Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 11
In another sense, a bigger one, relief runs through me.
“Sorry,” Ronan adds. “This could be totally off base, but for some reason . . . you kind of remind me of . . . well, me, like a few years ago.”
I bite my lip. I didn’t necessarily want to talk about it with anyone at the moment, but this is Ronan. Out of everyone I know, he’d probably be the most understanding.
Fear #37: Opening Up to Strangers
I know Ronan isn’t a stranger, but that doesn’t make it any easier. In fact, I might have to make a tiny change and revise
Fear #36: Getting My Hand Caught in the Sink Garbage Disposal
to
Fear #36: Opening Up to Friends
My palms sweat again, shaking slightly, so I stick them under my thighs. My chest flutters instead. I bounce my leg to get some of the energy out.
“I don’t really know,” I admit. “I don’t think I’m a man, but I know I’m not a woman either.” I try to formulate the words into something that makes sense and hope that I don’t say anything wrong. “I don’t necessarily hate she/her pronouns. But I don’t feel any attachment to being female really, and while I don’t necessarily feel male, I’m most comfortable when I’m more masculine, even if I don’t present that way. I don’t know. Like the idea of being able to . . . like to encompass all of me into a they . . .” Now my eyes are tearing up again, and I force my gaze onto the carpeted floor. Gray, with tiny red and green squares every few centimeters. “It feels like a relief, and I get so excited.”
Ronan’s brown eyes are steady on me. He’s listening.
“I don’t want to say the wrong thing, and it’s like every step of the way, I’m not sure I’m doing this right.” My eyes are really watering now—I’m so embarrassed. “I think I’m a lesbian because I definitely like women, and then I read things saying I can’t be? Because of some weird label gatekeeping? I like the idea of just saying I’m a nonbinary lesbian, but I shouldn’t be second-guessing myself this much, right? I know I definitely don’t like men, so maybe that’s fine and I’m overthinking?” I brush away at my eyes because they sting a little. It makes it worse, and I’m rambling. “But that’s the problem too. I’m too afraid. I can’t stand up for myself, I hardly even know myself because I’m too afraid to even be me. To do anything! I’m a lesbian sheep. Or a nonbinary lesbian mess of a human equivalent to a lesbian sheep.”
Ronan cracks a little smile before recovering, but lets me continue without really questioning the lesbian sheep thing. And the words keep tumbling out, like I’ve kept too much in for too long and my mind is overstuffed.
“So many people think of gender like . . . if being a man is blue and a woman is red, then you are one of those, or at best, you’re purple. But sometimes I’m teal, sometimes I’m yellow, sometimes I’m a mix of colors or no color, but never only one or the other.” That probably doesn’t make sense. I close my eyes. “I just . . . I want to stop hiding parts of me,” I say quietly. “Even if I don’t really like most of them.”
It’s hard to tell Ronan’s expression through my lowered eyelids that are already filled with tears. Something’s wrong with me. Ronan is probably so uncomfortable. He’s definitely wishing that he had Kate or Anderson stay with him in here instead.
“Want to try something?” Ronan asks.
My face heats, skin awkwardly buzzing, as I force myself to keep looking at him through my tears. “Okay.”
“Bianca’s awesome,” Ronan starts carefully. “They were my brother’s friend first, but I’ve always thought they’re really nice.”
For some reason, another tear leaks out. I can no longer bring myself to keep Ronan’s gaze, so I look back down at the floor and listen.
“They went through a lot lately, but they’re really trying to make things right.” Ronan’s voice is soft, but strong. “Not because they have to, but because they are a good person. Not to mention, my brother says they have a strong left hook.”
I chuckle a bit. While my eyes keep watering, I can’t stop my smile.
“They are kind of weird, to be honest, but that’s why I like them,” Ronan says. “And I hope they consider me a friend.”
I’m at a loss for words. Strangely enough, I have the overwhelming desire to start giggling. I try to swallow the urge, but a few giggles escape. Ronan cracks another smile. I kick my legs on the chair and he directs some of his attention back to the computer, starting to go through files.
“Let me know what pronouns you want me to use,” Ronan says. “And if it changes, no problem, please correct me if I’m wrong.”
Maybe opening up to friends isn’t that bad. Thirty-six is way too high on my list for this, so I’ll push that down and make another slight revision.
Fear #61: Opening Up to Friends
Fear #36: Opening Up to Family
Because that will likely still suck.
“Maybe you can use they/them for now,” I say quietly. “At least, with me. I’ll use she/her around everyone else until I’m ready.”
Ronan nods, but he’s a little distracted with what’s on-screen. “Sorry,” he says. “Of course. But I got the budget.”
“You, like, hacked the computer?”
Ronan gives me a look. “No, that’s not how it works. I already have the admin login. I just searched ‘budgets’ in the files.”
“Oh,” I say, blushing. I try to go for a quick recovery. “Notice anything weird about it?”
“First off, our school has a big budget, so it’s easy to hide stuff, but doing a quick search . . . there might be one thing.”
I peer at the screen. Ronan has a folder open that seems to hold the budget for this school year. It’s a little depressing when you see what goes into the arts compared to the rest of the departments and extracurriculars. But it doesn’t necessarily look weird. “What?”
“This money that’s allocated to Valley Quail, Inc. The category is listed as education, but I haven’t really seen any mention of them when helping in the office?” Ronan organizes the spreadsheet so the educational supply tags are lined up. “Okay, those numbers are huge compared to other educational supply sources. What are we buying from them?”
I look at the tab. It’s definitely a lot of money compared to the rest of the entries within the category, but not so much it would make a huge dent in the total budget.
Valley Quail, Inc.
Wait.
“Valley Quail. Ronan, this has to be the company that Mr. Conspiracy was looking into! He was calling it VQ, and we didn’t find much on it, but that’s probably because we didn’t have the full name.”
“This is big,” Ronan says. “Maybe we can find something on it now?”
Ronan opens an incognito internet tab and types the name into a browser called DuckDuckGo. Pretty much nothing comes up, except for a bird breeding supplier and information on California quails and the egg incubation period. Which I already knew is a little over twenty days.
Ronan clears the browser history and goes back to the Excel sheet.
“Okay, that’s weird. They should at least have some basic online presence.”
Ronan goes to an earlier saved version of this year’s budget. “Whoa,” he says, eyes scanning over it.
“What?”
Ronan points to the row where Valley Quail was located. It’s not in this earlier version. “The theater budget was a lot higher in this draft. And the literary magazine had a whole separate line that’s not in the final copy—that money was shifted to Valley Quail, Inc.”
Well, at least we know where a good chunk of the musical’s budget went.
“So someone suddenly added it . . .” I swallow. “Does that mean it wasn’t supposed to be part of the budget initially?”
“That’d make sense. I can’t imagine why they would change it later on, and no one would likely notice unless they were specifically looking for it.”
“Like us. But what the hell is Valley Quail, Inc., actually?” I ask.
Ronan prints out a copy of the original and the revised budgets before exiting out.
“Who knows?” He shrugs. “It seems like Mr. Conspiracy was trying to find out. And he got killed for it.”
While my stomach feels heavy, and I make a mental note to stop at my locker for a Pepto tablet, I have the feeling he’s right.
Sixteen
Reasons to Actually Be Afraid
“Are you sure you’ll be okay if I just drop you off?” Kate asks in the car after school. “I don’t want masked murderers to kill you on your way home.”
Kate had a break before her rehearsal at six and was able to take me to Jillian’s house in time for our meeting. I didn’t want to be rude and just rush in for the letter, so I offered to request a rideshare back. Besides, a part of me is kind of hoping I’ll get to talk with Jillian about birds. I’ve been so caught up in the murder investigation, an evening of ornithology talk would be a welcome break.
“I’ll text a picture of the Uber’s license plate to you, Anderson, Mom, and Dad. That way, we’re totally covered.” I tap my phone. “Besides, Jillian will be there, it’s not like I’m alone.”
“Okay . . .” Kate expands the vowels so the one word feels like an entire sentence. “If anything happens, or seems a little weird, just call me. I don’t care if I have to miss rehearsal.”
There isn’t anything she could’ve said that would prove she cares for me more. Kate Torre offering to miss rehearsal is basically like her offering to put her own life on the line. I glance at the maps app on her phone, attached to the dashboard. We’re only a few minutes away.
“What does Jillian do again?” Kate quickly glances at the houses on the street around us. “I mean, this is a really nice area.”
“She works at a museum,” I say. “It’s probably family money.”
“Remind me to marry rich,” Kate mutters.
I can’t really blame her. I’m not super familiar with the Glendale area, but Kate’s right. This is a nice neighborhood. It’s much more suburban looking than where we live, and the houses are five times the size.
That doesn’t mean that Jillian’s house is huge.
Kate slows in front of a house that has the right numbers painted on the curb and listed on the mailbox—if house is even the correct term for it. It’s a full-blown modern-style mansion with property that clearly stretches back beyond what is visible to us from the car.
“Wow,” Kate says. “Now that yacht party makes a lot of sense.”
“No kidding.” I’m a little in awe of the property. It’s not like I haven’t seen nice places before, and I kind of figured that Jillian came from money, I just didn’t realize how much.
“I’ll wait until you walk in, at least.” Kate shuts off the car.
I nod and shoot a quick text to Jillian.
Here
After a moment, I add a little bird emoji, because I don’t want to sound mean. Within a minute or two, she steps out from between the two front doors and gives a wave. She looks different from how she usually does on hikes, wearing a colorful dress that stops at her knees, but it suits her.
“You sure you’re okay?” Kate asks.
“Promise. If anything happens, I’ll call right away.”
Kate nods. “And you better send that Uber info.”
“Of course.” I unbuckle my seat belt and open the car door. “Drive safe.”
Kate stays until I walk up the driveway and meet Jillian at her front door. Jillian knows I’m not the comfortable-with-contact type, so she waves as I approach.
“Your sister can come in too, if she’d like,” Jillian says.
“She has to get to rehearsal, it’s all right.”
“Got it, well, come on in.” Jillian steps aside so I can enter.
The inside of the house is even more impressive than the outside. The area we step into is huge, with two curled staircases leading up to the second floor, and between them, a large walkway that seems to go into the kitchen. A giant chandelier hangs above us, and I immediately get the desire to step out of the way.
Fear #53: Large Objects Falling Unexpectedly on Me
“I just made some muffins, if you want one,” Jillian says. “Pumpkin spice. I get really into it during the fall.”
“Sounds great, thanks.”
It’s hard to pass up free food, and I know Jillian’s a good baker because she’s brought treats to quite a few of our bird hikes.
Jillian starts walking in the direction of the kitchen and I follow. The house is so big, I’ll get lost if I don’t stay within a few feet of her. The kitchen itself would be enough to make my dad cry. She has two ovens and an island with a standing mixer!
And an espresso machine.
Wow, Jillian is living the life.
Immediately, I’m greeted with a smell that’s like pumpkin pie, but even more warm and sugary. Jillian has the muffins cooling on a wire rack. She takes one of them and puts it on a small plate for me.
“Did you get to take a look at the application?” Jillian asks.
She hands me the plate and I take it. I definitely did not look at the internship application yet. I’ve been a little preoccupied with Mr. Conspiracy and Valley Quail, but I can’t exactly get into that now.
“School’s been busy this week, but I’m hoping to do it this weekend.”
Jillian smiles. “Perfect. If you have any questions, you can text me. Plus, I’ll see you at the hike on Saturday.”
It will be nice to go. At the very least, I can get some fresh air and also maybe say, like, three sentences to Elaine Yee.
I bite into the muffin. It’s delicious.
“You have a nice place.” I’m not good at small talk, but I feel like I can’t not address how cool Jillian’s house is. Toward the dining room, there are sliding glass doors that lead into the backyard, which has a large pool and a firepit. A few bird feeders are set outside by a flower garden.
Jillian’s cheeks redden. “It is, but I’m not really one for this . . . showiness. It’s more my partner who is used to a particular kind of lifestyle.”
It’s interesting that she says partner. I can’t assume that she’s queer just from the word choice alone. I mean, she could be straight and just says partner to be more hip and inclusive. I feel like she would be that kind of person.
I gesture toward two large sculptures in the walkway back to the front of the house: one a belted kingfisher and one a red-winged blackbird.
“Come on, Jillian, those statues are totally you.”
She laughs. “Okay, agreed, but in my defense, it was an anniversary gift!”
“Your partner has some taste then,” I say. “Giant bird sculptures are way cooler than jewelry.”
“It’s weird that not everyone thinks so.” She looks around the house, almost like she’s seeing it for the first time. “Neither of us really had families that saw us for who we were or believed in us . . . so I guess we go a little overboard in proving them wrong.” She rubs her hand over the side of her neck.
I’m not quite sure how an abundance of overpriced home decor achieves that. I can respect it, though.
“I understand.” The words slip out of me. “I don’t think my mom sees me for who I am. Or much at all, really.”
Especially not in regard to my sexuality and gender identity. She won’t be able to accept that right away.
Jillian is silent for a moment. “I’m sorry, Bianca. But that’s why we just have to find people who do understand us. Our pasts don’t have to influence our futures. Tomorrow will be so much better.”
It’s nice to hear it like that.
“Well, I don’t want to get too serious, you’re here to talk about the internship!” She practically shakes away any residual sadness as she heads to the large touch-screen fridge. “Can I get you anything to drink? Water? Tea? Pop?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Pop?”
“I went to school in Ohio, some habits die hard. So, what’ll it be?”
“Water would be great, thank you.”
“Any preference on the kind of ice?”
I blink. There are multiple options for ice? Rich people are really a different breed.
“Um, any is fine,” I say.
I’m still taking in the appliances and interior design as she fills a glass. With this kind of money, I’m sure she has a cleaner coming in, because every room looks like it could be straight out of a magazine.
Aside from the bird art pieces, but they still look nice and had to be expensive.
Jillian sets the glass of water down on the counter in front of me. “I do think it would be great to have you at the museum. Ever since you reached out to me about the GLAOE, I could see your passion for ornithology.” Her smile isn’t huge, but it’s sincere. “I’m so happy you stuck with us over the past year.”
“Thanks for having me,” I say. “It’s been great. You made it super comfortable for me, too—I appreciate that so much.”
From the beginning, Jillian didn’t force me to make conversation or immediately push me to get to know everyone. She let me go at my own pace. Even when it felt like I was just with the group and not a part of it, she was there when I needed her without ever pressing.
Plus, she literally knows everything there is to know about birds. I’ve texted her for some identification tips, especially on my weak points of nests and calls, and she never made me feel like I was overstepping. If anything, she was too excited to help.
“I’m glad.” She takes a muffin for herself. “We might actually accept two candidates for the internship, and I was thinking of inviting Elaine to also apply. You would work well together.”
I practically spit out my water.
The possibility of doing the internship with Elaine? I can’t tell if that would be a complete dream come true or a nightmare—I’d probably be only half functional as a human being in her presence.
But as much as I love Jillian, I’m not ready to admit that Elaine has been my crush since she joined three months ago.
