Ruth hung her head. “But I like girls, guys, and non-binary people,” she said. “Naomi is full-on gay. She identifies as a lesbian. What if she thinks it’s stupid that I like boys and masculine people, too?”
I was a little out of my depth here. Did people really dump on folks who identified as pan? That seemed pretty messed up. Fabián and Ruth usually talked more about their queer identities with each other, and they went to GSA meetings every week and Pride every June in DC without me. Maybe it was time I started coming with them to GSA meetings, too, if only to support my friends and understand what Ruth was talking about.
“Ruth, you are amazing. You are my best friend. And anyone would be lucky to go on a date with you. If you being attracted to masculine people is a deal breaker for Naomi, then she is not worth it.” I wished I had a beard to stroke in this moment, like a wise old man. It would have been very fitting. Too bad I had waxed it off.
Ruth emerged from her meltdown. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “You’re right. I am pretty amazing.”
“Atta girl, Ruth.”
“And she would be lucky to go on a date with me,” Ruth said, puffing herself up.
“Yasss, queen,” I replied sagely.
“Honestly? It’s kind of a miracle that I’m even letting her go on a date with me,” she added, her eyes alight.
“Okay, let’s not get carried away here.”
“Right, right,” she said, snapping out of it. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I patted her shoulder. “Do you feel better?”
She bit her lip. “Yeah. Thanks, P.” She hugged me, and I smelled cotton candy and watermelon, her two favorite scents.
“Aww, of course, Ruthie.” I hugged her back.
“By the way,” she said, “I told Naomi it’d be a group date, since I’m technically not allowed to go out with anyone yet. And that you’re coming apple picking with us. With a date.”
I un-hugged Ruth.
“You what?”
Being on Ruth’s awkward date sounded terrible. Never mind everything I said before. It was going to be uncomfortable as hell.
The bell rang.
“Don’t forget to find a date.” She waved cheerily as she headed to class.
I stood in the hallway, dumbfounded. How had I gotten roped into this?
Ruth better be careful on this apple-picking trip. Or she might find herself tumbling down a ladder.
■ ■ ■ INTRODUCTION TO VIDEO 10:00 A.M.
10:03 AM PARVIN: Fabián—are you free this Saturday? Want to go apple picking with me and Ruth and Naomi?
10:05 AM FABIÁN: can’t—i’ve got play tryouts. i’m up against Matty, remember? parvin you know how important this is to me!
I replied by sending him a bunch of sobbing emojis, but he didn’t respond. Now what was I gonna do? I couldn’t leave Ruth in the lurch, but I also didn’t want to be a third wheel on her date. My progress with Matty was nowhere close enough to ask him to go apple picking, plus he’d clearly be at the audition. Who was gonna go apple picking with me now?
The bell rang. I had sat in the very back of Intro to Video all this time so Emerson wouldn’t have a chance to talk to me yet. I can’t go out with him. It just wouldn’t work. I’d be in the ER by the end of the night, and Wesley would know that Emerson wasn’t boyfriend material. Emerson should go out with some other girl who actually liked him, especially when I really wanted to go out with Matty.
I would have to break it to Emerson gently.
“Today we’re going to be working on commercials!” Mr. Clarke smiled from the front of the classroom.
I swear, it was like he actually rolled out of bed in the mornings, fully clothed, excited to teach us. I’d never seen Mr. Clarke not hyperventilating with joy.
“Now, class, I used to work in animation before I became a teacher. And I’m particularly thrilled to teach you about the wild world of commercials.”
Sir neighed. Like a horse. Mr. Clarke beamed at him.
“First we’re going to watch a couple commercials and talk about what makes them so good. Then I’d like you all to make your own commercial, or ‘spot’ as we say in the biz. I’ll go around the classroom with a hat full of brands, and it’ll be your job to make a thirty-second spot for the brand you pick out. Got it?”
Everyone mumbled some affirmative noise.
“Great!” Mr. Clarke exclaimed. He turned on the TV and queued up the first commercial.
It was for fungal cream.
“I animated this one a long time ago,” he panted enthusiastically. I blinked, surprised he’d show it in public.
The animation started by zooming in on a graphic of a foot, then cutting to an animation of fungus cells being obliterated by the cream. It was the worst commercial I had ever seen. Mr. Clarke looked so happy to be sharing it with us it honestly broke my heart.
After the fungal cream cartoon, we watched commercials for frozen pizza, laundry detergent, and a luxury car. I’d actually seen some of them before. The luxury car one was even pretty cool.
When the commercials finished, Mr. Clarke went around the room with a baseball hat full of different brand names. I prayed I’d get a cool makeup brand or even a car brand if I was lucky.
I reached in.
“Tuna!” Mr. Clarke yelled, reading my slip of paper before I could. “Canned tuna!”
I looked at the slip. It said, “Tongola Tuna.”
“That’s a really good one.” Mr. Clarke nodded confidently at me. “Lots to work with.”
I gave him the fakest smile I had ever pasted on my face.
I had to make a tuna commercial. Great.
“Your parents work in advertising, right?” Mr. Clarke followed up. “This should be a breeze for you!” he squealed. He actually squealed.
“Oh yeah.” I had almost forgotten how Mom and Dad had worked on commercials before. Sometimes they freelanced for other ad agencies that were too swamped, and I’m pretty sure they’d
