"Uh, Joss? Look, about what I said earlier..." "Will you excuse me?" she asked placidly, giving Erica a glance as she took some papers in hand. "I've got some homework to do. May I have some privacy?" "Oh, uh, sure. Is there anything I can do?" "No, just make yourself at home. Mom should be here shortly with dinner." "All right." Jocelyn walked out of the den and into the hallway, where she dove into her door and disappeared. Erica chewed on her lip and resigned herself to sitting on the couch—and waited. "I hope I know what I'm doing," she murmured to herself. The Protest "Part Three: Jericho" It was a genius, albeit unusual idea, and it was all Amina's. She had spent the night at Nomi's small house, sketching and talking and becoming closer to a girl she considered her best friend, and came up with the whole thing while idly drawing a castle. Stanton was a bit like a castle, she had mused: it had its rulers, its workers, a large population and kind of a domineering yet awe-inspiring presence. Castles were more romantic, noted Nomi; Amina agreed, and then it came to her. Jericho. The girls would reenact the famous battle of Jericho—but instead of swords and bows, they would carry picket signs and banners, and every morning for six days, including the weekend, they would march around the school once. On the seventh day, they would go around it seven times, blow their instruments, and see what came of it. Hopefully, as Jericho had, the school would not crumble to pieces—but if it did, what a display it would've been! Nomi thought she was nuts, but went along with it anyway. Hero, Jocelyn, Usha, and all their loved ones and the volunteers each took position at a table, passing out picket signs and banners for everyone. Many of Janet Keys' students had made the signs by hand; they read such things as "Women against the war", "The Badgers will fight the draft", "I didn't vote for no draft", "Bring our soldiers home NOW", and so on. Nearly everyone took a sign. After hearing just how seriously Bush was considering reinstating the draft, even the indifferent women of the school started carrying signs. The march would not take place until either one-hundred people were there or else the entire school population was. Hero had greeted everyone and asked that they form a kind of ring all the way around the building, and told them to wait until they heard the signal before marching. Her hair was dyed red on one side, blue on the other, and had white streaks running everywhere; Usha had a shirt with the Statue of Liberty on the front and the Statue of Justice on the back (fittingly, both were female); Jocelyn wore a custom-made sweater with the words "In Loving Memory" sketched on them, and below was a picture of her deceased boyfriend. Grim, but effective—she was getting flowers and condolences from everyone. Corona Marcos walked up and picked out a sign that read "Give me peace or give me death!", and grinned as she held it up. She searched for one she thought Alexandra would like, and pulled out one that screamed "Don't tread on me!" with the Peace sign broken in several bits. She gave it to Blair, brushing her hand as well. Blair thanked Marcos and, taking her hand, went to find a space in the gathering crowd. "Whaddya got?" asked Ana Lu, foraging through the piles. She already had several small banners attached to her waist, wrists, and neck, but wanted a sign to throw up. Rai Zanders was not far away; she saw Ana and felt oddly tempted to join her. She cleared her throat and picked out a single yellow banner to wave. Her thoughts briefly turned toward the friend she had made during summer vacation—how the other girl had actually wanted to join up with something like this—and wondered how she was doing. Rai ignored Ana and took her place; Lu eventually gave up looking and just decorated herself with another banner. They were going faster than the artists could make them. Soon, quantity became more important than quality, and many signs were plastered with ink only to be stolen away a second later. In spite of the large number of artists, those who had come to protest severely outnumbered them. Ayanna, Erica, Blake, and Mira, being obviously connected to the chief speakers, were now elevated to a higher status as they oversaw the construction. A few girls donated banners and flags; these were consumed easily. "Wow," said Ethan Nikholai, his eyes bulging. "Look at that! I didn't expect such a large crowd." His girlfriend Avelina sucked on her lip. "Neither did I, and I go to school here. Come on." "Wait." She had already hopped out of the car, and was leaning against it as he spoke to her. "Avi, standing up for what you believe in is all well and good, but don't you think you're being a bit... I mean, rebellious? I mean, look: I love you, but I love this country too. It's taken me in when I had nothing but a name, and it's given me everything a man could want, and more. I just don't feel comfortable saying bad things about it, even if I am against the war." She smiled tenderly, took his hand, and kissed him. "Beautiful Ethan," she sighed dreamily. "Worry not, love. I know how you feel. It's as if this rolling stone has finally taken root and is growing some moss. I'm in no means against this country, or the people who fight to protect it. I'm just against a war that's gone on longer than necessary, and the draft. We're not in danger, love, but people we know are. Come on, we'll find a nice peaceful sign." "As you wish," he said, following her as she led him by hand (neither could go very quickly). They wove through the crowds and waited in line; meanwhile, Kula Nanahara spotted them and waved. "Ya here to give this country a kick in the ass too?" "No, just the war." "Bah!" she snorted. "This country stinks. Hawaii may as well have its own nationality. I was better off there anyway. I hear you two aren't native to this place either." "No, I was born in Brazil, and lived some of my life in Portugal," said Avelina. Ethan nodded politely. "As for me, I was born in Russia, and moved here when I was fifteen." "Ya both speak pretty good American garbage," remarked the skater with a grin. "Course', I ain't calling it English, since, well..." "We're not in England," said about twenty-to-thirty nearby students, most of whom had had Miss Madsen as a teacher. Kula grinned and made a gesture. It was her turn next, and fittingly enough, she had been led to the table that Usha ran. The Hawaiian native looked at Krishnan blankly, crossing her arms expectantly. She kept her eyes on the older girl as she fished around for a sign, found a good one, and said "Thanks" before joining the crowd. "Well," remarked Mira, "that was peaceful." Now Jericho was tightly shut up because of the Israelites. No one went out and no one came in. Then the Lord said to Joshua, "See, I have delivered Jericho into your hands, along with its king and its fighting men. March around the city once with all the armed men. Do this for six days. Have seven priests carry trumpets of rams' horns in front of the ark. On the seventh day, march around the city seven times, with the priests blowing the trumpets. When you hear them sound a long blast on the trumpets, have all the people give a loud shout; then the wall of the city will collapse and the people will go up, every man straight in." --Joshua 6:1-6 "Of course," said Hero, "I'm sure Stanton won't crumble or anything—I hope it doesn't—but at least we'll have an impact. I'm actually glad we thought of such a unique way to match Miss Marbel's challenge. Someone go thank Amina; she should be at the front of the line." By the time the crowd was at its peak, nearly thirty minutes before 8:00, it had gotten so thick that even by forming a ring around the school, they were still massive. Most of them had been informed that Amina had constructed the idea, and embarrassed her several times over with their congratulatory remarks. The three speakers looked over the crowd, took the hands of their respective counterparts (be they lovers or friends), joined in, and as one, Stanton took the first step together in a long march, with seven members of the band in front with instruments. Bernadette Marbel, content to watch, took in a deep breath and shivered in the cold. "Day one, girls," she said to herself. "Good luck." Day Two By now, Lilian Nachtheim knew the school pretty well, but marching around it on a cold early November morning proved that even she had things to learn. Of course, the world looked much happier and more alive when a pretty redhead with an apron fetish was clutching her arm, and it seemed bolder with a sign reading "Buy food, not arms" occupying her free hand. As the two of them marched around the building, arm in arm, Gabrielle snuck in a kiss and whispered softly. "This isn't so bad. Fresh air, exercise, friends, a beautiful girlfriend..." Lilian quietly agreed. Gabrielle was wonderful for her, nearly perfect in ways of a match, and any time they spent together, even outside on a nonromantic quest like this, was a treasure. Her touch, her bright smile, her gorgeous sparkling eyes, that kiss and that hug... it was everything she could've wanted, right from the least-expected source. Lilian had once thought she was in love with Miss Madsen, but that was silly and outdated. They both needed to be around women their own age, and happy circumstance saw to it that they did. Yes, even Hitomi was out there, braving the cold as she marched with one hand clasping Abby's and the other a small flag. Their students were happy to see their teachers out with them, supporting their cause. It was the perfect way to be a role model, Keeping had said, and from that day on, many of the young people there looked up to them. Leena was there too, openly holding Kathlyn's hand, and the entire soccer team followed them around the school, from front to back and all around. Aside from their footfalls, the group was eerily quiet. It had been agreed that there would be no talking, no shouting or cheering, unless absolutely necessary. The protest would be a peaceful one, quiet but provocative; the sheer numbers and determination of the girls would act as their voice. The previous day, everyone had been asked to keep the picket signs they had so they could be used the next day, and more were made at home and in art class, but even these were depleted as more people came to let their voice—or rather, their march—be heard. Once around, then a speech was given, and the girls were sent inside to resume classes. Marbel had encouraged them to go to school so their cause would be clear—protest, yes, but responsibly. Most of the crowd dispersed quietly, but some returned to their cars, heading home or else to their own school. Apparently, word had traveled quickly about the strange form of protest, and many other people had joined since. Day Three "Whoa," said Tristan Reeves, taking a good long look at the ring of people around the school. "You weren't kidding, Farrah. There are a lot of people here." "Mm-hmm. Join me and I'll forgive you for ditching me." "Come on, honey, you know I had a good reason." She ignored him and went ahead, hoisting her sign above. They wove through the parking lot and came across a group of people who were watching. Most of them were curious onlookers, some just men come to "see the lesbians". "Dude, check it out!" said one, pointing to the crowd. They cackled and cheered as they saw two of the girls in the crowd exchange a brief kiss in mid-march. Another stopped Farrah before she could go any further. "Hey, like, do you go to this lesbian school?" "Gimme a break, jerk," she snorted as she pulled away. "I'm straight, for your information, and taken." "She really is," said Tristan as he took her arm. He gave them a back-away glance before following his girlfriend into the crowd. The boys still watched and cheered, but were chased off by a few teachers. Andeira Torvald gave Samantha O'Brien a weary look as the onlookers scampered away. "If word gets out that this is a place for gay girls, there could be trouble." "But it's not, right?" "Of course not, but that's the official statement. Even the most naïve person knows that at least seventy percent of the population in this school is homosexual or bisexual. I don't know why." O'Brien shrugged. "Maybe the lack of men helps create a Sapphic atmosphere." She left Torvald with that thought and resumed her patrol of the area, keeping gawkers and solicitors away. Torvald crossed her arms in the cold air. A lack of men creating a Sapphic atmosphere? Did that explain her brief, destructive affair with Em McGowen? Did that explain why even the most heterosexual girls, exceptions withstanding, were now dabbling in their own gender? What did cause women to be attracted to other women anyway? "It's not for me to find out," she resolved, before turning round to shoo away more unwelcome folk. "Hey, Fare-fare! Hey Reevus!" Ivory gave Farrah and Tristan a hug and welcomed them to the crowd. She briefly introduced Ancelin as her official girlfriend, asked them each how they were doing, and struck up a conversation in spite of being told not to. They kept their voices low as they walked around the school. "So whaddyou make of this? I mean, I heard Marbel's gonna bring a news van out here, but I haven't seen it yet. Anne here thinks she's just waiting for the last day. Man, I can't believe I have to march out here on a weekend just to make the news!" "You don't have to, do you?" asked Tristan. "Well no, but... y'know... I gotta show my support. I'm as against the draft as anyone here. Besides, I'd be torn to pieces if I was separated from my Annie." She looked over and gave Ancelin a cheery smile; she returned it shyly and squeezed Ivory's hand. "And it's not bad. We keep each other warm in down time, don't we?" She grinned and kissed Ancelin's cheek. Ancelin gave out a little squeal and shyly looked away. Farrah rolled her eyes. Day Four "Can you believe it?" said Alisha one day, several minutes before the march began. "All these women here and I can't find one I like. Most of em' are either too ugly, too stuck-up, or too... taken to even hit on! And those guys have been coming here for the past three days. You think they expect us to have an orgy once this is done?" She looked to her sister, who was busy making more signs, but didn't get an answer. So she sighed. "Erica, talk to me. What gives? Come on, answer. You haven't been the same since before this whole thing started. It's like you're in another world. Look, I'm sorry about bothering you earlier, I just thought you and Joss... well, you know. I mean, you don't have to say if you are a couple or not, just... talk to me." "I'll talk if you come and help," she answered. "I did help! I painted fifteen signs! Fifteen!" "Then make another fifteen." Alisha gave a grunt, stormed over, and yanked a permanent marker from the table. "Bossy, bossy, bossy," she murmured as she started to draw. Erica secretly smiled and, as promised, started talking. "If you're lonely, I know of a few girls out there that are looking." "Oh yeah? Who?" She pointed. "You could have an affair with Miss Cerio." Alisha snorted. Tempting, but she wanted a girl with a little more stability. "No thanks. Next." "Olivia Johnson. She's your type." "She's too sullen; next." "What about Yuki?" "Who?" Erica made a face. Okay, so not too many people knew her yet. "Uh, let's see, there's... May Tramble. Word is that she thinks she's bisexual." "Only because she has to kiss some girl for the musical. Odds are they'll just end up sleeping together." "(Then I guess that rules out Janine,)" murmured Erica to herself. She listed off a few other names: Alexis Walker, Zane Klein, Vai Knox, Kula Nanahara, Katt Parkin. Walker and Klein were no longer together, but they were hardly Alisha's type, and she didn't even know who Vai Knox was. "Yes you do," argued her sister, "you have her in drama class. She's in the play, dummy!" "Oh, her. God, I don't know if she's straight or not. Sides, I think she likes that Ave-whats-its chick." "Avelina. She's definitely straight." "Then I'll consider it," she barked. Erica winced and scooted away so she wouldn't be under the glare of her older sister's stare. "God," she murmured, "calm down. I'm just trying to help." Vairocana had no idea people were talking about her; she was absently walking around the school, just behind Victoria and June (June, laden with signs and banners, had generously donated her wheelchair as a means of decoration, and sat poised with a flute ready to blow) and right in front of Katt and Leena. She was old enough to vote, and had went for Nader, since neither Kerry nor Bush appealed to her. Lately she was wishing she had went for Kerry—if for no other reason, than to prevent this rally, no matter how well-meaning it was. No war meant no rally. Her parents had went with her, taking some time off from their jobs, and wisely distanced themselves from her so they wouldn't be an embarrassment. They certainly didn't want their daughter off in Iraq, even if her life was generally misguided and without ambition. Vai was no fighter, though at times her violence came out like lava from a volcano. She attested her anger to cruel circumstance, and loneliness, and having a lack of love outside her home—and sometimes even in it as well. Day Five Mihoshi Kagure, or Yuki to her friends, was a schizophrenic lost in another time, born into a system that seemed out of her own world, mad in a sense and in a way, clearly sane. She believed herself to be a samurai, and in fact addressed herself as Samurai Yuki whenever meeting somebody, unless someone else introduced her. On one level, she did indeed model herself after the likes of Zatoichi, Sonny Chiba, and the inimitable Toshiro Mifune, but on another level, the term "samurai" described her well. In medieval Japan, samurai meant "to serve", and anyone who knew Yuki well enough knew that this fit her personality. She was constantly looking to serve and help other people with their problems—sometimes sticking her nose where it didn't belong, so her quixotic nature landed her in trouble a lot. She carried a large wooden stick with her whenever she could get away with it, saying one never knew when trouble arose. Half the time, though, her disposition caused the trouble rather than ending it. On the fifth day of the march, Yuki traveled with some of the teachers, especially Miss Raulson, whose grasp on Japanese history was as impressive as her large gambling debts. Raulson was able to fill in blanks even Yuki didn't know, most notably saying how accurate (or inaccurate) many of the popular Eastern movies were. Obviously, Chinese Mandarin theater was all rot, and recent films seemed to concentrate more on flashy, impossible fighting moves more than realism. Kurosawa seemed to have a slightly better grip of his own country's history; Ran in particular was one of Yuki's favorite movies. As Yuki became acquainted with Raulson, and the school in general, Dr. Andrews watched from afar with her medical kit close by. Not a single one of the students circled and marching around the school had actually went inside, so there was no reason for her to go as well. She remained where she was just in case, as a professional, waiting for the emergency that might or (hopefully) might not come. She had the company of Sarah Johansson, Janet Keys, and Elspeth Post, but Sarah would join the girls on the very last day and lead the musical procession. "Your foster daughter seems to have mastered this well," noted the doctor during the march. She handed Keys a thermos of coffee she had brought, and passed it all around until everyone got a cup. Keys drank deep, warming herself up before speaking. "She gets it from the heart. Has to. She didn't even know her father, and her biological mother was so hard on her. Joss has had a tough life, but she's strong. She's made the most of it. She's going to outdo all of us one day, just you watch. Erica and I can only be there for her, and act like a springboard when she's ready to fall." "Mm. Must be nice having people who love you." "Don't say that, honey," said Sarah, giving her a look. "I love you plenty; we all do." "Oh yeah?" Andrews snorted and nearly drained her coffee. She added, "Nobody was there for me when I fell. I had to pick myself up each time. You can't call a person strong if somebody else helps them." "Jean, that's a terrible thing to say." "Terrible and true." Sip. Empty. She filled it up and gave the rest of the coffee to Elspeth. "So what about you? Thoughts, Miss Post? Remarks, regrets?" "No. None at all." "You sure?" asked Mrs. Keys. Post looked deep into her eyes, deep into the possibility she could never have, and nodded her head. "Yes, I'm sure." Sarah Jo finished her drink and gave Andrews a hug from behind. "Well, anyway, people are here for you now, doctor, so don't think otherwise for a moment." She kissed the older woman on the back of her head and left to get some spare jackets from her car. Being from Sweden, Sarah was used to the cold, but she knew the others weren't (Elspeth and Andrews were English by birth, so even they were a little immune). "So what's the deal with May and Janine?" asked Olivia, getting Victoria's attention. Her smallish, redheaded friend turned around slightly and groaned. "Oh, I don't know. Those two are so weird. It's hard keeping track of them. Janine says she's straight, but sometimes I wonder. June, you know your sister the best. What do you think?" June smiled, holding her flute since her wheelchair provided support for the banners and signs she had. "Every time Janine comes over to practice, they seem to dance around the kissing part. When they do kiss, they can barely stop, and every time she leaves, it's like something really awful happened to her, and May's a distant wreck. You know what I mean? We had a long talk last night, and she told me she might be thinking that it's a possibility that—" "All right," said Vicki with a giggle, "we get the idea. Your point?" "My point," said June with a smile, "is that I think my sister is suspicious of her own sexuality. I know it sounds cliché and silly, but she's had Janine on her mind for awhile. She doesn't have too many friends, least of all any she can identify with—of course, I don't either—so Janine's been a blessing. Like you said, I just wish they went one way or the other." "And so you accepted who you were and were okay with it," noted Olivia. "That's right, and I've never been happier." She looked up and squeezed Vicki's hand; they managed to exchange a kiss in mid-march. She resumed after awhile with, "My sister, on the other hand...... Honestly, I don't think she'd be against a relationship with another girl. She needs someone to love, anyone, and I'm more of a poor substitute now than I was before." "But you two have never been that close." "I know, I'm just saying." "Well, we can count Janine out," sighed Olivia as she crossed her arms. "May could be gay, pardon the bad rhyme, but Jean'll never cave in. She'd sooner amputate a finger than sleep with a girl. That little locker room incident tore her up pretty bad, and she's awkward in any really sexual situation. She's just messed up." "No more than you or I," noted Victoria. Olivia agreed. "What'cha guys talkin' about?" said Blake, suddenly barging in and putting her arms around her friends. Victoria squealed in surprise and Olivia shoved the poor girl off. "How your asinine Jewish nose always manages to stick itself into people's business!" "Oh, that's Gab's work." "Then you forgot your meds." Blake made a face. "Damn, I did. I oughta give my girls a piece of my mind." She ran off looking for them, leaving the trio to themselves. June murmured. "Just make sure to keep enough to think with..." Day Six Alexis Walker wished she hadn't slept with Alisha Fox. It just made her seem so desperate—well, it did for both of them. At least she had some level of identification with Aintzane, celebrated Captain of the soccer team and all-around great girl. Zane had been just the medicine for her, wild and weird and way off the beaten track, and the sparks could've flown further and longer if they hadn't given up out of sheer apathy. Sleeping together, even with a sexy soccer player—hell, even with the Captain—had gotten too mundane, too awkward. And she never had been a morning person. Thankfully, Zane was not a bed-hopper; she didn't go from one sack to the next, experiencing one girl then immediately going for another, as if they were a buffet. That was a quality X liked, and maybe part of the reason why she still yearned for the taller woman, even as they stood on opposite sides of the ring and marched. Zane herself was off talking to some of her mates in soccer, or when she could afford it, the teachers, thus giving Walker some well-earned space. Of course, she just had to ruin it all by bedding Alisha Fox, a mistake they both felt the following day. It could've been worse, though. She could've slept with Miss Jo, who was conveniently her type. But Miss Jo had tougher chicks to follow; X just had to follow Ayanna Montgomery and watch, with some nostalgia, as she clung to Hero. Ah, Hero. So similar to her, yet so different, in nearly every way. Love had went away with a nice girl, so why weren't there any sweethearts attached to Walker's arm? Didn't she, the big lug on campus, deserve someone as well? Feeling socially suicidal, she wound her way through the crowd and searched for Alisha Fox. And Zane Klein. Aintzane Rikke Klein said, "I thought you two'd get together sometime. It was only a matter of time." "We're just walking, Zane." "And your arms are linked." "It's cold, Miss Klein." "I saw you smiling at each other." "Emma can tell very good jokes." "And kiss." "So Janna's friendly, so what?" Zane grinned. "You know that river in Egypt, de Amazon?" "That's the Nile river," said Raulson. Zane made a face. "Huh? I thought it was the Amazon." "The Amazon's Brazilian, baka!" shouted Yuki. Zane made another face. "And I have no idea what you just said." Yuki snorted, turned her back, and resumed talking to Miss Raulson. Zane put her arms on her head and tried prying deeper into McGowen's life, but all she got was a report on more collaborations the two teachers were doing. Working together, they reminded her, was not the same thing as sleeping together. That night, Emma McGowen and Janna Raulson slept together. Go figure.
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