Tuesday
I’m a few blocks from school, trying to prepare myself for the stares and whispers before I go inside.
It’s no big deal.
It’s no big deal.
Even though it is. I haven’t even come out to Ma yet, and now everyone at school knows. I never planned on coming out at school. Not because I’m worried about being bullied, it’s just… When I was dating Scotty, he wanted to keep it a secret because he wasn’t out, and I figured he was worried about losing his friends from the football team. Then, when we weren’t dating anymore, I figured no one would care who I dated—not that it’s their business anyway. If anything, I worried about the information somehow getting back to my neighborhood, and then to Ma.
That’s my biggest fear, her knowing. When I think of Ma finding out, I think about how disappointed she’d be. The thought keeps me up at night and makes me feel sick to my stomach. First, she’d stop making eye contact; then she’d stop talking to me. After that, whoknows. I remember when that guy fromPrison Breakcame out and Ma said, “What a shame,” shaking her head like being gay is something pitiful. I don’t know what I hope for. Maybe that somehow she’ll be okay with it, with me, even though she loves her Bible more than anything in the world.
I take a few steps forward, stop, walk back, then take a few steps forward again. The closer I get to school, the more faint I feel, like I’m about to collapse. I thought I’d at least walk in with Jack today, like I usually do, but he didn’t answer my texts. I even swung by his place before school, but his uncle said he’d already left.
I wouldn’t feel this anxious if I had Jack next to me. I hope he’s not avoiding me too.
I place my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes over and over before taking a deep breath.
No big deal.
The guys in my neighborhood, the ones I used to go to school with before I got into Niveus, they’d kill me if they saw that picture. Toss my body into the garbage disposal once they were done with me. These guys watch me on my walk home, staring me down, smirking. Sometimes they yell shit. Other times they push me to the ground, then walk off laughing. The picture would make things in my neighborhood ten times worse.
I know the likelihood of them seeing it is slim—Niveus is a world so separate from my home life—but I can’t help feeling paranoid.
My stomach twists painfully, knotting, the longer I stand here thinking. I look up, inhale, then I walk, not stopping until I reach the big black iron gates that stand open for us in the morning. The two huge columns and double oak doors of the enormous white buildingloom ahead of me. I hesitate before climbing the steps, my heart beating so hard I can hear it. The footsteps of some students behind me get closer. If it’s not me who opens the door, it’ll be them, and I’d rather be the one to control when everyone sees me.
I hate this so much. I hate feeling like I’m gonna stop breathing any second now.
Without letting myself think much more, I push the door and walk in.
As expected, the crowded hallway quiets as everyone sees me enter—sly smiles and whispers on pink lips. If it weren’t for Scotty and that picture, I’d be uninteresting, like any other day. When I went to bed last night, all I knew was that I had to find Scotty and ask him why he’s doing this, leaking pictures of me after months of semi-harmony between us.
If I still had his number, I wouldn’t have to see him face-to-face.
Note to self: Don’t delete numbers of the people you hate. They might come in handy someday.
I put my head down, moving as fast as I can toward the drama department. The drama kids usually hang out behind the stage there—in Crombie Auditorium, named after another rich donor. Crombie is my best shot at finding Scotty, seeing as I don’t know his schedule by heart, like I used to in freshman year. A few weeks before we started dating, when I still thought of him as the cute white guy who played the trumpet at the back of the school band, I learned his entire schedule, including where he went before and after classes. I wanted to make sure I kept bumping into him “by accident.”
Later, after a toxic yearlong relationship from the end of freshmanyear to the beginning of junior year, and a lot of tears and heartbreak, I used my knowledge of his schedule to avoid him as much as I could when things—we—didn’t work out. And so, I hardly ever venture here anymore. I even forgot how big Crombie is. Then again, everything in this school is unnecessarily huge.
I climb the steps of the spacious, dark oak stage, slipping through a gap in the thick green curtains to find a circle of students on the other side. They’re all seated on black metal chairs, with white scripts on their laps. Apart from one girl who looks at me with an offended expression, no one else even glances my way. It’s a weird change from the hallway earlier.
“This is a closed practice,” the girl says, her plaid skirt the only item fitting the school’s rule book. The rest of her is drenched in black—black leather jacket, black fishnet tights, black band T-shirt, black boots. The first day of school is the only time everyone follows the dress code. After that, it becomes more of a suggestion than an enforced rule. I guess this is one of the many things you can get away with at Niveus, but I’ve never had the money to customize my uniform past the beat-up Vans I wear most of the time.
“I’m here to talk to Scotty,” I say. We turn to where Scotty is sitting, flipping through his script like I’m not here. My heart jolts a little when I see his face, though not for any reason other than the fact that I haven’t seen him since just before summer break, at prom. He’d brought some girl from the lacrosse team and spent most of the night obviously trying not to look at me. It’s been even longer since we spoke—I actually think the last time I spoke to Scotty was to break up with him.
Scotty’s hair is longer now, some of it tied up in a messy knot, while the rest sweeps his shoulders. Like the frowning girl, he’s customizedhis uniform, and like always, it’s fancy, his designer shoes screamingRich kid.
The more I look at him, the angrier I feel. He didn’t even notice me walk in, distracted by his stupid script.
The girl looks at me again through squinted eyes, then realization smacks into her face.
“Shit, Scotty.”
He finally looks up at her, then follows her gaze to me, and his blue eyes widen.
“What the fuck, Scotty?” I grind out.
“Can we go outside?” he asks, abandoning the script on his chair as he stands.
