This Is Our Rainbow: 16 Stories of Her, Him, Them, and Us

The first LGBTQA+ anthology for middle-graders featuring stories for every letter of the acronym, including realistic, fantasy, and sci-fi stories by authors like Justina Ireland, Marieke Nijkamp, Alex Gino, and more!

A boyband fandom becomes a conduit to coming out. A former bully becomes a first-kiss prospect. One nonbinary kid searches for an inclusive athletic community after quitting gymnastics. Another nonbinary kid, who happens to be a pirate, makes a wish that comes true--but not how they thought it would. A tween girl navigates a crush on her friend's mom. A young witch turns herself into a puppy to win over a new neighbor. A trans girl empowers her online bestie to come out.

From wind-breathing dragons to first crushes, This Is Our Rainbow features story after story of joyful, proud LGBTQA+ representation. You will fall in love with this insightful, poignant anthology of queer fantasy, historical, and contemporary stories from authors including: Eric Bell, Lisa Jenn Bigelow, Ashley Herring Blake, Lisa Bunker, Alex Gino, Justina Ireland, Shing Yin Khor, Katherine Locke, Mariama J. Lockington, Nicole Melleby, Marieke Nijkamp, Claribel A. Ortega, Mark Oshiro, Molly Knox Ostertag, Aisa Salazar, and AJ Sass.

The Purr-cle of Life 

by Alex Gino 

“Are you ready?” Dad asked with a bounce in his voice as he put on his jacket. 

“Yes and no.” My shoes were on and there was nothing I needed to bring with me. I was ready to leave the house, but I had no idea how to be ready for a new cat. 

Scout had been mine since I was born. He was originally Mom’s, from before she met Dad, but he claimed me the day I came home. The first time Mom and Dad set me in my crib for a nap, they found Scout curled up with me less than ten minutes later. They were worried he might scratch me, so they kept him out of their bedroom after that, but he would slip into my crib when he could, and once I was old enough to have a real bed, in my own room, Scout went to sleep with me every night, nestled at my side, purring as I drifted off. 

“Are you excited?” Mom asked, in nearly the same cadence as Dad, as she put on her own jacket. My relatives say my parents become more like each other the longer they’re together. They even have similar haircuts--kind of shaggy, with a soft part in the middle. 

“I guess,” I said. 

Scout had cuddled with me the day Grandma said that using they was ungrammatical and that she was going to call me she until I could produce a duplicate of myself. If there had been two of me, one of them would have been able to hold the other back. As it was, I told her she was the one who was wrong and got sent to my room for rudeness. Apparently, I’m supposed to be polite when people disrespect me. The worst disrespect Scout ever showed me was sitting with his butt to my face. And if I reminded him by tapping on it, he would readjust himself into a more courteous position.

Scout died last year. He wasn’t there for my eleventh birthday. He wasn’t there when I failed my science test because I studied the wrong chapter. He wasn’t there to play with all summer long. The day Scout died was the worst day of my life, and every time I thought of cuddling him for comfort, I ached more. 

Mom and Dad had told me a dozen times that we weren’t replacing him, but that’s sure what it felt like. 

“I have a feeling they’ll perk up when we get to the adoption center,” Dad said.

I did not perk up when we got to the adoption center. 

Cartoon faces of cats and dogs covered the SPCA’s glass doors. Inside, a woman greeted us and directed us to walk through the dog area to get to the cats. 

I hate dogs. People say you’re not supposed to hate stuff, but I do. I hate dogs because they scare me. Even the little ones have sharp teeth, and barking makes me want to curl into a ball. I’ve never heard of a cat biting a person. Nibbles, maybe, but nothing serious. And meows are much cuter than barks. Scout had a whole meow-cabulary. He had his “I’m hungry” mrew, his “I’m stuck” mreh, his “I’m chasing a thing” mree-eee-eee, and his “pay attention to me” me-owww. Scout didn’t like dogs either. We were a good pair. 

I barreled down the hall, trying to ignore the barking toenails clicking on tile, and people cooing about floppy ears. Cats might not have floppy ears, but they have elegant tails, not like these beasts, one of whom was thumping his on the ground so hard I could feel it in my heart. 

I made it to the double glass doors announcing kitty corner and burst through. The moment I did, a new wave of emotions flooded me. Every single one of those cats needed a home, needed love. And so had my cat. My Scout, my cuddle buddy, my big brother in feline form. The room felt warm and I started to get light-headed. I didn’t know whether I was going to cry or pass out. 

“You okay?” Dad put his hand on the center of my back. But his touch made everything feel more real. I had had a cat, a wonderful cat, and he was gone, and would never headbutt me again. I needed to go. Immediately. 

“No,” I said. I ran out of the cat area, past the dog kennels, and back outside. 

Sunshine was good. Air was good. Breathing was good. I sat on the curb and stared up at the sky, watching the wispy clouds drift by. 

All of those cats needed homes, but none of them were there the day I crashed my bike and twisted my ankle. None of them were there when I had the flu and a headache so bad I couldn’t even listen to music. None of them were there the day Great-Grandma Mae passed away. None of them were my cat, my Scout. They were all cute. Adorable, even. But they were all strangers to me, and I was a stranger to them. 

Mom came out and took a seat next to me on the curb. “Too much?” 

“Yeah.” That was all I intended to say, but the moment I opened my mouth, it was followed by a cry, and once I started, the tears fell. Dad came out to see what was up and sat on my other side as I cried. And cried. And cried. Until I was tired of crying and out of tears. 

“You want to go home?” asked Dad. 

“We can come back when you’re ready,” said Mom. 

“Yes please,” I said, my voice small. 

We loaded into the car, the empty cat carrier still in the trunk. 

At home, we didn’t put out food and water or set up a litter box. We watched a movie without once being distracted by an excitable ball of fluff. And I went to bed without finding out whether the new kitten would want to sleep with me.

 

For weeks, the cat food stayed unopened in a corner of the kitchen. The cat toys stayed in the junk drawer. The litter box stayed in the closet. Then, one evening, when I had finished my homework and was packing my bag for the next day, Dad handed me a photo, the kind developed on shiny paper, not a printed-out digital picture. In it, a regally poised tawny cat sat at the bottom corner of a bed, their sharp, black-tipped ears and harsh eyes pointed directly at the camera. 

“This is Lynx.” 

“They’re beautiful.” Lynx was the perfect name for this slightly wild-looking feline. 

“He used to live in a pizza shop, where his name was Tony.” 

“Lynx is a much better name.” 

“That’s what I thought too, so I changed it.” 

“This was your cat?” 

“Yep!” Dad beamed with cat-dad pride. “When your mom and I got together, we had two cats. Scout had been hers, and Lynx had been mine. Lynx was about ten years older than Scout, and he passed away just a few months after we rented our first apartment together.”

“Oh, that’s sad.” The words sounded flatter than I meant them. 

“I was devastated when it happened.” Dad paused and looked far away until he blinked a few times. “But cats don’t live as long as humans. Lynx had been there for me when I didn’t have your mom, or Scout, or you. He was an important part of my life, and when I think of him, I think about being a young adult. When I think about Scout, I think about us being a family, and you being little. And now, when we meet whoever’s our next furball, we’ll be starting a new chapter for our family.”

I liked that idea. We were about to enter a new cat era. Dad looked ready to get up, but I had a thought I wanted to share first. 

“Can I say something that might be silly?” 

“The truest and most important things are sometimes also very silly.” 

“Like kittens.” 

“Exactly like...