“Should I leave my shoes somewhere?”

“Nah, you can keep ‘em on.”

Lane did a little shuffle on the doormat on their way inside.

“I’m home! I brought a friend!”

Lane looked around at the house, family photos hung all over, but with how the family looked they could have easily been mistaken for drawings. The house was furnished with a retro flair, there were bold sweeping curves, repeating geometric patterns, and a warm color palette. It felt unfamiliar to Lane, but also welcoming. 

“Oh, it’s the neighbor boy!” Sammy’s mom said from halfway down the stairs.

“They’re not a boy, mom.”

“Of course, my apologies, Lane.”

She hugged Sammy and kissed her on the cheek despite her mild protests.

“You should have let us know Lane was coming, we would have made more for dinner.”

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on staying for dinner, Mrs. Sullivan,” Lane interjected sheepishly.

She turned her attention to them, giving a neighborly smile.

“Well, let Dr. Susan know that we’d like to have dinner with you two someday.”

“I will.”

Sammy led Lane up the stairs, the wood boards squeaking a little with each step. The door to her room had a little wooden sign with her name on it. She turned the knob and pushed it open. Her room was quite eclectic, walls adorned with soundproofing foam and various band posters from wildly different genres, a bookshelf that spilled over with science fiction novels, comics, and queer literature. A big flag with stripes of pink, purple, and blue hung over her bed, which also had a purple electric guitar leaned against it. The room smelled faintly of scented candles.

“Sorry it’s kind of a mess.”

“It’s nicer than my room, at least.”

“Hehe.”

Lane looked around to see if they could name any of the bands Sammy had posters of, but Lane’s extremely limited knowledge of music gained almost exclusively from the occasional rhythm game or listening to whatever strange noises Susan decided to play in the car proved no help.

“Wow, you sure have a lot of posters.”

“I like a lot of stuff!”

“Got a favorite band?”

“Ooo, tough question… I really like the vibes of Sundial Daze, they have this dreamy math rock thing going on, but Revolutionary Girl has, like, really poignant messages in a very hard punk way…”

Sammy paused and looked down.

“But, I don’t have to go on a whole rant right now,” she smiled. “Sorry, I tend to get carried away.”

“No, you’re good! I think it’s cool!”

Sammy looked back up, making eye contact.

“You told me something like that before. You really think it’s cool?”

“Yeah!” Lane blushed a little. “I think it’s cool to be passionate about something.”

Sammy’s eyes locked with Lane’s, and the contact held for more time than Lane knew how to handle. Sammy smiled and turned towards the guitar on her wall, lifting it up and slipping underneath its strap.

“Wanna start a band?”

“Huh?”

Sammy rummaged around the chest at the foot of her bed, pulled something out and handed it to Lane, then walked over to the other end of the room. The little amplifier clicked as she turned it on. 

“I can’t sing, though,” Lane said, rotating the microphone around in their hand.

“That’s alright,” Sammy started, plugging in the cord from her guitar. “I can’t play guitar.”

She began strumming, the amp screeched. She grinned at Lane.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I… I’m okay.”

Sammy leaned in close to the microphone.

“People treat me like a child, even people my own age! When I talk to almost anyone, I feel like I’m walking on damn eggshells! I’m constantly afraid someone is going to stop talking to me because I said something stupid!” she shouted through the microphone, amplified and distorted, inches from Lane’s face. 

“Like that! It’s your turn.”

Lane looked at her nervously, trying to figure out what to say, what was okay to say given their relationship. Sammy gave the smaller kid a nod and a grin, switching chords. Lane gulped, gripped the microphone tighter, and took a deep breath, filling their lungs to the brim. 

“Everything used to be so simple! I went to school! I kept my head down! I didn’t get attached! This town makes zero sense! I don’t even know my own gender anymore!”

“Hell yeah! You go!” Sammy cheered. “Go on! How does that make you feel!”

Lane took another breath, it was shaky, ragged.

“I’m scared. I’m scared because for the first time I have a chance to be happy and I’m terrified of screwing it up!” Lane screamed, their voice getting more shrill as the line went on.

Sammy put herself closer to Lane, continuing to play. They took turns shouting into the microphone, their unrestrained, amelodic vocals clashing with the discordant noises of Sammy’s guitar, the whole jam session meshing together into a cacophony of raw, unfiltered sonic emotion.

The pair collapsed, sat on the floor, propping each other up against their backs, breathing like they’d finished a marathon. Lane started to giggle, and so did Sammy, and soon they found themselves in an uncontrollable fit of laughter, gasping for air together.