All the eyes in the room stuck to Heidi, searing her skin. She wanted to hide in the café bathroom, to breathe in hand soap and digested coffee for as long as it took for their attention to wander, but she couldn’t back down now. This was her chance to show Lisa Parsons she was mature, worthy of that hand on her knee, that she wasn’t some child, like Kim. Shakily, she clambered onto an aluminum stool. The stool was a mistake, which was clear the instant she mounted it. Now everyone could see the bottoms of her jeans, which she’d stamped all over until she’d shredded the hems.

“Go for it, girl,” called a woman with a tiara and a panda purse.

The stool was unsteady and there was nothing to hold on to up there. Lisa Parsons watched with anxious investment, like a mom at a spelling bee. Those fingertips on Heidi’s knee, searching. She stood taller, proud. She was doing beautifully. She should pull Kim in.

“Everybody,” she said. “That’s Kim.” Faces turned at once, like satellite dishes, toward Kim. Heidi breathed better with their eyes off her. “You guys say Lisa Parsons helps kids through being gay, but I don’t need help. I have Kim.” Her voice rolled out, smooth and louder than she’d ever spoken before. “Kim used to live by the ocean, far away from here. There was a Coke factory near her house and Kim has this sea glass that’s, like, brown. Kim dated the most popular girl at school, not even in secret. I didn’t believe it at first, but it’s true. And she had this band? Rainbow Rainbow? Their music made other girls gay.” The name of the band, Kim had explained, symbolized two people side-by-side. The people, who were incidentally both girls, would eventually merge into one rainbow, or girl, but for now were separate ribbons of color, quivering in the lonely sky. “Kim probably helped like five girls realize they were gay with her band.” After all, Kim had helped Heidi realize she was gay without an electric guitar or a recorded drumbeat.

These women were decorated and filled out and easy in the world, and then there was Kim, crunched on the couch, her old gray canine exposed. Heidi had told her to get that tooth checked a million times, didn’t get why Nancy didn’t notice. Against these old, elegant lesbians, Kim was funny-looking and shy. But of course. Heidi’s feet went light on the stool, unsteady. She was an idiot. Kim had never dated a popular girl or seduced a teacher. She’d never had a band. She probably hadn’t even come out in fourth grade. Heidi had needed to stand up on this stupid stool to figure that out. Her voice flattened: “Kim’s neat.”

“That’s damn right,” Anya cried. “This Kim kid’s a freaking figurehead.”