Chapter Four

Lane kept their sunglasses on until the last possible minute, already hating the loss of privacy as soon as they came off their face. Walking the long corridor to class, they were aware of the expectation to meet other people's eyes, to smile or nod their recognition to other students and honestly, most days, they'd rather chew glass.

The university was mostly closed down over the summer, but Lane's schedule had always been wildly out of sync. Lane knew full well the only reason the university allowed the extremely unorthodox - and sometimes straight up shambolic - approach to gaining a bachelor's degree was due to Savannah's direct influence.

Honestly, the approach had worked for Lane far better than the traditional path ever had. Their freshman year living on campus had been overwhelming in a myriad of ways, not least of which was being the only student they knew who was both previously homeless and non-binary. There was no sorority or fraternity for a student quite like them. Their roommate mostly ignored them, though they overheard her describing them to a friend as ‘super weird and super quiet,' which, in all honesty, summed up eighteen-year-old Lane pretty well.

It had been one of the strangest experiences in their life to find themself at one of the most prestigious schools in the South after their teen years were spent on the street, in emergency housing and eventually in foster care. Lane had to constantly remind themselves that despite the endless disruption, they'd damn well earned the SAT scores that got them accepted. The tuition fees, on the other hand, had been paid in full by what was loosely termed a "scholarship" from the Rachel Carlson Center.

The RCC was an unassuming-looking building in downtown Nashville, but to those who had cause to know it, it was simply referred to as "the center." For Lane, the name was apt. When they thought about it, the organization was at the center of their ongoing existence: the very reason they were alive today The center was relatively low profile, but somehow word would always spread through the networks of queer kids who were homeless or at risk of being so. That was how Lane, aged fourteen, had arrived through their doors, finally desperate enough to risk speaking to a grownup about what had happened to them.

Because of the center, Lane had finally found a safe roof over their head, access to medical care and counseling that affirmed them, contact with peers who shared their experience, and eventually, a safely vetted foster family. For three and a half years Lane had lived with Grayson and Hank, a gay couple in their forties who'd not only kept them safe, but loved and supported them in a way Lane had never imagined having in their lifetime. They'd headed overseas to travel the world when Lane went to college, having since settled in Sydney, but they still spoke on the phone a couple of times a year. All three got a kick out of Lane still calling them both "dad".

While they'd only lived in the emergency accommodation above the center for three months, the organization was still a weekly presence throughout Lane's teenage life; every Wednesday evening Hank would drop them off for a couple of hours where they'd join for group therapy followed by an art class. One Saturday a month, they'd drop by for a movie night or a cooking class. There were still a couple of friends in Lane's life today that dated back to those evenings, bonded forever to the first kids like them they'd gotten to know.

It had taken a while to put all the pieces together.

In Lane's first week living in the center, they'd blinked out of their still bruised and swollen eyes to glumly greet the glamorous blonde who was walking out of the office with Rosalie, the center director. The woman had also dropped by the library later where they were holed up, pretending to read even though their vision was still too blurry. She didn't say much, just asked who their favorite author was, then calmly promised that Lane was safe there and disappeared.

A year later, Lane was poking through Grayson's vinyl collection and pulling out a recent album for a band called Twice Struck, they recognised the face of the singer on the cover. Over the years, they increasingly saw that face on television, on billboards, on awards shows and magazine covers. At the end of high school when Rosalie let them know their college fees were to be fully covered by a scholarship they'd never applied for, Lane had pressed until she'd explained the center was fully funded by a wealthy benefactor, one who also felt strongly about education and wasn't going to let a bright kid miss out on opportunities that could assist them. She'd refused to identify the benefactor, but Lane was pretty sure 2+2=4.

Lane had long decided they wanted to be a teacher. How the hell else could you change the world? They wanted to be part of bringing about a new generation who were open, kind and who wanted to make the world better themselves. But once they started, they quickly fell in love with the really little kids, the kids who didn't care whether Lane was a boy or a girl or neither, as long as they were kind and fun. Within weeks, they'd switched to early childhood education.

But while they loved the work, the social side of college was a massive struggle. By the end of the first year, Lane felt burned out from deep anxiety and desperately did not want to return. They'd admitted everything to Rosalie, who'd been sympathetic and helped Lane defer their studies, first for one year, and then for another, and another, as they worked as a nanny instead.

Then, one December day, when Lane was at a loose end, Rosalie had set up a meeting with them, in the little room off the main office in the center.

"I'll be back in a bit," she promised and disappeared, leaving Lane kicking back in the chair, swinging the front two legs off the ground, as Savannah Grace herself walked in. Lane let the legs back down with a thump.

"Hey, Lane." She offered a handshake. Lane's fingers felt clammy all of a sudden. Savannah was beyond gorgeous, and even dressed casually in ripped jeans and a sweater, her star power was slightly overwhelming.

"You're Savannah Grace," they observed with wide eyes, brilliantly explaining to the woman her own existence.

"Pleased to meet you, again," she responded with a smile, as if she actually remembered their brief interaction almost eight years ago. "Rosalie has told me a bit about you over the years. Nothing private-" she jumped in, as if Lane thought Savannah Grace was interested in the contents of their counseling notes. "Just that you're brilliant, hard-working and good with kids."

"Uh, thanks." Lane still felt weird about receiving praise and picked at the side of their fingernail.

"She also told me you're on the verge of quitting college for good."

"I'm sorry." Lane looked up, feeling sick. "I know - at least, I'm pretty sure - you're the one who paid my tuition fees for me and I appreciate it so much. I don't want to let anyone down-"

"Lane-" Savannah's voice was soft. "You're not letting anyone down. It's kind of the opposite, actually," she reassured them. She looked Lane in the eye and announced, "I have a proposal for you."

"Okay…"

"I need a nanny, like yesterday." Savannah took a breath and proceeded to tell them the most off the wall story Lane had ever heard.

Her recent nanny had practically let her son drown, so she'd fired her. Then Savannah's friend (for some reason, this part made the singer flush pink) who happened to be staying with her, had taken over the role as a favor. But then said friend completely out of the blue turned out to be the most stunning singer-songwriter Savannah had ever met. Now Savannah was recording her album and she urgently needed her friend for ‘other things,' hence the search for a new nanny.

"I see," said Lane, pretty sure they did, in fact, see. Savannah outlined the details, explaining it would mean a lot of time on the road when she went on tour.

"But," she said, "the caveat is that we chat to the university and find a way for you to recommence your studies. Part-time, flexibly, distance, even. I know what your SAT scores looked like, and I can't help thinking that if the world was a better place you'd have a degree already. Anyway, it's all up to you. If you're interested."

Interested? In traveling the world, living on a tour bus, hanging out with a cute kid and a megastar and finding a way to get a qualification that didn't make them want to die? Lane agreed in a heartbeat.

By day's end they were swiftly ensconced in an insane mansion, in a gorgeous room, three doors down from Savannah's own bedroom, a fact the singer profusely apologized for, explaining the house was currently full of musicians and various other apparently essential people, but don't worry, they'd get their own suite once they headed back to Vermont.

Savannah also introduced them to the interim nanny - the friend, Brynn Marshall - and with one look at the tall, dark, intensely attractive woman who could barely drag her eyes off Savannah for more than three seconds Lane knew they had correctly surmised the situation.

To say life went slightly bananas from there was an understatement. Within days, Savannah and Brynn - who were clearly horribly in love with each other, even back then - had drastically imploded and Lane spent the next year of their life wishing they could bang the two beautiful heads together.

Somehow, somewhere along the line Brynn became kind of their best friend despite their age gap, and while Savannah always perfectly straddled the line between warm, caring and appropriately professionally distant, Lane came to adore her, and not just because of what they owed her. And Tucker? Tucker was the best kid in the universe, and Lane would fight anyone who said otherwise.

Cut to three years after the meeting at the center and Savannah and Brynn were finally married - with a baby on the way, no less - and Lane was still dragging out the last of their degree. It hadn't been easy, between the hectic touring schedule and all the direct practice in daycare centers and kindergartens Lane had had to catch up with. This, though, was finally it. One last summer semester and they'd have two things to look forward to: a university qualification and never having to walk these halls again.

Once class was over, they ducked out into the corridor as soon as possible. They had it down to a fine art: get there just in time - therefore avoiding pre-class small talk - take a seat near the exit, surreptitiously pack up in the last few minutes of the session, then be the first one out the door. At some point in the last few years, the tactic had become less about social anxiety exactly and more a proactive approach to avoiding interactions with people Lane knew to be low-key hostile.

Okay, so Lane didn't exactly know their classmates; it was weird free floating between graduating classes, not having consistent peers. But it didn't matter. It had only taken a handful of conversations over the years to realize that Lane was the square peg in the round hole here. They didn't understand exactly what it was about being in this particular space - education was radical as far as Lane was concerned - and yet there seemed to be a hell of a lot of traditional worldviews surrounding them here in early childhood education. Lane didn't need to get into any complex situations with their peers to know they'd act just like Cassidy had: dismissive, disbelieving, disrespectful of the identity Lane had fought so hard to claim.

So they avoided them. Mostly.

"Lane!" The voice followed them out into the corridor. Damnit, they didn't have their headphones on fast enough to pretend they didn't hear. "Hey, wait up! Damn, you're fast."

"Hey Aria." They tried not to sigh. "Just on my way out."

"Got time to grab a coffee? We've got to sort out our group project before we run out of time to pick a good subject." Aria was perhaps a year younger than them, pretty, polished, poised…all things Lane was not. She was also perpetually cheerful, which Lane struggled with. She had sleek black box braids, warm brown skin and her long lashes surrounded big dark eyes that wouldn't let them escape all that easily.

"You know it's fine," Lane tried. "You've got a bigger workload than me. I'm happy just to smash it out myself and pop your name on it. I'm a straight-A student, so your GPA won't suffer, I promise."

"You know that's cheating, right?" Aria smiled broadly. "I'm not about that life. Come on, I told Mia I'd be the Lane-wrangler and get you over to Buddies so we can hash it out real quick." Ignoring Lane's stiffness, she looped her arm through theirs and practically dragged them across the lawn to the one coffee shop open this semester.

Seated just inside where the AC thankfully roared was a young woman Lane vaguely recognised from class. She too was extremely pretty, with light brown skin - possibly of Mediterranean heritage - and as far as early childhood students went, she was straight up interesting. Tattoos peaked out of one sleeve and traveled down her arm, a small gold septum ring gleamed and her loose curly hair stopped just above her shoulders, dyed a soft mermaid green.

"Oh wow, you managed to catch them," she enthused to Aria. "I'm a little jealous." She looked over at Lane with a hint of a tease in her eyes. "It is they/them you use, isn't it?"

"Ah, yeah," Lane said, slightly surprised. "And you?"

"Oh, she/her," Mia said, a small smirk appearing. "Believe me, I am all woman."

"Oh my god," Aria rolled her eyes, but Mia ignored her, practically twinkling at Lane, who had no idea what to do with that claim. "Now we've got that out the way," Aria raised her eyebrows higher. "Can we pick a topic?"

On the drive home late that afternoon, Lane reflected. It was - despite their best efforts - the most social they'd been at school in a while. And to their surprise, their classmates were excited about their topic suggestion - gender policing in early childhood - and they'd divvied up the tasks pretty easily. Group projects were about the most painful thing Lane could think of, but while Aria was relentlessly cheerful and Mia was persistently flirtatious, Lane found they didn't hate the idea of working with either of them.

Pulling into the compound and parking their car, they trudged from the parking garage through the baking heat and over to the guest house by the pool. After a year of employment, Savannah had suggested Lane take the guest house as their own and Lane adored the insane freedom and privilege of basically having their own home. Normally, the guest house would have been saved for important visitors, but Lane was the only permanent live-in employee, and Savannah knew Lane had never had a place of their own before. Even though it, of course, belonged to their employer, walking in the door of their own home at the end of the day never failed to make Lane feel like they'd made it.

The guesthouse was on the other side of the pool from the house and on the way past, Lane spotted Cassidy, sitting hunched alone at the poolside. Despite the insane heat of the day, she was still fully dressed in the same gray dress from this morning, with just her legs in the pool. She looked miserable - flushed and sweaty - and absolutely wilted.

"Why the heck aren't you swimming?" they asked and her head jerked up.

"Because I don't want to," she muttered, paddling her feet glumly.

"Right…" Lane dropped their bag, kicked off their shoes, grabbed their shirt over their head and dove straight into the delicious cool water. They surfaced and blinked the water from their eyelashes. "Just horrible," they told her, grinning. Cassidy observed them irritably, clear jealousy in her expression.

"I didn't exactly pack a swimsuit," she admitted. Lane looked at her.

"I mean, you could just ask for one?"

"I'm hardly the same size as anyone here," Cassidy said, like Lane was an idiot. It was true that Savannah was - especially now - voluptuous, and Brynn was too tall compared with Cassidy's slight frame.

"I meant, you know Savannah would get you whatever you wanted, right?"

"Yeah, right. I don't want her to buy me more stuff. She's paid for basically my whole life since I was a kid." She looked inexplicably disgusted.

"Wow, yeah, she's a real asshole." Lane shrugged. Cassidy rolled her eyes. It was kind of satisfying for a while, splashing around enjoying the cool water while Cassidy grouched and sweated on the hot stone pool ground. Eventually, though, the ridiculousness of the situation chafed at them. "Oh my god just get in," they said finally. "Swim in your underwear."

Cassidy looked like Lane had just indecently propositioned her.

"Oh, sure." She narrowed her eyes.

"Swim in your stupid dress then," Lane said, exasperated, "I don't care. Just stop sitting there like a hot, angry porcupine intent on ruining your own damn day."

"What's it to you?" she snapped, but Lane could see the temptation in her eyes.

"Do it." They drifted closer. "Do it or I'll pull you in," they threatened, making as if to reach for Cassidy's ankle. She squeaked and dodged away. Lane made to reach again and then splash, Cassidy jumped fully dressed into the pool. She slipped straight under the water and popped up gasping, pushing her wet hair out of her eyes, her dress both clinging to her and billowing in the water. She looked like a particularly pretty drowned rat. Lane laughed out loud in glee. "Yes!"

"Argh!" Cassidy tried to fight the smile that was tugging at the corners of her mouth, but lost the battle. "Oh my god that's good," she groaned, then kicked up onto her back and floated there.

Lane grinned and ducked back under the water. They resurfaced halfway down the pool and copied her. The two floated in silence in the cool water as the sun finally began to sink behind the hills. Eventually, Lane started to feel pruney. They pulled themselves out of the pool, the stones still baking hot beneath them, the first orange and purple splashes of sunset marking the sky. They looked down. Cassidy looked like a blonde Ophelia, her long hair loosened from her braid and spread out around her, her dress drifting in the water. Her face looked peaceful for once. Lane padded out, leaving her to her thoughts.