Ben Gay - 1. Chapter 1

The moment Ben Gay walked into homeroom, he knew today would be a disaster.

It was Tuesday. Tuesdays had always had it out for him.

First period was English. Today's assignment was an essay to "Reveal a Truth."

Ben decided today was The Day.

Capital letters made it official. Like signing a contract with the universe, except the universe was probably going to breach it.

At the end of class, Mr. Lockwood shuffled the papers and selected one at random to read aloud.

Of course it was Ben's.

"'My name is Ben Gay,'" Mr. Lockwood read. "'And I'm gay.'"

Silence.

Then Mr. Lockwood started laughing. "Oh, that's good. Like the muscle cream! Very clever wordplay, Ben."

"It's not wordplay."

"'Bengay, Perfect for relieving tension,'" someone called out, reading the slogan off their phone.

"Oh my God," another kid wheezed. "His parents named him after ointment and now he's gay. This is the greatest setup of all time."

"It's not a setup—"

The bell rang.

The class applauded as they left. Someone patted his back. "Commitment to the bit, bro."

Ben sat there, staring at his desk.

His coming out had received better comedic reviews than most Netflix specials.

Second period was Biology, meaning it was time for frogs and diagrams and the lingering scent of formaldehyde that clung to the soul. Ben sat next to Eli, whose entire personality was “quiet kid who knows too much about ants.”

Ben tried again.

"I need to tell you something," he whispered.

Eli nodded, not looking up from his notebook, which appeared to be a detailed diagram of ant labor disputes. "If it's about the ant farm in my locker, don't worry, they're unionizing. It happens."

"It's not about ants."

"Everything is about ants."

"I'm serious, Eli."

"So are the ants. They've elected a shop steward."

Ben inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his despair, and said it plainly. "I'm gay."

Eli blinked slowly, his eyes expressionless in a way that suggested his soul had taken a coffee break and wasn't coming back. "Like the muscle cream?"

"No. Like I'm attracted to men."

"So you're saying your name is Ben Gay, like the ointment, and that you're gay?"

"Yes, Eli. I am genuinely, biologically, spiritually, census-recordably gay."

Eli stared at him for a long moment. "So you're a gay guy pretending to be a straight guy pretending to be gay as a bit about being named Ben Gay."

"What?"

"It's like Inception, but gay. Gayception."

"I hate everything."

Eli nodded thoughtfully. "It's a strong bit. Multi-layered. The ointment angle really sells it. Have you considered merchandising?"

"Merchandising?"

"Although," Eli continued, adjusting his glasses like a lawyer about to destroy someone in court, "if we're being scientific about it, the cream is spelled as one word. Bengay. So technically you're only like the cream, not actually the cream. You're just cream-affiliated."

"Thanks, Eli. That really helps."

"Just wanted to clarify the taxonomy. For the ants."

"Why would the ants care?"

"They care about everything, Ben. That's why they're unionizing."

Third period was History. Ben slid into his seat next to Kenzie, the school’s reigning champion of gossip.

“Kenzie,” Ben said firmly, “I’m gay. Not as a bit. Not as satire. Not as commentary. I am telling you an actual fact about my life.”

Kenzie squinted at him. “Your vibes are about as gay as a dad at Home Depot on a Saturday morning, debating between two identical shades of beige paint.”

Ben blinked, utterly speechless.

“You’re wearing sandals with socks, Ben. Sandals. With socks. That’s not just a straight footwear decision. That’s an aggressively straight footwear decision. That’s a ‘I have a favorite lawnmower’ level of straight.”

“They’re Birkenstocks!” Ben protested weakly.

“With Nike socks.”

“I was running late this morning!”

“Straight people are always running late, because they have no emotional connection to their wardrobe. Also, your shirt says ‘I’d rather be fishing.’”

“My grandpa gave me that!”

“Do you even fish?”

“… No.”

“Exactly,” Kenzie said. “But let’s go ahead and deconstruct this anyway because I'm bored and you're here. What kind of gay are you claiming to be, Ben?”

“What kind? Just regular gay!”

Kenzie gasped like he’d just insulted Beyoncé.

“There’s no such thing as ‘regular gay,’” she said. “That’s like saying you like ‘normal food.’ Be specific. Are you soft-boi gay? Gym bro gay? Leather daddy gay? Theater gay?”

“I like men. That’s it!”

“Which men?”

“This isn’t a BuzzFeed quiz—”

“Ryan Reynolds or Ryan Gosling?”

“… Reynolds.”

“Straight,” Kenzie announced.

Ben’s brain evaporated. “Why is that straight?”

“Because Reynolds is the gateway gay crush for straight dudes,” Kenzie explained patiently, like a scientist presenting her findings to a squirrel. “If your gay crush is Reynolds, you’re basically doing gay cosplay at a tailgate party.”

“Then who am I supposed to like?!”

Kenzie thought for a moment. “The Duolingo owl.”

“The what?”

“Too late, you hesitated. Straight.”

Ben stared at her the way a dog stares at a vacuum: with primal fear and confusion.

He wasn’t in the closet.

He wasn’t out of the closet.

He was in the IKEA instruction manual for building the closet, but someone had stolen the screws.

Fourth period was PE.

Ben made his announcement in the locker room while tying his shoes, because apparently he'd decided today was the day to collect rejection like Pokémon cards.

"Guys, I'm gay."

Silence.

"Bro."

"Dude."

"Broski."

"Bro-ham."

“Bronana.”

"Brotato chip."

"Brohemian Rhapsody."

One kid just went "Brooooo" for like fifteen seconds straight.

"That's wild," someone finally said.

"The gayest thing," another student added, philosophizing like a man who'd been hit with a gym sock full of enlightenment, "is being so gay people think you're straight. That's, like, gay squared."

"Gay cubed," someone corrected.

"Gay to the power of gay," a third person offered.

"Exponential gay."

Ben's soul tried to leave his body, but it got rejected at the gates for lack of flair.

"My name is literally Ben Gay!" he yelled.

"More like Ben Lies," someone quipped. "Get the FDA on the line, we've got a mislabeled product. That's consumer fraud, dude."

"Dude. You're really committing to this joke.”

"IT'S NOT—"

"Nah, nah, we get it," a kid in a backward cap continued, nodding sagely. "You're so deep in character we can't even see the real you anymore. That's art, man.”

Someone else chimed in, inspired. "He's like the Daniel Day-Lewis of gay jokes."

"Nah, he's transcended Daniel Day-Lewis. He's in a new dimension."

"The gay dimension. No wait, that's insensitive."

"The comedy dimension where the joke is also the reality."

"He's, like, Schrödinger's Gay. He's both gay and not gay until we observe him making out with someone."

"That's not how that works—"

"Don't ruin this for us, Ben Not-Gay-But-Gay-Gay."

By lunch, the rumor had spread like a grease fire in a Denny's.

Students Ben had never talked to nodded at him knowingly.

A senior wearing sunglasses indoors whispered, "The legend continues."

Then Trevor and Alex appeared, the self-appointed Drama Critics of Suburban Hell High.

Trevor placed a hand on Ben's shoulder. "Ben Gay."

Alex nodded solemnly. "A name. A destiny. A punchline."

"I'm not a punchline."

"You've weaponized sincerity," Trevor said. "You've made truth indistinguishable from parody. It's brilliant."

"Postmodern . Subversive. Sexy," Alex added.

"Why does everyone keep saying—"

"Keep the mystery alive, king," Trevor said, walking away backwards like a movie villain who'd just revealed his evil plan but also wanted to maintain eye contact for dramatic effect.

Ben put his forehead on the lunch table and prayed for a meteor.

Sixth period was Math.

Ben sat next to Jonah, who perpetually smelled like cinnamon and existential dread.

"I'm gay," Ben said, dead-eyed.

Jonah nodded thoughtfully. "The long con."

"It's not a con."

"Most people commit to a bit for an hour, maybe a day. But you? You're doing it for life. That's dedication."

"Jonah—"

"Iconic."

"Jonah—"

"Revolutionary."

"I'm going to walk into traffic."

"Even that would be on-brand."

After school, Ben sat on the bleachers, contemplating whether he could legally change his name to something less ironic.

Like John Smith. Or Lamp.

Then Andrew Carter appeared.

Tall. Absurdly symmetrical face. He looked like he'd been CGI'd by a team of animators trying to create the platonic ideal of "high school crush."

Ben had been in love with him since ninth grade, but would rather eat glass than admit it.

Andrew sat down beside him.

"Heard you told the whole school you're gay," Andrew said, amused.

Ben groaned. "Doesn't matter. They all think I'm doing performance art. I tell them the truth and it makes them believe me less. It's like reverse psychology except I'm not doing psychology, I'm just existing."

Andrew chuckled. "Well, you did announce it in English class like it was a punchline."

"I didn't mean to!"

"I know."

Ben lifted his head. "Do you believe me?"

Andrew shrugged. "Yeah."

Ben blinked. "Really?"

"Sure. You're not exactly comedian material. No offense."

“Honestly, thank God. You have no idea how much that means to me right now.”

They sat in silence. The sun was doing that golden hour thing where it made everything look like an indie movie poster.

Andrew looked over. "Wanna know something funny?"

"What?”

"I'm gay too."

Ben stared.

Andrew stared back.

The universe stopped.

Not dramatically, more like when a computer freezes and you're not sure if you should wait or restart.

"You're..." Ben's brain was buffering.

"Gay. Yeah."

"But you're... Andrew Carter. Captain of the soccer team. Student council. You're..." Ben gestured vaguely at Andrew's entire existence.

"Gay," Andrew confirmed. "Surprise."

"But you're so..." Ben gestured again, more frantically.

"So what?"

"I don't know. Competent? Put together? You look like you've never had an awkward moment in your life."

"Oh, I have. I'm having one right now, actually."

Ben felt his face heat up.

"See?" Andrew nudged him. "That's the face everyone made when you said it."

Ben huffed out something between a laugh and a wheeze.

"Though I gotta say," Andrew added, "your name really does make it feel like destiny."

Ben groaned. “Don’t start.”

“Ben Gay.”

“Andrew.”

“Ben Gay is gay.”

Andrew, I swear—"

“Sorry. Sorry.” Andrew grinned. “Had to get one in.”

Ben fought a smile and lost.

Andrew stood and held out his hand. “Come on. Walk me home?”

Ben nodded, took his hand, and stood.

Halfway down the block, Andrew glanced sideways. “So. Do you like, I don’t know, want to hang out sometime? Like not in a ‘walk me home because we’re both gay’ kind of way. But in a ‘you’re cute and I want to know what your favorite pizza topping is’ kind of way.”

Ben tried to act cool.

He nodded like he’d done this a thousand times and not, in fact, once in his entire life.

"Sure," he said, his voice only cracking in a way he would replay in his mind at 3 AM for the next fifteen years. “I'll even wear my straightest fishing shirt. Really keep the mystique alive. Maintain the brand."

Andrew laughed. "I'd expect nothing less from Ben Gay, master of accidental irony."

And together, they strolled into the sunset.

Which would’ve been cheesy if it were a movie but somehow felt perfect because it was real and Ben wasn't having a panic attack and also because nobody thought this was a bit.

At least, he hoped not.

He'd find out tomorrow.

It was Wednesday, after all.

Wednesdays were usually better.