Charlotte Henry Webb   I wasn’t sure why I’d come to the Womyn’s Book Club at the Presidio Library; I’d just come. Maybe chalk it up to boredom—too much time spent at home alone watching T.V., not enough socializing or pursuing my dreams. My reclusion of late had grown into a real burden. That’s what the internet said, what my therapist said, what my mom said. Prozac didn’t have me feeling much better, and on top of it all it was making me fat. Or at least I felt fat. So, there I sat, feeling fat, at my first book club in a small conference room at the neighborhood library, eyes focused on the polished black and white checkerboard tiles. Something different, like the doctor ordered. When I’d come into the cramped conference room I’d smiled appropriately (not too friendly, not too curt) to each of the women who sat chatting with one another, but I didn’t speak, picking a plastic chair in the circle with no one on either side. I didn’t want to just thrust myself

            It all started with a second glance. There was nothing odd about high schoolers eyeballing each other, hormones being what they were. But it was odd to get a second glance from him . He wasn’t the sort of person that had heterosexuality branded on his forehead like some homophobic bull. But he also wasn’t the type of guy you stuffed into trash cans for exploring glitter as an accessory.   He was aloof in that damaged way middle-aged women obsessed with vampires loved to write about. He was cute, but August had learned early on to suppress any thought or idea that would make anyone think he was gay. He wouldn’t have even looked twice at him.   Except Jake Morris looked twice at him first .   Jake’s place in the social hierarchy should have been enough of a warning. After the last bell, he could always be found palling around with some of the guys from the football team. But the second glance grew into longer stares and even hallway hellos. When they