The Lesbiana's Guide to Catholic School

Bo serves as both the love interest and a catalyst for change in Yami’s life, embodying the unapologetic LGBTQ+ identity that initially both attracts and intimidates the protagonist. As a Chinese American adoptee raised by white parents, Bo navigates multiple intersecting identities—racial, cultural, and sexual—with an outward confidence that makes her seem invulnerable. She regularly challenges authority at Slayton Catholic, from debating a visiting priest about biblical interpretations to organizing the anti-prom in response to discriminatory policies. Her rainbow Vans, pins, and political awareness initially present a portrait of someone fully comfortable with all aspects of her identity.

As the narrative progresses, Bo reveals layers of vulnerability beneath her confident exterior. She confesses to feeling disconnected from her cultural heritage despite her parents’ well-intentioned but sometimes performative attempts to surround her with Chinese decorations and symbols. Her fabrication of a girlfriend reveals insecurity about rejection, suggesting that her boldness partially functions as self-protection. When she admits to feeling jealous of Yami’s more organic cultural connections after the baile folklórico show, Bo demonstrates that confidence doesn’t preclude insecurity—rather, true confidence acknowledges vulnerabilities while refusing to be defined by them.

Bo’s character ultimately represents the possibility of living authentically even in restrictive environments without suggesting that this path is easy or without cost. Her decision to organize the anti-prom demonstrates her commitment to creating inclusive spaces where traditional structures fail. Yet her quiet moments with Yami reveal that even the most seemingly self-assured people need validation and connection. Through Bo, the novel suggests that authentic living isn’t about fearlessness but about choosing truth despite fear, as well as that creating community is essential to sustaining the courage to be oneself.

Cesar, Yami’s younger brother, presents initially as a charismatic, academically gifted student who skipped a grade and maintains an outward appearance of confidence. His quick wit and tendency toward deflection through humor mask profound internal challenges, as he struggles to reconcile his bisexuality with the anti-LGBTQ+ messages he has absorbed from his parents and the Catholic Church. Unlike Yami, who gradually moves toward self-acceptance, Cesar internalizes religious condemnation to a dangerous degree. His character provides a stark counterpoint to Yami’s journey, illustrating how shame can become life-threatening.

Cesar’s relationship with Jamal illuminates the depth of his internal conflict. Despite being genuinely in love, he breaks up with Jamal after confession when a priest suggests this as penance, demonstrating how deeply religious guilt has affected him. When this religious shame culminates in suicidal ideation, the novel shows how important it is to accept one’s true self. Through therapy and family support, Cesar begins a healing journey distinct from Yami’s more public coming out. His decision to wear Jamal’s promise ring is a symbolic step toward self-acceptance, while his statement “I’m working on that” when asked if he’s still ashamed acknowledges that healing is ongoing (344). The Mayan poem that he displays on the bathroom mirror—“In Lak’ech Ala K’in” (“You are my other me”)—becomes central to his relationship with Yami, evolving from a simplistic understanding of sameness into a deeper form of mutual empathy: seeing and accepting each other despite differences. His character arc illustrates that healing from religious trauma is complex and non-linear, requiring professional support and a strong community.

Maria, Yami and Cesar’s mother, embodies the complexity of parental love in conflict with religious beliefs. Initially presented through Yami’s fearful lens as devoutly Catholic with potentially antigay views, her casual comments about LGBTQ+ people lead both Yami and readers to expect rejection if Yami’s sexuality is discovered. Her high expectations for her children, particularly the responsibility she places on Yami to watch over Cesar, create additional pressure in an already stressful situation. Working multiple jobs while maintaining cultural traditions, Maria—like many immigrant parents—strives to provide opportunities while preserving heritage.

The jewelry-making business that Maria shares with Yami is both a necessity and a source of connection, creating a bridge between them even when other aspects of their relationship are strained by secrets and assumptions. Her tendency to pay more attention to Cesar creates insecurity for Yami, though this apparent favoritism stems more from concern about his troubles than lack of love for her daughter. When Cesar’s suicidal ideation forces a reckoning with religious doctrine versus parental love, Maria undergoes significant transformation, ultimately declaring, “If the Bible tells me I shouldn’t love my kids, then the Bible is wrong” (339).

Maria’s enthusiastic if somewhat awkward “gay celebration” with rainbow decorations and pan dulce in bisexual flag colors demonstrates her commitment to supporting her children fully. Her willingness to confront her ex-husband about his rejection of their children shows that her growth extends beyond passive acceptance to active advocacy. While maintaining her faith, Maria reinterprets it through a lens of love rather than dogma, offering a model of religious parenting that prioritizes her children’s well-being over strict adherence to traditional church doctrine. Her character illustrates how love can overcome ingrained prejudices when put to the test.

Emiliano, Yami and Cesar’s father who has been deported to Mexico, functions as a complex figure representing both nurturing connection and devastating rejection. Initially portrayed through Yami’s loving memories and regular video calls, he appears supportive and engaged despite physical distance, serving as her confidant and connection to her cultural heritage. His teachings about their Indigenous roots and political activism provide Yami with cultural grounding, while his deportation following an immigration protest contextualizes the family’s financial struggles and illustrates the real-world consequences of policies that separate families.

When Emiliano stops communicating with Yami after she comes out to him via text, his characterization shifts dramatically. His rejection demonstrates how conditional love can inflict profound harm. Unlike Maria, who loves and supports her children unconditionally, Emiliano loves his daughter only if she conforms to his expectations. Ironically, this is exactly the attitude that Yami feared from her mother. His emotional abandonment is far more damaging than his physical absence. His background photo on Yami’s phone becomes a painful reminder of what she’s lost, though she struggles to replace it, illustrating how difficult it can be to let go of parental approval even after betrayal.

Emiliano’s inability to adapt to new information makes him a foil to Maria, who undergoes rapid growth when she learns of her children’s LGBTQ+ identities. The family’s collective decision to cut ties with him represents their journey toward valuing themselves enough to demand unconditional love. Through this painful process, the novel suggests that family is ultimately defined not by biology but by mutual respect and acceptance. While Emiliano’s absence leaves a wound, it also creates space for the remaining family members to form stronger, more authentic bonds.

Jamal, Cesar’s boyfriend, demonstrates remarkable emotional maturity and compassion throughout the narrative. His willingness to participate in Cesar and Yami’s charade shows understanding of the complex reasons why people remain hesitate to come out, while his continued support of Cesar after their breakup reveals his capacity for forgiveness. Thoughtful and compassionate, Jamal represents a healthy model of teenage relationship dynamics, in contrast to the more toxic behaviors seen from Bianca, Karen, and Jenna.

When Jamal saves Cesar’s life by responding to his suicidal crisis, his character transcends the typical teenage love interest role. His immediate action and subsequent message that he could “never hate” Cesar provide crucial reassurance during Cesar’s recovery, highlighting Jamal’s understanding of the internalized shame driving Cesar’s behavior. Despite his own trauma from being physically abused and kicked out by his family for his sexuality, Jamal maintains compassion, demonstrating remarkable resilience.

Jamal’s tentative reconciliation with Cesar at the anti-prom, accepting their ambiguous relationship status while Cesar continues healing, represents hope for relationships damaged by anti-LGBTQ+ beliefs. His patience acknowledges that recovery cannot be rushed. Through Jamal, the novel suggests that healthy relationships require not just attraction but mutual respect for individual healing journeys and boundaries.

Amber and David function as essential supporting characters who help create the friend group that becomes Yami’s safe haven. Amber, Bo’s best friend since kindergarten, embodies loyal friendship and unconditional acceptance. Her playful enthusiasm balances Bo’s more intense political consciousness, creating a dynamic that welcomes Yami despite her initial reticence. Amber actively supports her friends through difficult situations, from comforting Bo after Jenna’s cruel prank to participating in the detention protest and anti-prom organization. Her anxiety about college and the future provides a humorous contrast to Yami’s more immediate concerns about survival, subtly highlighting their different socioeconomic realities.

David, a Navajo boy who lives on a nearby reservation and identifies as atheist despite attending Catholic school, rounds out the friend group. His willingness to pose as Cesar during football practice demonstrates both his sense of humor and his loyalty. The running joke about him and Cesar being “twins” due to racist assumptions about similarity among people of color points toward the ignorant attitudes common among Slayton’s majority-white student body. His developing relationship with Amber parallels Yami and Bo’s relationship while remaining secondary to the main romance. Together with Amber, he demonstrates how supportive friendships can create safe spaces for LGBTQ+ teens to explore their identities.

As a unit, Amber and David illustrate how allies can support LGBTQ+ friends through both practical actions and emotional presence. Their participation in the detention protest shows their willingness to risk consequences to stand with Yami and Bo, demonstrating that allyship extends beyond private acceptance to public solidarity. Their characters avoid the common pitfalls of “straight saviors” while still acknowledging the important role that supportive straight friends play in LGBTQ+ lives. Their relationship develops organically alongside the main romance, creating a believable friend group dynamic that grounds the more dramatic elements of the story.

Hunter represents a different model of straight male allyship than David, evolving from potential love interest into genuine friend and supporter. He is introduced as a popular senior jock who develops a crush on Yami, and his awkward but well-intentioned pursuit creates both comedy and tension. When Yami accidentally comes out to him during homecoming preparations, Hunter keeps her secret and continues supporting her, demonstrating that allyship can develop in unexpected ways. His own insecurity about having never had sex before, which he shares with Yami as a secret of his own, creates a bond based on mutual vulnerability rather than romantic interest.

As a character, Hunter subverts typical jock stereotypes through his enthusiasm for comic books, willingness to participate in art class despite limited talent, and genuine care for his friends. His concern for Cesar after learning about his sexuality shows emotional intelligence beyond the stereotype of the self-centered popular boy. By participating in the detention protest after Yami and Bo are punished for the promposal, Hunter demonstrates that true allyship involves standing up for others even when there’s social risk involved.

Through Hunter, the novel suggests that straight allies don’t need perfect understanding to provide meaningful support—they simply need to be willing to listen, respect boundaries, and stand up against injustice. Hunter offers a positive model for straight male support of LGBTQ+ female peers without centering male perspectives or demanding education. His growth throughout the narrative parallels the broader community support that develops around Yami and Bo, illustrating how individual allies can contribute to cultural change within restrictive environments.

The trio of Karen, Jenna, and Emily represents different responses to difference within a privileged, white, Catholic-school culture. Karen embodies overt racism and anti-LGBTQ+ bias thinly veiled behind fake friendliness, as she makes racist comments about Yami’s hoop earrings being “ghetto” and asks where she’s “really from.” Her character illustrates how microaggressions function in predominantly white spaces—casual racism delivered with a smile that can be dismissed as jokes or misunderstandings when called out. Her continued association with Jenna after the cruel homecoming prank against Bo demonstrates her commitment to maintaining social hierarchy over moral integrity.

Jenna initially appears kinder than Karen but reveals her true colors by participating in the humiliating homecoming prank against Bo. When she attempts to apologize at anti-prom, her timing reveals self-centeredness rather than genuine remorse, showing how apologies can function to alleviate the guilt of the perpetrator rather than address the harm done to the victim.

Emily undergoes the most significant development among the three, eventually breaking away from Karen and Jenna after recognizing the harm they cause. Her apology for Karen’s racist comments marks the beginning of her growth. By leaving the security of her friend group and joining the detention protest and anti-prom, Emily shows commitment to meaningful change rather than performative allyship. Her character illustrates that people can recognize their complicity in harmful systems and choose different paths, representing hope for positive change even within oppressive environments.

Rick and Emma, Bo’s adoptive white parents, represent supportive ally parenting. Wealthy and progressive, they create a safe home environment for Bo to be herself while sometimes missing the mark in their attempts to connect her with her Chinese heritage. Their well-intentioned but sometimes clumsy efforts to surround Bo with Chinese decorations and cultural symbols reveal the challenges of cross-cultural adoption and the limitations of externalizing culture. When Bo expresses discomfort with their approach, they demonstrate genuine willingness to step back and let her explore her heritage on her own terms.

Rick particularly embodies supportive fatherhood through his playfulness, cooking, and genuine concern for both Bo and Yami. When Yami attempts to leave their house during winter break after overhearing them discussing her situation, his gentle reassurance that she’s “the furthest thing from a burden” provides crucial validation (239). Emma’s professional success as a lawyer and matter-of-fact acceptance of Bo’s sexuality demonstrate how parents can balance achievement with present parenting. Together, they model healthy disagreement in their relationship while maintaining unified support for Bo, showing that parents don’t need to be perfect to be genuinely supportive.

The Taylors’ willingness to welcome Yami during winter break, host the anti-prom, and stand against the school’s discrimination demonstrates active allyship rather than merely passive acceptance. Their home becomes a sanctuary where Bo and Yami can be themselves, providing a model that helps Yami imagine possibilities beyond survival. While their economic privilege makes certain aspects of support easier, their fundamental choice to prioritize their daughter’s well-being over conformity to social expectations offers a template for parenting that other adults in the novel eventually follow in their own ways.

Mrs. Havens, the language arts teacher, and Principal Cappa embody anti-LGBTQ+ bias within an educational setting. Mrs. Havens facilitates harmful classroom dynamics by staging a debate on gay marriage and allowing students to make dehumanizing comments comparing being gay to bestiality. Her selective enforcement of religious principles—focusing on sexuality while ignoring other biblical prohibitions—highlights the cherry-picking nature of much religious discrimination. When Yami speaks up against the debate, Mrs. Havens silences her rather than addressing the harmful rhetoric, demonstrating how authority figures can enable discrimination under the guise of “education.”

Principal Cappa represents a more direct application of institutional power against LGBTQ+ students. His public announcement banning same-sex couples at prom after Yami’s promposal to Bo reveals how institutions often respond to challenges of heteronormativity by creating new rules rather than examining biased assumptions. His justification that “Slayton Catholic does not endorse romantic same-sex couples” (358), while punishing Yami and Bo with detention, demonstrates how religious institutions can weaponize seemingly dispassionate policies to maintain discriminatory practices. The timing of his announcement—targeting Yami and Bo without directly naming them—reveals the cowardice often underlying institutional antigay discrimination.

Together, Mrs. Havens and Principal Cappa illustrate how religious educational institutions can create hostile environments for LGBTQ+ students while maintaining a veneer of respectability. Their characters serve as foils for Ms. Felix, the art teacher who later comes out to Yami, highlighting the contrast between those who perpetuate oppressive systems and those who create safe spaces within them despite personal risk. The student protest against their punishment of Yami and Bo demonstrates that institutional authority, while powerful, is not absolute when communities unite against injustice.