Unlabeled 🌈

The Pin

Chapter Eight

The bus ride home is a kind of purgatory—too short to escape, too long to ignore. I slide into a seat near the back, headphones in but no music playing. It’s just armor.

That’s when I see it. A small glint of color on the jacket of the kid across the aisle. A button, maybe an inch wide, rainbow stripes curling under bold black letters: They/Them.

It’s nothing, really. Just a pin. But it punches the air out of my lungs.

The kid wearing it doesn’t look nervous. They’re scrolling through their phone like it’s no big deal, like declaring yourself out loud to a bus full of teenagers is normal. Brave or reckless—I can’t tell which. Maybe both.

I stare too long, catch myself, and whip my gaze out the window. My reflection in the glass glares back, accusing. I imagine what it would feel like to wear something like that. To stop hiding. To let people know without choking on the words.

But then a snicker floats from the front. A couple of guys whisper, not even subtle. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” One laughs. The other says, “Freak.”

The kid doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shrink. Just scrolls, earphones in, like the whole world can scream and they’ll keep breathing anyway.

And me? I look down at my hands, stuffed in my hoodie pocket, nails biting my palm.

Because bravery looks beautiful from far away. But I can’t imagine wearing it myself. Not yet.