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It won’t be as simple in New York. There’s always the risk of running into a NYU student, professor, or other staff member there. It’s a big school with lots of opportunities to get caught.
I wish we could stay in the safety and beauty of Alaska forever. Unfortunately, that’s not an option. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be back to reality.
I arrive at the panel room and find it only about half full. The panel doesn’t start for ten minutes, but it concerns a big topic involving LGBT representation in literature, particularly how the women are portrayed in these stories. Because of the popularity of the topic, I expected this panel to be full, which is why I arrived early.
I take a seat in the middle of the room and mess around on my phone until it’s starting time. The moderator finally arrives and introduces the panelists. I haven’t looked at the list of panelists yet, only the topics. The first three people I slightly recognize because of the other panels and sessions I’ve attended this week. But there is one name I know too well.
“And last but certainly not least, we have a panelist from our very own state of Alaska, Dr. Jane Fordham!”
The room erupts in cheers, but I’m staring slack-jawed at the small stage.
Of course, the last panel I’m attending during this conference features the one woman I don’t want to see.
I’ve managed to avoid Jane since we were introduced. Mark and John both assure me she’s harmless, but I don’t trust her. She gives off a bad vibe that I don’t like.
“Thank you all for coming,” the moderator says. “We know you have a lot of excellent programming to choose from, and we’re glad you chose to spend your morning with us. I’d like to start off by going down the line to talk about your first experience with a female-centric piece of LGBT literature. How were the women treated in that book?”
I force myself to focus on the panelists and how they answer the question. Despite my disdain for Jane, she has a lot of insight into the literature. She’s smart.
That makes her even more dangerous.
I wonder again what kind of paper she wants John to write with her. Does she know he’s bi? It would make sense if she did.
The panel is just as amazing as I expected. I’ve never paid much attention to LGBT studies before, but being with Mark and John has made me more interested in the subject. Besides, they’re right about one thing. Even if the literature at this conference isn’t usually my thing, it may have to be if I decide to work for a literary magazine someday. Having realized this, I’ve been exposing myself to new topics this entire conference, and it’s been surprisingly fun.
I duck out of the panel before Jane sees me. She may have been insightful in the discussion, but I don’t want to talk to her. I’m already upset enough about the conference ending. I don’t need an interaction with Jane to make it worse.
Mark and John are still in their respective panels for another hour, so I head to the cafeteria for a small snack while I wait for them. I almost want the hour to drag on because after they’re done, we’ll be going back to the hotel, and that’s one step closer to this trip being over. I don’t want that.
Beyond just spending time with the guys, I’ve had a lot of fun learning about literature and attending different sessions. The conference has been a lot more interesting than I expected it to be. Once I got past my nervousness, I found I could enjoy a lot of the panels. Starting with day two, I’ve been going to panels and sessions on my own.
There were a few panels that the three of us attended together or that I went to with one guy or the other. However, we have different tastes and interests, so going our separate ways usually made more sense. We had plenty of time together in the hotel, after all.
My favorite panel was one the three of us went to, though. It was about the Scarlet Letter, so it felt fitting for all three of us to be there since that book brought us together. If I hadn’t gone to John’s office to ask him about my grade, none of this would have happened.
I owe this whole relationship to The Scarlet Letter.
The panel itself wasn’t great; it focused on stuff we’d talked about in class when we read the book. But I didn’t care because I had attended for the nostalgia factor. I think the guys did, too.
There’s a smile on my face as I enter the cafeteria and find a table. I’m still upset the conference is ending, but I’ve made some great memories here. And a week alone with the guys has solidified my feelings for them. I’m secure in this relationship now. I don’t care if it’s unconventional; I’m happy, and that’s what matters.
