And that’s where I lived these days, right in that dangerous one percent of things that would not go his way.
The board meeting finally concluded after two painful hours of statistics, projections, and verbal circle-jerking. I leaped to my feet before anyone could engage me in conversation and darted out the door toward the elevator.
Jabbing the down button a good twenty times, I glanced over my shoulder to the fully exposed boardroom. The rest of the meeting’s attendees milled about, chatting and finishing their coffee. My father was nowhere to be seen. He’d probably rushed straight to his second meeting.
No one had followed me to the elevator bank, so when the doors opened, I was able to slip inside alone.
The doors slid shut, and I sighed as I sagged against the wall, staring at the long string of numbered buttons. The button for floor seven, where I was due at the R&D labs, seemed to glow brighter than all the other floors.
I pushed the lobby button.
The yellow glow bounced down from floor sixteen, where I was.
Ten… nine… eight… seven…
My stomach tightened.
Six… five…
My father would be livid when the lab called to ask why I didn’t show up. He’d blow up my phone and eventually corner me at the house. By leaving, I’d essentially scheduled a conversation with my father about my future.
No escaping it now.
Speaking of escape, as soon as the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, I shot out and strode across the lobby toward the exit with the gait of a man on a mission. No one stopped me, though a few called out greetings, which happened whenever I came around. Nearly all of the thousand-plus employees knew me by face and name, even if I’d never laid eyes on them.
The second I left the revolving door and stepped into the cold, crisp downtown air, an enormous weight lifted off my shoulders. Despite what I’d thought, someone must have clocked me leaving because my father’s valet service had my car idling at the curb.
“Thank you,” I said as I accepted the keys from a trim older man in a CallCore security uniform who held my car door for me.
“You’re welcome, Mr. Calloway. Will you be back later today?”
“No, I’m done here for the day.”
“Very good, sir. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
“Thank you… Karl,” I responded, reading his nametag.
My Range Rover was toasty warm inside, thanks to heated seats and blasting vents. I adjusted everything to my liking, then pulled out into traffic, heading to the one place that would give me clarity.
Ten minutes later, I parked in the sparse lot at True Colors of Boston, a community center for LGBTQ+ kids and children of LGBTQ+ parents. Unbeknownst to my family and friends, beyond Vera, I’d volunteered here for the past five summers and on school vacations. The YRA had after-school and weekend programs for kids who needed a safe place to land. We provided tutoring services, counseling, mentorship, free meals, and a mountain of activities for the kids to engage in. Volunteering with their tutoring program was what sparked my interest in becoming a teacher.
Today was the first day I’d stopped by since I’d returned home.
The familiar sound of basketballs dribbling greeted me as I walked into the nondescript building. Ahead of me, the front desk, unmanned as usual, made me smile. How many times had I filled in, answering those phones and checking the kids in and out?
Hundreds.
To my left, a horde of teenagers ran around the gym, hurtling basketballs and trash talking while laughing. On my right, classrooms filled with students completing their homework, making up the quieter side of the building.
“Ryder Calloway?” An incredulous voice had me glancing down the hallway to the left of the desk. “Is that you… Oh my God, it is you! Ryder!” Another, then another, followed her screech, and before I knew it, the pounding of excited feet grew thunderous. Teens came out of the woodwork, throwing themselves at me from all angles.
Micky reached me first—a tenth grader whose parents dumped him on his ass when he came out to them. He was a fantastic track star, leading his high school to glory, but all his family could see was who he was attracted to. His gangly arms wrapped around my midsection and squeezed the life out of me.
“Mick, my man. Halle, hey! Jordan, what’s up, bro?” I greeted everyone I recognized and nodded or smiled at the new faces hovering on the periphery.
“What is going on out here? Oh, Ryder! Hello.” Carmen, the director and most compassionate woman I’d ever met, emerged from her office. “What a fabulous surprise.”
“Hope it’s okay that I’m here without being on the schedule.”
