The meeting had been in session for a few minutes already, the air warm with the quiet buzz of fluorescent lights and the soft scrape of chairs shifting on linoleum. Leon, Trevor, and Damian sat loosely spaced around the long, slightly scuffed table in the small, underused classroom tucked behind the school's computer lab. The room had that vaguely stale schoolroom smell--old books, dry-erase markers, and the ghost of yesterday's snacks.
A whiteboard stretched across one wall, the word "Welcome!" scrawled across it in blue marker. A rainbow flag--folded at the edges and taped on with determination--hung beneath the message, fluttering slightly whenever someone moved past it. Leon had brought it in that morning, carefully folding it into his backpack before school. Now, it gave the otherwise bare space a bit of life, a declaration.
Trevor leaned forward, his elbow resting on a folder covered in doodles and stickers, fiddling with one of the rings on his fingers. His blue-dyed hair flopped a bit as he turned to Damian. "So, like, I know four hundred isn't amazing," he said, his tone both sarcastic and upbeat. "But it's not nothing. I mean, that's like... half a float's worth of glitter."
Damian snorted softly, the bracelets stacked up his arm clinking as he leaned back in his chair. "We could at least buy matching shirts that don't suck. Or bribe someone to let us on their float." He grinned, showing his dimples, then added, "Pride's in June--we've got time."
Leon, sitting upright at the head of the table with his hands folded neatly on the table, nodded, his expression focused but warm. His pale blue eyes scanned a loose sheet of notes he'd scribbled earlier. "It's a start," he said, always the optimist. "And we made that from a bake sale, y'all. That's community power. We'll fundraise more. This is just the beginning."
There was a pause. The hum of the old ceiling fan made a lazy circle above them. The pride flag rustled again.
"Next time," Trevor muttered, "I'm putting glitter in the cupcakes. People love that shit."
"Only if you're baking them," Damian replied. "You're the only one who can make gluten-free taste like something."
The three of them laughed, and for a moment the space didn't feel so empty. The table wasn't just a table, the flag wasn't just fabric, and the $400 wasn't just four hundred dollars--it was something real. A step toward being seen. Toward showing up, together, in June. Of course, no one had joined the organization last year despite all their efforts to make the group more public via the bake sale, some educational programming, and a small three-person on the campus quad.
Trevor let out a dramatic sigh, flopping back in his chair and crossing his arms, his expression somewhere between bitter and amused. "You wanna know what I heard in the hallway earlier?" he said, already bracing for his own irritation. "The football team just got another twenty thousand dollars from one of the school's precious donors. For their stupid pep rally this weekend."
Damian groaned and rolled his eyes. "Seriously?" He asked the question rhetorically of course. Jocks always got their way. He remembered one of them from his old school, Mason, with his smug grin and permanently grass-stained cleats, and the other, Jordan, tall and loud and always somehow smelling like Axe and sweat. They'd sneer and call him names, shove past him with that practiced, casual cruelty--but every time they did, a strange heat had bloomed in his chest, low and confusing. Even now, thinking about it, Leon felt it stir again--his body reacting before his mind could make sense of it. He shifted in his seat, cheeks flushing slightly, both ashamed and quietly aroused by the memory.
"Yup," Trevor said, popping the 'p'. "Twenty. Thousand. For one event. For a team that already has two sets of uniforms, their own bus, and a locker room with working A/C."
Leon frowned, the corners of his mouth tightening. "Meanwhile we're scraping together cupcake money."
"And don't even get me started on the theater department," Trevor went on, voice rising slightly. "We're still using microphones held together with tape. That spotlight hasn't worked since before we started college here. It literally hums. Audibly!"
Leon nodded, glancing at the whiteboard like he was seeing right through it. "The art room has six working brushes and one bottle of tempera paint left. The same blue. Everything's blue."
Damian shook his head, beads clacking softly on his wrist. "It's like if you don't throw a ball, this school couldn't care less."
Trevor leaned forward again, resting his chin on his palm. "I mean, I get it. People like football. Whatever. But it's exhausting, you know? To always be the afterthought. Just cause were...."
"Say it." Damian waved his hand through the air.
"Fags." Trevor finished.
"Settle down." Leon tried to use his very limited authority to calm the only other two members. The real leader of the club was supposed to be a representative of the school staff. That was Mrs. Evans, one of the college art professors but even she got tired of coming and let them meet on their own, "It's time for the next segment."
Trevor groaned immediately, dropping his head to the table with an exaggerated thud. "Oh god. It's the feelings portion, isn't it?"
Damian raised both hands in mock excitement. "Oh yay, group trauma time. My favorite part of the week."
Leon gave them both a look--equal parts fond and exasperated. "It's called processing, thank you very much," he said, adjusting the collar of his blue polo like a therapist might adjust their glasses. "And it's therapeutic. Research-backed, even."
Trevor raised his head just enough to speak. "So is retail therapy, Leon. Ever think of that?"
Damian snorted. "We barely have bake sale money, and you wanna go shopping for healing?"
Leon chuckled, a hint of color rising in his pale cheeks. "Come on, I know it sucks sometimes. But it helps to talk about this stuff. We all have our stuff--we wouldn't even need a GSA if things were perfect."
Trevor sat up again, tugging at his septum ring with a sigh. "Fine. But if I cry, I'm blaming you."
"You always say that," Leon teased.
