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just a picture of a cloud
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"Just getting some air. I had a... difference of opinion, I guess, with some people. We disagreed about the appropriate volume for personal conversations in a student learning environment. When people are trying to study. Which I was."

Georgia Lee spoke slowly, choosing her words with care. Knowing of someone wasn't the same as knowing them. Did Vincenzo and Ty know each other? Were they friends? Was Vincenzo the sort to keep things to themself, or would anything she said be all over the school come the end of the day? Worrying about what others thought of her was a waste of time, she knew that, but there was also nothing to be gained by actively making them resent her.

What's more, on top of that rickety pile of conversational traps sat her utter lack of knowledge of how to address Vincenzo. The preferred pronoun was "they", that much she knew. She remembered thinking that it was bad english: they implies plurality, and he/she is preferable in situation of gender ambiguity. Though here it wasn't ambiguous so much as it was unfixed. Perhaps the plurality was intentional? In some ways Vincenzo did very much seem like two people. They had two names, after all. She wondered how they were registered in the school's systems. She wondered what they'd do, once they graduated.

A different gender every day wouldn't be an easy sell to an employer, especially in Arizona. It shouldn't set colleges off, though: it probably couldn't, what with anti-discrimination provisions and all that. Should she ask about that? No, better not. Still, there was so much she didn't know, so much she wanted to know.

She tried to picture what it would be like, if people constantly had questions for her. There was little about Georgia Lee's existence that provoked anything in the way of questioning. She went to school. She went places after school. She worked on her admission. Everything she did was straightforward, everything made sense. It was hard to imagine people always needing her to explain things to them: who she was, why she wore what she was wearing, what was it like to ber her, was it hard, how was she so strong? The gaggle of questioners had the faces of her sisters, and they filled her with an almost palpable revulsion. She resolved then to not be one of them. No questions.


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Puddles · Grounds