Chapter Five

Gray was awakened by the toxic combination of a terrible taste in her mouth, a pounding in her skull, and bright sunlight invading her room through the window. With a groan, she pulled the quilt over her eyes, but her brain was already dredging up details from the previous night: the too-sweet cocktails, the frenzied list of Old Testament books, and…Wait, did she really have sex in a public restroom?

The idea of having sex with someone besides McKenzie had terrified her in the month since their breakup. But the excitement of winning trivia paired with the spark between Gray and Carmen had made their dalliance feel easy. Even better than easy; it was fun. Maybe, she thought, the astrological dating challenge really could show her new parts of herself. Who knew what the next eleven signs could teach her?

Gray's musings were interrupted by a trill from her phone. She picked it up to see a notification that sent her flying from the bed in a panic: a reminder for a work meeting in fifteen minutes. Dammit! How could she have forgotten? She normally wouldn't need to be in the office until 9 a.m., but her introductory meeting for her first major project was scheduled for 8 a.m., and she'd somehow managed to completely forget about it when she crawled into bed after her night out with Carmen. And now she was going to meet her colleague hungover, ill prepared, and, seeing as how the meeting was across town from Cherry's house, late.

When Gray was hired as the PR manager of a prestigious private school with elementary, middle, and high school campuses, she was pleased, but also surprised. She'd been desperate for a job that would get her out of Tulsa, but with her very gay haircut, nose ring, and grungy taste in fashion, Gray didn't really expect St. Charles Collegiate Academy to see her as a good fit. Luckily, Gray was excellent in an interview, and Dr. Timothy Donovan, the harried but well-meaning school superintendent she reported to, seemed to recognize the unique skills that had helped Gray succeed in marketing and promoting a queer-wedding-planning company in conservative Oklahoma. And it didn't hurt that Gray had gone to an academically rigorous private school herself. When it came to getting the austere school board's sign-off on her job offer, well, she looked great on paper, and only Dr. Donovan knew how queer she appeared in person.

As Dr. Donovan had explained on Gray's first day on the job two weeks ago, some of the leaders within St. Charles Collegiate were working to move the school into a more diverse, inclusive, equitable future, a mission he supported. But, predictably, they were meeting backlash from old-money alumni on the school's board of directors and a few angry parents who wanted to ensure that the advantages of an acclaimed SCCA education remained exclusive. Gray's first opportunity to prove herself would be smoothing over some of the conflict around the newly promoted middle school principal—the one she was now late to meet—who was leading efforts to bring in a more diverse group of students and update the curriculum to reflect a changing world. Gray hoped her enthusiasm for the mission would make up for her tardiness.

Gray threw on the first clothes she could find, tossed a random assortment of junk in her bag, brushed her teeth, and hopped into her car to drive to the historic uptown Garden District, where the middle school campus was located. If it weren't for this meeting, Gray would have had an hour to clean up the mess she'd made of herself the previous night. Instead, she hoped a little confidence and a breath mint could disguise a multitude of sins.

It was only thirteen minutes past the scheduled meeting start time of 8 a.m. when Gray's car swerved into a parking spot in front of a regal, ivy-covered redbrick building. As she jogged up the rather imposing steps to the front door, Gray's stomach lurched. She paused for a moment, letting a wave of nausea pass as she wiped a sheen of sweat from her forehead. Was she imagining it, or did she smell like vodka?

With a deep breath, Gray tugged on the front door only to find it locked. She peered through the glass, then knocked to capture the attention of a nearby security guard. The guard looked up at Gray, then stood, stretched, and meandered toward the door at a pace that felt especially glacial. When the door finally cracked open, Gray burst through it.

"Thanks. Which way is…uh…Principal Taylor's office?" Gray said, consulting the calendar reminder on her phone. In her first two weeks at St. Charles Collegiate, she'd had a chance to tour the elementary and high school campuses, but the middle school was still a mystery to her.

"Hold up, you have to sign in at the attendance office first," the security guard said.

"Oh, I'm not a student. I have a meeting. I'm Gray Young from the superintendent's office. PR manager."

He examined Gray. "Got a badge?"

"Not yet, I just started and I—"

"Then you still gotta sign in." The security guard nodded down the hall to his left.

"I'm running a little late, can I sign in after?" Gray said with a pleading smile.

The guard shook his head. "Rules are rules."

By the time Gray had signed in, handed over her driver's license, gotten a visitor badge, and found the principal's office, her head felt like it might actually explode. She winced at the sound her knuckles made against the door.

"Come in," a voice sounded from inside the office.

Gray smoothed her hair, put on her best colleague-facing smile, and opened the door.

The office had all wooden furniture, several floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and a big window overlooking a grassy sitting area behind the school. It felt scholarly and intimidating, a stark contrast to Gray's cramped, impersonal space at the administrative office downtown. At the center of the room was a large desk covered in organized stacks of books and file folders, a nameplate that said Principal Veronica Taylor (she/her), and a computer, behind which sat a woman whose very presence screamed "stern." Her shiny, chin-length, dark-brown hair looked so precise that it gave the impression she'd had it trimmed that morning. Her black suit was pressed within an inch of its life.

"Good morning!" Gray said as brightly as she could manage. She was having déjà vu from visits to her own high school principal's office during her teenage years. They'd been frequent.

Principal Taylor looked up at Gray, arching a thin eyebrow over her thick-framed glasses, then turned back to her computer screen. "Art teacher interviews are down the hall in room one twenty-six," she said, her voice cold.

"Oh, I'm not an art teacher," Gray said, suddenly self-conscious about her wrinkled blue button-down shirt and bomber jacket from the previous night. "I'm Gray Young, the new PR manager for SCCA, here for our meeting."

"And what time is it now, new PR manager Gray Young?" the principal asked without looking up.

Gray looked at her watch, her cheeks burning, to see she was over twenty minutes late. "I'm so sorry. I didn't realize the sign-in process would take—"

"I tell my students that if you're not fifteen minutes early, you're late," Principal Taylor said, her eyes turning again to Gray. "And if I don't tolerate lateness from middle schoolers, why exactly should I tolerate it from you, a presumably responsible adult?"

Gray felt as if she were shrinking into her twelve-year-old form underneath her clothes. She tucked a hand in her jacket pocket, where she felt…was that her bra from last night? Yikes. Hoping to put herself back on equal footing, she said, "I sincerely apologize, Veronica. Can I call you Veronica?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

Gray gulped. "Right. Principal Taylor. I see that my lateness has started us off on the wrong foot, and I'm sorry about that. I hope that as we start working together, you'll see that I am a hardworking, reliable, trustworthy professional, and I don't plan to let you down again."

Principal Taylor abruptly stood, her hands tensed on the desk in front of her. "I've already told you I don't tolerate tardiness, and I don't believe in second chances. Showing up late, in clothes that look like they time traveled from a nineties rave, covered in hickeys, is incredibly unprofessional."

Gray's humiliation was overwhelming. Hickeys? Had she even looked in the mirror before she left this morning? She tugged at the collar of her shirt, not even certain which part of her neck to hide.

"Please leave my office," the principal continued. "I'll be in touch with Dr. Donovan shortly to let him know that this arrangement won't work out, as you can't seem to keep your commitments."

"Whoa, wait, please," Gray said, her heart beginning to race. "I know I made a mistake, but I promise I can make it up to you."

"And how exactly do you plan to do that?" Principal Taylor said abruptly. "Do you have sway with the local papers that keep airing the school's dirty laundry to the city at large? Have you figured out how to stop the board from banning all the books in our updated curriculums? Are there binders full of brilliant ideas to get every disruptive member of the faculty and staff on board with my agenda in that pin-covered messenger bag?"

Gray gripped her bag closer, suddenly conscious of both its unprofessional exterior and the lack of prepared materials in its interior. "I was under the impression that this was an introductory meeting, a chance to meet each other and start discussions on the work ahead of us," Gray said weakly.

"I'll take that as a no," Principal Taylor said, turning away from Gray as if her case was closed.

Gray usually wouldn't have done much to prepare for a first meeting with a colleague. But because she knew the job was slightly out of her depth and wanted to prove she could make it in her new city, Gray had actually spent some time diving into the school's digital archive. She gathered her courage. "I've done my research," she said firmly. "I've briefed myself on you and your plans for the middle school. I'm totally supportive of your DEI initiatives—"

Principal Taylor scoffed. "I'm sure. There are plenty of people who are totally supportive of my littleDEI initiatives until actual changes start taking place."

Seeing she'd poked a sore spot, Gray backtracked. "I'm truly sorry that's been your experience. But I promise you that I'm not a fair-weather partner in this. From everything I've read, I know your plans aren't about optics or some kind of progressive brownie points. I can tell how much work and care you've put into creating an action plan that will give a more diverse student body a better chance at academic and future career success. Even more, you're working to give all of your students a more well-rounded education that recognizes the impact women and people of color have made on every field in ways that too often go ignored. I can tell this matters to you by the way you've talked and written about it. And it matters to me too."

Principal Taylor raised an eyebrow.

"You see, I went to an elite private school myself, in Oklahoma," Gray continued, bolstered by the fact that the principal hadn't thrown her out yet. "It wasn't as prestigious as SCCA, and definitely more religiously affiliated. But I came from a privileged background, and that afforded me a ton of benefits when it came to education. Even with those advantages, I was a queer kid with a rebellious streak, and I always knew I wasn't the kind of person the other students, the teachers, or the administrators wanted around. I never want another kid to feel like doors are closing in their face the way they closed in mine."

Principal Taylor's eyebrow remained raised. Gray took that as a sign to keep going.

"I've also done my research on what you're up against. I've read the articles in the papers and local blogs. I've read the board meeting minutes. More important, I know what it's like inside some of these alumni families. I know the rhetoric they use to justify excluding kids who don't fit their idea of ‘deserving.' I have an insider perspective for the kind of work you want to do, for pushing back against the board's closed-minded leadership. I know what it takes to change their minds, or if that's not possible, I can at least stop them from blocking your work at every turn."

Principal Taylor didn't say anything, but she was looking at Gray a little differently now.

"I'm really sorry that I showed up late today. It was disrespectful, and it's a mistake I won't repeat. I know we've only just met, but"—Gray ran a hand across the buzzed side of her head, her fingers shaking—"I want to be your biggest ally on this. Your right-hand man. I want to show you that, on days when I've had my morning coffee, I'm unstoppable. And I want us—your students, this school—to be unstoppable together."

Principal Taylor removed her glasses and polished them with a blue cloth from her desk drawer. "I've seen your résumé. Not a single school or educational institution in your employment history. In fact, you worked for a wedding company, correct?"

"You're right. I haven't worked for a school before," Gray said. "But I did take a tiny queer-wedding-planning startup in ultraconservative Oklahoma and helped grow it into the most prominent queer-wedding-planning company in the entire region. What you're trying to do here may seem close to impossible right now, but I've faced impossible odds before, and I've beat them."

Principal Taylor put her glasses back on and examined Gray over the top of the frames for one more moment, her lips pursed, before speaking. "Fine. I'll give you another chance. But only one more, and not today. You've already wasted enough of my time, and I have a faculty meeting at nine." She leaned over to flip through a planner on her desk. "Does 8:30 a.m. on Friday work for you?"

"Yes, Friday morning is great," Gray said, feeling a rush of relief. "Thank you so much."

"I'll see you then," Principal Taylor said. "And Young?"

Gray paused, her hand already grabbing the doorknob. "Yes?"

The principal arched one eyebrow atop her glasses. "Don't forget your coffee next time."