Graceless (Grace Notes #2)

It had been one of the strangest experiences in their life to find themself at one of the most prestigious schools in the South after their teen years were spent on the street, in emergency housing and eventually in foster care. Lane had to constantly remind themselves that despite the endless disruption, they’d damn well earned the SAT scores that got them accepted. The tuition fees, on the other hand, had been paid in full by what was loosely termed a “scholarship” from the Rachel Carlson Center.

The RCC was an unassuming-looking building in downtown Nashville, but to those who had cause to know it, it was simply referred to as “the center.” For Lane, the name was apt. When they thought about it, the organization was at the center of their ongoing existence: the very reason they were alive today The center was relatively low profile, but somehow word would always spread through the networks of queer kids who were homeless or at risk of being so. That was how Lane, aged fourteen, had arrived through their doors, finally desperate enough to risk speaking to a grownup about what had happened to them.

Because of the center, Lane had finally found a safe roof over their head, access to medical care and counseling that affirmed them, contact with peers who shared their experience, and eventually, a safely vetted foster family. For three and a half years Lane had lived with Grayson and Hank, a gay couple in their forties who’d not only kept them safe, but loved and supported them in a way Lane had never imagined having in their lifetime. They’d headed overseas to travel the world when Lane went to college, having since settled in Sydney, but they still spoke on the phone a couple of times a year. All three got a kick out of Lane still calling them both “dad”.

While they’d only lived in the emergency accommodation above the center for three months, the organization was still a weekly presence throughout Lane’s teenage life; every Wednesday evening Hank would drop them off for a couple of hours where they’d join for group therapy followed by an art class. One Saturday a month, they’d drop by for a movie night or a cooking class. There were still a couple of friends in Lane’s life today that dated back to those evenings, bonded forever to the first kids like them they’d gotten to know.

It had taken a while to put all the pieces together.

In Lane’s first week living in the center, they’d blinked out of their still bruised and swollen eyes to glumly greet the glamorous blonde who was walking out of the office with Rosalie, the center director. The woman had also dropped by the library later where they were holed up, pretending to read even though their vision was still too blurry. She didn’t say much, just asked who their favorite author was, then calmly promised that Lane was safe there and disappeared.

A year later, Lane was poking through Grayson’s vinyl collection and pulling out a recent album for a band called Twice Struck, they recognised the face of the singer on the cover. Over the years, they increasingly saw that face on television, on billboards, on awards shows and magazine covers. At the end of high school when Rosalie let them know their college fees were to be fully covered by a scholarship they’d never applied for, Lane had pressed until she’d explained the center was fully funded by a wealthy benefactor, one who also felt strongly about education and wasn’t going to let a bright kid miss out on opportunities that could assist them. She’d refused to identify the benefactor, but Lane was pretty sure 2+2=4.

Lane had long decided they wanted to be a teacher. How the hell else could you change the world? They wanted to be part of bringing about a new generation who were open, kind and who wanted to make the world better themselves. But once they started, they quickly fell in love with the really little kids, the kids who didn’t care whether Lane was a boy or a girl or neither, as long as they were kind and fun. Within weeks, they’d switched to early childhood education.

But while they loved the work, the social side of college was a massive struggle. By the end of the first year, Lane felt burned out from deep anxiety and desperately did not want to return. They’d admitted everything to Rosalie, who’d been sympathetic and helped Lane defer their studies, first for one year, and then for another, and another, as they worked as a nanny instead.

Then, one December day, when Lane was at a loose end, Rosalie had set up a meeting with them, in the little room off the main office in the center.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” she promised and disappeared, leaving Lane kicking back in the chair, swinging the front two legs off the ground, as Savannah Grace herself walked in. Lane let the legs back down with a thump.

“Hey, Lane.” She offered a handshake. Lane’s fingers felt clammy all of a sudden. Savannah was beyond gorgeous, and even dressed casually in ripped jeans and a sweater, her star power was slightly overwhelming.

“You’re Savannah Grace,” they observed with wide eyes, brilliantly explaining to the woman her own existence.

“Pleased to meet you, again,” she responded with a smile, as if she actually remembered their brief interaction almost eight years ago. “Rosalie has told me a bit about you over the years. Nothing private-” she jumped in, as if Lane thought Savannah Grace was interested in the contents of their counseling notes. “Just that you’re brilliant, hard-working and good with kids.”

“Uh, thanks.” Lane still felt weird about receiving praise and picked at the side of their fingernail.

“She also told me you’re on the verge of quitting college for good.”

“I’m sorry.” Lane looked up, feeling sick. “I know – at least, I’m pretty sure – you’re the one who paid my tuition fees for me and I appreciate it so much. I don’t want to let anyone down-”

“Lane-” Savannah’s voice was soft. “You’re not letting anyone down. It’s kind of the opposite, actually,” she reassured them. She looked Lane in the eye and announced, “I have a proposal for you.”

“Okay…”

“I need a nanny, like yesterday.” Savannah took a breath and proceeded to tell them the most off the wall story Lane had ever heard.

Her recent nanny had practically let her son drown, so she’d fired her. Then Savannah’s friend (for some reason, this part made the singer flush pink) who happened to be staying with her, had taken over the role as a favor. But then said friend completely out of the blue turned out to be the most stunning singer-songwriter Savannah had ever met. Now Savannah was recording her album and she urgently needed her friend for ‘other things,’ hence the search for a new nanny.

“I see,” said Lane, pretty sure they did, in fact, see. Savannah outlined the details, explaining it would mean a lot of time on the road when she went on tour.

“But,” she said, “the caveat is that we chat to the university and find a way for you to recommence your studies. Part-time, flexibly, distance, even. I know what your SAT scores looked like, and I can’t help thinking that if the world was a better place you’d have a degree already. Anyway, it’s all up to you. If you’re interested.”

Interested? In traveling the world, living on a tour bus, hanging out with a cute kid and a megastar and finding a way to get a qualification that didn’t make them want to die? Lane agreed in a heartbeat.

By day’s end they were swiftly ensconced in an insane mansion, in a gorgeous room, three doors down from Savannah’s own bedroom, a fact the singer profusely apologized for, explaining the house was currently full of musicians and various other apparently essential people, but don’t worry, they’d get their own suite once they headed back to Vermont.

Savannah also introduced them to the interim nanny – the friend, Brynn Marshall – and with one look at the tall, dark, intensely attractive woman who could barely drag her eyes off Savannah for more than three seconds Lane knew they had correctly surmised the situation.

To say life went slightly bananas from there was an understatement. Within days, Savannah and Brynn – who were clearly horribly in love with each other, even back then – had drastically imploded and Lane spent the next year of their life wishing they could bang the two beautiful heads together.

Somehow, somewhere along the line Brynn became kind of their best friend despite their age gap, and while Savannah always perfectly straddled the line between warm, caring and appropriately professionally distant, Lane came to adore her, and not just because of what they owed her. And Tucker? Tucker was the best kid in the universe, and Lane would fight anyone who said otherwise.

Cut to three years after the meeting at the center and Savannah and Brynn were finally married – with a baby on the way, no less – and Lane was still dragging out the last of their degree. It hadn’t been easy, between the hectic touring schedule and all the direct practice in daycare centers and kindergartens Lane had had to catch up with. This, though, was finally it. One last summer semester and they’d have two things to look forward to: a university qualification and never having to walk these halls again.

Once class was over, they ducked out into the corridor as soon as possible. They had it down to a fine art: get there just in time – therefore avoiding pre-class small talk – take a seat near the exit, surreptitiously pack up in the last few minutes of the session, then be the first one out the door. At some point in the last few years, the tactic had become less about social anxiety exactly and more a proactive approach to avoiding interactions with people Lane knew to be low-key hostile.