Changing gears, p.24
Changing Gears, page 24
The room erupted.
MacKechnie made a bee-line for her, her heels like gunfire on the wooden stairs as Jen hurried down the row to make her escape. Alex sat at the end and got up to let her pass.
“You’d better make a run for it,” he hissed, and stepped into Yvonne’s path.
Students yelled her name as she ran towards the door, buoyed by the strange mix of dissension and admiration in the hall. As she burst into the vestibule her laughter overtook her, nervous elation and incredulity bubbling up uncontrollably.
Jen sat in her car on the side of the road for over an hour. She was too stunned by what she’d done to drive. Her attention was everywhere and nowhere, and she had nearly clipped a truck pulling out of the SMLC carpark.
It had never occurred to her Yvonne would out her in assembly in such an unkind fashion, nor that she would drag Emily with her. Jen trembled as she remembered MacKechnie’s vocal disdain. The Principal’s disgust had been poorly veiled behind her Christian virtue. But at least now everyone knew the school’s approach to queer students and staff. It only seemed fair to out Yvonne as unceremoniously as Yvonne had outed her and Emily. Still, there’d undoubtedly be hell to pay. Whatever that might be.
Jen needed to move, to burn off some nervous energy, so headed for the beach. She had gym gear on the back seat of her car and changed before heading for the walkway that followed the cliffs and shoreline between Bondi and the southern beaches. Her thoughts reeled as she ran.
When she finally stopped to catch her breath, Coogee beach stretched out in front of her. Her lungs were on fire and her thighs burned. She wasn’t a runner. She flopped down on the rocky cliff edge to catch her breath and stare out over the ocean, her mind finally still. When she checked her watch, it was nearly noon. Time to head home.
As she drove, Jen pondered what to do next. She wasn’t sure if the school could do anything to her—she’d need to get some legal advice—but regardless, she needed a new plan. Her teaching career would take one hell of a hit. She wouldn’t be able to give St Mildred’s as a reference, and that kind of hole in her narrative would make most schools shy away. No doubt word would get around if Yvonne had anything to do with things. And, of course, she was on social media. At best, she’d end up in a remote school—where else would be desperate enough to ignore her reputation? Maybe now was the time for a career break. Or that European cycling tour Abi always talked about.
Abi.
Abi, who had texted her.
That she loved her.
There was an unexpected spring in her step as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. Her world had imploded. Between her family’s reaction and the school’s actions, her old, comfortable, safe life was nothing but ash. But for all that loss, what was in front of her was thrilling.
As she stood outside her front door, Jen stared at the key in her hand. It felt surreally symbolic. Out in the passageway was her old life, one she could repair if she had the will to. But beyond the door, something more awaited—something painful and demanding, but real and worthwhile.
When she opened the door, Abi was standing in the passageway, her eyes wide in awe.
“You’re fucking amazing!”
Jen blinked, bewildered, as Abi threw her arms around her. When she let her go, she grinned, her phone in her hand. Grabbing her arm, she pulled Jen down the hall and pushed her onto the couch.
“You’re blowing up! Look!”
Sitting next to her, Abi unlocked her phone and showed her the screen. It took Jen a moment to realise the voice she was hearing was her own. The image showed a row of heads filling most of the frame, but a furious Yvonne was clearly visible on stage as Jen’s voice rang out.
“…make sure you no longer have a place at St Millred’s. This school and its Board actively encourage parents to remove their…[”Miss Cosgrove!”] …children from St Millies…”
Abi laughed gleefully. Muting the volume, she pointed to the view count. “Seventeen thousand views already. Twelve hundred reposts. And that’s only from this post. It’s everywhere. Twitter, TikTok. And the comments! Jen, oh my god! You’re a fucking legend.” She put her phone down and grabbed her hands, her blue eyes sparkling. “I’m so damned proud of you. That was… incredible!”
She was trending? The world had seen her torch the school? Of course, students had uploaded videos already. The blood ran from her face and her stomach turned over. This took things to a whole other level.
Abi’s face dropped, and her grip on her hands tightened. “Hey. It’s ok, it’ll be ok.”
“The school’ll go me, won’t they?” The bravado from the morning died as Jen realised just how much reputational damage the school was about to take.
“Maybe,” Abi nodded resolutely, and turned Jen’s face so their eyes met. “You’ve definitely upset some apple carts. But you’ve also got a lot of allies,” and she picked up her phone again to pull up Twitter. She typed in #burnitdown. “See?”
Jen scrolled through the feed, reading comment after comment extolling her bravery, criticising the school, branding SMLC with hashtag after hashtag referencing homophobia, inclusion, diversity, the queer community and mental health. And there were other clips, ones that showed her face. Abi tapped on random profiles as they scrolled. Reposts came from across Australia, and the northern hemisphere. When she refreshed the feed, a dozen more tweets appeared. Speechless, Jen gawped.
“You’re not on your own, love. You’ve got a world of people behind you. And I’m here. I’m not going anywhere…. I cancelled my ticket home.”
Jen reeled. She didn’t know if she was coming or going. Abi kissed her on the forehead as she got up and disappeared into the kitchen. She came back with a glass of water and pressed it into her hand.
“You cancelled your ticket?”
Abi’s eyes crinkled as she smiled at her.
The afternoon passed in a blur. When Jen finally retrieved her phone from her bag, notification badges showed dozens of missed calls and texts. Colleagues from school she would never have guessed would stand up for her had sent messages of support. Parents and students had found her on Instagram, some coming out, grateful someone had stood up to the school. And strangers, so many strangers on her social media channels. But it was the voicemails that set her teeth on edge. From the Board, and Emily’s mother, and reporters. And Caroline and Mike. All a disquieting mix of gratitude and hostility. Finally, Abi took her phone off her, the overwhelm too much.
Kneeling down in front of her, Abi gently took her hands. “What do you need?” she whispered.
“I need it all to stop.”
Abi looked thoughtful for a moment. “Ok.” She got up and closed the lounge curtains, collected all of Jen’s devices and stowed them in a cupboard in the kitchen, and unplugged the modem. After she checked Jen’s work bag for anything she might need, she deposited it in her office and closed the door. Walking around the apartment, she bundled up anything else that could remind of her school and stashed that away too. “When I’ve got the flu, I watch Hunger Games and eat crap on the sofa. So,” and she riffled through Jen’s dusty DVD collection. “We’re going to watch… Star War? Seriously?” And she gave her a look as she plucked A New Hope from its case and inserted the disc into the DVD player. “PJs. Now. Off you go.”
Punch-drunk, Jen wandered into the bedroom to change. When she reappeared, Abi had bowls of ice cream and a pile of blankets ready to go. She fell asleep about ten minutes in, her head on Abi’s lap, wrapped in exhaustion, blankets and her safe embrace.
It was dark out when she woke. Abi sat at the dining table under a small circle of lamplight, her head down as her fingers flew over her keyboard. A serious frown etched her brow. Her phone vibrated an alert, and she glanced down at the notification before returning her attention to her laptop. Jen observed her from the couch, warm and calm in a cocoon of blankets and darkness. Another alert buzzed and Abi picked up her phone and vanished into the kitchen.
“Charlene, thanks for… no, no, not at this stage…. Oh, ok. I’ll get back to you once we’ve discussed the options… yeah… No. Absolutely not. Can you make sure the school doesn’t contact her directly? That would be great…. Absolutely…. Yeah, no, Jamison.… Yup, I’ll get you those contact details as soon… great…,” and she laughed. “That’s good to hear. Thanks, Charlene, we’ll call tomorrow.”
Jen sat up when Abi walked back in.
“Bugger. Did I wake you?”
Jen shook her head. “Who was that?”
Abi scooted under the blankets and cuddled up beside her. “The… NTEU? The teacher’s union. I emailed them this afternoon to get a bit of advice.”
“What time is it?”
“About half-past nine, at a guess.”
Jen blinked and rubbed her face as she lent into Abi. “You contacted them?”
“Yeah. Most of the employment policies around teacher dismissals are pretty clear, but the religious exemption stuff is a bit all over the place. And there’s some separate award for teachers at private schools? Anyway, you said you’d been a union member? I emailed them anyway to see if they can clarify your position.”
“You did all that?”
“Of course I did all that.”
Tears welled and broke, pouring down her cheeks. Abi held her close as she cried, a flood of grief and relief rolling through her. As her life dissolved in front of her, someone was trying to catch her, to shield her. It had been such a long time since anyone had done that.
“Oh my love, my love,” Abi whispered, rocking her gently through her sobs, letting her unravel in her arms. Eventually, she bundled her up and got her into bed, a teary, tired mess.
Sydney
Friday, 4 May, 2018
Jen was alone when she woke and for the briefest of moments, she feared Abi had left her. Her dreams had been tumultuous and vivid, filled with angry friends and family. She’d startled awake with a vision of Abi walking out again. But the other side of the bed was crumpled, and as she laid back, her heart thumping, someone clattered about in the kitchen.
Shoving the covers back, she rolled out of bed and padded into the dining room. Abi’s laptop was open, her phone and iPad lying nearby, along with a notepad covered with scribbled notes and phone numbers. And beside it all sat Jen’s personal laptop and phone.
“Hey. You’re up.”
Jen walked over and kissed her, wrapping her arms around her. “I thought I’d lost you,” she breathed, pressing herself tightly to her.
“Shhhhh.” Abi whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.” She pulled back a little and stared at her, a slow smile rising. “Want some more good news?” When Jen nodded, she pointed her to the chair she had been occupying. “Read the article.” Abi ducked back into the kitchen as she sat down.
Jen’s eyes widened as she read the news article headline on screen. Private school accused of bullying, removing LGBT students. When she scrolled down, Yvonne’s prim smile appeared, followed by her own headshot from her LinkedIn profile, and finally Kathleen Jamison, looking stern and unrelenting in a navy suit jacket. Returning to the top, she read her way through what could only be described as a scathing indictment of the school.
“She’s a human rights lawyer,” Abi chuckled as she walked back in with a hot coffee and a bowl of muesli. Pulling a chair over with her foot, she sat beside her and handed the mug over as she read over her shoulder. “Here,” and she pointed to a comment with her spoon. “She’s going to make a dog’s dinner out of your bloody Principal. Eat,” and she motioned for her to take a mouthful of cereal.
Jen read on, slowly munching her way through a spoon-fed breakfast. At the bottom was an anonymous quote from a close source, suggesting Jen was devastated about what had happened but couldn’t stand by as the school caused so much harm to a student. “That’s you?”
Abi winked. “They needed something.” She put the bowl down and picked up Jen’s mobile. “I opened your phone when you were sleeping. Face recognition,” she gave her a guilty smile. “Kathleen called a few times. She’s got your back.”
Jen shook her head and rubbed her eyes, tired and confused. “I don’t understand. How…?”
Abi propped an elbow on the table and rested her chin on her fist. “It didn’t take much, really. A few emails to a couple of LGBT youth support services and advocacy groups, some strategic tags on Twitter…” and she gave her a lopsided smile. “Fanned a flame or two… Got some friends to fan some more flames…”
“And that…,” Jen shook her head in disbelief. “You did all this?”
“Of course I did. Even heroes need rescuing sometimes, you know.”
“You’re rescuing me?”
“Aye, I’m rescuing you. Can I rescue you? You can be a bit bloody scary, and I’m pretty sure you don’t really need me to, but…,” and she shrugged.
“No, you can rescue me.” Jen took her hand, holding it in her lap. “I could do with a rescue right now.”
Abi’s smile warmed her. “I love you, Jen Cosgrove. You get that, right? I fell for you in the lobby of the Medieval in Avignon, and I’ve never stopped falling. All of this rubbish,” and she tilted her chin at her laptop. “All this’ll be old news in a week or two. But after that, it’ll be you. And it’ll be me. Are you ok with that?”
Jen pulled her close and pressed her forehead to hers. “I’m very OK with that.”
Sydney Airport
Thursday, 19 May, 2018
The fasten seatbelt sign chimed overhead. Abi’s fingers were tightly woven in Jen’s as she leaned across to stare out the window at Sydney’s skyline. “That’s a superb view for an airport.” She kissed Jen’s cheek as she settled back into her seat.
Cabin crew walked the aisles, checking tray tables and hand luggage as the last passengers got themselves seated. Overhead bins slammed shut, and the flight buzzed with excited conversation. As the plane reversed out of its bay and taxied to its runway, Jen reflected on the last two weeks.
It had been a whirlwind of events and close calls, with the press and the school’s lawyers at her door with such overwhelming consistency that Abi finally snuck them off to a hotel for some peace. But Kathleen had indeed had her back, and between her efforts and the public backlash against the school, the Chair of the Board had resigned, taking Yvonne down with him. Emily had transferred to a new school. Apparently the list of principals who had called the Jamisons with promises of a much more inclusive and supportive educational experience had been overwhelming, if not uplifting. Their daughter was a different young woman, now part of a diverse and respectful school community. She even had a new girlfriend.
But it wasn’t all roses. Jen’s family had reacted exactly as she had feared and no amount of conversation could shift their homophobic reaction. Sally’s mortification at having a gay daughter be the subject of news stories and conversations across the parish was too much for her to bear. Mike bombarded her with homophobic memes, and Caroline refused to even speak with her. To her credit, Jen refused to buy into the shame they peddled. Only her father had acted with a shred of decency, calling her late one night to whisper down the phone that he would always love her and didn’t care at all about her being gay. Jen put little faith in his promise Sally would eventually come around, but she let him have that fantasy—that they’d eventually be a family again. She grieved after the call. Not so much for losing her family but more the death of the dream they would be any other way with her. Coming to terms with the choice to be true to herself without them, rather than to live a lie to keep them happy, was a painful process.
Amongst all the chaos, Abi never wavered. She stood behind her, propping her up when she needed support, stepping away when she was strong enough to carry the weight on her own. No matter the day, every night she rescued her again, keeping her safe from the world long enough to let her gather her courage and perseverance for whatever the next day would throw at her. There was no better confirmation for Jen that she had made the right choices, done the right thing.
As they took off, Jen gripped her hand tightly, excited about the next chapter of their lives together.
“Here we go!” Abi whispered, kissing her knuckles. “You ready?”
“Absolutely.” Ignoring the seatbelt sign, Jen lifted the armrest between them to nestle in closer. “There’s one thing I’ve never been able to work out, though.”
“Oh? What?”
“You said I was trying to get you into bed when we were in Provence. If you had a thing for me right from the start, why didn’t you…?” And she cocked a cheeky eyebrow.
“Why didn’t I take advantage of you?” Abi’s salty laugh rose above the roar of the engines. “Because, as my mother has been known to remind me, I don’t sleep with straight girls. Not even spaghetti girls. I learned that lesson years ago.”
“What the hell’s a spaghetti girl?”
Abi snickered as she leaned in close to whisper in her ear. “Straight like spaghetti til you get them wet.”
Jen laughed raucously.
The seatbelt sign chimed again as the cabin crew welcomed them to their schedule to London.
About Author
L A Wright is a debut author and a fresh voice in queer fiction. Born and raised in New Zealand, she developed a passion for storytelling at a young age and has continued to dabble in her craft part-time. This is her first published novel. When not writing, L A Wright enjoys reading, travel, cycling and spending time with her wife, family and friends. After more than two decades living in Sydney and abroad, she currently resides in Auckland.
If you enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased it. Alternatively, you can review Changing Gears on Goodreads.
