Cameron hated her tone. She wanted to sound soothing, but Cameron was a pro at picking up passive-aggressive bitchiness. It was the only way to survive gay life at Browerton.
“Well, I don’t know what you mean, and I’m the one who has to relay this information, so please explain.”
She glanced at Hobie, and he could’ve sworn she glared at the little ragamuffin.
“When the rest of class was waiting in line to do tumbling exercises, Hobie wandered off and started stacking gym mats like a fort.”
Cameron laughed. Hobie, always building something. “Is that so bad?”
“It’s being disruptive to the class.”
“How so? He’s not stopping kids from tumbling.”
“Yes, but he should be following instructions to stay in line, like my other kids.” The instructor seemed to be taking it personally.
“Perhaps you don’t have enough staff working the class. Is it just you?”
“I’ve never had a problem conducting a class on my own. Hobie is my first student to be this disruptive.”
Cameron doubted any kid being talked to in this uptight, condescending would want to pay attention. “Is he not tumbling at all?”
“He does, eventually.”
“Then I don’t really see the problem.”
The woman’s jaw clenched as she became even more flustered by Cameron’s questions. “He needs to follow the rules.”
“But if he’s doing the tumbling and shit, then isn’t he? I don’t think this is that big of a deal.”
“I doubt you would understand. You’re the baby-sitter, not the parent.” The woman stepped closer and drew to a whisper. “Hobie is the only child with same-sex parents, and, well maybe there might be a correlation. This might be him acting out, in a way.”
“I didn’t know gymnastics instructors all came with PhDs in psychology. ‘The kid has two dads. He must be messed up.’ Real fucking insightful.” Cameron’s chest constricted, and his pulse pounded in his temples. “Just because a kid gets bored waiting in line and decides to do something fun and creative doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with him. Maybe it means there’s something right with him. Maybe it means you need a better lesson plan so kids aren’t left sitting around bored. Or maybe you need to get off your fucking pedastal and hire some more staff. For what these parents are paying to be here, their kids don’t deserve to wait their turn for most of class. Or maybe the ‘situation’ here is that he can smell your homophobia and granny perfume a mile away. I’m sure certain organizations would be very interested in hearing what you and your establishment think about same-sex parents.”
“Sir, I didn’t mean to…I don’t think I phrased my point well.”
“No, your point just sucks.” Cameron turned on his heel. “Let’s go, Hobie!”
Φ
TheReal Housewivesmarathon had no end in sight. Nolan and Henry were sprawled out on the couch, while Ethan and Greg sat on the floor.
“The prodigal son returns,” Henry said with extra dramatic flair. “And who is this new houseguest you brought us?”
Hobie peeked out from behind Cameron’s legs.
“This is Hobie.” Cameron didn’t try to move him. “I’m baby-sitting until his dad picks him up.”
The interaction at the gymnastics facilities had shoved Cameron from drunk to stone-cold sober. Seeing a little kid in their midst did the same for the guys.
“We’re going to have lots of fun!” Cameron craned his neck at the TV. Two women were fighting in a mess of weaves and bleeped expletives. “Is there something you want to watch, Hobie?”
Hobie remained glued to the backs of his legs.
“Hi, Hobie.” Greg shuffled over and held out his hand. He had that elementary school teacher voice down. “I’m Greg. That’s a cool backpack, buddy. Is thatCars?”
Hobie nodded.
“I loveCars!” Greg had the ability to sound enthusiastic but relatable, like he legit likedCarsand backpacks and didn’t find this whole situation awkward.
