A to Z - 30. Chapter 30 - Spotted

October 3 -

Today was full of surprises. Not necessarily good ones.

OK, one was good. My new advanced math class? Mrs. Gersheimer is the teacher. She wasn’t trying to get rid of me after all.

The bad surprise?

Lunch Boy. He’s in my class. When I walked in, I noticed him. Second row, far right. Fortunately, it’s a smaller class, so I was able to grab an empty seat in the far back on the left, about as far away from him as possible. He didn’t see me.

I began to have this wild hope that I could just keep real quiet, and maybe Lunch Boy would never know I was in his class.

That is, until Mrs. G. had to give it all away five minutes later.

“Andrew, what do you think? What’s the problem with this solution?” she had asked, pointing at the board.

I spoke without thinking. I mean, it wasn’t a really tough problem, and the error was obvious.

“I think the mistake is in the third line down,” I began. “It’s…”

I faltered when fifteen heads turned to look at the scruffy idiot sitting in the back. I swallowed hard, and continued.

“…a problem with the square root there.”

I forget what Mrs. G had to say about that. I can’t remember much about the rest of the period, at all, really. But I couldn’t help seeing Lunch Boy’s eyes go really wide when he saw me in the back. What was he thinking? Disgust? Disappointment? I couldn’t really tell, because he looked away again. In any case, I’d been noticed and that’s always bad.

I wondered whether he was planning something nasty for me. For the rest of class, I saw Lunch Boy sneak quick looks in my direction. It wouldn’t be the first time I became the target of the beautiful people.

Suddenly, this class move seemed like a bad idea.

At the end of the period, Mrs. G called me up to her desk. I’d been expecting that.

“Andrew, I’m so glad you switched. You’ll give some of the others a real run for their money. Now I’ll need you to do some of the assignments you’ve missed…”

She spent the next few minutes giving me a list of problem sets for me to do. I tried to concentrate on what she was saying. It didn’t seem like too much extra work, but I was anxious to get to my new art class. I nodded, wrote down what she told me to do, collected a new textbook, and hurried out the door.

My new Art class was different – and I got a new teacher. He’s an older man, with a great beak of a nose and glasses. Short, powerfully built. He’s got wild grey hair, like Albert Einstein or Beethoven, or someone like that.

“Adriano Karpus, at your service,” he addressed me when I walked in. I showed him my new schedule.

“Aaah, you’re the new boy I was told about. Right. So, Andrew, this is an advanced class,” he explained quietly. The hush in the room was a real contrast with the gabble that prevailed in my last art class.

“I agreed to give you the basic work as an independent study as a favor to Mrs. Gersheimer, you understand?”

I hadn’t known, but I understood. I nodded.

“Good. Now, this is what I’d like you to do…” and he was off, giving me my instructions for the next few days.

I wasn’t expecting another surprise.

Lunch Boy. Again.

He was bent over something at his table by the window, so he didn’t notice me at all. Fine by me. I was told to continue working on my sketches as before. I got assigned to a new place at the other end of the room, out of Lunch Boy’s line of sight. After glancing around nervously for a little while, I found I could get just as lost in my little sketches as in the other class.

At least this was the last class of the day; I could duck out quickly and hide in the Library all afternoon.

October 9

God what a week.

Not the schoolwork itself; that’s still going OK. I’m holding my own with Mrs. Landon in History, and Mr. Warfield in English is tough, but fair. Maybe my writing will improve. I doubt it. I’m just about caught up in Advanced Trig.

It’s the tension that’s a real killer. I think chatty Terry is going to haul me off to her table in the cafeteria by force if she has to. This is stupid. I wonder if I can switch Physics classes. How can she not see that I’m just not a friendly person? At least she’s moved on from the whole girlfriend thing. Now she wants to know what I think of this or that thing on TV. Or what music I like. Or the movies playing. Or whatever.

Sometimes I think it’s a game to her. Maybe she’s trying to draw me out, make me talk. Or maybe she’s working on becoming an interrogator for the FBI. Maybe she’s just trying to drive me crazy.

Then there’s the chore of keeping out of Lunch Boy’s way. We have two classes together. I still don’t know his name. I’ve tried to catch it, but I’ve had no success. In any case, I can just about manage to avoid him through lunch, but there is no getting out of Trig or art class. In math, he knows I’m there. When I got there before him on Wednesday, he came in and nodded to me, carefully. Was that a warning? Good thing I can avoid the parking lot after school. I have an advantage in math class, because I sit behind him. He has to turn to look at me, whereas I can gaze at him all I want. And despite the danger, he is still really, really beautiful.

In a way, it’s almost funny what happened this week in Mr. Karpus’s art class on Friday.

I happened to look up and saw Lunch Boy staring. He just sat there and gaped at me from across the room. The look of disbelief on his face was almost worth the dodge-and-hustle of the past week. I could be wrong, but I don’t think he’d seen I was there for a whole week. Did he think I was stalking him?

Well, now he knows I’m in his art class, so I’m going to have to keep my eye out for him. Maybe once Homecoming is over I can let my guard down a little. It’s exhausting to know you could be a target every second of the day.

October 12

It had to happen sometime. We had to meet. All my best efforts at being invisible wasted.

He knows my name.

Yesterday, I followed my routine. I’ve been tired lately. Maybe it has something to do with all the raking I did for Mrs. Marjorie and the Abbotts last weekend. Maybe it’s because I haven’t been sleeping well. A combination of hard floor and bad dreams will do that.

Anyhow, like an idiot, I decided to skip a shower last night and tried to get to sleep early. I thought I’d get up refreshed, and sneak down to the showers before anyone was here this morning. Instead, I overslept.

I packed up some clean clothes with my books and took off for the locker room. I didn’t see anyone in the halls. Once inside, I slipped into the shower booth, slid the latch to lock it, and stripped. Once I was naked, I felt safer behind a lock. The hot water felt so good, but I tried to wash quickly. I knew I needed to get some breakfast, and time was a little short.

I shut off the water and reached for my towel.

I shivered. It’s always cold. I’m convinced that the locker rooms are heated by showers and sweaty athletes, not a furnace. I hurried to get dressed. Then I heard them. I held my breath.

Voices entering the locker room – quiet, conversational – footsteps. Rustling clothes. Nobody looking for a spook living in the school. OK, time for me to take a deep breath. Stay focused. The plan: finish dressing. Stuff in the backpack. Then just walk out and pretend that this is perfectly normal. I could pull that off, couldn’t I?

I opened the stall door and stepped out. The voices stilled.

There he was. Lunch Boy. Sitting on the center bench in the locker room, untying his sneakers. His shirt was off. Oh, God, he’s just incredibly beautiful. Perfect, milky skin. I could see muscles on his flanks. He was like some classic statue sitting there in the steamy room. His pal, the Giant, stood nearby at a locker.

All three of us froze, looking at each other, for just a moment. The tall boy broke the awkward silence.

“Hey, how ya doing this morning?” he greeted me, his face breaking into a friendly smile.

“Fine, thanks,” I just about whispered.

About the only consolation I had was that Lunch Boy’s eyes were wider than mine. He appeared to be as speechless as I was.

The Giant either didn’t notice our mutual surprise or chose to ignore it. Still smiling, he stepped toward me, and stuck out his hand. I couldn’t help flinching for an instant.

“I don’t think I know you. You’re new this year, right? I’m Kaz.”

I nodded, my voice lost. Finally, I got it working again.

“I’m Andy,” I returned quietly, tentatively putting out my hand.

Kaz the Giant immediately engulfed it and pumped it vigorously.

“Andy, I’m glad to meet you,” he said with a wide grin, “and this here is Zander, my running buddy.”

I turned to Lunch Boy. Zander. He has a name. His name is Zander, and he’s seriously hot. And he’s looking at me. I suddenly lost my voice again.

“Hi,” he said very quietly, raising a hand.

“Hey.”

An awkward pause.

"So you getting in an early workout?" Kaz brought us back to earth.

"Um, yeah. Something like that." Come on, voice. You can do it. Speak, don't croak.

“Hey, that's great. Say, you don’t like to run, do you?” Kaz inquired brightly.

This must have been some inside joke with the two of them. The question brought a quiet snort of laughter from Lunch Boy – I mean, Zander – and the tension eased.

“Kaz! Not everyone on the planet loves running, like you,” Zander laughed.

But Kaz wasn’t put off and asked again. “We go for a run just about every morning before school. What about you? Do you ever go running?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Why not?” he asked in genuine surprise. Kaz the Giant just didn’t like ‘no’ as an answer.

Time for a shrug.

“No running shoes,” I said, making an excuse. I felt suddenly embarrassed.

I'd made a truthful answer. I looked down at my big farm boots. I have sneakers for gym, bought at the thrift store at great expense to my cash stash. But I’m no runner, anyhow.

“Kaz! Leave the poor guy alone, will you?” Zander interceded.

It was time for me to get out. Zander the Lunch Boy made my face flush and my heart race. Couldn’t he hear it drumming away on the inside of my ribs? I felt nervous and self-conscious and no way was I going to hang out and have him figure out how stupid and poor and dirty I am.

I moved to go.

“See you guys later. Nice to meet you.”

Escape accomplished.

As I sat down to a cafeteria breakfast, with my heart rate returning to normal, I realized a miracle had just occurred.

I’d been in the same room with Zander – the Lunch Boy I’d been avoiding for weeks – and I’d escaped without violence, without injury or ridicule. At least for that one encounter. Kaz the Giant had been downright friendly, and while Zander might have been a little standoffish, he hadn’t been hostile.

And he is so, so gorgeous.

October 13

So, this Homecoming crap is getting out of hand. Today, after school, there is supposed to be a big parade in town. I guess the student council and the football team and everyone drive cars and floats and stuff down Main Street. They’re even letting us out early for this.

Not that I have any intention of going.

And I’m not going to the big dance on Saturday after the big game. Ugh. Big parade, big game, big dance. I just don’t feel like I’m a part of this.

Terry asked me who I was taking to the dance today. Again. I tried to ignore the question, but she persisted.

“Come on, Andy, I’m not going to tell anyone.”

I shrugged for the thousandth time.

“Look, I know you’re new, so if you need a date, I could probably…”

She trailed off as she met my long, steady stare. Really? Trying to fix me up? I shook my head.

“You are going, aren’t you?”

Shrug.

“Well, what about the game? Where are you going to sit?”

Shrug.

“You could come and sit with me and my friends. There’s a space for you if you want it.”

Shrug. I know she was trying – really, really hard – to be friendly. But I know who her friends are: Kaz, who is even more outgoing than Terry, and Zander Lunch Boy, who is way, way too dangerous.

I’m still avoiding Zander. I still have to stay out of his way, out of sight. A smile from him, and I’d be a goner – all my shrugs and defenses would be useless, and he’d have me telling him anything in seconds. I can’t let him find out my secrets. That I’m wanted for murder. That I’m homeless. Or gay. God, the bulge in my jeans will give that part away if I spend more than a minute in the same room with him.

It’s been hard to keep out of sight for some reason. I see him in corridors that he didn’t use last week, or in places I thought he didn’t go between classes. I duck away before he can spot me. I’ve made sure to shower in the dead of night, so I don’t run into him in the locker room again.

At lunch or in class, I try not to stare, but I can’t help trying to memorize the details of what he looks like. Dark brown hair, deep brown eyes. Wide shoulders, narrow hips. He’s not scrawny like me, but he’s nowhere near bulky like some of the people I've seen this summer. His arms have some serious muscle, I can tell. He must do something besides running.

There are more important things. A friendly face. A broad smile.

At other times, it really doesn’t matter that I can’t see him. I see his face at night in the dark of the library, and when I stretch out on the closet floor to sleep. I see it on the computer screen in class, and in the reflection in the windows as the sun goes down.

Ugh. I know I’m hopelessly crushing on Zander. I want him to forget I exist, yet I also want to be near to him. I can’t help trying to watch him when I see him. It’s a kind of itch I can’t help trying to scratch. I know I have to stop, or I’m going to get really badly hurt.

Today, in art, he passed my table where I was working. I looked up from the shadow on my paper.

“Hey Andy,” he smiled quietly. And walked on.

I had trouble concentrating for the rest of the period.

(***)

You don’t forget the moment you finally come out. When you finally admit to another person that you’re different. That you’re gay. My friends were insistent – they wanted to know who I was taking to the Homecoming Dance. Terry was getting warmed up, arming herself with a list of last-minute dates she could call on to bail me out. But I wasn’t going. There weren’t going to be any more lies, no more masquerades. That didn’t mean there had to be an announcement – just that they could go to the dance without yours truly. Terry finally got pissed at me when it really sunk in. Kaz just looked at the two of us helplessly, wondering how to make peace.

And then there was Mom and Dad. They had to get in on the torture, too.

“What time does the Homecoming Dance begin? Will you be out late?” Mom asked at supper.

“No idea. I’m not going.”

“Not going? Why not? Forget to round up a date?” That was Dad, trying to be funny.

“No. Just not going.” I stared down at my plate, mulishly.

“Really? You had such a good time last year,” Mom persisted. Why couldn’t she just give it a rest?

“Yeah, well, that was last year.”

“I’m sure Terry could fix you up with a girl, if you asked,” she went on, as if I hadn’t said anything. And Terry’s penchant for matchmaking is, well, legendary. “Surely, there must be some girl you want to take.”

There’s probably a reason why this was the moment I snapped. All summer, the subtle pressure to find a girl, to get interested again in a girl, to be straight, to be normal, had built. All through the hot summer months, I fought the urge to stare at all the bare male flesh at the pool. All fall, I’d been captivated by the single most beautiful boy I’d ever seen, who I couldn’t seem to get anywhere close to. And against all this played the hints, the expectations to fill – from friends, from my parents – be straight, be straight, be straight - the stress of it was getting impossible to bear. This was it.

“…there must be some girl you want to take.” Echoed in my head.

I slammed the table with my hand. The forks and knives jumped. “NO! Get it through your skull. I don’t want to take a girl to Homecoming!”

Stunned silence greeted my outburst. Did I just shout at my Mom? Nobody talks to my parents that way. Least of all, me. Instantly, I regretted losing my temper. Mom just got under my skin, with all the girlfriend crap. She just sat there, mouth open, unable to say anything. Dad, eyes narrowed, considering. No one said anything.

It was Dad, who broke the long stillness with a quiet question. “Perhaps…is there a…boy… you’d like to take instead?”

How the hell did he know? What made him ask that? I stared at the table. It didn’t matter now. No lies. No hiding.

Slowly, I nodded, tears forming, then rolling down my face.

Mom gasped. Another shock, bigger than the first.

“I see,” was all Dad said, very softly.

What else was there to say? And now, I’d probably lost them.

“I’m sorry. I'm sorry. I’m gay, and I can’t help it. Please…please…don’t…please don’t hate me. I’m sorry!” I began to sob, sitting there at the table, with my half eaten dinner in front of me. Tears blurred my vision.

Then I felt it. A warm hand taking mine. Dad. It was easy to tell by the feel of his big, strong hand.

“There’s no chance of that,” he said steadily, “you’re my son. I love you.”

A chair scraped. A warm hug enveloped me. Mom. She was crying, too, holding me, rocking me back and forth.

“My poor boy. My baby, boy. I love you. I’m so sorry, so sorry…”

By the time the tears dried up, we were all emotionally wrecked. We cleared up dinner in near monastic silence. I went to bed early but not before Mom stopped in the bedroom door. She hovered there, arms crossed. She cleared her throat.

“Zander? Can I say something?" She paused a moment. Then she went on, speaking softly. "I want to say I'm sorry. I’m sorry that, as your mother, I didn’t let you feel safe enough to…to tell us. That I must have pressured you to be someone you weren’t.”

What can you do but hug your Mom when she says something like that?

“It’s okay, Mom,” I murmured into her hair as we embraced, “as long as you still love me, it’s okay.”

And it was okay. A little weird for a while, but basically, okay. The hard part was going to be telling my closest friends.

(***)

October 17

I’m cold. I’ve been cold for days. I think I’m going to be cold forever.

I spent Friday night – late – doing my homework, after everyone else had finished the preparations for the big dance on Saturday evening. I spent Saturday working for Mrs. M and the Abbotts. It was chilly and rainy Saturday, and by late afternoon, I was pretty wet. I’d raked leaves outside for much of the day, and my thin denim jacket really wasn’t keeping me warm, even though I wore a t-shirt and a flannel shirt underneath. I was just as glad to keep out of the way of Homecoming festivities. I missed the big game; I was working.

The trouble started when I walked back to the school after finishing up at the Abbott’s. The game and the dance meant that I couldn’t sneak back into the school building. In the late afternoon, there were monitors at the locker room doors, and the other doors were locked. Later, after dark, there were too many people streaming into the building – teachers, students, and so on. Most were in formal clothes – nothing like anything I’d wear – I’d have stood out like a sore thumb in my damp clothes trying to get in the building. I realized too late that I’d planned this badly. I’d hoped to get warm in my tight little closet, and rummage for something to eat in my pack. Instead, I wandered around town, hungry and shivering, trying find a dry place to hole up for the night. I finally made my way down to the park near the river.

I spent a bad night in the bushes, near my original spot from six weeks ago.

It was a lot colder Saturday night than when I limped into town back in August. Besides, a number of kids fetched up in the picnic shelters near my hiding spot around midnight after the dance must have finished, passing beer and who knows what else between them. They had a grand old time until the cops came and broke up their fun.

I slept badly under the dripping branches of an evergreen, getting wet and muddy from sitting on the ground. If that weren’t bad enough, Uncle Ray featured prominently in a terrible dream where I was being chased down a long hall and…the rest is too awful to write about.

I must have been quite a sight on Sunday – yesterday - morning, and I hesitated about getting up and walking around. If I hadn’t left my backpack in its Library closet hiding place on Saturday morning, I might seriously have chosen this moment to get out of Blackburn and head south.

For a few minutes, I considered trying to slip into one of the many churches in town. They’d be warm, at least. However, as it was Sunday, there was no chance I’d get into a church without being seen. I realized, in my current state, I’d create a sensation, or I’d be thrown out for being the smelly, homeless bum that I am. Someone might even call the police, or social services. No way. Wet and miserable, I took the long trek to the grocery store, taking back streets as much as I knew how.

There, at least, I was able to cash my checks for working the day before. I immediately used the proceeds to buy something to eat. I found the restroom and tried to clean up a little. I still looked like hell.

I tried to dawdle as long as I could in the Price SavR, but I had to leave before anyone took much notice of me and began to wonder.

Back out in the misting rain again, I decided to explore further away from town. I knew there was a big box store on the bypass road. It turned out to be a pretty good place to hang out unnoticed for much of the day.

Later in the afternoon, I tried going back to the school another time, only to get wet and cold all over again. Finally, I had an idea. I remembered that my first day in Blackburn began in a little barn not far out of town. Why I didn’t think of it sooner, I don’t know, but then, I’ve always been stupid.

I turned my footsteps that way.

I walked along the road running east outside of town, trying to remember the house. I eventually spotted it, and the barn behind. However, I couldn’t just march into the barn and find a spot next to the animals. Instead, I retraced my steps and crept through the remains of the tall grass well away from the house and into the woods behind the barn. As dusk approached, I was able to enter the gated pen for the animals out of sight of the house and creep up to the barn.

I listened for sounds of anyone within. Silence. I peeked around the side of the barn; I remembered a side door giving animals access. In the fading light, I scuttled into the barn and into shelter.

This time, I had no pack, and no flashlight. I knew I had to hurry to use what little light I had left. I set my watch alarm for very early in the morning today, so I could walk back to school and get an early shower. I did my best to hide in the hay. As I fell asleep, I remember thinking that the pile was a lot lower than I remembered it from my previous stay.

I had good dreams for once. Dad and Uncle Ray must have been haunting someone else last night. Instead, I had that dream where I felt someone holding me close, arms wrapped around me. This time, it was so real, I could have sworn I felt a kiss on the back of my neck. I woke from that dream as my alarm went off, and I didn’t want to stir from my warm spot in the hay. But I couldn’t do that. I knew that I had to be out of the barn and away before anyone stirred in the house.

The llamas and goats and barn cats moved away warily as I rose, blundering in the darkness. Retracing yesterday’s steps, I made my way outside. At least the rain had stopped. The sky was clear, and it had turned colder still. Turning up the collar on my still-damp jacket didn’t do much to keep off the chill. Taking no chances, I circled around the back to the road and glanced at my watch.

I knew the precise moment the janitors would open the school, and I wanted to slip in unnoticed for a quick shower. Hopefully, I wouldn’t encounter Zander and his friend Kaz the Giant again. I figured they would be spent from their weekend of partying and celebration.

Well, I got my hot shower. I was almost warm for the first time in two days. But Kaz and Zander entered the locker room just as I was leaving. Clearly, Homecoming did not mean a break from running in the morning.

Kaz broke into a wide grin the moment he saw me. Zander, on the other hand, looked unhappy. He looked tense. He looked like I always felt when I knew I had to go home to Dad and face a beating.

“Hey, Andy, how’s life?” Kaz hailed me, oblivious of his friend’s obvious discomfort. How could he not notice?

“Hi,” was all I could manage. Like the coward I am, I walked past them and out the door.

I wanted to linger with them. I wanted to take the time to be friendly. OK, I wanted to spend time with Zander. He looked so down, I wanted to give him a hug and tell him that whatever was bothering him would be all right. He needed comforting, and I wanted to be the one to do it.

But that’s ridiculous, of course.