Chapter 32
Andrew
Not even Stephen can ruffle my feathers today. He could drop his pants and tell me to kiss his ass first period, and I’d still be smiling.
When he asks why I wasn’t there for tutoring yesterday, I beam as I tell him I didn’t think he was coming, and the next time he’s even one minute late, I won’t be there either. You little piss ant.
I almost stay in my room during lunch, hoping maybe Robert will stop by, but that’s about as stupid as you can get. So I lock my classroom and hurry off to the lounge, just in case.
I’ve continued to set my lunch down next to Jennifer every day, even after she went off on me. I admit, it’s just to piss her off. I expect her to go away in a huff today, just as she’s been doing for almost two weeks now, but she doesn’t. In fact, she pulls out the chair for me and pats the seat like we’re best friends again.
She’s up to something, I know it. I just don’t know what to do about it. I can leave and not know what she’s up to, or stay and at least have a chance at heading her off.
I smile and sit.
She takes a bite of her salad and casts a smug kind of smile at me.
“So how are your classes?” I ask.
“They’re all right.”
Okay. I squirm. Around the table are my colleagues. I wouldn’t call them friends, but they are people I work with every day, and we are generally friendly. I focus my attention on them. My department chair, a middle-aged woman named Ilene, says, “I hear they didn’t approve your application for the admin program.”
Old news, but apparently new to Ilene. There are no secrets in public schools. Well, there’s at least one, and I intend to keep it that way.
“No. They sure didn’t. That’s okay,” I say cheerily. “I’ll apply again next year.”
“Well, I just want you to know, I gave you a great recommendation.”
“Thanks, Ilene.”
“Let me know if you apply again next year, and I’ll—”
She doesn’t get a chance to finish, because Jennifer chooses that moment to ask rather loudly, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re gay?”
All conversation in the room comes to a screeching halt. And all eyes in the room fix on me.
The peanut butter kind of sticks in my throat, and I have to take a sip of Powerade to force it down.
“I, um, guess you didn’t ask.”
“Don’t you think maybe you should have told me that before you asked me out?”
I set my sandwich back on the plastic wrap spread and dust my fingers while trying to remain calm, trying to look nonchalant, and trying not to be sick to my stomach. Finally, I look at her.
“Can we talk about this some other time?” I keep my voice low, hoping she’ll follow suit. Like that was going to happen.
“You know what? No, we can’t. Not that I care who you bang, but I don’t appreciate being humiliated, and I don’t appreciate you playing your little games with me.” She shoves her chair back and snaps the plastic lid back on her salad, then snatches her water bottle off the table. “You need a cover, go to Penney’s. I hear they’re having a sale.”
She takes her lunch and storms out of the room. For a moment, no one speaks, then slowly the conversation returns. By the end of the lunch period, it has almost reached a normal volume. I don’t engage in the conversation, and no one tries to engage me. When the bell rings, I flee to the relative safety of my room.
Her question is a fair one. If I worked anywhere else other than a public school—an engineering firm, an accounting office, an insurance company—I wouldn’t have thought twice about admitting to my colleagues that I am, in fact, 100 percent queer. But public school is a world unto itself. It’s okay to be gay; you just don’t talk about it. It’s an unspoken rule, but it’s pretty hard and fast down here. It’s one of those things you just know. I honestly don’t care if my colleagues know; I just didn’t want to be the subject of their gossip. So much for that.
I haven’t quite gotten back to my happy place by sixth period, but seeing Robert walk through that door does give me a little boost, and I have to remind myself to play it cool.
Today he smiles and says, “Hey, Mr. Mac,” and I swear I want to kiss him right then and there, not because I want to kiss him right then and there, which I do, but because it’s normal kid-to-teacher stuff—a smile, a greeting, the use of my name in diminutive. No winks, no full-body scans. Normal feels safe.
At the end of the period, he straightens the desks in his row, then gives me a shy smile (which I find so endearing, considering where that mouth has been) and drops a note on my desk.