NIKKI & JOE, CASUALLY |

04: llavero

            Cece crumbles into jitters when we cross into the parameters of the crowd. His hands are buried in his pockets, and though I can't hear the rhythmic clicking over the music and the chants, I'd be happy to bet they're fidgeting with their zippo lighter. I can't blame them—Pride is as close as you can get to taking ecstasy without, you know, taking ecstasy but it is also overwhelming, to say the least. People travel to Manchester Pride from all over the country and Cece don't know how to move with the ebb and flow of a crowd.

Cece has always been a proud Manc. He wears Moss Side like a service medal. But maybe they've already become a country boor. Oak Shaw Group Home might be a bit tight but I'm pretty sure there's enough space for six teens, no matter how troubled, on a three-acre land. Have they lost their city legs so quickly?

I duck closer so he can hear me over the music. 'You alright?'

They nod.

'Oh, there's Duchess!' Caleb pulls at my locs like a bridle to steer me left. We reckoned the easiest way to find the others were if I carry Caleb piggyback like a barrelman but he's a little too enthusiastic in the role. Caleb knocks his feels into my thighs. 'Giddy up, baby girl.'

I peer through the carnival feathers and waving pride flags. 'I can't see owt.'

'Just go this way.' He points aggressively and I weave through the crowd with Cece at my heels.

Duchess and Sarah come into sight from behind a group of women wearing Proud 2 b Parents t-shirts. Duchess has constructed a Georgian gown out of school skirts and old ties that I just know she is sweltering in, not that she'll show a sign of discomfort. At the other end of the spectrum, Sarah is wearing an American cheerleader miniskirt and crop top. I lower Caleb back to his feet and he showers them both with praises he probably already gave when they left Spectrum.

Cece hovers behind me. I grab his shoulders to display him. 'This is Cece,' I introduce. 'That's Duchess of Sassington or Rishi. And Sarah Tonyn usually Allan, our token cishet friend.'

Cece gives his best go at a wave. Looks like his hand is wired to the lining of his pocket and can only stretch so far before it's yanked back in.

'You can call me Cecilio if you want.' They glance at my confusion. They've been firm about not being called Cecilio as the only "fuck you" to Mamá and Papá in his artillery. He ducks from my attention. 'I'm fine with it now.'

'Nice to meet you finally, Cecilio,' Duchess says in posher English than the Queen would. The duchess persona lets Rishi satirise, notjust gender, but also the English. 'Though in a sense it feels as though we've known you for years.' She casts me a mocking look and my cheeks burn. They can't actually be the only thing I talk about.

Sarah bounces on her heels and I twist an ankle looking at it. 'Nikki said this is your first Pride. That's so exciting! I can't believe we get the honour of taking you to your first-ever Pride. Do you feel fabulous?'

Her brow scrunches as she looks over Cece's black outfit embellished with plenty of steel jewellery. He's wearing what I'm pretty sure are literal dog collars, one spiked, one choke chain—which ain't weird for Pride (we passed a whole group dressed in dog gimp suits), but the lack of latex or visible skin rules Cece out of the kink subculture. Caleb transformed their usual dramatic eyeliner into an illusion of spiders, so dark that with the full black lens, his left eye is entirely invisible even in daylight.

'Is that what you're wearing?'

'Coming from your Patrick Star-looking ass. You ever heard of sunblock?'