“We have other exhibits to see,” I said abruptly, desperate to get as far from Cal as I could without ever leaving his side.

Cal nodded while Rosie looked like he wanted to crumple into a ball and roll away, never to be seen again.

As we continued on our way, in the opposite direction from Cal, Igor shook his head, muttering, “Faggots.”

If I hadn’t been paying attention, I would have missed the sympathetic glance Maks gave me, but as always in times of discomfort, I’d already been looking toward him.

When I went to The Studio that night, sunburnt from the exposure and cranky from the impromptu date, I found I wasn’t the only person in a foul mood.

“I would say it was a pleasure seeing you at the fair today, but it’s obvious the pleasure was only mine,” Cal mused as soon as I opened his bedroom door. He was lying on the bed, tapping a pen against his lips thoughtfully. How long had he been there like that, tapping and thinking, considering things I didn’t want him to consider?

“I could very easily say the same if you hadn’t brought him and made a spectacle of yourself,” I replied, leaning my back against the door I’d closed behind me and was quite sure I would be exiting before I wanted to.

“A spectacle?” he asked, nodding his head and breathing ‘wow,’ the way he did when he was angry.

“His hair sweeps his shoulders and he was wearing rouge, Cal,” I said firmly, irritated by his propensity to twist the truth into an accusation of bias. If my cheeks hadn’t already been inflamed, I knew they’d be prickling hot with frustration.

“So?” he challenged, sitting up and crossing his arms over his chest. “What are you afraid of, hmm? A few raised eyebrows from ignoramuses who don’t realize we’re at the precipice of a revolution?”

I’d heard the speech so many times, but still, Cal implored me to settle into his eyes and see what he did, see the hopes he had for the future, a world of which I would not let myself dream. He was a child that way, more a child than I ever had been, even in my youth. Cal acknowledged only the best in people, believing they were good as if he had never faced the bad. He had, hadn’t he? Why else would he have run away? Questions he had deflected every time I’d alluded to them made their way back to my lips, but I was distracted by his next declaration:

“if you’re worried about raised eyebrows I’ll confess I raised two at you.”

“Oh did you? Why is that?” I asked. He bristled at the challenge in my tone but persisted.