“So many of the girls here are lesbian or have experimented or are confused,” he says. Their friend Nathan, a senior with John Lennon hair and glasses, is there with his guitar, strumming softly under the conversation. But it’s not that they’re gay or bisexual, not exactly. All three have hooked up with boys-sometimes the same boys. All three have hooked up with each other. Alair slips into Jane’s lap, and Elle reclines next to them, watching, cat-eyed.
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She dives into the undulating heap of backpacks and blue jeans and emerges between her two best friends, Jane and Elle, whose names have been changed at their request. There are girls petting girls and girls petting guys and guys petting guys.
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“Well, most of them.”Īlair is headed for the section of the second-floor hallway where her friends gather every day during their free tenth period for the “cuddle puddle,” as she calls it. “People like me,” she wrote in an instant message. She’s not the most popular girl in school, but she is well known.
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Walking down the sterile, white halls of Stuyvesant High School, she creates a wave of attention. “Even if you mean to dye your hair orange, it’s still a mistake.”) Despite the fact that she’s fully clothed, she seems somehow exposed, her baby fat lingering in all the right places. She has long blonde curls that at various times have been dyed green, blue, red, purple, and orange. Her black cargo pants graze the top of her combat boots, and her black leather belt is studded with metal chains that drape down at intervals across her hips. Photo: Lise Sarfati/MagnumĪlair is wearing a tight white tank top cut off above the hem to show her midriff.