Three people smashed past me as I dug into my pockets and pulled out the piece of paper I’d printed with my locker number and schedule. As if on cue, the final kid slammed past me so hard he knocked my bag onto the floor, spilling its contents everywhere.

So I was on all fours trying to get my stuff together when I heard a familiar voice.

“Welcome to Greenville High!”

I smiled as I recognized the paint-spattered work boots.

“Hey!” I looked up.

It was still-unknown person from the day before, who was wearing pretty much the same thing, only with a bright blue sweater on over their coveralls. They held out their hand, which was also covered in freckles (and a little blue paint?) and yanked me off the floor.

“Nice outfit.”

“Thanks,” I said, flooded with relief. “I didn’t ask your name yesterday, or anything else really,” I apologized, wiping the dust and pain from my knees. “Sorry, it was kind of a weird—”

“It’s Berry.” Berry smiled and adjusted their ponytail/pile of hair. “I mean, I’m Berry. Uh. She/her. If that’s also what you’re asking.”

“Oh, it wasn’t but that is cool?!” I said, dazzled. “Is it, uh, with an ‘e’? Your name?”

“Yeah like Blueberry, or whatever.” Berry scratched her chin. “I didn’t ask your name because. . .I mean it’s Anne, right?”

I blinked. “What?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Berry held up her hands, “Sorry. Welcome to small-town high school life, where like everyone knows everyone. Like, I mean NBD, but I kind of already know everything about you. Not to freak you out.”

I pointed at my chest. “Freaked out.”

“I mean.” Berry shrugged. “Just maybe close your curtains when you get home.”

My eyes popped open. “What?”

“Joke.” Berry smiled. “Small-town humor. Not very funny. More menacing, really. I have no idea if you have curtains.”

“I mean. . .” I looked around, suddenly realizing how aware of me everyone else seemed to be. “We don’t, but now I’m gonna put some up.”

“Maybe not a bad idea.” Berry pulled me to the left so I would avoid being slammed to the floor for the second time in the all of ten minutes I’d been at Greenville High. “So. Okay. Here’s what I know.. . .”

Berry held up a hand and ticked off the facts about my existence on her fingers, which really were dotted in paint. “I know that your moms are gay. That one of your moms is a big-time photographer who takes pictures of naked people.”

“Uh,” I said as I mentally scanned Millie’s gallery of works, “she takes portraits. Sometimes. They’re not ALL naked. Not that nudes are, like, bad.”

“I mean around here that’s porn,” Berry said. “Just so you know. People will say your mom makes porn.”

“Cool.” I sighed. “I’ll let her know.”