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Powell and Me 7
I was going to be late, of course. But on the bus, I came up with a desperate plan. I slipped into the house as quietly as I could and tiptoed up the stairs to ditch my books. I gave myself a few minutes, then thundered back down and hurried into the kitchen.
"Eddie! When did you get home?"
"I dunno, Mom. I made it, though. Didn't you hear me say Hi? I've been doing homework. Can I have a soda?" My heart was racing.
"Not so close to supper!"
"Okay, water then." I made a little more fuss about getting it, with ice and all, than necessary. "What's for supper?"
"Spaghetti! Can't you smell it?"
"Oh, yeah! Smells good!" I hurried to the door. "I'll be down as soon as my homework's done!"
"You're in such rush, tonight, Eddie! You might as well stay, dear! It's--"
"Hi, Hon!"
"Hi, Dad!" Mom and Dad gave each other their usual pecks on each other's cheeks, and Dad rubbed my head like he does sometimes when I'm not in trouble, and we sat down to dinner. I'd managed to fool Mom, at least this time. But the damn 45-minute rule was going to really mess things up with Powell--unless I could re-negotiate it. Not tonight, though. I didn't want to call any more attention to my arrival home than absolutely necessary. I forced myself not to eat my whole dinner in one bite.
I was just settling into my homework when my phone buzzed. "Eddie?"
"Yes?"
"It's Alan. Alan Nord--"
"Alan! Are you all right? What happened? Where--"
"Whoa, buddy! I'm okay, except for a big bald spot. But the doc doesn't want me wrestling for the rest of the year. So I'm home, recuperating and bored out of my skull!" He chuckled. "Which is probably not the best way to put it."
"They said--you and Powell--are you going to press charges?"
"God, no! It was stupid: male threat display that got out of hand. You know what--"
"Like when dogs growl and show their teeth and shit."
"Yeah. We growled and showed our teeth and the next thing I knew my head hurt like hell and I was in an ambulance. I thought at first I'd lost a wrestling match, or something--how's that for confusion? Cut my scalp pretty bad on the fire alarm. I guess I dented the wall, too. Hope someone got pictures, at least." Another chuckle. "So, um, listen, can I ask a favor? It's kind of a big one, so it's okay to say if you don't want to do it!"
"What? You need a kidney, or something?" I was only half-joking.
"Well, not quite that big. I need you to go to a meeting."
"A meeting?"
"Remember when I told you about the gay club? The LGBTQ Student Group thing they were talking about?"
"Yeah."
"There's a meeting tomorrow after school, and I was going to be there and ... stuff, but I can't. Because of the concussion! Like I said, the doc--anyway, so I was wondering if you could, you know, sit in for me."
"Um, I'd have to ask my folks, but yeah. I could do that."
"The thing is, it'll be some teachers, and Mister Cruikshank, and somebody from the School Board. And some other students."
"You mean gay students?"
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "It was going to be a ... I had this crazy idea it would be a coming out thing for me, but I can't--and you're already out--Some, I mean. Part way, at least ... I wanted to do a thing, you know? ... and I'm a senior, anyhow, so you're, you're more ..." This was not the confident Alan Nordman I was used to. He sounded almost as confused as me! "It's--I was all psyched for it, you know? Until I woke up--I mean, after Powell--after we had our ... tussle ... I'm not ready, now. Not yet."
"Not ready for what?"
"Coming out." It almost sounded like Alan was holding back tears, or something. "I thought I was! Maybe I was--"
"Maybe it's an after-effect of the concussion!" I offered, trying to calm him down.
He cleared his throat again. "Yeah! Maybe?"
"Sure! I mean, it's possible, right? That must be it." I tried to sound encouraging. "Anyhow, at this meeting, do I have to say anything?"
"Just, you know, why you think it's a good idea and how it will help you and stuff."
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Room 220, right after school. I can give you the names of the other students. They can help. It's really important, Eddie. But I can understand if--"
Alan Nordman was recovering from a concussion that was basically my fault. And I was out to my folks, so it ... but the whole school? But it was Alan! "I'm in," I said, before I could talk myself out of it.
"You're my hero, Eddie!" It sounded like I'd just rescued him from a burning building, or something. I hung up the phone, feeling a little like I was floating. But not the fun kind of floating.
And then, I thought of Powell. If I was out--all the way out, like Alan said--Hell, Powell was already risking--I almost called Alan back. And then, I remembered Dad, and what he'd said about excuses: how there always is one, but it doesn't change anything, really.
I looked at the names Alan had given me. Jen Legato was the editor of the student paper. Reese Larpenteur was on the swim team. I wasn't sure who Kris Mattson was. And I had no idea how an LGBTQ Student Club would help me. Except it meant there were more than three musketeers. Mike Silvers would appreciate that. And Powell, maybe.
"I've got a meeting after school tomorrow, Mom. So I'm going to have to be late, some. But I'm telling you, so it's okay, right?"
"A meeting? Are you in trouble, Eddie?"
"No! It's about a new club. You know, like the Science Fiction Readers club my freshman year?"
"Whatever happened to that club?"
"It ... didn't last." Of course not: being in the Science Fiction Readers club was like wearing a neon sign that said "NERD!" But compared to an LGBTQ club--I assume you get my point.
"Did you tell your father?"
"I will. Right now." Perfect! That was the excuse I needed to split from the kitchen. "Um, Dad? I already checked with Mom, about this meeting I have to go to ..." Dad waved an acknowledgement, so check! Parents dealt with.
What I didn't have, yet, was any idea of what to say at the meeting. Or what to tell Powell. I headed to my room to call Jen Legato.
The first part of the conversation with Jen was a real challenge for me. I had no idea how hard it could be to say "I'm Eddie, and Alan said I should call you. Alan Nordman? About the meeting tomorrow? Alan told me? I'm gay." But when the call ended, almost ten minutes later, my life had changed almost as much as it did that day in the Prep room.
Jen's official name was "Jennifer," and she hated it. But once we started talking, it became clear to me why our little "Fillmore Space" school paper had changed so much last year. It was a joke when it started, but now it was a real paper, with some pretty interesting stuff in it. And the editorials (most of which, it turned out, Jen wrote) came right up to the wire on school policies. She was what they call "a force to be reckoned with." But that wasn't the important part, for me. It was what she said about being a lesbian, and being okay with it--not just okay, but actually happy about it--and it was pretty much exactly what I needed to hear: "It's my life, not theirs," and "Love is love," and "It gets better," and all that. The only challenge left was Danny Powell. But there wasn't even going to be a chance to warn him!
Room 220 could have been any classroom. There was stuff on the bulletin board that suggested it might have housed an English class, but even that was a little vague. In addition to us and Mister Cruikshank, there was a Mrs. Barlow, from the School Board, and Mister Hodell, one of the Social Studies teachers, and Miss Leopold, the school counselor.
Kris Mattson was about my height, but where I was skinny, she was slender. She didn't walk, exactly. She glided. Her hair was almost blond, almost red, shoulder-length, and like a cloud around her face. She could have been a model, but she was a real person, down-to-earth and funny. And she was smart, too. She was a year behind me, but she knew stuff I hadn't even studied yet--or maybe I'd forgotten.
"Thank you all," Miss Leopold said. "Here are some nametags. Just put your first name on one, and let's go around the room and introduce ourselves. Please call me Rebecca." She smiled while she handed the nametags to Kris.
"I'm Kris--with a K, and I'm still a boy, because I can't have surgery until I'm eighteen." As soon as she--he? said that, my jaw just dropped. "But inside, I'm a girl. I just have some of the wrong parts, is all. It's like being a caterpillar, maybe." I right away wanted to ask him--her? if her--his? parents knew, but they must have, right?
"I'm Jen Legato, and I edit the school paper, and I'm a lesbian. I've known forever, as far as I can remember."
"First names will be fine," Miss Leopold cautioned, and the handful of nametags was passed to me.
"I'm Edward--everyone calls me Eddie. I'm sitting in for Alan, who couldn't be here today. But I'm gay, too." I really didn't mean for my voice to sound squeaky at the end. I passed the nametags on, and my nose was filled with the stink of marker pen. Had I just outed Alan Nordman?
"I'm called Reese, I'm two-spirit, and my real name is Manimni." He pointed to his nametag. "That translates to One-Who-Swims, and I would like it if you used that name."
"Manimni," we all repeated, awkwardly. Manimni smiled. I guess you could say he looked "Indian," but that doesn't tell you a lot. He had a really peaceful face, except for his eyes. The only word for his eyes was "intense."
Mrs. Barlow introduced herself as Mrs. Barlow, and said she was the head of the Extra-curricular Committee for the School Board. She had what seemed to be a permanent smile.
Miss Leopold--Rebecca--looked around the circle and began, facing Mrs. Barlow. "We've received a proposal from some students and Mister Hodell--Frank, there--to establish a new club, for our LGBTQ students and their friends--"
"What does that alphabet soup stand for, please?" Mrs. Barlow smiled.
"Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Trans, and Queer or Questioning," Jen said, smiling very broadly.
"I thought Queer was offensive to--"
"It's like the n-word, Ma'am," Manimni said, also smiling. "We can use it, but you can't. If you're straight. Forgive me--are you?"
"Am I?"
"Straight?"
Rebecca raised a warning hand. "I don't think we need to call anyone--"
"But we do, Rebecca!" Kris said. "Or at least we should be free to call ourselves what we are. That's what this is all about!"
"Look!" I said. "We're into it already: what we call ourselves, what people call us, all that shi--stuff. The idea of a club is to not have to worry about it. Or at least worry about it with people who understand how ... how we feel. So we can talk about more important stuff."
"Can any of you give us some examples?" Rebecca said, and I thought I could see a little relief in her eyes.
"Well, like how to come out to your parents," I said. I was pretty sure there had to be a better way than mine.
"Or your classmates or your teachers," Manimni added. "It's about not having to hide! About being honest."
"Well, I don't--heterosexuals don't wave their sexuality in everyone's face," Mrs. Barlow challenged, still smiling.
"You don't have to!" Kris laughed. "Everyone assumes you're straight! Even if you're not!"
"Not always," I sighed. "People have been calling me queer since sixth grade. Fifth, even."
"Well, we try to discourage that, of course," Rebecca said. "But in the early grades--"
"You don't try hard enough, Miss Rebecca!" Manimni said. "Excuse me, but there's a big difference between when someone calls you a bad name for what you are. I mean, like 'redskin,' and stuff. It doesn't hit you like it hits me! It couldn't!"
"This is not about race!" Mrs. Barlow said sharply, and still smiling.
"No. It's about being the Other," Frank said, switching into Teacher Mode.
"Huh?" I said.
"The Other is the undefined enemy, the thing you're afraid of, the thing that you've somehow decided is responsible for all your problems. It's the target of blame."
"Like who you take stuff out on? Even if it's not their fault?"
"Exactly, Eddie," Rebecca smiled. For real.
"Because people don't want to admit they're jerks!" Jen added.
"Not always!" Manimni shook his head. "Sometimes it's just they're scared, I think, maybe."
"It's why I have to use the bathroom in the teachers' lounge," Kris jumped in. "'Cause the girls would freak out if they saw my wrong parts, and the guys would ... would freak out, because ..." Kris stopped uncertainly.
"I would have," I offered. "I thought you were a girl--I mean a normal--I mean I didn't know--" My face was on fire.
"But you are a boy, Mrs. Barlow said. "If you just dressed like a boy--"
"Everybody would think I was a que--a gay boy!" Kris jumped in. "But I'm not! This is so hard!" she wailed. "Whatever I do, it's wrong!"
"No! It's everyone else who's wrong!" Jen said, looking at Mrs. Barlow.
"Or just confused!" I pleaded, with a nod toward Manimni. "It's scary, being confused. There's a lot going on all around you, all of your friends are changing, and so are you. Your body's changing, and you start having all these feelings." I suddenly realized I was sounding exactly like my dad!
"They don't talk about this stuff in Sex Ed, Mister Oscar," Manimni said, facing Mister Cruikshank. "Not really, I mean. Not from over here, where we are. It's all different from over here!"
"No, it's not," Jen said. "I mean, it shouldn't be!"
"Love is love!" I offered. Jen nodded enthusiastically, and her grin radiated.
And then Mister Cruikshank--Oscar--spoke up. "I've heard enough," he said. "It's pretty obvious what this proposal is all about." He looked at each of us in turn. "This isn't the world I grew up in. It's more ... complex. It's like sitting in a room full of dynamite with a candle. Look, I don't want to offend anyone--"
"Most days," I muttered, louder than I intended. A monastery! That's what the Catholics call it, where you're silent all the time! I looked at Mister Cruikshank--Oscar. "Excuse me."
"It may surprise you to learn, Eddie, that even Assistant Principals occasionally have bad days." And the corners of his mouth twitched, like he was trying to smile. "It's hard, learning to be a grownup. Especially a decent one. And this is one of the really tricky areas. For all of us. All we really want to do, most of us grownups, is prepare you to fix the stuff we haven't managed to."
I didn't exactly want to, but I suddenly liked Oscar Cruikshank a little bit.
"Well, all Student Clubs need a constitution and a statement of purpose, and a teacher to advise it," Rebecca prompted. "Have you prepared one?"
"We can use the same constitution the other clubs use, basically. Except I've made it non-sexist." Jen handed an envelope to Becky. "There's two copies in there, so you can give one to Mrs. Barlow, if it's okay. And the purpose is--" she closed her eyes like she was reciting a poem or something-- "to give LGBTQ students and their friends a safe space at Fillmore to meet and talk about things that concern them as LGBTQ people."
"And the advisor?" Mrs. Barlow asked.
"That's me," Frank Hodell said, raising his hand. "I'm still looking for a female ... um, a woman ..." He looked at Kris in confusion. "A non-male teacher? To be a co-advisor."
Kris smiled, and I thought I heard a hint of boy in his laugh. "A non-male would be perfect, Frank. Or we might wind up with more co-advisors than members."
"Are you gay?" Mrs. Barlow asked Frank, "Or am I not permitted to enquire?" Still smiling.
"It's a school policy for teachers to keep our private lives ... private," Frank said, smiling back. "But the club will be for friends, as well as GBT... LGT ..." Teachers can blush, too!
"A, B, C, D, E, F, G," Manimni sang, and I joined in, and by "M" everyone else was singing, and we wound up laughing, while the tension went out of the room like a leaky balloon. Mrs. Barlow's smile even seemed genuine, for a moment. Then, there was one of those awkward silences, and then Rebecca broke out a box of cookies and Frank put a big cooler on a table and announced it was lemonade and we stuffed our faces--well, at least Jen and Kris and Manimni and I did. The adults were all making nice to Mrs. Barlow. I wondered if she had any kids at Fillmore.
"Well," Rebecca smiled, when things settled down. "Are there other questions or concerns? Anything else we want to talk about?"
"There may be concerns," Mrs. Barlow said, "about young people like ... in this club ... the School Board doesn't want to seem to be promoting sexual intimacy among students, you see. People might ask--"
"The purpose is to create a safe space for talk," Jen replied, and her voice was suddenly icy. "That's what I said."
"Well yes, but ... we certainly don't want anyone to think it's a sex club!" Mrs. Barlow tried to make it appear she was making a joke.
"What's the Junior Prom if not a sex club for heteros?" Jen snapped.
"The thing is," I jumped in, "Mrs. Barlow, there's this feeling. Like you're all alone in the world, like you don't fit--"
"I'm sure a lot of young people feel that way, Eddie," Mrs. Barlow replied. It will pass!"
"Maybe if you're straight," I replied. "But it didn't for me, even ... even when I met someone in seventh grade."
"Seventh--" Mrs. Barlow gasped and even Rebecca looked startled.
I nodded. "Seventh grade. We didn't know what was going on with us! Maybe straight seventh graders know what's up, but me and my friend didn't have a clue! And really, it's still like that, sort of. I mean, I know some things now--" I stopped. Monastery!
"I thought it was because I'm a girl, you know?" Jen said, looking at all of us. "Like how girls feel like we aren't really there, exactly, most of the time, because boys are so ... noisy and stuff? But even with girls I felt like Eddie said: alone."
And maybe I imagined it, but Mrs. Barlow's face changed just enough for me to think maybe she understood, at least some of it.
"Like in a bubble, or something," Manimni offered.
"This is weird," Kris said. "Good weird, though." She turned to Mrs. Barlow. "Like at least somebody gets it, you know? Or some of it, at least--enough where we can talk."
"And that's why we need a club," I said, as much to myself as to Mrs. Barlow. And it wasn't like we planned it, or anything, but the four of us looked at each other, and then all turned to Mrs. Barlow.
"Well," Mrs. Barlow said, "I must be off." And she went around and shook everyone's hand. "Thank you all for your time," she smiled, "It was very good--very important--to meet you all." Rebecca thanked her and the rest of us joined in and we sort of went to work carefully loading our backpacks or checking our phones but as soon as Miss Leopold and Mister Cruikshank left to escort Mrs. Barlow to her car we all moved right back to the lemonade.
"I don't know," Jen said. "I don't think she liked us."
Kris sighed. "She's a politician. She's all about what she thinks other people think. Adult people. Who vote."
"I think she got it--got some of it, at least," I said. "What do you think, Fr--Mister Hodell?"
"I think you may be right, Eddie. Alan picked a good substitute, by the way. You spoke well. But I'm not sure she'll really advocate for us with the School Board."
"We won't cost as much as the French Club!" Jen snapped, and we all laughed, mostly because we were so damn tense, again.
Monday morning, I got on the bus expecting stares, but there weren't any. I sat down and the kid in the window seat didn't even look, so maybe it was all okay. I tried to think about the book we were reading in English class, "A Tale of Two Cities," but I got hung up right at the first sentence, about it being "the best of times and the worst of times." And then we got to Wilson Street.
"Move it," Powell said, and the kid next to me fled from his seat. Powell sat down, pushing me against the window. "Is this your idea of keeping it quiet?" he growled. He looked at Horse and Snake as they moved toward us, and nodded towards Dodger, who was already seated in his usual place. "Sit!"
Horse snorted, smacked Snake's arm, and the two of them headed back to join Dodger.
"Alan asked me! I had to--"
"Maybe you should hang with him, then!"
"I didn't have a chance to tell--"
"Then maybe you should have waited!"
"Dan--"
"What'd I tell you about my fucking name?"
"Sorry! You've got to let me--"
"I don't 'have to' anything! Just listen--or you're dead!" Nobody heard all this but Powell and me, but it felt like he was roaring, like I was about to be eaten alive, or something. "You and me--you were helping me with math! That's all! I didn't know you were a fag! Just a nerd! That's all! Nothing else! You say a word about the boathouse--hell, you say 'boat' and it will be the last thing you say. Got it, faggot?"
I nodded, squeezed between Powell and the side of the bus, not even able to breathe, while the rest of the world went on with its business. Powell got up with a jerk of his hips that almost cracked my ribs and headed to the back of the bus, but I stayed where I was, afraid to do anything because I'd explode into tears, or something. There were a few chuckles and coughs from Powell and his guys, and then that sort of silence there is in movies just before the monster attacks. I couldn't understand why the rest of the bus wasn't as terrified as I was, or paralyzed like I was, or didn't know that the world had just ended.