Matt grimaced.
Roger sat across the table from Idabel. “Adam Maxwell. Isn’t he that fag who tried to kill himself?”
Seven pairs of eyes narrowed in suspicion, swiveled towards Matt.
Matt froze. This was the point where he was expected to affirm the consensus that fags were disgusting. He’d stood at this crossroads a thousand times in his life, and had always cowardly, half-heartedly, taken the “right” turn, the expected turn.
The wrong turn for him.
He thought of Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Less Travelled.” He had never known what it was like to publicly take that less popular road. Slinking down it in the dark didn’t count.
Real fags turned left—the ones who weren’t frauds, that is.
Matt sensed other eyes watching him, other ears listening to this exchange.
Kids at surrounding tables had paused their conversations and were eavesdropping. Two tables away Colton Langley, Mike Huebsch, and the rest of the College Republicans stared at him with vulture eyes.
Matt looked at Roger, this guy who was his senior on the team. A guy to whom he was expected toshow deference.
“You don’t have to sign the card if you don’t want to,” Matt said, trying to sound reasonable. “But please don’t use that word again. It’s offensive.”
Idabel stopped chewing, and looked from Matt to Roger, then back again. This was a serious violation of pecking order etiquette.
Roger eased back his chair and stood, a gunslinger prepping for a shootout with an upstart challenger. “Okay, let me rephrase that. Is this Adam kid thesodomitewho tried to kill himself?”
A couple of guys sniggered at Roger’s clever use of the biblical term for fags. Matt could hardly argue the Bible term was offensive.
Matt shrugged disarmingly. “That’s what Dean Smith said in Gay Chapel. I doubt that anyone at this table knows whether that’s true or not.” He paused. “What is true is that Adam is my brother in Christ. The Apostle John wrote that ‘if anyone sees his brother in need and does not have pity on him, how can the love of God be in that person?’”
Roger stood there a moment, blinking, his wounded pride not yet admitting what was obvious to everyone else, namely that he had lost the argument.
Idabel broke the tension. “Gimme that pen,” he said, reaching out his syrupy fingers theatrically. “I’ll sign the darn card first. I’ll leave the pen nice and sticky for the rest of you.”
That got Roger’s attention. He snatched the pen before Idabel could touch it. Roger signed the card, then offered the pen to the other guys. “Idabel, you’re last.”
Idabel shot Matt a quick “you’re welcome” wink.
Kids from nearby tables trickled up, emboldened now that the jocks were signing the card. The kids formed a little line, waiting their turn. Guys generally wanted to chat with Matt about soccer and tomorrow’s exhibition game. Girls were enamored of Debbie’s connection with him: the card he had given her, her leading the cheering at the Saints game. Some girls flirted with him. The batting eye thing. The hair flipping thing.
Matt just smiled back. Soon enough, it would be common knowledge that he had a girlfriend.
The line slowly grew.
Molly appeared at the back of the crowd, broke out her camera, and snapped some pictures. “Obviously these won’t be inThe Beakley News,” she said to Matt, after elbowing her way through the line. “I’ll make you some prints for your personal scrapbook, though.”
Matt gave Molly a thumbs-up. He still hadn’t completely processed that she was William’s lesbian counterpart or that he was supposed to start dating her girlfriend, Ava. He and Ava were to be each other’s beards. He was not happy with the arrangement.
Eventually the white space on the card disappeared. It was almost time for Matt to meet Josh.
Matt tucked the card under his arm, headed out into the hall.
“Hey Matt! Holdup a minute,” a voice called out. Colton’s voice.
Matt stopped, turned around. “Hi Colton. Do you want to sign the card?”
Colton checked to make sure they weren’t being overheard. “Yeah, right,” he snarled. “Last chance, buttercup. Drop this thing. Toss the card. Say you’ve changed your mind or that God spoke to you in a dream. I don’t care what excuse you use. Just let it go. Okay?”
“Or else?” Matt knew a threat when he heard one.
