if we can turn out enough voters.”
“What do you need volunteers to do, exactly?” I asked. “Are you having more marches? We came to the one after the Miami vote.”
The guy tilted his head and smiled me. “Yeah, and we need people to canvass, too. Do you two live in the city?”
Peter grimaced. “Yeah. With our mom, in the Excelsior.”
The guy grimaced, too, then laughed. “District Eight? My condolences. Is it really all conservative Irish-Catholic down there?”
“Just about.”
“And I mean, we are Irish-Catholic,” I added, “but we aren’t—”
“Conservative. I get it.” The guy smiled knowingly. “That just means we need to get you registered as soon as you’re legal so you can change your district from the inside out.”
Peter nodded vigorously. “My name’s Peter, by the way. This is my sister, Sharon.” At least he didn’t call me his kid sister, the way he used to in junior high.
“Leonard. Nice to meet you both.” From the way he shook our hands, I was starting to wonder if Leonard was a politician himself.
He showed Peter a flyer, and I scanned the sidewalks around us. The girl in the leather jacket was gone. All I could see in any direction were men. I shifted, conscious of exactly how much I stuck out on Castro Street.
“Can I get you to sign up?” Leonard held out his folder with a volunteer form on top. I took it from him, but when I glanced down, I hesitated.
The very first line asked for a phone number. What if someone called our house, and Mom answered?
Peter was peering down at the form, too. He met my gaze and frowned slightly.
“Oh, and by the way, Sharon…” Leonard didn’t seem to notice our uncertainty. He took back the folder and flipped through a few pages, pulling out a mimeographed sheet of paper. “I promised a friend of mine I’d hang this up in the Elephant Walk, but you can check it out first if you want. I know they’re always looking for more women to join them.”
The mimeographed text was hard to read, but I made out the words “Women’s Bookstore” and an address on the opposite side of the park. The logo at the top read VALENCIA STREET BOOKS.
A whole bookstore, just for women? Did they have a rule about not letting men inside or something?
Maybe that was where all the girls I saw the other night were. Maybe Castro Street was just for gay men when they weren’t having marches, and the lesbians hung out in this bookstore.
But if that were true, I wouldn’t fit there, either.
A man in a cowboy hat strode toward us, waving to Leonard. I tucked the flyer inside the folder and gave it back. The man asked Leonard for a light, and while they were talking, I told Peter I was ready to go home.
“We just got here.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “Why don’t you go check out that bookstore? It’s only a few blocks away, and there’d be other girls. I could meet you there later and drive you home.”
“That’s okay. You stay, though. I’ll get the bus.”
“Are you sure?”
He was trying to argue with me, but he wasn’t trying very hard. I’m sure he’d rather have been on his own, anyway. He and Curtis stopped writing to each other last year, and he probably wanted to make new gay friends.
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“Okay, well, don’t get home too late. You know how Mom gets.”
“All right.”
I dragged my feet as I walked away. I was annoyed with myself for not doing what I came out to do, and I wasn’t in any hurry to get home and have to lie to Mom about where I’d been.
I gazed into the windows of stores and bars as I headed south. Everywhere I looked, there were more men. Most of them were smiling.
I could see why. Here, they had a place where they could all be together, without worrying about what anyone else thought.
There was