By the time Charlotte and Jackie arrived for the disco, every room at Acronym was packed. The house purred with pop music and laughter. All of the undergrads wore sequins, and alumni danced among them like they hadn’t heard music since 2013.
Charlotte paused just inside the front door to breathe in the powerful nostalgia of take-out food and incense. More than any other place on campus, Acronym felt like home. While Hein University had a wonderful arts program, Charlotte chose the school for its queer community. The first time she entered the program house, eighteen years of shame and defensiveness lifted from her shoulders. At Acronym, the front door was always open, and the people were always kind.
Jackie beelined to the kitchen. Charlotte zigzagged through the crowd to catch up. They found Matt sitting on the counter beside a student she didn’t recognize, most likely a senior if he was still on campus.
“Hey, ladies! Glad you could make it.” Matt shook their hands in greeting, one after the other.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Jackie yelled over the music. “Booze?”
He pointed to the kitchen island behind them.
Jackie immediately set about making cocktails. Charlotte turned to the student by Matt’s side and extended her hand. “Hi, I’m Charlotte. She/her.”
The student took her hand and shook it firmly, wide-eyed and fabulous in a green jumpsuit. A cluster of enamel pins nestled on the breast pocket, including a transgender flag and an old-fashioned video camera. “Wynn, nice to meet you. He/him is good.”
“Wynn was telling me about his summer plans,” Matt said. “He’ll be right downstairs from me at the Human Rights Campaign, filming election spots and interviewing activists.”
“No way, that’s awesome.” Charlotte raised her voice to make sure she could be heard over Ariana Grande blaring from the living room. “Matt’s a good guy to know. He’ll take care of you.” She nodded in Matt’s direction.
“I can tell.” Wynn’s eyes were a lovely blue threaded with silver. He looked at her with reverence, the way Charlotte used to stare at returning Hein alumnae. Now Charlotte was the queer adult, forging a path into the real world. Impostor syndrome licked at her loafers.
“What about you, what do you do?” Wynn asked.
“I work in media.”
“Dope, where?”
“The Front End Review. It’s mostly tech stuff, lots of Silicon Valley stories.” Wynn’s eyes widened even more. Charlotte took in his misplaced awe.
It didn’t feel right. Acronym was a place to be honest.
She checked to see that Jackie was out of earshot before she leaned in and added, “Honestly, I hate it!”
The world didn’t end. No one screamed or dropped their drinks. Wynn just laughed, nodding politely. This was small talk at a party, not an interview. No one actually cared all that much. Charlotte grinned at Wynn as the last murmurs of her anxiety quieted in her brain.
Matt watched her with what looked like pride. “Media’s the worst,” he said diplomatically.
Right on time, Jackie returned with cocktails. She handed one to Charlotte before turning to Matt and Wynn. “This party’s wild! I had no idea so many people from our year had come out.”
“It’s 2018,” Matt drawled. “Everyone worth knowing is gay.”
Jackie took Charlotte’s hand and gave it an energetic yank. “I wanna go dance!”
“Jio’s out there.” Matt pointed through the archway into the living room. “They were in the front last time I saw them.”
Charlotte had a second to wave good-bye to Wynn and Matt before Jackie tugged her out of the kitchen. They quickly found Jio voguing on the dance floor with a trio of delighted seniors, their red sequined blouse catching the lights.
“LADIES!” Jio screamed when they recognized the girls in the dark.
“JIO!” Jackie immediately dragged them into doing the bump. Charlotte laughed and did an unimpressive two-step beside them. She sipped her drink, just happy to be in the middle of things.
The miracle of Acronym returned to her as the night went on: The more she danced, the less she cared about how silly she looked. She threw herself into a Janelle Monáe track, rolling her shoulders and lip-syncing when she knew the lyrics.
“YEAH CHARLOTTE!” Jio yelled. They clapped as she dragged her hand back through her hair to keep it off her face. “SHOW US WHAT YOU GOT!”
The student controlling the aux cord put on ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me” and everyone started screaming. Wynn and Matt raced in from the kitchen, inexplicably wearing flower leis. Charlotte leaned down so that Wynn could guide one over her head.
Jackie tugged on its purple petals and pulled Charlotte around to face her. They giggled and did the twist. To everyone’s amazement, the usually subdued Matt did a spot-on version of the Carlton.
“THAT’S MY FIANCÉ!” Jio pulled Matt down to their level for a long kiss, both of them sweating and radiating color under the disco ball.
This flavor of pure, unbridled happiness existed in the real world. Charlotte had found it in brief, magical nights at Cubbyhole and Stonewall and other gay bars in NYC. But queer college discos were a special kind of miracle, free and safe and innocent. No one touched her ass or yanked her back against his crotch by her hips. No one asked her who let her in or demanded she prove that she belonged.
She didn’t need to vouch for her bisexuality; no one counted gold stars here.
Charlotte ran her fingers through her curls and let her eyes drift closed as she danced. The disco ball sent a kaleidoscope of color across her eyelids: the neon pink of freedom, the radiant orange of excitement.
Several glittering minutes or years later, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She read the incoming text, swaying from side to side as Cardi B blasted from the speakers.
TEXT MESSAGE FROM REECE KRUEGER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 10:51 PM: where you at? it’s team hammer’s time to shine!!
TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO REECE KRUEGER, 10:52 PM: Acronym! Cardi B! Sequins!
Reece sent her a GIF of three kittens wearing party hats. Her laugh spilled out of her like frothy champagne.
Jackie tapped her on the shoulder. Her eye makeup had begun to bleed, runaway mascara dusting her cheeks. “Pee break?”
Charlotte nodded. She followed her friend through the crowd and up the stairs to the second floor. Mercifully, they didn’t have to wait in line for the bathroom.
