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they’re sitting on the roof again. illi has a cigarette hanging out of her mouth, and frank has a coke bottle beside him that he’s completely forgotten about.
“the thing is, I don't even like wearing skirts that much,” she’s saying to the night sky, smoke billowing from her lips.
“yeah, you don’t wear them that often,” frank says absently.
“exactly. And so many of the girls at hudson complain all the time, and I totally get it. it gets so fuckin’ cold in the winter. and pervs are always trying to look up them, and you have to sit in such a specific way, and it’s all based on shitty old gender roles anyway,” she rants. “I know if I was born a girl, I'd hate wearing a skirt as my uniform.”
“I get that,” frank says.
illi sighs. “but I still want to be allowed to wear it.”
“yeah.”
“because, like, okay,” she says, angry and energetic, “the problem I have isn’t with the pants. it’s with the fact that I know everyone who sees me in the hallway thinks guy, and it’s not even their fault, because it’s fair to assume that the person in the men’s uniform is a man, right? and I can't even wear my hair down because the teachers know I'm trans, so they’ll call me out on it even though they never say shit to ray or anyone else. I have to be totally in the closet. it’s awful.”
“it sounds awful,” frank says.
“and all this is over a fucking skirt that I don’t even want to wear that much.” illi takes a drag, holds it for a second. “I wish I could just be me, you know?”
“why go to hudson then?” frank asks. “there’s an art school in the city. I’ve heard it’s really chill there. they don’t have uniforms, and you’d be able to take drawing classes and shit. all the stuff you can’t do at hudson."
illi crushes her cigarette on a roof tile. “it’s for mikey."
frank looks over at her curiously.
“if I wasn't there, he wouldn’t be able to keep an eye on me,” she explains. “I know he fucking worries about me. if I go to hudson, he doesn’t have to, as much. plus, I can look out for him, too. people won’t target him if I’m there as a buffer, y’know? I’ll be the queer kid with a target on her back. that way mikey can fly under the radar.”
“mikey’s queer?” the word sounds kind of awkward in frank's mouth, like he’s trying to swallow marbles.
“oh, shit,” illi says. “um, yeah. he’s bi. sorry, don’t tell him I told you? I thought you knew already.”
“yeah, I won't,” frank says. then, “what’s bi?”
illi looks at him oddly, huffing out a little laugh. “you’re weird, frankie."
“what?”
“nevermind,” she says. “it’s short for bisexual. when you like girls and boys. equally.”
“oh,” frank says. “that makes sense.”
then he thinks about it.
he thinks about how he felt about ray, right at the start of the year, before he met illi and got into all the cryptid alien shit. he almost forgot about the intense want to talk to him, how badly he’d wanted to invite him to play guitar, and how nervous it made him at the same time. how he kept staring at him, all the time, to the point where it was making it hard to focus on classwork, even though science was one of the very few things that could usually hold his attention. how much he looked at his arms when he stretched after hunching over a lab worksheet.
“oh fuck,” he says, kind of quiet.
illi looks at him, one eyebrow raised (she looks so much like mikey, it’s crazy).
“I think I might be that. bisexual.”
“cool,” illi says lightly, not at all surprised.
frank thinks she might have known all along.
illi smiles at the stars. “it’s not just for mikey, y’know. it’s for all the little gay kids at hudson. I know they’re out there, hiding. sometimes I think about pushing back against the administration more, being more open, so that they don’t have to be as scared. they’ll look up to me. I’ll be a symbol for them.”
“you’ll be a martyr,” frank says.
“exactly! a martyr. frankie, you’re brilliant.”
frank doesn’t say, I didn't mean it in a good way. he doesn’t say, I want you to be yourself for you. he doesn’t say, I think that might kill you.
he does say, “if you want to start wearing the girl uniform and shit, I’ll back you up. no matter what. I’ll fight fuckin’ anybody.”
“isn’t it kind of too late, though?” illi asks. “I’m already halfway through my senior year. will the message really reach them all in time?”
frank pulls his gaze from illi to stare at her stars. he thinks about lightyears and time dilation and reflections.
“I don’t think it has to reach all of them,” he decides. “just enough that they’ll keep the memory alive.”
illi is quiet for a long moment, and when frank looks back at her, in the dark light of the moon, he can’t tell if she’s laughing or crying.
“you make it sound like I'm going to die,” she says, voice thick with something.
frank doesn’t say, sometimes I'm worried you will.
“I wonder sometimes, if I'd done something with my life, what would’ve changed?” illi asks, and this is why frank gets worried. because she’s barely a year older than him, and she talks like the sword of fucking damocles is at her throat, like her life will be over the day she graduates high school.
she keeps talking. “I could’ve started a band. kept going with guitar, or taken voice lessons or something. I always liked singing. I could’ve had you and ray and mikey all playing for me. then maybe we could have changed the world.”
frank doesn’t say, there’s still so much time. he doesn’t say, I want that more than I know how to express. he does say, “we’d need to find a drummer.”
“we’d figure something out,” illi says. “can you imagine it, frankie? all of us on a stage, changing people’s lives. going on tours. making music, really making something. can you see it?”
and then she’s leaning over, and then she’s kissing him, and frank can see it.
all of a sudden, crashing into his brain like the tide coming in, vivid full-color videos and hazy memories and current lucid moments all at once.
he sees the new jersey basement bars, and the half-bored crowds when they open, and the screaming arenas. he hears them, their music, raw and powerful and bleeding – and he sees them all destroyed, broken beyond repair, illi and mikey sinking into some kind of horrible shared spiral, the worst sides of all of them.
visions of fire, of exhaustion, of pieces of their lives left bloody and rotting on the floors of dressing rooms and beater vans. visions of the fans, the fans, the thousands of kids just like them but younger, who scream lyrics back to them with the force one woman, one band could never hope for.
he sees illi wasting away, and he understands why she’s so sure she missed a stop on fate’s train somewhere.
this is how they were meant to die.
he sees it and he understands, but he thinks illi doesn’t anymore, because when she pulls away she’s smiling, not haunted.
“I think I’m going to start wearing the girl’s uniform,” she whispers like a secret, like she hadn’t said anything about a band.
“we should go back inside,” frank says.
“okay,” illi says, and that’s the end of it.
that night, frank curls up in her tiny unmade bed, clinging to her waist like it’s the only thing keeping him afloat, and dreams of dying.