Bianca Torre Is Afraid of Everything, page 17
“She does cosplay, Bianca,” Anderson says quickly.
“I know.”
At least now I’m able to focus on how happy I am for Anderson and dry some of my tears. He doesn’t ask about them.
“Let’s start with some introductions,” a person across the circle says. They have a buzz cut and killer eye shadow. “Name, pronouns if you’d like to share them, and something good about this week. I’m Lex, they/them, and I got a new bed for my cat and he actually uses it.”
I’m glad that we don’t all respond Hi, Lex like at AA meetings in movies.
My one solace is that the introductions go around the circle, so I can anticipate my embarrassment bubbling up. I keep rubbing my damp palms on my pants. What happened this week? I found out a teacher in my school may be involved in a poetic murder cult? I got threatened with a bloody cat toy and followed home? I’m going to investigate the creepy lair of said cult that killed at least two people?
Everyone’s staring at me. Because it is my turn.
“I’m Bianca,” I say. “They, uh, them . . .” Oh no, that sounded like my Italian uncle saying my pronouns. Abort intro. But people are still watching me, because I didn’t complete the instructions. “I . . . um . . . well, I, uh, actually came out this week.”
To like four people and kind of a fighting gym, but hey.
The announcement gets me gentle applause and congratulations and my face heats up so much.
Fear #17: Being the Center of Attention in Any Circumstance
I could give another huge hug to Mrs. Coleman when she puts me out of my misery to start her introduction.
The rest of the meeting isn’t that bad. It’s an open discussion, the weekly topic being how our gender identity affects our relationships, and while my mind is constantly going, I don’t say anything.
Fear #37: Opening Up to Strangers
And this is a big enough group that I’m getting some anxiety from
Fear #1: Public Speaking/Humiliation
So I stay quiet. But Layla was right. No one pressures me to speak, and it is nice to listen and be around other people who have similar experiences, even if I’m only getting started on my own journey with gender.
It seems like no time has passed when everyone begins packing up their stuff.
“Well, I’m super down to come next week,” Anderson says, stealing a glance at Layla.
“Me too,” Mrs. Coleman adds.
“I’d like that,” I say.
It’s not like I’ll be any more open to sharing next week, but it will be nice to have them here.
My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Elaine, which sets off a quick flutter in my heart.
Elaine: We still on for tomorrow?
I type in a quick
yeah
Coming back here next week with Mrs. Coleman and Anderson will be great.
If I’m not killed at the cult hideout, that is.
Twenty-Two
Bianca Torre Laughs in the Face of Danger
Since Elaine couldn’t meet until five and I’m a big ball of nerves given the nature of what we’re doing and who we’re doing it with, Anderson takes me back to the MMA gym to help me train. I officially joined, and while the membership is kind of expensive, my dad was into the idea of me learning some self-defense.
School went by without any issue. And even though The Rules of Flight burned a hole in my backpack, I didn’t notice any teachers giving me death glares or strange looks like they knew I took it.
I close my eyes and release a breath. My glove makes contact with the bag.
Anderson coaches me by calling out combinations and occasionally making anime references for motivation.
I fix my stance and uppercut the bag, alternating between my left and right hand as sweat drips down my face.
“They’re looking great,” Rafael’s voice says. I turn my head slightly to see Rafael watching us as he walks by. He catches my gaze. “When are you going to train with me, Bianca? What’s this guy have that I don’t?” He smacks Anderson’s good shoulder.
“Charm,” Anderson responds. “Beauty. A fantastic sense of humor. Raf, what do you have that I don’t?”
“A black belt,” Rafael says.
Anderson looks back at me. “Well, he’s got me there.”
“I’m not sure Jiu-Jitsu is for me. Maybe a striking class . . .” I say. “I have the app now, so I can check the schedule.”
I’m mostly appeasing him. He has been great about my pronouns and super welcoming, though. Maybe I could try one class and stand way in the back. If Anderson goes with me.
“Okay, but if you ever want to grapple, we can find a time to train with you and Mr. Charm and Beauty over here.” He shakes his head but keeps on a smile. “Let me know.”
The issue with using training as a distraction is that it works a little too well, and before I know it, I’m rushing home to take a quick shower so I’m not disgusting when Elaine arrives.
My hair’s wet as I walk outside to wait with Anderson, so I throw it into a small bun. Maybe I should cut it short. It might help a little with not presenting so female, which would be great—although certain androgynous styles make me look like a thirteen-year-old boy, which is not how I want cute girls like Elaine to see me. But there might be some smaller adjustments I can make to inspire some euphoria.
Even if I’m perceived a certain way, I kind of wish I wasn’t perceived at all.
Can I label my gender as, like, awkward void cryptid?
Or I’ll just buy a flannel from the men’s section and wear a baseball cap, I don’t know.
Maybe I can ask Layla for some help. Sure, their gender expression seems to stay traditionally feminine, but they might have an idea of what would work for me. I followed them back on Instagram, and while reaching out by DM is another thing entirely, it’s a nice thought.
“You ready?” Anderson asks once he jogs over from his apartment building.
I probably should’ve taken the time to look a little nicer instead of wearing a sports bra, baggy shorts, and a loose T-shirt that has a few crows on it and says murder. It’s kind of on brand for the moment though.
“You know the answer to that,” I mutter.
“No, you’re not, but you’re here, and that’s what counts,” he says. “I’m making some small talk so I don’t freak out, because I’ve been texting Layla and she’s amazing.”
His voice is a little higher than normal and he’s practically showing dimples. It’s so cute to see him like this. Our anime crushes don’t exactly inspire the same behavior.
“Did you see the Boa Hancock cosplay she posted?” I ask.
“Yes, and I can honestly die happy after it.” He holds a hand up to his head. “Bianca. I’m falling hard. We were up until three last night talking.”
My eyebrows raise. That’s exciting for him and impressive. “Did you ask her out?”
I’m not really sure how that works given my lack of experience, but maybe I can learn something for the future. If I could be one-eighth as smooth as Anderson, that’d be a dream.
“Not yet, you can’t rush these things.” Anderson rubs his eye, almost like he’s hiding his expression. “And I already like her too much for it only being twenty-four hours since we met. I can’t seem, like, too clingy.”
“Wouldn’t seeming like you’re really interested be a good thing?” I ask.
“Bianca, you sweet, sweet cinnamon roll,” Anderson says. He puts a hand on my shoulder and looks directly into my eyes. “No.”
His phone lights up. “See? That’s her. And I’m so excited I might tear up a little, but I’ll give it a few minutes. Keep it chill.”
“Oh.”
Who knew there were so many rules to this? There’s no way I’m ever going to be good at flirting.
“Is there a specific amount of time you have to wait?” I ask. “And that doesn’t apply to full conversations, like late-night stuff, right?”
Before Anderson has a chance to answer, Elaine pulls up and parks at the curb. She waves. I start to walk toward the back seat of her car, but Anderson beats me to it. He grins.
My heart beats a little faster. I dry my palms on my ass, regretting not wearing longer shorts, and open the door to the passenger side.
Elaine wears an open flannel with high-waisted shorts and a crop top underneath. She looks so cute and put together and I want to run away.
“I love that shirt,” she says.
“Thanks,” I mumble, focusing on not fleeing and instead getting into the car and strapping in.
I’m so close to her. Jesus.
“Sorry I’m late, I had college counseling after school.”
“Must be nice.” Anderson sprawls out in the back. “Us public school kids basically just get a thumbs-up from the guidance counselor and a link to the Common App.”
Elaine puts the intersection into her GPS and then starts driving. My muscles are so stiff, and my hands are folded over my lap like I’m in Catholic school church.
“We actually don’t live that far from each other,” Elaine says, sending me a glance.
I’m not really sure how to respond to that. I should probably say something like oh really? We could do some evening birding hikes, or you could come over to Discovery Channel and chill.
“Oh,” I say in a high-pitched voice. “Nice.”
You can take a person out of their comfort zone, but you can’t take the lesbian sheep out of the person, I guess.
“Also, I shared the address with my brother in case things go south,” Elaine says. “If he doesn’t get a check-in text from me every half hour, he’s bringing backup.”
“Smart thinking.” Anderson leans forward between us. “How far are we from the cult hideout?”
Elaine glances at her phone, secured on the dash. “It’s like ten minutes away.”
“Great.” He falls back against the seat. “Right around the corner.”
“I mean, the cult book was found at our school,” I say. “Who would want to go far for their cult meetings? In Los Angeles traffic?”
At least they can laugh at that.
“How’d you know the book was related?” Elaine asks. “When you saw it?”
“It had the same symbol as something Mr. Conspiracy uncovered,” I reply. I can’t remember if we clarified the nickname or not, so I add, “The guy who was murdered.”
“And we think it has to do with some money laundering company called Valley Quail,” Anderson says from the back seat. “Which we’ve also been referring to as Feathergate. Or the whole thing as Feathergate? Either way. Our school has been allocating funds there saying they are an educational supply company, but we can’t find anything on them. It must be a cover.”
Elaine takes this in as she drives.
“Okay,” she finally says. She cracks a little smile. “Guess I missed a lot, huh?”
“You really should’ve joined the investigation earlier,” I say. “I mean, you weren’t here for the first few threats on my life and everything.”
I hope she gets my sense of humor and doesn’t think I’m actually into death threats.
“I always miss the good stuff.” Elaine laughs. “But the fan favorites are usually introduced later in the story.”
I’m not sure what to say so I smile a little. Does it look forced? That little exchange of conversation was probably a step in the right direction. Totally natural. I can do this.
“It’s okay,” I add after a moment. “It seems like we’re getting into the exciting part, so maybe you have perfect timing.”
“All those years of practicing piano with a metronome finally paid off.”
She plays piano? That’s cool, although not really an in for a conversation since I don’t do anything remotely musical—aside from being forced to learn the words to the show tunes that Kate belts in the shower or rehearses for her performances.
The car falls into silence, and for some reason, that makes me more uncomfortable. I’m fine being alone, but when I’m with other people, the whole awkward-pause thing isn’t my favorite. Especially because I’m with Anderson, and I can be myself around him.
“Thanks for helping us out,” I say to Elaine. “It might be dangerous.”
“No problem,” she says. “I need to do something besides read books and watch birds.” Her eyes sneak in my direction for a moment. “And Anderson told me you have a mean left hook, so I’ll have you to protect me.”
Anderson may have exaggerated and needs to stop telling people about my training progress, but the way she says that makes me want to buy him dinner for doing it.
The idea of me protecting anyone from anything is laughable, though. I’m literally the poster child for the flight response. But I feel like that’s not something to say on a first date.
Not that this is a date. It’s totally not. Anderson is here, for one, and Elaine doesn’t like me like that.
I’m getting too into my head again.
“Uh, yeah, of course,” I say. “I laugh in the face of danger.”
Fear #26: Dangerous Situations in General
“Very badass,” Elaine says.
Anderson at least has the decency to not call me out and, with her response, sneaks a thumbs-up to me.
Elaine pulls into the shopping center that matches the location from the book and parks in one of the empty spots. There is the Jamba Juice, the taqueria, and a liquor store that is currently chained up.
“Are we sure it’s here?” Anderson asks. “Something tells me the murder cult is not going to be meeting at Jamba.”
I scan the storefronts. There has to be something weird about this place.
We walk back and forth a few times around the shopping center, but there’s literally nothing out of the ordinary.
“Maybe this is a setup?” Elaine asks.
Anderson takes out his phone. “I’m sharing my location with Ronan. Just in case we’re jumped.”
Perhaps this wasn’t our best idea.
“Is it possible they just meet over tacos?” I ask.
“We need a new game plan.” Elaine tosses her hands up. “This is a bust. We might as well get smoothies and figure something else out.” She looks around. “Plus, it is a lot less suspicious if we talk inside.”
Anderson and I both shrug. Smoothies sound like a better idea than standing around outside a potentially dangerous area.
We head into the Jamba Juice. It doesn’t take long to get our orders, and we sit around the table.
“What do you know about this Feathergate company itself?” Elaine asks.
Anderson looks at me, but I don’t have much to offer. “Not a lot.”
Elaine frowns. “Do they have a website or something?”
“We couldn’t find one.” Not that Ronan and I looked all that deeply into it, but the name seems too specific not to yield any search results.
“What about VQ?” Anderson drops his voice to mouth the abbreviation. “That’s what Mr. Conspiracy called it.”
Elaine types into her phone and scrolls a bit. Her eyes lift to meet mine. “Is this the weird bird symbol you were talking about?”
The web page she shows us features the exact symbol from the book, with VQ INC. lettered in a bright text on top of it. Underneath, it says Established 2018.
We really didn’t look that hard, I guess.
“This has been going on for a while then. Is there anything else?” To see the screen, I have to lean in closer to her. My palms sweat and my heart skips.
“No, there’s some vague mission statement, but I doubt it would help.”
Without warning, her face turns to mine, and we’re only like two inches apart. My eyes have no choice but to drop to her lips, which seem really soft and probably taste like her smoothie.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” I quickly announce, and turn my head before either of them can see my blush.
Real smooth, Bianca.
If I’m lucky, the bathroom will have a window big enough for me to crawl out of so that I never have to face Elaine again. Thankfully, there’s no one using the restroom, so I can go right in and lock the door.
I didn’t actually have to pee, but since I’m in here, I go for it anyway.
It’s a nice bathroom. Clean, well-stocked. It’s a little weird that there’s a storage closet on the inside. I don’t normally see those in public bathrooms. The closet door is riddled with doodles. After flushing and washing my hands, I walk up to it.
Reading what people have to say is a lot easier than hearing it. It’s almost like a different form of watching them—a small window into the lives of strangers.
And it gives me an excuse to recover before going back out to Elaine.
The writing on the door is mostly just initials, swear words, a few penis doodles, and the drawing of the Valley Quail symbol.
What the hell?
The door has a keypad to get in. Is it possible that this is what the book was referring to?
It seems to require a four-digit passcode. I try 1234, but that doesn’t work. I shouldn’t be doing this. I don’t know what’s on the other side, and just because the symbol is on the door doesn’t mean this closet has anything in it. Maybe someone involved in Feathergate had to poop and decided to kill time by making a carving.
I think back to the website. A lot of people use certain years for PINs.
I type in the digits 2018.
The keypad flashes green and unlocks. My heart pounds wildly. I slowly open the closet door. Except it isn’t a storage closet.
It’s a stairwell.
And while I can’t make out what’s at the bottom, I can see what hangs from the wall leading down.
Three plague doctor masks.
I try to give a little laugh but end up feeling some acid in my throat.
Shit.
Twenty-Three
Not a Peep
I take a few quick pictures of the doorway and the stairwell leading down with my flash off, then quietly make sure the door is firmly shut and locked before rushing out of the bathroom.
My mind is a mess of what is happening oh my God oh my God, but I try to keep my cool until I make it back to the table.
