I placed the knife on the ground between us, careful to keep the blade away from any limbs. Neven had suggested it wouldn’t harm me, but that might not apply to the others.
“Can I try?” Red waited for me to nod before cautiously taking the knife. She slid it across the floor and—KRRRT—
We all jolted at the sound. The knife scraped across the concrete rather than slice through it. Red tried again, to the same result.
“Let me try,” Rainbow said.
Same thing.
They passed the knife around. A twitchy, uncomfortable feeling settled in my stomach. By the time the knife got back to me, they were all watching expectantly. I put the blade to the floor. The knife sank through the concrete easily.
“I’m not doing anything special,” I said apologetically.
“I guess you’re special,” Red suggested. “I mean that in a good way.”
I laughed a little too loudly. “Then that’s how I’ll take it. Thanks? What do you say to that?” With everyone’s eyes on me, I almost regretted finding the knife. It only grew their expectations. If they expected special, they were going to be seriously disappointed.
“Hey, try this.” Rainbow dug around in her backpack and pulled out the claw hammer she’d brought from Lina’s apartment. “Can you cut through metal?”
I took the hammer, grateful for the distraction, and touched the blade to a corner of the head. After slight resistance, a chunk of metal fell from the hammer. It hit the ground with a ting.
“Wow.” Red looked impressed.
“So cool,” Four breathed. “You really could cut up a helicopter.”
“What kind of knife is that, anyway?” Rainbow leaned in. Her glasses slid down her nose. “The shape is so weird.”
The blunt side of the blade had a curved indent near the tip, creating a hook. I’d dismissed the shape as weird without giving it much consideration, but looking at it now, it seemed oddly familiar.
“Oh!” It dawned on me. “It’s a hunting knife. It skins game.” I pointed at the tip. “That’s the gut hook. To open up the animal’s belly without damaging the meat.”
“Wait,” Red said, “how do you even know that?”
“I think we’ve found the evil twin,” Rainbow said.
“Do you hunt or something?” Four asked.
“Of course I don’t hunt!” The mental image alone was bizarre. I could sooner picture myself with Rainbow’s haircut. “My neighbor hunts. He lets me ride their horses, so the least I could do was listen when he wanted to show off his gear.”
“Which neighbor—Marcus’s dad?” Red asked.
I shook my head.
“You have a Marcus in your class, too?” Four bit her lip—(I nearly flinched at the sight of her front teeth, what the hell was wrong with me)—and went on. “He’s cute.”
Cute? A boy?
Did that mean Four—?
I wasn’t the only one caught by surprise there; Rainbow gave her a stunned look, while Red seemed suddenly more alert. (Maybe I was, too.)
“Hold on,” Rainbow said. “He? You think a he is cute?”
Four hesitated. “You don’t like . . .?”
“Boys? Um, no.” Rainbow gestured at herself. “I didn’t think I was subtle.”
“You could’ve been bi,” Red said.
“Fair. But no. I’m gay as hell.”
My mind shorted out. That was my voice. Me. Hazel Stanczak. Saying those words. Not even “I like girls” or “I’m not into boys” or “I’m a lesbian.” Rainbow even said it with a laugh. And gay as hell? Who said that? I felt more like Red. The way she dipped her head, fiddled with her fingers. That, I recognized.
And if Rainbow was—
And if Four wasn’t—
What did that mean for me?
“So am I the token lesbian?” Rainbow raised her eyebrows.
We stared. Four’s mouth dropped open slightly. (I made sure mine was closed.)
“I mean,” she went on, “I was just as gay a few months ago before I dyed my hair. I’d assumed you were, too. Marcus? Really?”
A blush crept onto Four’s face, all splotchy and pink. “Did you see his dimples?”
“No, I can’t say I noticed,” Rainbow said blandly.
The scrapes on my hand itched. I didn’t scratch them. I sat as still as I could, even when the cold of the asphalt crept though my pants and leeched the heat from my skin. I didn’t want to interrupt.
I wanted to hear every word.
“You’re not the token.” Red plucked the filling from a frayed part of her coat. Her eyes briefly met Rainbow’s. “But, um, almost nobody knows. People at school always joke about those things. But it wasn’t a joke when those books got pulled from the library last year, or when Neil’s brother got trapped in the locker room. And Mom and Dad . . . I mean, they’re not bigots. They’d never kick me out. But whenever a celebrity comes out of the closet, they’ll go, ‘Another one? Are there any straight people left in Hollywood?’ They’ll say it’s just a publicity stunt and that being gay is trendy now. And that parents shouldn’t enable kids who claim they’re gay or trans or whatever, that it’d be fine if the kid really was but they’re too young for those decisions, and . . .” She trailed off. “I just don’t want them to look at me any different.”
Four was nodding. Could I nod? That didn’t have to mean I was the same way, right, just that I’d heard the same things from Mom and Dad? Tiny comments. Pangs. Bracing myself when we watched TV and a certain actress or newscaster came on.
“Caro was the only one who knew,” Red said softly. She still didn’t say the actual words. “I kind of wish I’d told Mom and Dad, now.”
And she didn’t say: In case I don’t get to go home.
“My parents found out by accident,” Rainbow said. “They felt guilty that I wasn’t comfortable telling them, so they tried to be supportive. I mean, they let me do this
