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Overview
Freyja, leader on her school's Gay-Straight Alliance, is a politically active 17-year-old who has always identified as a lesbian. When her girlfriend breaks up with her, she is upset and has to distance herself from her ex and the pride video blog they created together. Freyja needs a new cause so she starts volunteering at the local food bank. There, she learns about food justice and begins to develop feelings for her male team leader, Sanjay. When Freyja is accused of "going-straight" she has to decide if she can reconcile with self-identifying as a bisexual and take a chance on love with Sanjay.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781459412590 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | James Lorimer & Company Ltd., Publishers |
| Publication date: | 08/15/2017 |
| Series: | Lorimer Real Love Series |
| Sold by: | De Marque |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 184 |
| File size: | 4 MB |
| Age Range: | 13 - 17 Years |
About the Author
METTE BACH is the author of the Lorimer SideStreets novels Femme and Killer Drop (named a Best Book for Kids and Teens by the Canadian Children's Book Centre) and the Real Love titles Love Is Love, You're You, Cinders and Charming. She has taught ESL to high-school students and currently works at a drop-in resource centre. Mette lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Dumped
"This is going to be huge," Freyja said to Rachel. They walked hand in hand toward the crowd that had already gathered for the Pride parade.
Freyja sounded confident, but her eyes darted around, hoping not to see certain familiar faces. Here in Abbotsford, Freyja had dealt with the worst bullies of her life. They had made life so awful she'd had constant stomach aches and nosebleeds. After moving with her dad to East Vancouver, Freyja had never looked back.
Then Freyja had met Rachel. After that, she realized she wanted to support other kids in finding love on their own terms, the way she had. That's why she and Rachel started Out of the Closet.
"Freyja!"
There was Cass. Together, Cass and Freyja had organized the first ever Pride parade in Abbotsford. Today it would snake through the heart of the Bible Belt town.
"Hey!" They ran to each other. It was strange for Freyja to see Cass in real life, not as a face on a screen. They'd come so far together. Cass still ran the GSA — Gay-Straight Alliance — that Freyja had started. Cass still had to face that horrible group of people every day.
Rachel stood off to the side while Freyja hugged Cass.
"Looks like a good turnout," Cass said. "Media's here."
Freyja saw that a couple of TV and radio stations had come to report on the event. She had hoped that the parade would be big enough, important enough. But you couldn't predict things like that. It was the Fraser Valley, so the weather kept people in a lot of the time. Sometimes a big news story broke and took up all the media coverage.
But not today. Today was full of rainbows and triumph.
"I can't believe we pulled it off, Cass," Freyja said.
Cass smiled. "I know, right? The mayor's coming. You'll have to shake his hand after you go to the podium. Then say something inspiring. Something amazing."
Freyja had waited her whole life for this. From the time she was a kid, she'd watched heroes at podiums rousing the crowds. Martin Luther King, Jr., Harvey Milk, Gloria Steinem. Freyja had dressed as Nellie McClung for Halloween when she was twelve. She had read Simone de Beauvoir. She listened to Nina Simone and Buffy St. Marie. She was ready.
In the midst of the bustle, Freyja turned to Rachel. She noticed that Rachel looked sad. She was wearing her "This is what a lesbian looks like" T-shirt. She had rainbows painted on her cheeks. But she didn't look like someone who was about to lead a victory march through a conservative town.
Freyja tried to hug her. Rachel backed off.
"What's wrong?" Freyja asked.
"Ugh," said Rachel. "Everything." She looked Freyja in the eyes and said, "I can't do this anymore."
"What? The parade?"
"No," Rachel said. "Us. You. This."
It took Freyja a moment to realize what Rachel was saying. "Wait, you're breaking up with me?" "You don't need me, Freyja. You've got hundreds of adoring fans. Even a bunch of journalists want a piece of you. Go be in the spotlight. Go be you."
Freyja couldn't believe what she was hearing. Today of all days! "Rachel, your timing is shit. Can you wait, like, fifteen minutes? I'll be off the stage and we can talk."
"I'm sick of being your sidekick. Your arm candy." She was in tears.
"You're none of those things. You're everything to me. Come here." Freyja went for a hug again. But Rachel turned and bolted.
Freyja stood there, frozen. She wanted to run after Rachel. She called out, "Rachel! Don't leave me! Don't! No!"
For some reason, Freyja's feet wouldn't move. Maybe it was because she knew she was supposed to march — but the other direction from where Rachel had gone. She crouched over, feeling like she was going to vomit. Freyja was supposed to lead the flock, be an example. She watched Rachel disappear into the crowd. Two years of her life disappeared with her.
Freyja whipped out her phone. She texted, "Don't leave. I have to do this. But then we'll talk."
Send.
"You can't leave me. I don't know who I am without you."
Send.
"You're everything to me."
Send.
"I can't live without you."
Send.
"I'll come find you as soon as I'm done. It won't be long. We can fix this."
Send.
Freyja could not find anywhere to be alone. There were people everywhere. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cass pointing one of the media people in her direction. Freyja had no choice but to keep it together. Stuff the feelings down. Swallow them. No time to cry.
She looked down at her hands. She was shaking. The crowd would think it was nerves. Everyone gets nervous before they give a speech. She could hide that way, out in the open. No one would know the real reason she felt scared and alone.
"And now the moment we've all waited for," the MC said from the stage. "One of the youngest Pride parade organizers in history."
The crowd was made up of people of all ages. They laughed in a friendly way. It's like they think I'm cute or something, Freyja thought. Her dad and Gram waved at her. She couldn't see Rachel anywhere. She felt utterly alone.
But then Freyja thought of the kids in the crowd. They needed her to appear strong. She would do this for them even if she was falling apart inside. She knew what she had to do. She had to make sure students like her would feel safer in this community. They wouldn't have to move away like she did.
Breathe, Freyja told herself. She knew they expected good stuff, the stuff she'd practised in front of the mirror. They deserved it. She took the mic and looked out at the crowd.
"Hello out there," she began. There was feedback from the mic. It threw Freyja off. What was she supposed to say?
A technician came out and adjusted the mic. He passed it back to her and gave her an encouraging smile. That was all she needed.
She swallowed. She knew the words by heart.
"I couldn't be happier to be here today ..."
* * *
When the parade was over, it was time for hugs. Gram, who didn't have much upper arm strength, gave Freyja the hardest hug ever. Her dad was so proud that he lifted her right off the ground.
"You were incredible up there," he said.
"Thanks."
"Where's Rachel?"
"She left me."
"What?"
"She dumped me. Right before I went up there."
"Oh, honey. I'm sure she didn't mean it," Gram said.
Her dad put his arm around her. He got it. He'd been left by a bunch of women.
"Should we look for her?" asked Gram.
"I think she must have taken the bus back," Freyja said.
Her dad patted her on the back. "Let's go home."
CHAPTER 2One Last Kiss
Freyja sat in the back seat and stared out the window. Reality had stopped being reality. She was looking out at a world that made no sense.
She and Rachel fit together seamlessly. They had been drawn to each other from the moment Rachel asked for help in Math. Freyja, the new girl, had said she was the last person who could help with algebra. They had moved to the back of the class and made fun of the teacher. Then Rachel had followed Freyja to her locker. It was as if it was the most natural thing in the world that they would have lunch together. They had every lunch together after that.
It didn't take long for Rachel to invite Freyja over after school. Those first sleepovers had been confusing, with Rachel talking about how totally hot Ryan Gosling was. She had told Freyja she was straight for him. Freyja didn't even know what that meant.
Later, tangled in the sheets, their bodies sweaty and spent, Freyja was nervous. She didn't know how the following Monday she'd be able to pretend they were nothing but friends. Rachel, who had never so much as kissed a girl before Freyja, had announced their relationship to everyone online before Freyja had even told her dad.
Things were tense a lot between them. But they were passionate. Making up was addictive. Freyja sometimes wondered if they fought just so they could go at each other with frantic need.
Now the breakup was on a loop in Freyja's mind. It played in slow motion, every word weird and distorted. But even as she watched the mental footage, she couldn't believe that Rachel really wanted it to end. It wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Freyja held her phone in her hand. No new messages from Rachel.
* * *
In her room, Freyja stared at a poster on the wall. Frida Kahlo looked back at her. Freyja finally understood the expression that was on Frida's face. It was the look of a serious loss of faith. Of heartbreak. Loneliness. She stared at Frida Kahlo for a long, long time. Then she cried.
Freyja's social feed started to fill with messages. They were all "oh no" and "I'm sorry to hear it." Great. Rachel had already told people. Freyja read a couple of "do you want to talk about it?" texts from people she didn't know all that well, people who seemed to care. It was horrible, like her life was on display.
What were they going to do about the video blog? She and Rachel had hosted their show for over a year. It was growing. They had actual subscribers. Not many, but still. How was she supposed to tell their followers that they were no longer together? The account was in Freyja's name. She was the one who did it all — the filming, the editing, the uploading. Rachel didn't even respond to comments. Freyja was the one who had to deal with this. With everything.
Freyja opened the drawer in her desk. She got out a large pair of scissors. She looked at her wrists. They were covered in bracelets that Rachel had given her. Some were leather strips. Some were plastic cords. Some were beaded. One was torn fabric from the hem of Rachel's vintage skirt. They had become part of Freyja's personal style. They were a constant reminder of who she was, what she was. They showed Freyja and the world who loved her and whom she loved.
They had to go.
She put "Blow Me One Last Kiss" by Pink on repeat and searched the lyrics online. She read through one round of the song, sitting in her swivel chair with the scissors in her right hand. As round two of the song started, she turned up the volume and pulled her garbage can out from under the desk. Then, one by one, she snipped each bracelet off her left arm. As each band fell into the trash, it released a memory of Rachel tying it on her. It was odd to see the pale skin of her left wrist again. Freyja had almost forgotten what her arms looked like without the proof of the love between her and Rachel.
It took many repeats of the song before she was done. There was a big pile in the garbage to look at now. She stared at the mixture of empty Haagen Dazs tubs and Rachel's love tokens, candy wrappers and foil packaging. Then an even more depressing thought entered her mind. She had comforted herself with junk food: the sweetness of ice cream, the childhood taste of Pop Tarts. But not everyone had equal access to food. Just like not everyone had equal access to love. She was curious about what other people did. What about sad people who couldn't afford to gorge themselves to bury the pain?
She should find out. A Google search on poverty and food access turned into hours of reading. Freyja found it awful to think about people around the world — even right here in Vancouver — not having enough to eat. But at least it got her thinking about something other than her own sorrows. She saw that she had always been wrapped up in her own experience of the world. Yet there were other people out there who suffered more than she could imagine. She looked down at her wrappers and felt guilty for taking her right to snacks for granted.
What was really important was coming up with a plan. This was Freyja's final year of high school. Her grades weren't up to snuff — not really. Her study habits had involved Rachel for two years. They weren't promising.
Freyja could get tuition covered through her mom's connection to UBC. But she would have to make the cut. That'd be impossible. School subjects held no interest for her. None of it seemed to matter in the real world, where everyone had smartphones and could look up stuff. You didn't need facts. You needed to prove yourself.
There was one thing Freyja had not shied away from. It was getting up on a soapbox and speaking her mind. She did it when they wouldn't let her play boys' soccer in grade five. She did it again in grade eight when she noticed that the school needed a better recycling program. She just did it this past weekend with Pride.
Freyja thought about what it'd be like to see Rachel at GSA meetings. That is, if Rachel would still show up. Suddenly the queer scene felt too small. Their GSA was like a small town Freyja wanted to run away from. She needed a break from it. Forget the video blog. Forget the followers and their offers of pity.
She carried the plastic garbage can downstairs. She took one last look at her own privilege and tossed the mess out for good. What she had found out about food justice nagged at her. Eating was a basic human right. It pained her to think that in a world where so many had so much, there were people who couldn't get by. She should do something about it.
Love be damned. She went back to her room and filled out the local food bank's online volunteer form.
CHAPTER 3To the Rescue
Freyja watched Gram pull on a bright orange tunic to go with her blue yoga pants. She applied the purple eye shadow pencil that she kept near the hallway mirror. Then she added a bit of pink lipstick and a dab of neroli oil. The woman has sass, that's for sure, thought Freyja. Freyja actually preferred Gram as a parental figure to her mom. Her mom never wore bright colours or scents. And she wasn't around, anyway.
Gram walked Freyja down Commercial Drive. They commented on everyone from the pushy florist to the young punks hanging on the corner. As they passed an Italian café, a couple of older Italian men sitting out front gave Gram the up-down look. Freyja noticed that Gram noticed. Gram sort of smiled to herself.
Gram was forever single. She made it very clear that her biggest joy in life was taking care of her son and grandkid. So of course she walked Freyja to the very first session of the volunteer program at the food bank. Just as they turned onto Raymur Avenue, Gram took a step away from Freyja and eyed her.
"What's on your mind, Gram?" Freyja asked.
"I was just thinking how other girls your age go to movies and buy make-up."
"You think I should wear make-up?"
Gram shook her head. "I guess that'd throw off the whole dreadlocks, pierced septum thing you're going for."
Freyja swung her hair and took a pin-up model pose. "You mean you don't love it?" "I like it more than that time you shaved your head."
"Hey," Freyja said. "I gotta be me."
Gram smiled. They walked in silence for a while.
"You know, Freyja," she finally said. "You don't have to solve all the world's problems."
"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I didn't try."
Gram stopped in her tracks and looked at Freyja. "I remember that feeling."
They walked a bit more, and then Freyja said goodbye to Gram. She took a deep breath before rounding the bend of Raymur Avenue. This was it. The new cause.
As she approached the building, she saw an ancient-looking car pulled over. The trunk lid was up, and there was a woman standing behind it. She leaned against the car, looking exhausted, as she talked to a guy. The guy was holding a large banana box overflowing with food. Freyja thought he looked about her age.
The guy rested the box on the back bumper as he opened the trunk with the keys the woman handed him. She had a baby strapped to her chest, a crying toddler in a carrier in the car, and a small child standing next to her.
Just then, the young child took off.
"Hunter!" the guy yelled. The banana box fell to the ground.
The woman let out a loud grunt, like this had happened many times before. She shrieked, "Get back here! Hunter!"
The boy laughed as he ran. He darted across the street without looking. He bolted into the park.
The guy took off after the boy.
Freyja ran after them, her instinct carrying her.
"Stop!" the guy ordered.
Nothing. The boy was in his own world.
Freyja swerved, thinking the boy might change direction. When he did, she managed to put her hand on his shoulder. Only then did he stop, still laughing.
"Stop!" she ordered. "I mean it."
But he got away from her.
The guy lunged at the kid. He caught him and swung him up off his feet.
"I'm fast," the boy said, proud.
"You sure are," Freyja answered.
"Let's get you back to your family," the guy said, putting the boy down.
"No!" yelled the boy.
"Take my hand," the guy ordered.
He looked at Freyja. Without any words, they both knew what needed to happen. Each of them grabbed the boy by one hand. He was forced to walk between them. He struggled to get free, but Freyja had done this with kids at the co-op. She refused to let go of his bony little hand.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "You're You"
by .
Copyright © 2017 Mette Bach.
Excerpted by permission of James Lorimer & Company Ltd.
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