at this," she says, passing the device to me.

I take the screen, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth of Marcy's touch.

Looking up at me is a face that I don't recognize. A wide smile with bright teeth, strong features framed by softly layered dark curls. Underneath it a caption reads: Sylvia, getting ready.

I swipe the screen. The next photograph looks like it was taken from a second-story window. It shows a crowded street full of people with colorful hair and dark clothes. There's no caption on this photo, but it's clear that it is showing some sort of protest. There are people holding signs. One says, "Govern the City, Not my Body," and another has the words, "Free to Be Me!".

With another swipe, I see the same face from before. Sylvia. But this time she's standing on a bench with one hand on her hip. Defiant. I recognize the building she is standing in front of. It's a clock tower near the wharf. The Ferry Building. This photo has a caption with a date. The same year my mother was born. Fifty-two years ago.