1 It was the first day of Gender and Sexuality Studies 101. There were only six of us and the pressure of forced intimacy was palpable. The first person I noticed was a long-necked girl sitting with perfect posture, tapping her manicured nails on her notebook. Coffin-shaped, pink polish, with thin gold bracelets on both wrists. She was very pale, with a light smattering of freckles across her nose. A single small, pear-shaped diamond dotted the center of a gold band on her left ring finger. It was a promise ring, I could practically smell it, but I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was a feminist move to reclaim her ring finger, a kind of "I'm-married-to-myself" fuck-you to the patriarchy. I hated that word now, "patriarchy." All I could think of were overpriced graphic tees and white liberal mothers on Facebook updating their status to "WE'RE STILL WITH HER" and "PANTSUIT NATION!" Not that I'd prefer timelines littered with American flag beer koozies and Bible quotes. Although, I did love the liberal Christians-the ones who believe Jesus is a woman and include their pronouns and a verse from the Corinthians in their email signature. Promise Ring Girl was sitting next to a person in a navy button-up, ironed meticulously so that the collar was stiff and crisp. They were Black and wore a maroon beanie, a tight fade peeking out from underneath. I didn't want to assume their gender, not that I should have assumed Promise Ring's. They side-eyed her tapping nails and didn't seem amused. They lounged in their seat, legs spread, resting one elbow on the back of their chair. They took up space. There wasn't an ounce of self-doubt about them. I checked for rainbow paraphernalia. I didn't see any, but they didn't really seem the type. They shifted in their seat, and I heard the jingle of keys from underneath the table. I strained my neck until I clocked a silver carabiner hooked around their belt loop. Bingo. Ugh. Problematic that I was doing this, but I'm sure everyone was assuming that I was straight and in a sorority, so. I looked around. The classroom was old and outdated. Desks the color of manila folders and uncomfortable plastic chairs. The kind with the two metal circle screws near the top, which always snagged my hair. The floor was shiny linoleum, but not shiny enough to cover years of scuff marks. There was a new wing at school that had been renovated over the summer, all plush carpets and ergonomic everything. I heard the STEM kids all had standing desks. "Hello hello hello!" Professor Tolino flew into the room carrying a tote, a purse, a leather backpack, and what looked like a burlap sack hanging all over her person. I knew who she was because I had looked her up on one of those teacher rating sites. Four and five stars, reviews that said things like "fair grader" and "final wasn't crazy" and one that said, "loose cannon, but in a good way." That sold me. I only knew one person in the class, Candace Kelpin, also a sophomore who lived on my floor. She was very short, had a dimpled chin, and could be spotted a mile away because of her mess of frizzy curly red hair. Her Instagram bio read, "yeah, carpet/drapes." We'd been friends since last semester. The first time we talked we were both in the bathroom, and I was brushing my teeth. I saw her glance down at my Birkenstocks. "You gay?" she asked. I nearly choked on my toothbrush. "Yeah," I blurted. It had just come out. I had just come out. I had only told a few people I was bi. Izzie knew, and my mom, and Nova, obviously. After Nova ghosted me over the summer, I decided I should make an effort to look gayer, so I had gotten my septum pierced in July and bought a pair of Birkenstocks. Besides that, I was pretty femme and my nails weren't even that short, and I was too tall to cuff my jeans without them looking like capris. I thought Doc Martens were absurdly expensive for a wildly uncomfortable shoe. Candace was the first person at college I had come out to. "Sweet," she said. "Come over later. Like sixish. Bring wine or cookies and weed if you have any. I'll introduce you to the queers. I'm in 217." I showed up at 6:07 with wine and cookies and no weed. I entered the room to find, as Candace had promised, the queers. A lot of them. They were laughing and smoking, and a few people with technicolor hair turned to see who had walked in. Candace hopped up from her twin bed and threw her arms around me. "I totally forgot your name, dude." I laughed. "It's Sav," I said, presenting her with the wine and cookies. She gestured toward her desk, and I added my snacks to an already heaping pile of cheap wine and a lot of weed. Candace put her fingers in her mouth and whistled, jumping up on a chair. Everyone turned toward her. "Queers, this is Sav! Sav, these are the queers! Pronouns, Sav?" "She/her!" My voice squeaked a little. "Hey, Sav!" bellowed the queers. A drink was shoved in my hand and I was pulled onto a floor cushion and into a conversation about why tops-and-bottoms rhetoric was bullshit. "Wait, everyone is secretly a switch, right?" argued someone with oversized wire glasses and a silver mullet, definitely self-dyed and self-cut. "Absolutely not! Touch-me-nots are real and valid and so are pillow princesses!" This from someone who looked like a cross between a young Sigourney Weaver and a midthirties Freddie Mercury. I had literally no idea what they were talking about, let alone which category I fit into. My eyes wandered around the room. There was a large print on the wall with many squiggly lines that looked like a wave. I had taken a meditation class once where the instructor told us to imagine our breath like the tide rolling in and out. Meditation made me feel like I was going to die, but the wave image had stuck. I took a deep breath. There were little stalks drawn on the bottom of the print. They looked like what I imagined a broccoli tree to look like. Wait, did broccoli grow on a tree? "It's a tarot card." Candace interrupted my thoughts. "It's all about joy and, like, celebrating success. Good vibes. My ex got it for me. No good vibes there, but I like the print." "What happened with your ex?" Oh, well, that was forward of me. "I cheated. Not my best move. Don't worry, though, she cheated too. Right, Mitchie?" Candace cupped her hands around her mouth and screamed across the room. Someone with a long black braid swung her head around and flipped her off. "Fuck you, Candy!" she yelled before turning back to the joint she had been passing around. "You . . . still hang out?" "Ah, young, sweet queer." Candace swung her arm around my shoulders. "You have much to learn about the inner workings of the gay group dynamic." * "Cool if I sit here?" I looked up to see very white teeth attached to a curly-headed person with a soul-crushing jawline and the kind of lashes no amount of castor oil could promise me. "Yes, of course!" I snatched my denim jacket from the desk next to me. "Sweet, I'm Wesley. I use they/them pronouns." They sat down next to me. "I like your water bottle." "I-thank you-I'm-Savannah. She/her, it's from Amazon, I feel guilty about it." What had happened to my ability to string together a normal sentence? "Ah, the clutches of capitalism and the quest for hydration and a dope aesthetic. I feel you." They spoke like a quippy Twitter feed but somehow it was endearing. I resisted the urge to shout, "I'm good at banter too, you just have very green eyes!!" Before I could respond, a pile of syllabi was dropped onto my desk. "Pass these around, my dear." Professor Tolino was already on the other side of the room, fiddling with the blinds. "Vitamin D is an essential element of the Socratic debate, don't you think?" She directed the question to someone wearing an oversized tee that read, not your babygirl. They were Asian, with those very blunt bangs that only ten percent of the population pull off, and I saw platform combat boots sticking out from under their desk. A neon orange backpack rested near their feet. I had no idea how some people could wear their personality so effortlessly. I had regular panic attacks deciding if I could pull off gold hoops. Not Your Babygirl nodded, but Professor Tolino had already bounded toward the other side of the room. She started scribbling on the whiteboard with a blue marker. "Names, pronouns, why you're here." She swung around and pointed at Promise Ring. "I'm Lara Wentworth." Her voice had a singsong quality. "She, um, her." I tried not to judge the pregnant pause between her words. I also tried not to think about the trademark curve of her designer nose, her Gucci belt, or how I could see her collarbones peeking out beneath her knitted black top. She had an Alpha Phi sticker on her computer. Of course. Shit. I was being so judgy. Not everyone in a sorority was a horrible person. I mean, Izzie wasn't. People just want friends, I reminded myself. A community. I wanted that too. "I'm an anthropology major. I study people. And, like, people have genders, so. Ha ha. I'm here!" Dangly Keys was up next, but they currently had their head tilted toward Lara, not even attempting to unfurrow their brows. They sucked in their breath before turning to look at the rest of us. "Yeah, it's Reg. She/her. Psych major with a focus on restorative justice. Needed this class to fill a requirement, but, uh . . ." Reg looked over at Lara again, no expression on her face. "Happy to be here." She then forced a smile at Lara, who beamed back. This was going to be interesting. "Whatsuuuuuup. I'm Candace, she/they. You can call me Candy if you think I'm sweet." Candace laughed at her own joke. "Undeclared and still shopping around. But this class is a prerequisite for being gay, so I had to take it!" Everybody chuckled. It was impossible not to like her. Candace winked at Not Your Babygirl, who was seated next to her. "I'm Vera, she/her. Fine arts major, exploring the impact of satanic worship on feminine liberation. Through textile." My phone buzzed. I peeked under my desk. It was from Candace. I'd sell my soul to Satan for her to step on me. I snorted. "Bless you, Sav." Candace bowed her head in prayer. Professor Tolino's eyes landed on me, one eyebrow raised. "Hi! She/her. Creative writing." The words tumbled out. There was a beat. Professor Tolino looked at me expectantly. "Oh! Um. Savannah. Sav. Either. Yes." There was a laugh from Green Eyes, and I blushed. They jumped in. "Hey, y'all! I'm Wesley, they/them, I'm a sociology major. More specifically, the sociology of gender. Basically, gender is a thing in my life that is interesting!" I laughed too loudly. "Thank you, everyone. I'm thrilled to meet you all. I hope in this room we can cultivate a sense of collaboration, critical thinking, and respect for the individual experience. Let's take a look through the syllabus, shall we?" There was nothing more mind-numbing than going over a syllabus. I peeked over at Candace, who was now pretending she didn't get her own copy and was sharing with Vera instead, the two of them crowding over one desk, knees precariously close. "I guess I'm seeing that a lot of these books are older, and very focused on the gender binary." I turned to see Wesley speaking. I scrambled to flip through the pages in my syllabus to find the reading list. "There are some dope essays and books that have been published in the past decade, give or take, that are really good. A lot of perspectives from folks of different cultures that have a more nuanced relationship to gender than the US does." "I'd love to hear more, Wesley! Let's find a time to chat in the coming week and see if we can change up the list a bit?" Professor Tolino seemed genuinely excited. Wesley beamed. I realized I was also smiling and immediately became very invested in the zipper on my jacket. "You'll see that at the end of the semester you have a final project, and I'd like to plant the seed now to start thinking about it. I want you to be my teachers and present on something you feel truly passionate about. Gender and Sexuality Studies covers a wide range of topics, so there are plenty of subjects to explore. It's my hope that as we trek on, you'll be inspired by the conversations we have together. So, be vigilant in our discussions and really start to ask yourself where your passions lie, yes?" She looked around at all of us. I nodded eagerly, despite having no fucking clue what I was passionate about. Lara asked if she could be excused to the bathroom. Her voice was chipper, peppered with invisible question marks at the end of her sentences. I resisted the urge to scour her Instagram right then and there, already making a bet with myself about how many posts featured pumpkin spice lattes and how many captions read, "Saturdays Are for the Boys," unironically. "Actually, Lara"-Professor Tolino interrupted my thoughts-"I think this is a good stopping point for all of us. I'll let you out a bit early today. It was lovely meeting you, new friends. Get to work on the assignment for next week; it should already be up on Blackboard, Lord willing. See you next class!" "Thank you!" Lara and I spoke at the same time. Goddamn it. Candy's hands thudded onto my desk and she rocked back and forth, tipping my desk with her. "What are you doing tonight? I just ended things with Maya." "Who's Maya?" "Maya. You know, that other orientation leader I was paired with over the summer?" "Is she the one who bit your shoulder too hard?" "Dude!" Candace shushed me and looked around the room. Vera had left. "I still have a fucking bruise." "Did you end it over that?" "Over what?" "The bite!" "Oh, nah. The sex was amazing. But she wanted to switch dorms to be on my floor. Plus, I'm pretty sure I'm polyam now." Candy was dating someone new every other week. I knew not to get too attached to anyone unless they made it to the month benchmark; otherwise I ended up with a bunch of random information about how to make kombucha in your closet or why Jenny from The L Word is a queer reclamation of the manic pixie dream girl trope and that is why it's okay that everyone secretly wants to fuck her. I had only watched season one of The L Word, but that was more than enough to know that nothing justified wanting to fuck Jenny. Excerpted from Old Enough: A Novel by Haley Jakobson All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
