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It’s unfortunately time to go back to our rooms, I want to stay with everyone and keep talking but time has other plans.
I usually try to make it back to my room quickly so my roommate can’t take up the shower for the rest of the night, but Imogen wants to look at Maya’s pins so we’re going to look at Maya’s pins.
Maya seems to know what she wants, already pulling her bag out before we can even make it over.
“Imogen, I need sleep.” I complain.
“You and I both know that you’re just going to write with Summer the whole time.” She retorts.
“Imogen,” I repeat, “I need to go write with Summer.”
She rolls her eyes, turning back to turn all the pins right side up. Except for the cowboy dinosaur, that one stays upside down no matter what. It's an anti-gravity dinosaur with a hat after all.
I stand meekly behind her, trying my best to stay in character.
Imogen, on the other hand, has completely abandoned character in favor of the pins, that is until Maya gives her a look of amusement, now she’s back to stoic Heather Chandler.
I glance around the now mostly empty hall. Only a few stragglers are still left, chatting with friends or buying from the store before bed.
So when a kid that looks like the type to bully me back home walks toward us I don’t think too much of it. That is, until he gets even closer, missing the chance to turn towards the stairs or the store.
I drop the scared Dipper Pines act immediately. I angle myself between him and Imogen, rising to my full height and allowing my face to settle into its natural glare.
He looks like he’s planning something, and nothing good.
He points to Imogen’s cheek, which has the Pan flag painted in a little heart shape, “Hey, what’s that face paint supposed to be?”
Imogen turns, suspicion painted clear as day on her face but she answers anyway, “It’s the Pansexual flag.”
She steps forward, eyeing the distance between both of us and the kid. I can tell she’s attempting to look brave but it isn’t helped by the fact that both I and the boy are far taller than her.
The kid smiles as if he’s just been told that “yes, you are allowed to eat all the ice cream in Mo Hall.” “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Oh fuck no, there’s no way I’m letting this asshole do this to Imogen.
I step forward, ready to tell this kid to fuck off but Imogen grabs my wrist.
“I’ve got this.” She mouths.
No you don’t child, you don’t know what these people can do to your head with just a few words.
I want to ignore her and yell at the kid myself, but I know it would hurt Imogen if she thought I believed she was too weak to defend herself. So I step back, but stay ready to fight if I need to.
I know I’ll be able to tell if Imogen needs my help, these few weeks have practically turned us into mind readers.
Imogen closes her eyes, breathing deeply, before sticking the kid with a glare filled with enough venom to scare even me. “Pansexuality is defined as an attraction regardless of gender identity.”
I’m shocked she manages to keep her voice calm and level, if it were me I’d have told the kid to fuck off and left.
That kid smiles that same knowing smile again, like a movie villain that just got handed his perfect victory, “Isn’t that the same as Bi?” His tone makes it clear he knows exactly what he’s doing, this isn’t just some sheltered kid who doesn’t understand queer people.
Imogen’s face breaks into an expression I’ve never seen on her, one that shows years of queer pain that I understand more than I wish I did.
I’m trying to figure out a way I could kick this kid in the dick and still get invited back next year when Imogen chimes back in, her face a steely mask.
“The difference between—”
Penelope whips around, “hey!” She shouts.
The kid jumps, like the little fucking coward he is, “I-I didn’t.”
Penelope isn't standing for it, “you know exactly what you’re doing.” Her voice is stern, angry, and one of the most terrifying things I’ve ever heard. “You go to your dorm, now. Get away from her before I have to talk to your preceptor.”
The kid bolts like a scared fawn.
When I turn back to Imogen, I half expect her to be crying, but I know her better than that. To her crying would mean a victory for him, a sign that she was too weak to take his bigotry.
I draw her into my arms quickly, trying to hide her from the world that tends to be so cruel to people like us with my arms alone.
“It’s alright, you know that kid was just being an asshole. He’s gone now, it’ll be alright, I promise.”
Her breathing is still ragged so I run my hands through her hair, “breathe, match my breaths. Everything’s safe now.”
Maya’s voice cuts through my focus, “Everest needs to go to their room, it’s late.”
I glare at her over Imogen’s head, it’s nothing venom filled, more fearful. “But I have to—”
Penelope interrupts me, “Everest, as your housing group preceptor I have the power to give you a doc for being out past curfew. And Charles doesn’t know the circumstances; he won’t like that you aren’t there in time for BedChecks.”
I’m about to argue when Imogen pulls back to look at me, “it’s okay, go get ready for bed.”
I look into her eyes, trying to convince her to speak up and let me stay, but she stays defiantly silent.
“Only if you’re sure,” I mumble halfheartedly.
She nods, squeezing my hands in a farewell.
I walk as quickly as I can upstairs.
Not out of fear of a doc or my roommate hoarding the shower, but because I know that if I had stayed for any longer I wouldn’t have been able to live.
I unlock my door and lay down on the bed, trying to steady my breathing.
If that kid comes close to her again I’ll guarantee neither of us are able to come back next year.
I take a deep breath, trying to direct my thoughts away from ways I could make that kid regret what he did. But my mind turns to something far sadder instead.
The amount of times this has happened before, not just to me or Imogen, but to every queer person in history.
The small micro aggressions to the hate crimes that all add up to make the highest teen suicide rate in history.
There’s not one queer person I’ve met who hasn’t dealt with something like that, and it’s horrible.
Why does the world hate us just for being ourselves?
Why does seeing someone living their own authentic life make them so angry?
It’s something I’ll never understand, so all I can hope is that Penelope and Maya will help Imogen and that she’ll be alright for tonight.
I set extra alarms so I can make it to breakfast in the morning.
I promise I won’t let this ruin her pride month.