The Queer Rebels

Chapter 19: Questioning

Marcy's gaze turns me to stone. I can't move. Can't answer.

Alex looks between me and Marcy, and they open their mouth to speak, but no words come out.

"Well?" Marcy says when it's clear neither of us is going to respond. "What's going on?"

Alex gives me one last pitying look, then excuses themself, ducking around Marcy and scurrying back to their bunk.

"Can we go back to our room?" I ask, sheepishly. "I was going to tell you, I promise, but not in front of everyone."

Marcy steps out into the hallway. It's empty. Sequoia hasn't made any follow-up announcement, so everyone is staying put. But I guess we're rebels, because without talking, Marcy and I retrace our steps back to our room.

She doesn't even look at me until the door to our room closes. "So? What's really going on between you and Harry? What do you know that you're not telling me?"

"Well," I hedge. Then I unbutton my shirt with one hand and shrug out of it. I roll up the sleeve of my undershirt and show off the pink circle-shaped bandage that Amelia put over the injection site.

Marcy tilts her head, looking more confused than concerned. "Did you get hurt?"

"No." I shake my head. "Harry brought me to the clinic. He pulled some strings to get me an early appointment. Got my first dose of gene therapy."

Her eyebrows stay creased as she slowly nods. "What does that mean?"

"It means," I say, meeting her eyes, "that soon I will have a body that I will want to share with you."

But instead of taking the bait, she rolls her eyes. "And why is Harry pulling strings for you? What did you offer in return?"

"What?" I scoff. "Maybe he just wants to help a guy out."

With a shake of her head, Marcy sits down on the bed. "Come on, Charlie. You expect me to believe that? Tell me what else you know."

"It's not much," I say, regretting not being more honest earlier.

Above us, the speaker crackles to life. "All clear, everyone," Sequoia's voice announces. "Everyone can go back to their regular schedule. We thank you for your cooperation."

When the announcement ends, Marcy turns back to me. "So, if it's not much, then why haven't you told me, then?" She raises her eyebrows.

I hold out my palms. "We haven't exactly had much time to talk."

"Time to talk?" Her voice is even, which intimidates me more than if she was yelling.

Marcy always has this way of maintaining control. Taking on a businesslike demeanor when things get tough. Rational. Cool-headed.

"I just mean—" I try to soften the mood with my eyes. Let my voice harken back to the reason why we haven't been talking. Because we've been busy doing other things with our lips, instead of forming words with them. "You know, we didn't really talk last night, and then I left so early this morning."

She doesn't buy it.

Her mouth remains flat, expressionless, as she waits for my confession.

"There really isn't that much more to the story." I try to backpedal. My eyes scan the room and I wish there was somewhere to sit beside the bed. "I just didn't want to say anything else in front of everyone. You know?"

"No, not really. But go on." She crosses her arms in front of her chest. She's getting tired of waiting.

"Harry is planning something," I say, the words tumbling out quickly.