One by one, the rest of the club trickled in. Finn, who’d been out as gay for a year now, made a beeline for Brooke and me. Today, he wore a tie in a shocking yellow shade consisting of, upon closer inspection, rows upon rows of rubber ducks. Apparently, he was still testing the boundaries of how “appropriate” should be defined. Against his impeccable grooming, from his tidy black hair to polished black shoes to his high quality rectangular-framed glasses, his tie choice only stood out more. I’d both hate and love to see what would happen if boys were allowed to wear printed socks. Anarchy would be renamed Finn Park.

Raina, the only other openly bi member, came in next, scanned those of us sitting with a disappointed expression, and took a seat at the head of the semicircle. Raina was the student council leader, and had run against Brooke for the spot last semester (our school allowed both juniors and seniors to apply to hold the position). It’d been a tense race, and there was no love lost between the two girls. For a hot minute I’d thought Brooke had a chance of beating Raina, too.

Lily, who was somewhere on the ace spectrum but she wasn’t sure where yet, came in with Jaz, a lesbian like Brooke, and Jason, gay. Finally, Alexei, pan and nonbinary, brought up the rear and we closed the doors to start the meeting.

We took turns running meetings, rotating every week, and this week was Brooke’s turn. She sat up a little straighter, with her legs crossed at the ankles. When I first met her in freshman year, she’d hated public speaking to the point where I’d had to leave class to talk her through breathing techniques in the hall before she had a presentation. Then, after a year of working with the school counselor, she gained enough confidence that sometimes she even volunteered to speak. Like today, and when she ran for student council president. I didn’t think she loved presenting, even now, but she was much harder on herself than she was on everyone else, so the less she wanted to do something, the more she forced herself to do it anyway.

“Let’s start with”—she scanned the notepad she held between her shaking hands—“check-in. Clockwise, from me. I’ve had a generally good week, my mental health is in a good place, and everything’s great at home. Finn?”

One by one, we went around the room, Mr. Elliot included. During these meetings he tried not to take on too much of an authoritative role. He said as long as the door was closed, we could view him as more of a queer mentor than a teacher, and it was a safe space to discuss inappropriate behavior or comments from other teachers without having to feel uncomfortable around him.