The year is 1956, which means you aren’t exactly surrounded by the most accepting people. Even your own parents speak ill of the LGBTQ communities, claiming they’re corrupting the children. “I heard a story of one of those…clubs inviting young girls in and seducing them. What animals.” Your mother had said. Luckily for you, you’re perfectly normal. You make good grades, you’re respectful, but most importantly, you’re straight. That’s the most important part. The greatest, most life-altering accomplishments can be forgotten simply for liking a different gender. How strange.

Your parents have put you in charge of the drink table at a church party. It’s Wednesday night, which means that the church is providing drinks, pizza, and games for the kids while the parents attend worship upstairs. From your spot behind the table, you watch two teenage boys playing air hockey. One of them is busy claiming that the game is clearly rigged while the other takes the opportunity to hit the puck into his side.

While you’re distracted by the scene, two younger boys nearby play with the wooden swords used for skits. They pretend to fence, inching closer and closer to the table until one of their swords hits the punch bowl, knocking it to the ground.

“Wyatt, I told you to be careful!”

A girl exclaims as you rush to get towels.

“I was fencing! I can’t just let Draven corner me!”

The little boy, probably no older than seven, argues. The girl huffs and rolls her eyes, grabbing a towel as well and leaning closer to you to say softly,

“I’m sorry about him. I tell myself he’ll get more responsible as he gets older but…”

You chuckle, though you’re more focused on her face. She has light green eyes and wavy blonde hair. She’s pretty. You think. Really pretty.

You quickly snap out of it as you both start to clean up the spilled punch. How could you think something like that in a church of all places? Your eyes linger on her ring-covered fingers, feeling a strange tingling in your stomach.