Sahar's latest mixtape was a success, and she couldn't wait to show it off to the other members of Queer Intentions. With hard work, perseverance, and a little bit of excitement, she'd managed to get some inspiring jams on there, and had even written a new song in the process. Of course, even if questions were asked, she would absolutely not be telling anyone who the song in question was about...

...even if it was about Imogen.

Sahar had realized that she liked women in addition to men when she had fallen for her onetime best friend, Imogen Heaney, her direct opposite in every way, when Imogen had gotten herself a boyfriend in Year 10. She would never begrudge Imogen finding happiness, even if it was the romantic kind, but the fact that they seemed to grow more and more distant the longer Imogen was seeing him felt like someone had cut off her arm. She needed her arm, dammit—how else was she supposed to write down song lyrics and play her guitar?

Sahar had plenty of things to distract her; A-Levels were on for the final portion of the year, and she needed to make a final, executive decision regarding further education, as well as her future, when it came right down to it. Her parents, of course, wanted her to go to university, which she understood completely; they wanted her to be secured financially. Even though they supported her hobbies, as well as her sexuality, she knew entirely well that they would, ultimately, prefer it if she settled down with a nice British-Arabic boy from a good family.

Sahar rolled her eyes at the prospect; it could happen, inevitably, but they did promise that they wouldn't force her into an engagement or marriage. They'd discussed it, and come to a compromise: They knew and understood her interests, beliefs, and must-haves, so they were permitted to suggest that she meet someone who fit that criteria. However, if after she met the gentleman in question, and they had nothing in common, or he repulsed her, the subject would be dropped on whether or not he would become their future son-in-law.

Sahar had an idea about university: She would go; in fact, she did want to go. However, she wanted to find one with a rich music scene, and her parents fully supported that. She liked the look of Manchester, because, not only were they known for turning out bands, but they had rich history, as well as lots of areas of study that appealed to her. She had always liked the concept of a degree in history, which her parents thought was very practical, and Manchester had a very good liberal arts program.

Sahar was one of the oldest girls in her class, and one of the few with a car, due to her parents dual positions as doctors at the local hospital. They were friends with Sarah Nelson, one of Imogen's closest friends' mothers, and Sahar, while familiar with and good terms with Nick, her younger son, she wouldn't say they were friends. They weren't enemies; in fact, they had found out that both she and Nick were bisexual, so they'd discussed it at length. He was her support system when it came to that, and vice versa, so it was certainly good to know that there were others in her age group that felt that way.

Sahar smiled as she left the house, kissed her parents goodbye, and loaded up her car, a blue 1985 Porsche 928 which she'd been eyeing, not expecting her parents to get it for her, but had been over the moon when it had been presented to her on her birthday. Her guitar case and knapsack rode in the back seat, as always, and she loaded up her cassette player with the mixtape as she did each morning. I Want to Know What Love Is by Foreigner was up first, and Sahar sighed as the words washed over her, giving her inspiration for more songs.

I gotta take a little time

A little time to think things over

Sure, Imogen had been the inspiration for most her songs, and had rendered her unable to even consider dating anyone until she was fully out of her system. It hadn't helped matters when, last Halloween, that she and Imogen had inexplicably been at the same party, when Imogen had shared a drunken kiss with her. It had meant nothing to Imogen, clearly, and everything to Sahar, who'd had no one to comfort her as Imogen was sick in the loo, Nick Nelson making sure that she was all right. New Years was no better; at a second party, Imogen and Sahar had been each other's midnight kiss, and then everything had gone back to the status quo—Imogen and Sahar barely speaking to one another again.

In my life there's been heartache and pain

I don't know if I can face it again

Sahar grimaced as she left her street and turned onto the main road, which would see her at Higgs in about ten minutes. Higgs and Truham had had a rule—if, by sixth form, you wanted to transfer to the other school, you could, regardless of gender. Even though it may have been easier to get away from Imogen, and gotten her out of seeing her near constantly, Sahar just couldn't bring herself to do that. Maybe she had a bit of a masochist in her, she honestly had no idea...

Sahar always left for school early, as she had band practice both before form and during lunch hour, wherein it would transfer to her music class. It was a bit different than the standard band and orchestra, which would combine with Truham with special concerts throughout the years. It was more of an advanced study course, with composition, playing, and informal jam sessions the order of the day. They didn't have proper instructors; they just had the standard orchestral teacher sign them in for each class, and grade them on attendance, as well as and composition assignments there were.

Queer Intentions had definitely been an adjustment for her parents, but it seemed to be a simpler one than when it came to acceptance of her bisexuality. But they were queer-focused, and so she had met people from all over the map when it had come to sexuality. In the summer, she'd been permitted to go to Cardiff, London, Leeds, Hebden Bridge, and Birmingham, where Queer Intentions had played several gigs at various festivals, leading her to meet teenagers her age who were comfortable in their own skin. The Albert, an infamous gay pub in Hebden Bridge, was one of their stops, where Sahar had finally let loose and allowed herself to be with some people, both men and women, in an effort to get over Imogen.

However, given the events of Halloween, and then New Years, Sahar didn't think that she'd accomplished that very well. Thankfully, her parents had seen sense before the trip and had her put on birth control, and the blokes she'd been with had used condoms, so she hadn't caught anything, thank goodness. She knew that, given the crisis and the stigma attached to gay men, given the events of four years ago, that she could have been exposed to something, and, while she was grateful that she hadn't been, it broke her heard that many people walked around with scarlet A's on them because of it.

Under Pressure, Total Eclipse of the Heart, Call Me, The NeverEnding Story rounded out the first side of the tape, while the second side featured Hold Me Now, Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Every Breath You Take, Uptown Girl, Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This), and Africa. While each song was wonderful in its own right, Sahar could sense that, one day, far in the future, someone could take issue with certain lyrics. Shaking her head, she pounded her palms in time to the music on her steering wheel, humming under her breath, or singing a verse or two, before she pulled into the student parking lot at Higgs.

She pulled her knapsack and guitar case out of the back and locked up her car before she headed inside, nodding to a few students whom she was on speaking terms with, and was relieved that she didn't have to go through the main courtyard, where the menace, known as Miss Greenwood, would always patrol, looking for even a hint of infraction from the student body. Rolling her shoulders, the heat hit her as she stepped inside the building, and she ventured towards the music room, knowing that the fellow members of Queer Intentions had likely arrived, or were in the process of arriving.

Sahar passed by one of the bulletin boards and smiled; the posters for their upcoming gig that weekend had come off really well. They had a whole new roster of songs to perform, and she knew that some people, if they really paid attention, could attempt to read between the lines and figure out the inspiration behind her songs. Pushing Imogen out of the forefront of her mind, she hurried into the band practice room off the music block that they always had reserved, greeting her band mates with enthusiasm.

"Good night last night?" Sahar asked, putting her knapsack in the corner, where all the other ones were, and bent to open her guitar case.

"All right," Aleena replied, flashing a smile as she tuned her bass from across the room. She was one of the first Muslims to be permitted at Higgs, and Sahar was here for it. "Aziz and Bibi wanted to hear all about our music, and I'm having quite the time in amending it so they don't get offended," she joked.

Sahar grinned; she'd heard a lot about Aleena's grandparents. They were conservative and old-fashioned, having immigrated from Iran just recently, and spoke heavily accented English. It was understandable that they didn't understand certain things about American culture, but they definitely made an effort, which was much more than other people of their generation did. "I mean, at least they're trying," she replied.

Aleena nodded. "Oh, they're definitely trying. Pedar and Maadar help, too, when they're hands aren't full with Reza and Ramin," she said, mentioning her two younger brothers.

MacKenzie Davies, their drummer, meanwhile, looked a bit torn, and Aleena motioned for her to say something. MacKenzie was one of the first people to come out at Higgs, but only to specific people she could trust, like Tara Jones and Darcy Olsson, who were girlfriends, but also keeping it on the down low; Sahar liked Tara and Darcy, and was pleased that they had taken Imogen under their wing, as well as Elle Argent, for anyone, really, was an improvement over bossy know-it-all Sherry Greene.

"Kenzie," Sahar said, knowing that her friends' preferred nickname would likely work wonders as she flashed her a smile. "What's going on?"

MacKenzie sighed. "You know how I took my A-Levels before we broke up for Christmas?" she asked, her tone soft.

Aleena nodded. "Yes," she replied. "You... You don't feel very safe, now that you've come out, and so you needed a change..."

"Right, yeah," MacKenzie said, her body language stiff; she'd cut her hair into a shag, like many rock musicians of the day had, and, adding to her masculine clothing she wore outside of school, it drew quite a few stares. She'd been staying at an aunt's house, as her parents had kicked her out, unwilling to accept her lifestyle choices. "I went to an open day at City of Leeds College of Music while we went and performed there last summer, and I mentioned our gig in town. They saw me there, and they said it was a great audition piece, because we played some of my songs. I spent the rest of my summer, when I wasn't with you guys, studying for my A-Levels, and applied to CLCM, and got my A-Levels back. I passed everything, and I can start at university for spring term. I'm all packed, and I'm moving up there in two weeks. I already have housing, plus a job lined up at a nearby pub that's friendly, so I'm... I'm leaving," she said softly, looking from Aleena to Sahar. "...I have to go."

Sahar knew that, ultimately, this would mean that Saturday would be the last gig she would get to play with MacKenzie, but also knew that this was her chance to get out of their small town and into a bigger city, where more tolerant people were. Sahar crossed the room and hugged MacKenzie tightly, almost unwilling to let her go. "I understand why you need to go," she said softly to her, as Aleena hurried forward to join them in a three-way hug. "What are you going to be studying, then?"

"Music in business," MacKenzie said, obviously relieved to have Sahar's support. "I'm going to go to the College of Law of England and Wales once I get my music in business degree, so that I can become an entertainment lawyer, focusing on the music industry and injustices when it comes to people... Well, people like me. Hopefully, one day, I can found a charity so that kids with artistic inclinations can be sheltered somewhere, and not have to just depend on other family members, family members who could be working hard to make rent, just to live."

"Next order of business," Aleena said, grinning at them both. "Do we know any other drummers who can possibly take MacKenzie's place?" she asked, leading to MacKenzie, and then Sahar, to laugh aloud.

Sahar was relieved to not have Miss Greenwood two years in a row for form; the year before, the bloody maniac had put her solely in charge of their prom, and had seemed livid when she'd gotten Elle, Tara, and Darcy to help her. Sahar went to form that morning, relieved that she wouldn't have to cancel the gig on Saturday, but also knowing that she and Aleena would have to strategize. Finding another drummer of MacKenzie's caliber wouldn't be easy, but someone always knew someone, didn't they?

Sahar nevertheless trudged into home economics on time, grimacing; she just suddenly remembered that she shared a table with Imogen, and the two other members of their team were always late, so she would have to speak to her, or else she would come off as a total bitch. It wasn't altogether surprising, seeing Imogen already at their table, staring down at the wood grain pattern, as if it would tell her something worthwhile. Sahar stepped forward; there was no sign of Mrs. Mayhew yet, which was par for the course; she needed her morning cigarette, after all, and no one would come between her and that.

"They seriously haven't changed the bloody curriculum since the 1950s, and it shows," Sahar muttered as she sat down beside Imogen, hoping it was a halfway decent icebreaker.

Imogen turned slowly to regard her, her blue eyes wide with shock—either at the statement or Sahar actually talking to her, she didn't know. "How do you mean?" Imogen asked softly.

Sahar fixed Imogen with a look; she couldn't decide whether or not her once best friend was telling the truth. "Well, the notion that virtually every lesson is a casserole dish, and the fact that, after each lesson, Mrs. Mayhew mentions us keeping up 'a timely manner, so that we don't upset our husbands when we get home'. What a load of nonsense," she muttered, wondering why Mrs. Mayhew insisted upon solely teaching her class British or American cuisine, as she pulled her Walkman out of her knapsack, which she clandestinely offered one of the newfangled earbuds of her headphones to Imogen. "Want to listen? Mayhew won't be around for a few moments anyway, given that she needs her morning smoke..."

Imogen cautiously took ahold of the offered earbud. "You don't call them fags?" she asked innocently, Tina Turner's What's Love Got To Do With It? filling her ears and ensnaring her senses quite quickly.

Sahar narrowed her eyes, leading to her hands to tense slightly; she began to contemplate snatching back the earbud. "No," she responded hotly, "because of the alternative meaning that straight people have used for it."

Imogen blinked. "But, you're..."

"Not straight," Sahar responded, her tone still electrically charged. "I'm bisexual, actually, if you must know," she responded, before turning her head to stare at the wall.

"Sahar," Imogen said softly, regret in her voice, "I didn't know..."

Sahar shut her eyes. Once upon a time, Imogen would have known, and would have known the reasoning behind that. Why in the bloody hell didn't she understand, given how upset she'd been after Halloween and New Years?

"Is this a joke to you?!" Sahar had practically yelled in Imogen's face, before getting up and running out of the living room.

While Imogen would yell back that she was "allowed to experiment", and then, in the same breath, blame the alcohol, Sahar couldn't do that. She couldn't, not when she'd wanted to kiss Imogen for the better part of almost two years.

Sahar briefly wondered if Imogen had gone vegetarian, when they'd suffered through yet another casserole lesson. On that day's menu was a sausage potato casserole, which Mrs. Mayhew seemed just a bit too excited about. Sahar watched as Imogen turned up her nose at the tasting portion of the lesson, receiving a failing mark for it. Sahar, in solidarity, but out of earshot from Imogen, refused to taste it as well.

"You'll get a failing mark," Mrs. Mayhew announced condescendingly.

"I think I'll live, considering that the pig didn't, and the pig is sacred to us," she replied, her voice filled with the amount of patience she had left—zero.

Mrs. Mayhew turned red with embarrassment, but rewrote unwillingness to sample with unable to partake due to religious reasons.

Sahar had chemistry next, but barely paid attention; she just handed in her homework assignment and halfheartedly took notes. Science, as a subject, bored her to tears on a good day; on a bad day, she had trouble even deciphering what was going on. Thankfully, her too-heavy textbook and her notes (somewhat) provided assistance, if neither one of her parents was home to help her, and she was truly struggling. She was relieved that neither one of her parents had gone beyond basic encouragement in getting a medical degree.

What she hadn't been counting on, after chemistry, statistics, and then history, was the summoning to the headmistress' office. Sahar had never been in trouble; sure, she'd been late to school on occasion, but her parents had covered it by writing her excuse notes, especially before she'd had a car, and one or both of them had double shifts. Other times, she'd gone to see the headmistress to put up posters, or renew the contract to use the practice room in the music block, both of which were accepted without issue. That day, however, uneasiness filled her, and she hurried through the hallways during lunch hour, barely noticing Imogen, who she nearly ran into, on the way there, but didn't stop, the pink slip gripped tightly in her hand.

"Headmistress Hammond?" she asked, tapping on the door and opening it, peering around its frame and into the office.

"Come in, Miss Zahid," replied Headmistress Hammond, without looking up from whatever it was she was looking at on her desk. "Shut the door, please."

Sahar did as instructed, but remained standing opposite the desk; she hadn't been told to sit down, and this meeting held an air of seriousness.

The headmistress looked up slowly; as always, her salt and pepper hair was immaculate, and she wore a dull red skirt suit. Taking off her gold-edged reading glasses, attached to a brightly-beaded cord, she let them fall onto her chest for a moment as she placed her hands—wrinkled, yet with seashell pink nail polish, like the queen—atop the desk. "I received a most disturbing message from Miss Greene not two hours ago, and I was rather hoping you could place my mind at ease."

Sahar blinked, cocking her head to one side. "Pardon me, ma'am, but I haven't seen or spoken to Sherry today. We don't have the same schedule."

"Oh, yes, I knew that," Headmistress Hammond replied, waving it away like a bothersome fly as she shook her head. "She made mention of your posters for your upcoming...erm, concert, this Saturday."

Sahar raised her eyebrows. "Pardon me, ma'am, but I don't understand what my posters have to do with this."

"Miss Greene mentioned that the message attached to them was inappropriate," the headmistress responded, as if she was speaking to a small child. "With a name like Queer Intentions, dear, you do understand, don't you?"

Sahar bit down hard on her lower lip; she had known that Harry, Sherry's twin brother who attended Truham, always stirred up trouble when it came to the realm outside of heterosexuality, and it seemed that Sherry had that same proclivity for trouble. "Yes, I see," she said at last, keeping her voice as low and steady as possible.

"As I'm sure you understand, I've spoken with the school board, and we cannot allow this, in good conscience, to continue," the headmistress went on, the condescension never leaving her tone of voice. "It's not what Higgs stands for, you see; we are, first and foremost, a family, and queerness," she nearly spat the word, "does not constitute family."

Sahar fingers rolled into her hands, her nails biting at her palms as she fought to stay calm.

"It's enough that we allow people like Miss Davies a placement here, her lifestyle notwithstanding, but it was very generous of us to permit her to take her A-Levels early, and send her off somewhere where she would be more comfortable—"

"You mean you and the school board, don't you?" Sahar demanded, her voice calm, like a snake about to strike.

Headmistress Hammond stared at Sahar for a moment, speechless. "I'm sorry?"

"Surely, you let MacKenzie take her A-Levels earlier because of your beliefs when it comes to someone who isn't heterosexual," Sahar continued, her bravery growing with every word she dared to speak. "You and the school board are homophobic, headmistress, and that is not acceptable in this day and age."

"That's quite enough, Miss Zahir," Headmistress Hammond said quickly. "Now, in light of this, you are no longer permitted to advertise concerts here at school, nor are you allowed to make use of the practice rooms."

Sahar gaped at the woman. "That's outrageous!"

"And, I think we'll cut you from the celebrations this weekend," Headmistress Hammond continued, nodding decisively. "Big donors are coming, and you will not ruin things with your anti-familial messages."

"Big donors? You mean like Mr. Greene?" Sahar demanded, her face one of bitterness. "What did Sherry say this time? How much did Mr. Greene buy you off?"

"That is enough out of you," Headmistress Hammond said, this time getting to her feet. "You can show yourself out. There is plenty of time left in lunch period to inform Miss Davies and Miss Bukhsh that you're no longer needed this Saturday."

Sahar glared one last time at Headmistress Hammond before turning on her heel and storming out of the office, making sure to slam the door behind her. Sure, it was petty, but this meant war, straight out, no ifs, ands, or buts about it! As she went down the hallway again, making her way back to the music block, she was practically spitting like a hell cat. As she turned the corner, she spotted one of the larger fire alarms, and felt her palms beginning to sweat.

Headmistress Hammond had quite a few prized and expensive knickknacks in her office, while Sherry never shut up about her art projects going on display throughout the hallways. It would be a shame if, say, someone rained on their little parade.

Sahar looked over her shoulder; no one was around, as most teachers were either teaching or taking lunch break. Lunch was held in the canteen, on the other side of the school, of course, so that accounted for much of the student body. Sahar felt malicious as she closed the distance between her and the fire alarm, wrapped her hand around the white lever, and yanked it downwards, all her hatred for Headmistress Hammond and Sherry suddenly bubbling up to the surface in that moment.