I had never been to an underground rock show before. Well, that's not technically true. One time I accompanied Father on a tour of an emerald mine he was considering investing in. But this was a completely different vibe.

  When I agreed to help Kermit with his secret project, he insisted on meeting me one on one to discuss my role. I figured this was perfect. All I had to do was take a voice memo on my phone, record whatever devious scheme he had pnned, and then show it to the faculty and get him kicked out. Quick, clean, uncomplicated. On a practical level, anyway. The emotional side was less simple, but I was used to pushing down emotions. This had to be done. Sharing a room with Nick was bad enough, but sharing a room with Nick and his new, ugh, boyfriend, double ugh, Karl, was going to kill me.

  Unfortunately there was a fw in my pn. Kermit didn't ask me to meet in the studio, or his dorm, or anywhere else quiet. Instead I was in the basement of a college bar, with big bck Xs on the back of my hands, and the music was so loud I could barely hear Kermit speak, let alone record him.

  “What?” I shouted again, trying to make my voice carry over the pumping bass.

  Kermit repeated himself, but once again the bassline swallowed it up. I gred up at the stage, with half a mind to march up to the band and ask them to turn it down. I faltered when I saw the bass pyer though. I had been learning a bit more about different art and fashion aesthetics recently, it was weirdly interesting, and it gave me some cool ideas for future paintings, in case I needed to keep hanging around the studio much longer. The bassist was clearly going for a punk look, with her hair spiked up and a ripped leather vest showing off toned, tattooed arms. She didn't even seem to be paying attention to the song, more busy making flirty eyes at a girl in the front of the crowd.

  I strongly suspected that she was not open to receiving constructive feedback.

  I turned back to Kermit and shrugged apologetically, pointing at my ear. He nodded and took my by the arm, weaving through the crowd towards the corner of the room. He slipped between people easily, getting nods of recognition as he went. This was clearly very much his scene.

  We reached the far wall, covered in years of posters for local bands and touring acts, yered over each other and grimy with years of smoke and sweat. Through the grime I could still make out some of the designs on the posters, sharp lines and bold colors screaming out for attention. Kermit let go of my wrist and turned to me. He was wearing his paint-spattered coveralls, but stripped to his waist, so his top half was cd only in a tight crop top. Tattoos peaked in and out around the edges – by his sternum I saw a stencil-style image of a soldier putting a rifle at a little girl. The little girl was holding up an offering to protect herself: another, even littler girl.

  My heart quickened a bit. Even though Kermit was my enemy, there was something so intense about him. Everything about the way he presented himself was a statement, asserting his presence in the world. I could never be so bold. I had dressed as well as I could tonight, wearing the blue blouse Shawnee had complimented me on. Part of me wanted to wear a skirt, but Karl was hanging around the room and I was not ready to push my boundaries in front of him.

  Okay, yes. Focus.

  I stood on my tiptoes and shouted up at Kermit, “So what do you need me to do?! For the project!”

  “We’ll get to that!” said Kermit, “How do you like the band?”

  I looked back at the stage. The lead singer and the guitarist were pressed against each other like they were about to start making out, the drummer was thrashing the drums like he was 6000 thrashes behind on his drum thrashing quota, and the bassist was on her knees at the front of the stage making suggestive bass thrusts at another girl in the crowd. I turned back to Kermit, “They seem like they're having a great time!”

  Kermit smirked and leaned against the wall, “Not too degenerate for you?”

  I blushed, “That was my father talking, you know?! I’m not like him!”

  “I wanna believe that,” said Kermit. Somehow his voice cut through the noise of the crowd without him having to strain, “Miel vouches for you, Little Dom. But you seem uptight to me. Like you're hiding something.”

  I shook my head, “I'm not! I'm openly gay now!”

  “So I heard,” said Kermit, “It's cute how you beled yourself like that. So eager to be something.”

  I blushed and looked away.

  “It felt… it felt right!” I said, not totally sure if I believed it, “I mean, I'm not… I'm not straight, so…!”

  “I don't believe in rigid categories,” Kermit said, “Gay or straight. Right or wrong. Society sets out cages and we rush to trap ourselves inside one or another, instead of running free in the space in between.”

  “Oh!” I was beginning to get it, “Like you don't have to be gay or straight! You could be bisexual, or…!”

  Kermit shook his head, “More boxes. You're obsessed with what you are, Dom. What do you want?”

  I learnt against the wall, trying to focus despite the pounding music.

  What did I want?

  I wanted to be with men, I knew that. I liked it too much to be confused, even if my only experience was with Nick. I wanted to be pretty, and wear women's clothing instead of men's, and I wanted people to treat me like a girl instead of a boy. I wasn't sure if that meant I was trans… but if Kermit was saying that didn't matter…

  It was too overwhelming to think about right now, with the bass pounding and my head aching from a night of bad sleep. What I wanted right now was to get rid of Karl. To get my room back.

  “I want to help you!” I said looking up at Kermit fiercely, “I want to make art!”

  Kermit studied my face intently. After a moment he nodded, apparently satisfied by what he saw. He pulled a notepad from his coveralls, scribbled something in it and tore off the page for me.

  “I got a package I need to pick up,” he said, “I can't have it delivered by mail. You think you can get that for me?”

  I looked at the note. Crap, I vaguely recognised the name of the town, Batesville, and I was pretty sure it was hours away from campus. How was I supposed to get there without a driver? I was becoming increasingly comfortable with public transport, but navigating all that way by myself…

  Kermit raised an eyebrow. Shoot. I couldn't have him thinking of me as a helpless whiny rich kid again. Not when I was so close.

  “Absolutely!” I said, “Not an issue at all!”

  Kermit grinned, “Good. Don't let me down, Dom. This work… it's the biggest project I've ever attempted. It could be my masterpiece.”

  His hand strayed to his waist, and I realized there was a bandage there, beneath his navel, peeking up from his waistband.

  Of course, I realised. Kermit had told me before that he tattooed designs for all of his pieces on his own body. This must be a new tattoo, depicting his secret project.

  Gosh, it was very low down on his abdomen. How far down did it go?

  “Dom,” said Kermit. I snapped my eyes up guiltily.

  “Sorry!” I said, “I was just trying to see…”

  He smirked, “Get the package first. Prove I can trust you. Then you can take a real long look.”

  ***

  “Shh,” Karl whispered, “Don't wake him up.”

  I gritted my teeth and pushed my face harder against my pillow. I had been awake for the past five minutes, since the two of them had cttered their noisy way out of bed. But the st thing I wanted was to deal with stupid Nick and stupid Karl first thing in the morning, so I was pretending to be asleep until they left.

  “He's probably already awake,” Nick whispered back, “He does this creepy thing where he pretends to be asleep. It's fucked up.”

  “That was like one time!” I said.

  “Jesus!” said Karl, “You're right, that's creepy as hell.”

  I rolled over onto my aching back and sighed. It had been another awful night’s sleep. As if the couch wasn't bad enough, I had to listen to Nick and Karl murmuring and giggling to each other in bed all night, and making little wet sounds that I could only hope were just kisses. It was enough to make you puke. Honestly, the fact that I hadn't puked was a testament to my maturity.

  “Can you two stupid jerks just go away already?” I snapped, “I slept like total crap st night. I don't see why you can't stay at Karl’s pce and let me have the bed.”

  “Don't be fucking rude,” said Nick, “You don't hear me compining when I have to sleep on the couch.”

  I bit my tongue. Nick hadn't slept on the couch in quite some time, actually. Neither had I. But we had silently agreed not to tell anyone else that we had been sharing a bed. If Karl knew the kind of stuff Nick and I had gotten up to together, it would probably destroy their fledgling retionship. But the negative side of that is it would mean someone else knowing I had been, ugh, intimate with Nick.

  “Aww, go easy on him,” Karl said, his voice sickly sweet, “He's just a delicate little thing. You wouldn't make fun of Anika for being cranky after a bad sleep.”

  I lifted my head, “You know Anika?”

  Karl smiled at Nick, “We tell each other everything.”

  I gave Nick a look and he grimaced. Clearly not everything.

  “Yeah uh anyway!” Nick said loudly, “We gotta go! Training and shit! And uh. Yeah. Bye Nick.”

  “Bye Little Dom,” Karl said, his tone rich with condescension, “You have a nice nap. And hey! You can borrow the bed when we’re out of town.”

  “Wait,” I said, “What's that?”

  “We got regionals coming up in Batesville,” said Nick, ”Gonna be staying overnight this Friday. So, yeah.”

  My jaw dropped. What were the odds?

  “Can I come?” I asked.

  Karl ughed out loud. Nick just stared at me.

  “Not because I want to spend time with you assholes,” I gred, “I have, like, business I need to do there. And I don't have a car or anything, so, like, could I get a lift or something?”

  Nick raised his eyebrows and I sighed, “Please?”

  “I dunno, dude,” Nick shrugged, “I mean guess I could ask Coach if there's room on the bus…”

  “Oh, we could definitely ask,” Karl said, with a smug grin, “If you do something for us. Coach has got us staying in these shitty motel rooms, and I don't wanna have to push two twin beds together. And you're gonna have to book your own accommodation anyway, right? So maybe you get us a nicer room, and we’ll ask Coach about letting you hitch a ride.”

  “Aw, man,” Nick rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably, “You can't make him pay for two rooms.”

  “Why not?” Karl shrugged, “You said his dad pays for everything, right?”

  Nick winced, “Yeah, but his dad is kinda…”

  “It's fine,” I interrupted. I did not need Nick telling Karl about my retionship with my father. “I'll take your room, then. Just ask your coach about giving me a lift.”

  Karl ughed, “Perfect. And this way, you get two beds to yourself. A special little treat for a special little boy.”