“Ah.” Dad exhales in what might be a laugh or a sigh.
I stand up but keep staring at the floor. “I could tell her not to come. Technically it’s a grounding gray area.” I don’t want an excuse to blow off Melissa, but I miss non-disciplinary Dad. We hardly ever get to hang out.
Dad pats me on the back. “Oh, don’t worry about it, Jelly. I’m glad you and Melissa are being active, and I can entertain myself for a little while.” He scrunches his face in an exaggerated smile. “I might even enjoy the peace and quiet.”
I hesitate. Is Dad just being polite? Should I insist that I want to bond? Or is he actually relieved to get time to himself? Should I leave and give him his peace and quiet? My brain jams with uncertainty.
“Um,” I say. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Melissa is here. “Okay, I guess that works. If you’re sure. We probably won’t be long anyway.”
Dad’s already heading into the kitchen. “Have fun.”
It’s completely irrational to feel disappointed. If anything, I should be glad Dad isn’t mad. But I stare at his retreating back for a second anyway, until my phone buzzes again and I jump and run outside, slamming the front door shut behind me.
Waiting in the driveway, Melissa taps what I assume is another Hurry up! text on her phone. “Hey,” she says when she looks up from the screen. “Ready?”
I shrug. “It’s hot.” The sun is sinking behind the trees, but the humidity presses against my skin. Melissa’s shirt already shows dark spots of dampness from the short trip here.
“Welcome to summer,” she says, sticking out her tongue. I guess I don’t laugh enough, because she cocks her head. “Everything all right?”
“Fine.” I shrug. “Just, you know, worrying that I push everyone away and that’s why nobody loves me.” If I make a silly face while saying it, then it officially counts as a joke, I hope.
Melissa slings a sweaty arm over my shoulder. “That can’t be true, because I love you.”
I smile, because I am a ridiculous person in constant need of sappy reassurance. “Thanks.” I wiggle away and trot down the street toward the bike path. “Come on, slowpoke.”
Melissa’s phone buzzes and she stops following me to pull it out, snicker, and type a response. I guess she wasn’t texting me after all.
“Want to hear something that will cheer you up?” she asks, tucking her phone away.
“What?”
“Karey just sent us both invites to the secret message board for quidditch-playing feminists.”
“The . . . what?”
Melissa stretches her arms over her head, yawns hugely, then breaks into a sprint past me, down the street, into the trees. “Come on, slowpoke! My muscles aren’t going to define themselves!”
* * *
• • •
Forty-five minutes later I leave Melissa at her house and jog back home. I have to knock until Dad lets me in, because Connie and Yasmín got home and locked the door behind them. After a post-workout banana, I head upstairs and find the invitation Melissa described.
Karey Yates has invited you to join the group: S.P.I.F.: Society for the Promotion of Intersectional Feminism (in quidditch).
3 friends in this group: Karey Yates, Melissa Larsen, Lindsay Trouble Young.
Join Reject
I click. The Facebook group pops open, topped by a picture of quidditch hoops with crosses and arrows to look like the Venus, Mars, and transgender symbols. I click Description to expand the writing under the photo:
A place to discuss gender disparity issues in the quidditch community. We love the sport but condemn the franchise. (Fuck TERFs.) Homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, and other forms of asshat behavior will NOT be tolerated. Yes, that includes racism and ableism, which are feminist issues. This group is private and is intended to be a safe space. Trolls will be banned.
I feel myself smiling even as I message Melissa the biggest question on my mind.
Ellen: Okay, but, like, why?
Melissa: Are you looking at the site?
Ellen: Yes, obviously, and I’m asking “Why?”
Melissa: Because it’s awesome! And because the sport is coed, which raises problems, and someone has to address those problems. Just, are you looking at the posts?
I am not, actually, so I scroll down.
Sydney Porter
Thursday at 6:25 PM
Hey, Everyone! I’m trying to run summer pickup games, and there are a couple of rugby guys who showed up the first week and keep making jokes about how they’re only here to pick up nerdy (desperate) girls. I think they think they’re being funny, but the comments are making me and a bunch of other folks uncomfortable. How can I tell these guys that their behavior is inappropriate without scaring them away from the team entirely?
Argent Mcmillan
Wednesday at 12:13 PM
Yes, weekend fantasy tournament team, please keep using the term “female beater” in strategy sessions. That is *totally* accurate and inclusive because being a girl (which I’m still not!) is the whole strategy. Thanks.
Mariana Sanchez
Wednesday at 3:13 AM
There’s another “debate” in the Northeast group about whether girls should be allowed to snitch at “important” tournaments. Can someone curb-stomp these assholes, please?
Lyla Bee
Sunday at 4:55 PM
First time reffing a game where no one called me a bitch or questioned my abilities based on gender! Progress?
Wow. I scroll through the comments on the posts, which range from sweet messages of love and support and “hang in there” to the kind of expletive-soaked rage I expect from Eevie on Environmentally Unfriendly. I follow a couple of good feminist blogs on Tumblr, and Eevie will address gender issues on the social justice side of xyr blog sometimes, but this site is a little different. First, everything is related to sports culture and quidditch, obviously. Second, everyone seems to know everyone else personally. Third, Karey is everywhere.
I pick out maybe five main commenters, the really active participants who have something to say about every post. Karey probably isn’t number one, but she’s on the list.
Karey Yates
Sydney, I think you should try pulling the rugby dudes aside and just telling them how folks are feeling. If they respond poorly, then you didn’t want to keep them around anyway, right?