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"What about you?" A girl in the front stared at me. She'd been squirming the whole time Sage spoke, and her gaze lingered on me, as if she'd been waiting for me to interject on my own accord.
"I'm not as gifted as my co-artist," I joked. "I have to plan everything out in meticulous detail. Nothing ever changes from my drafts."
The girl's shoulders relaxed, as if she'd been praying for the answer. She scribbled something down in her notebook and quickly asked another question before her classmates could jump in. "And how is it being open lesbian artists? Do people make you feel weird? Are you going to make Leisah queer?"
"Why would they make Leisah queer?" one guy asked with a disapproving glare. "That'd be pandering."
"She's obviously already queer," someone else said.
"No, she's not," he argued back.
"Ever heard of coding?" the original girl snapped.
"Alright, alright," Luna jumped in, waving her hands as she regained the attention of the class. "We're not being respectful. Aisha, that was a great set of questions, but sexuality isn't something we ask our visitors to divulge. That's personal."
"I'm fine with discussing it," Sage said. "And to clear something up, I'm bisexual, not lesbian."
"What's wrong with being a lesbian?" one of the students asked.
"Nothing, meathead, she just isn't one," Aisha said, and then, to Sage, "Sorry, there are a ton of articles online that said you were one."
Luna looked like she was going to have a heart attack.
"It's fine." Sage shrugged, not bothered in the slightest. "People get confused sometimes, or—worse—they think I'm confused. Either way, it's important to correct them."
"Why would people think you're confused?" a kid in the back asked.
Luna made her way up to the front of the class now, shaking her head as if to say you don't need to answer that.
"Some people don't like someone not fitting into their idea of who they should be." Sage shrugged. "Take Noah, for example."
My brow wrinkled, but I nodded, trying to pretend like I knew where she was going with this. "I am, in fact, a lesbian, though. So…"
Sage laughed. "Yeah, I meant your art. She's drawn tons of stories in different genres. She writes romance, fantasy, action, horror. Does her own thing. Does all the things."
I'd unsuccessfully dipped my toes into other genres, yes, but Sage didn’t say the unsuccessful part. She didn’t even hint at it. This was truly unprecedented: she was making me look good.
"Art needs that kind of bravery," Sage continued, gaze lingering on me for a moment. "Calls for more than one side of you. So, whatever you do and whoever you decide to be, make sure you try whatever calls to you with your head held high, and make sure you correct people when they try to tell you who you are. Because, trust me, they will always try."
The girl in the front was beaming, writing down more notes. I smiled at Sage and felt this weird surge of pride in knowing her, in seeing her own her identity in a way I knew would help some of students feel brave enough to do the same.
We took more questions and even had time to critique some of their art in the hallway. Overall, the students were kind, far more accepting of us than my peers were at their age. We ended the visit with a group photo and some autographs, and a handful of them asked us to come back after the Leisah rebrand. We made promises that I knew we'd keep. I made a mental note to ask someone back at Harpy how we could send them all copies of the first issue.
"You were a natural with them," I said to Sage when we headed back to the parking lot.
She shrugged. "They're people at the end of the day."
"Scary, small people with no filter and mean glares."
"Is that why you froze up on me?"
I sighed. "So you did notice?"
"Of course I noticed my viper wasn't biting," she teased.
Her viper? I should take offense. A few weeks ago, I would have, but a few weeks ago, she wouldn't have used the possessive. She sure as hell wouldn't have paired the title with a soft smile.
I was still wrestling with how that made my chest tighten when she climbed onto her bike. As she unclicked the latch of her helmet, I scrambled to think of something to make her linger a moment longer. I didn’t want to go back to the office and be quiet on my side of the cubicle with her on hers. I didn’t want to go to war with her in the Bloom Room.
