I noticed them immediately, because I had never seen them before.

As president of the Queer Student Alliance, I note every new person who walks into our meetings on Wednesdays after school. 

I create an environment free of judgment, where any type of expression is encouraged. I ensure each person acts according to these values so every newcomer after them feels this way, too.

But this person . . . they look the opposite of expressive. Suppressed. Unsure of whether or not they are in the right place. A war of emotions is written plainly on their face.

I glide my way to them, boldly saying, "So. Let me guess . . . you're questioning your sexuality, but you come from a family that is grossly heteronormative, so you don't even know how you can explore it? Or if you're even queer at all?"

They blink up at me, then clasp their hands together nervously. "Is it that obvious?" 

"Hey, I'm president of this organization for a reason. I'm here to help," I say with a wink.

"Well, I really appreciate it. I didn't think I'd ever come here. I honestly wanted to throw up as I started walking towards this room." They laugh, and it's a beautiful sound. A sound I'd live a thousand lifetimes to hear over and over again.

The sound of freedom unlocked; solace found.

"Name?" I ask.

"Fiona."

"Pronouns?"

"She/her . . . I think," she adds.

I chuckle. "Well hey, if it changes, let me know."

"You?"

"Crystal. She/they pronouns."

I lead Fiona to the table where the other members of the executive board chatter in their seats. "Crew, this is Fiona. Fiona, this is our team."

They each introduce themselves to Fiona, who I watch slowly unravel before my eyes like a spring loosing its coils. Relaxation washes over her features. I find myself smiling at the sight.

 Smiling at her.

She turns back to me, as if realizing the same thing about herself. 

Is the sun in her face, or does she look brighter? 

Her hazel eyes lighten into a fierce amber. Light brown hair sparkles into a soft, golden caramel.

This doesn't happen with every new person who joins the club. 

I collect myself before I begin to debrief her on the routine of these meetings. "Well, there are still five more minutes until we start officially. Feel free to mingle," I end with, motioning her to sit where she desires.

"Actually . . . can I just continue talking to you?" She asks shyly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Uh . . . ye -," I stutter, clearing my throat, "Of course." 

I'm confident. I carry myself without apologies or regrets. Why does Fiona erode my ability to keep my composure? I don't even know if she's a part of the community. She doesn't know, either.

At the end of the meeting, Fiona gave me her phone number so we could keep in touch. "You'll definitely be seeing me next week. And every week after."

I salute as she walks out the door. "Looking forward to it!"