All Out: The No-Longer-Secret Stories Of Queer Teens Throughout The Ages. Saundra Mitchell

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СКАЧАТЬ awoke sharply. Her skin was damp and shivering cold, but her heart was thumping heat into her veins. She could feel Pearl beside her, hear the sound of her steady breathing. Still asleep.

      Making as little noise as possible, Clara rolled to her side, placed a hand over Pearl’s mouth and gently shook her awake. She startled, but seeing Clara’s face, she settled again at once, nodding to show she understood.

      All around, tall grasses shuffled in the early-morning breeze, providing them cover, but obscuring their view of the shore. The girls sat still in their bobbing boat, listening again for the sounds of men.

      They came softly at first. Low, indistinguishable voices threading through the reeds. Not until they came a little closer was Clara able to determine that there were two of them. She raised two fingers and Pearl nodded, agreeing.

      Two girls to two men. They were decent odds, but Clara felt a tremor threaten in her breast. She stilled it with a plan.

      Leaning close to whisper in Pearl’s ear, she said, “The plan is to run. I’ll ready the boat. You get my sword and be ready to look fierce with it.”

      Pearl nodded, but asked, “Where’s your sword?”

      Clara pointed to the cloth bag she’d filled with everything she could think to need, including one of her grandfather’s short swords. Now she wished she’d thought to grab a second.

      The men’s voices grew louder and the girls quieter. They pushed their wool blankets aside and slipped around the boat as seamlessly as water. Pearl sorted through the bag with care until she produced the sword, and Clara eased the boat out of its moorings with smooth, steady motions. Soon, the sloop was free, held in place only by the thicket of reeds they’d nested it in overnight. But it would go nowhere without lifting the sails to catch the breeze, and that was sure to draw the notice of these men.

      Clara was deciding how best to execute their escape, when she heard a shout, “You there! Lad!”

      Pearl stood at the stern of the sloop, her hair tied at the nape of her neck, one hand resting on the boom for balance, the sword in her other. She looked every bit a boy in her breeches and waistcoat.

      Without wasting a second, Clara whistled and tossed her cocked hat to Pearl, who snatched it out of the air and pressed it on her head. Next, Clara scooped up the still-damp yellow dress and tucked it in the narrow hold of the sloop’s nose. She finished just as the two men spotted them through the reeds and called out again, “We don’t mean you no harm, lad. You can put the sword away.”

      The voice was terribly familiar. By the way Pearl’s hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, she thought so, too.

      “We’re looking for a girl. Maybe you’ve seen her?”

      Now Clara recognized the voice. It was that of the man who’d called out to her yesterday afternoon. Pearl’s brother, William, which meant the shorter man standing to his side was Mr. Pitts.

      Pearl made no move to answer. In response, her brother began to push through the reeds. “Lad?” he called, coming into full view. His eyes landed on the sails. Though still wrapped and bound, they were glaringly yellow.

      Clara jumped to her feet and moved to Pearl’s side. “Please excuse my brother. He’s not much for conversation so early in the morning. I’m afraid I’m the only girl we’ve seen.”

      Pearl’s brother stopped, eyes settling on Clara’s face. It was still dim, but he was near enough now to see her clearly. His dark brown eyes traveled from her to Pearl’s tucked chin with a hint of suspicion.

      “We’re out for the crabs,” Clara offered, attempting to draw his focus back to her. “We’ve got traps down the river. But best of luck finding your girl.”

      Now Mr. Pitts stood forward, his narrow nose reaching only to William’s shoulder. He raked his eyes from one girl to the other, but it was the boat he settled on, studying it for a long minute.

      “You were alone yesterday.” Mr. Pitts’s voice was as dense as his gut.

      Pearl shrugged, careful to keep her head bent away from the bruising gaze of Mr. Pitts. “So I was.”

      Clara could hear the slight shudder in Pearl’s breath, but Clara wasn’t afraid. She smiled kindly at the men, then gave Pearl a shove. “The mainsail won’t raise itself, Jack.”

      Pearl took the invitation, throwing herself at the mast though she didn’t have a clue how to do as instructed. But it didn’t matter. The men, convinced these two had nothing to offer them, moved along down the banks of the river.

      Clara joined her friend at the mast, quickly loosing the riggings and raising the sail. Within minutes, they were back on the river, riding the wind away from trouble.

      “Jack!” Clara crowed when she was sure they’d put enough distance between them and the men. “Do you know what this means?”

      “That I owe you twice over?” Pearl’s voice was drawn tight as the sail.

      “Yes, but also, it means we don’t have to be boys.” Clara danced to her friend’s side to steal the hat from her head and place it on her own. “They only have to think we are and we can be whatever we desire.”

      A smile teased at Pearl’s lips. Clara pressed her advantage.

      “What do you say, Pearl? Come with me to Carolina. Join my crew. Be my pirate brother.”

      The sun slid glittering pink across the river, gilding the horizon in layers of light like silk. It looked like treasure.

      Pearl’s chin tipped down as she studied her boy’s clothing. She smoothed one hand over the fabric of her waistcoat with an expression that settled somewhere between distress and wonder. Her silence felt heavy like the prelude to disappointment, and Clara felt an unexpected pang in her chest.

      But then Pearl’s hand was in Clara’s, her eyes flashing like sunrise and steel swords and stolen kisses.

      Clara held her breath until Pearl gave her answer.

      “I say you’d better get used to calling me Jack.”

      * * * * *

       AND THEY DON’T KISS AT THE END

       BY NILAH MAGRUDER

       Maryland, 1976

      She listened to the sizzle of the neon sign overhead and pulled her jacket tighter around her in the early-autumn chill. Her left shoulder was weighed down by the pair of roller skates her parents had bought her for Christmas, the pair she’d hinted and begged and cried for, a jaunty light brown with slick red wheels. She tilted her head and searched the street for an untidy mop of curly dark hair poised atop a skinny frame.

      Because if she saw Vince Ramirez anywhere near the skate rink tonight, she was taking her tail straight home.

      Dee’s СКАЧАТЬ