Fracture was a bit of a misnomer. It meant broken. I wasn’t. But there were still two halves of me, and I stood in front of that mirror for a long time. There’d been no realization like a lightning strike, no moment when I looked at my reflection and thought, yes, yes, this makes sense.
It didn’t. And it wouldn’t for a long time.
“You need a label?” I asked now, trying to get in the right headspace. Getting to know the kids at Phoenix House was important. It was why I was here. It was part of what I wanted to do. But I couldn’t seem like I was patronizing them. Kai snorted. “It’s all about labels these days. Don’t you know that?”
“No,” I said honestly. “I don’t. Labels are good for a lot of people. But some don’t need them. Or even want them.”
“And that’s you?” Diego asked. He had the barest hint of an accent that curled around each of his words like a caress.
I shrugged. “Not necessarily. But I just want to make sure that’s clear. I don’t know that it’s cool, demanding to know who people are.”
Kai laughed, and it wasn’t the nicest of sounds. “Cool, huh?”
I stared hard at them. “Yeah. Cool. Is that a problem?”
I thought they were going to push more, but they didn’t. They relaxed, leaning into Diego, who put an arm around their shoulders. Ah. So that answered a question I didn’t even know I had. That was… cute. Baby queers had the tendency to make my heart melt a little. “I’m enby,” Kai said. “Do you know what that is?” It sounded like a challenge.
“I do,” I said evenly. Nonbinary, like I thought. “And good for you for figuring that out. That’s awesome.”
Kai’s eyes narrowed. “You mean that?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“A lot of people don’t. I say nonbinary, and most people stare at me weird.”
I knew what that felt like. “That might be because they’ve never heard the term before.”
“Straight people,” Diego said, rolling his eyes. “They don’t know shit.”
I frowned. “While I get what you’re saying, there are plenty of straights who at least make an attempt.”
“It’s Pride Month,” Kai said, which was technically true, though Arizona had to be different and wouldn’t celebrate until September. “I don’t have to care about their attempts.”
“Right,” I said slowly. “But while we can be proud, we don’t want to cut off potential allies.”
“Oh Jesus,” Kai moaned. “You’re one of those queers. Unity and blah, blah, blah.”
“Maybe. But I’d rather be unified than divided.”
“Come on, Kai,” Diego said, nudging them down the hall. “Let’s go see what Marina brought for breakfast. I’m hungry.”
Kai looked like they were going to protest but then allowed themself to be pulled away. They glanced at me once over their shoulder before leaving. I watched as Diego dropped his arm from around their shoulder and took Kai’s hand in his.
“Fucking cute asshole baby queers,” I muttered to no one in particular.
THE REST of my first day was a whirlwind. I barely had time to breathe, much less think about everything that had happened. Marina found me after Kai and Diego left, telling me she had a bunch of people for me to meet. She looked concerned, asking if I was all right, but I smiled tightly at her and told her I was fine. She nodded, walking past me to knock on Jeremy’s door. I hurried back down the hall.
The front of Phoenix House had more people in it, at least a dozen, most of them kids. My official title at Phoenix House was peer navigator, and during the interview there’d been pretty words about facilitating conversations about intersectionality and the importance of living authentically. Stephen—former director, Super Gay, and apparently friends with Jeremy—had seemed less interested in these particulars, merely asking me about the courses I’d taken and my plans for the future.
When I’d gotten the call with the offer, I’d been relieved rather than happy. I’d tried not to put all my eggs in one basket, but the two other social service centers I’d applied with weren’t as… bright as Phoenix House. There was something depressing about the other offices, with their dingy, flickering lights and sterile rooms. It was offensively clinical, and while I understood that’s how things were most likely going to be (social work wasn’t glamorous), I’d practically shouted my acceptance when Marina called me.
So I was a peer navigator.
Phoenix House had Jeremy (my life was a comedic tragedy) as its director and Marina as its program manager. There were three case managers, a psychologist, one random dude who handled finances pro bono, and… me. That was it. Seven people to handle the entire queer youth community in Tucson.
The kids turned to stare at me. The three adults with them—I assumed the case managers—didn’t step forward to introduce themselves.
Diego leaned over and whispered something in Kai’s ear. They snorted and shook their head.