Chapter 37

Clearly, in this dynamic—in this twisted, strange hierarchy of the Riot Dykes’ microcosm—Layla’s the bad cop to Rachel’s good cop. Layla continues.

“So we’re getting stricter. Lateness. Will. Not. Be. Tolerated.”

“Excuses are tools of the mediocre,” Rachel adds calmly. “You all know how important this is—shit gets real, real fast out there, and we need to know that we can count on you. If you’re late to the rally, if you’re late to a meeting—you’ll be late to pick our nameless shero up from spray painting Angel Hill and it’s on you if she gets arrested.”

At this, the women sitting on the floor look around furtively, sizing each other up; I gather that they are trying to figure out who among them was the brave and crazed soul. Rachel opens her mouth to continue, but Layla explodes forth.

“Stop fucking looking at each other,” she bellows.

All the eyes in the room snap to Layla, including Rachel’s. Layla continues before she can stop herself.