The Girl Who Speaks With Algebra

12: Turn the Paige

"Two options," I asserted to Paige as soon as the professor had said 'class dismissed'. "We can eat and chat in the student life centre, or grab sandwiches and talk somewhere quiet that I know about."

I was pretty sure Paige would go for the more private option. I was right. At the closest cafeteria I grabbed a roast beef, she took a vegetarian (crud, did she even eat meat?), and we went to a secluded bench I'd seen during my various wanderings around the campus.

I didn't waste any time. "So, I'm a lesbian, how about you?"

Paige paused in the process of unwrapping her sandwich, then slowly nodded.

"Right," I continued. "So. The guy you clung to after class last Thursday, that was...?"

"Guy?" Paige said, turning to look at me. Her nose crinkled cutely as she thought back, then her eyes widened. "Oh no. Oh, Rose, that was my brother, he showed up a day early, so that we could talk before Thanksgiving. Did you think...?"

"I didn't know what to think."

"Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry. And here I am, hating on you for your mixed signals." She reached out a hand to touch my leg. I reached down to grasp it.

"Right. About those signals. I'll try to be more clear from this point on." I licked my lips. "So Paige, how... how DID you know? That I was... well..."

"Gay?" Paige turned her hand to squeeze my palm, and then slid it free of my grasp. She continued unwrapping her sandwich. "I didn't. But out of everyone in choir, you were my odds on favourite. Your eyes were drawn more to the other girls, you didn't go nuts on beauty products or pretty dresses, and you didn't seem to notice or care that Joe was flirting with you."

"Joe was what?"

Paige smiled. "Exactly. So I tried to get closer, to test my hypothesis, as it were. It helped that we're both first year students. But almost immediately we got into this weird push-and-pull thing where you seemed to want to spend time with me, and yet you were simultaneously trying to brush me off. I couldn't figure out if you wanted me as a friend, as more than a friend, as a friend so long as I wasn't gay, or what."

"I see." I thought about that, as Paige bit into her sandwich. "The clothes thing, how does that work for identification? I mean, YOU do the beauty products and the pretty dresses. Very well, I might add."

She shrugged. "I like them. Granted, I overextend, trying to amp my appearance up a little beyond the norm. So that some guys think I'm out of their league. That way, if some boy seems like they're about to hit on me? They could be shut down with the right look. It doesn't always work, but it's one possible recourse."

"Why not simply tell them you're a lesbian?"

Paige choked a little on her second bite of sandwich. "Are you serious?"

"Kinda sorta."

"Rose, I don't broadcast likely for the same reason YOU don't advertise either."

"Paige, I didn't know I was a lesbian until last week."

She froze up, and the hand holding her sandwich dropped into her lap as she turned to look at me. Our gazes locked for a good ten seconds. Then, "Tabarnak de calisse!" erupted from her lips.

I don't know much French, but I can recognize a few of the good Quebecois phrases. I think Paige had just said something that would make most sailors blush. She then rested her elbow on her knee, pressed her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose, and kept repeating "Tabarnak!" over and over.