Gabe
“Gabriel, wake up this instant!” An hour later, my mom is banging on my bedroom door. I step away from the mirror where I am fixing my hair and turn down my Glee soundtrack.
“Mother,” I say after I open the door. “I’ve been awake since five this morning.”
She looks me up and down, fully dressed in my new skinny jeans (which fit great), a turquoise v-neck, a black vest, and black converses. I know I look great; I also know she doesn’t approve. She doesn’t say anything, though, just grabs on to the gold cross hanging from her neck.
“Alright.” She nods her head and sighs. “Breakfast is in ten.”
“Great, I’ll be out in a few minutes.” I don’t wait for her to say anything, simply close the door and lock it.
I turn the music back on and sing along to Don’t Stop Believin’ while I finish my hair. Nobody really knows if it’s red or blonde; it’s somewhere in between. I call it raspberry blonde. I check myself out from all angles in the full length mirror. I look great, maybe a little too skinny, but I can’t gain a pound to save my life.
I grab my bag, full of stuff for theater, and turn the music off. I look at myself in the mirror one last time.
“You’re a star,” I remind myself with a smile. Then I cut out the light and head into the dark of my house.
My mom is in the kitchen buttering English muffins and peppering eggs, sunny side up. My twin brother, James, is choking down the muffins faster than she can hand them to her.
“Good morning,” I say in a song.
“Sup,” James says without looking up or swallowing his food. He is such an animal, better known as an athlete. He got all of the muscle between the two of us. He’s over two hundred pounds, maybe pushing two-fifty. But I definitely got all of the brains. He slings back a glass of grape juice and my mom pours him another one.
I sit down across from him at the table. My mom puts a plate in front of me with two eggs, an English muffin, and half of a grapefruit.
“I’ll have coffee,” I say.
She looks at me for a second and shakes her head, then reluctantly pours me a cup of hot coffee. She splashes some hazelnut creamer in it and hands it to me.
“Thank you, Mother.” I cut into the eggs.
“Say your grace, Gabriel.“ She winces as I take a bite.
I put my fork down, close my eyes, and pretend to bless my food. I hate this place. Get me out, now. Thanks, God. I run my fingers from my head to my chest and across my shoulders like a good Catholic boy.
My mom seems pleased, so I continue eating my eggs. They are hot and good. I eat them quickly, but not as quickly as James.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask between bites.
“He’s already left for the pharmacy.” My mom stands at the counter drinking her own cup of coffee. “I’m going to leave for the office in a few minutes. I just wanted to make sure you boys were taken care of.” She comes over and rubs James’s back, then takes his plate and puts it in the dishwasher.
I take my own plate.
“I’ve got work today, too.” I say while I rinse my plate off. “I’ll be home around ten.”
“On the first day of school?” My mom raises an eyebrow. “Perhaps you should ask if you can get off a little early tonight.”
“I need the money, Mother.” I dry my hands off and set the towel on the counter. “College isn’t cheap, you know.”
“I know.” She nods. “Maybe you could get a scholarship like your brother.”
James gets up from the table and laughs. “Yeah right, Mom.”
“I could play football if I wanted to,” I assure him. “I’d just rather spend my time doing something other than rolling around in the mud with a bunch of big dudes.”
James starts to say something, but he holds his tongue. Immediately I regret what I said. I know he could have just destroyed me. Maybe he’s got half of a heart after all. Still no brain, though.
“Alright, that’s enough.” My mom shakes her head. “You’re brother is very good at what he does.”
“So am I,”I say quickly. “So tell me why you haven’t missed a single football game since we were in the seventh grade, but yet somehow you always seem to forget about my plays?”
“That’s not fair,” my mom says. “I’ve been to several of your plays.
“Three,” I say matter-of-factly. “You’ve been to three. And actually, the second grade Thanksgiving play doesn’t count, because he was in it too.” I point to James.
“That’s enough, Gabriel.” Her voice gets stern. “You will not speak to me that way, do you understand me?”
“Yes, Mother.” I roll my eyes. “Honor thy mother and father, I forgot.”
“Just shut up, Gabe.” James comes back into the kitchen with his book bag and cleats. “Let’s go.”
“Fine,” I mumble.
“I’ll be home late tonight,” James says to my Mom. “A bunch of the guys are going to eat after practice to celebrate the new season. Don’t wait up.”
“Okay, Sweetheart.” My mom nods.
“Are you kidding me?” I nearly laugh in her face. “You expect me to ask to leave work early, but he gets to stay out as late as he wants? That’s not fair.”
“Go to school, Gabriel.” She turns around and starts wiping off the counters.
I’m tempted to scream some sort of horrible profanity at her. That would really drive her up the wall. But as Pastor Dan taught us, temptation is the Devil trying to bring you into the dark. So I tell the Devil to shut up and follow James outside to the truck.
“Can I drive?” I ask, already knowing what his answer will be.
“Yeah right.” Jock vocabulary isn’t very extensive.
“I’m driving tomorrow,” I insist.
“We’ll see,” he says and opens the door on the driver’s side. He’s thirteen minutes older than me, and he will never let me forget it. We won’t get separate cars until after graduation. So for now, I’m stuck riding shotgun next to my meat head brother who can barely focus on the road for five seconds at a time.
“You know I could’ve busted your balls in there, right?” He says once the truck is started and we are pulling out of the driveway.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “Thanks.”
“Whatever. It’s going to cost you.”
I wonder what he’ll make me do. Probably his chores, like I haven’t been doing them since we were in third grade. I mentally punch myself in the throat for being so stupid as to let myself get caught, a minor lapse in judgement that will never happen again.
James knows I’m gay. He found me two years ago with Dakota Wilder, the only openly gay guy at Five Points. People know I’m gay, but we don’t talk about it. And if my super strict-overprotective-die hard Catholic parents found out I was gay, I’d be kicked out and disowned in a matter of seconds.
I think my mom knows, and I’m sure my dad does too. But they ignore all of the warning signs and bury their noses farther into the New Testament. They drag me to church and I force a smile on my face. It’s hard to be happy in a place where they keep preaching that you are damned to Hell. Not me, though. Because I’m not gay. At least not until I’m eighteen and in college hundreds of miles away from this place.
I had to beg James not to beat the life out of Dakota, who promptly fled the house as soon as he could. I then had to beg him not to tell our parents. I was pathetic, literally on my knees begging him to show a little bit of humanity. He loved every second of it, ate it up. Then finally, with a quick shrug of his shoulders, he said,
“I won’t tell.”
If we weren’t distant before, we definitely were after that. He barely spoke to me for the longest time. Whoever said twins share some special, unexplainable mental connection lied. The only thing we share is a birthday, and barely even that (I was born at 11:58 PM). We don’t even look alike. He got the real red hair, like old pennies. I have blue eyes, he has brown. He’s big, I’m small. He tackles other boys, I kiss them (well, only one so far). He thrives on the field, I live to be on stage. How we are two beings formed from one cell is beyond me. I don’t think he gets it either.
The rest of the drive to school is silent, except for James’s horrible rap music blaring from the old speakers. When we get to school, he parks near the front, next to all of his friends’ fancy cars. He gets out and walks ahead of me. I don’t mind.
We both go in through the side entrance. His friends are all gathering in their corner, the prep hallway, as it has been dubbed. I walk past all of the blonde and muscled Hollister clones and go to my spot. Me and my friends hang out by the auditorium. It’s perfect really, the theater kids hanging out there. There are steps that lead to the upper part of the auditorium, and we sit there. The stairs are tucked away, so we are kind of secluded, which is nice. People don’t pay us very much attention anyway.
The whole theater crew is there by the time I arrive. I’m sure they are all wondering where I am. When they see me, they run up and hug me. Even within our big group, there are mini-cliques. Megan, Rachel, and Clint are the costume and makeup clique. Devin, Mara, Lynn, and Kyle are the lighting and equipment clique. Then there is my clique: Cameron, Jessica, and Alana, the leading roles. Of course there are other people who always join the costume and equipment crews every year, and plenty of people audition for parts in the plays we put on. But these are the people like me. The people who eat, sleep, and breathe the theater.
“It’s about time!” Jessica squeezes me extra tight. She’s my best friend and an amazing actress.
“Sorry, you know I like to arrive fashionably late.” I smile and hug the rest of them.
“Did you hear?” Cameron asks once I’ve greeted everyone. “Misses. Mashburn is thinking about doing Rent for the spring musical.”
“What?” I say, immediately excited. “You better not be messing with me, Blondie.”
“It’s true,” Alana confirms. She ruffles her dark curls. “And we all know who’s going to be Mimi.”
“And of course, I’ll be your Roger.” Cameron picks her up, spins her, and they kiss. An item since freshman year. Heteros make me sick.
“If anyone goes out for Maureen, I’ll kill them.” Jessica leans against the wall. “And you can be Mark. It’s perfect!”
Thinking about it, it really is perfect. We all fit the Rent characters perfectly. We’d need a few more people to complete the full cast, but if Mrs. Mashburn allowed us to do Rent as our spring musical, the final production of my high school career, I would be so excited.
“Good luck getting it past Mister Hall,” I think out loud.
“True,” Jessica sighs. “I guess we didn’t think about that.”
“Speak of the Devil,” Mara says. We all look over and see Mrs. Mashburn, the amazing theater teacher, walking towards us. Her gaudy jewelry jangles around her neck and she’s staring right at me.
“Gabriel, there you are.” She smiles, and has lipstick on her teeth like always.
“Hi, Kay.” I greet her by her first name, and she doesn’t seem to mind very much.
“I need you,” she says, a little out of breath.
“Anything.”
“I need you to be my guy.” She just looks at me like she expects me to understand. “To film the announcements in the morning.”
“Anything but that,” I say and shake my head. I belong in front of the camera, never behind it. “Why don’t you get Kyle to do it?”
“Don’t volunteer me,” Kyle says quickly.
“Gabriel,” Mrs. Mashburn says excitedly. “If you want to be a well rounded performer, don’t you think you need some experience with the behind-the-scenes aspect of things?”
“I don’t know,” I say hesitantly.
“Alright, you can film for me, or I put you on stage crew for the fall play.” She raises her eyebrows.
“Fine,” I grumble. “I’ll do it.”
“With a smile,” she says musically.
I push a smile onto my face and bat my eyelashes.
“Great, I’ll see you in the studio in ten minutes. Don’t be late.” She claps her hands, spins around, and leaves before I can say anything else.
“That woman is going insane, I swear.” Jessica shakes her head. “Have fun on camera crew.”
“Shut up,” I sigh and the others just laugh.
“What if we did Wicked for the spring musical?” Alana suggests. “I could do a great Elphie.”
“No way, honey.” I shake my head. “Then there’s nowhere for me and Cameron.”
“You could be Fiyero!” Jessica looks me up and down. “You’d make a great Fiyero.”
“Whatever. I don’t want to be in Wicked unless I get to sing Defying Gravity.” I push Clint out of the chair he is sitting in and stand up on it. I belt out a few lines from one of my favorite songs and the others watch excitedly.
Although it’s just my friends watching, I perform the song as if I am standing in front of a sold out audience on Broadway. I’ll make it there one day. I lied. There is one greater feeling than the one you get after a good run: the one you get when you’re on stage.
I see Ruby St. Clair heading to the resource building, and I decide I better leave too.
“I guess I better go film,” I say with sarcastic enthusiasm. “I’ll see you beautiful people after class.”
“Bye Gabe,” they all say.
I hurry to the resource building. When I get in there, I see Dakota. He’s with his best friend (only friend), Audrey Oliver. They are sitting at a table drinking coffees and laughing about something. I wonder what they are talking about. I miss Dakota. The most horrible feeling is wanting someone that you know you can't be with. I go around the long way to the studio so I don’t risk them seeing me.
“I’m here!” I say enthusiastically once I get into the studio. I always like to make a good entrance.
“Ah, Gabriel, you’re here.” Mrs. Mashburn claps her hands and smiles. She turns to Ruby, who looks nervous. “Gabriel volunteered to do the filming this year.”
“Actually, she’s forcing me.” I smile. “But I don’t mind, it’s all a part of the theater.” I do a curtsy and Mrs. Mashburn laughs.
“Maybe you can do something about the camera adding ten pounds,” Ruby says nervously. I look her up and down. Not skinny. Not fat. Perfect, maybe.
“Oh please, honey.” I shake my head. “You look great. I would kill for that bone structure. And those curls.”
I tug lightly on one of her perfect black curls. She really is beautiful, with a round face and pretty skin. She’s got glasses like mine, thick and rectangular. She’s a total cutie.
“Are you sure I look okay?” She pulls on her shirt. Insecurity is something I despise.
“Stunning,” I assure her. Then I pinch her cheeks lightly. She looks at me like I‘m crazy. “Just for a little color,” I tell her. It’s an old theater trick.
“Okay,” Mrs. Mashburn says a few seconds later. “Everyone take your places. We’ll be starting in just a few.”
Ruby paces back and forth nervously. I fill a small paper cup up from the water fountain and hand it to her.
“Just read the teleprompter and smile. You’ve got nothing to lose; you’re the student body president.”
“Thanks, Gabe.” She swallows the water hard. She‘s still nervous, I can tell. Some people just aren‘t naturals. But I know she‘ll get it.
“And here we go,” says Mrs. Mashburn. I get behind the camera and look through the lens. “In five, four, three, two…”
Ruby takes a deep breath and then smiles, a perfect theater smile. “Good morning Five Point Boomers…” Once she gets started, she’s great. The camera loves her, and she doesn’t stutter once. Ruby St. Clair, perfect as usual.
Once the announcements are done, Mrs. Mashburn stands next to me. “And cut,” she says a little too loudly. “That was marvelous.” She claps. “Gabriel, isn’t she a natural?” “She is,” I agree.
“Thank you,” Ruby says nervously. I can tell she’s dying on the inside. “I’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
“Okay, I’ve got to get to Mister Surratt’s room so I can get my schedule and get to class.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Mashburn smiles and hands me two cards. I look at them. One of them is a schedule, the other is my locker assignment.
“You are an angel,” I say with a smile.
“I told you I would always take care of you, Gabriel.” She hugs me and her perfume nearly chokes me. “Thank you for helping me out.”
“Anytime,” I assure her.
Since it’s the first day, they give us extra time to get to our classes. I decide to go ahead and find my locker so I can put up some of my theater stuff. Locker 243 is located in the main building and I find it quickly. I spin the combination and get it on the first try. I put away my stuff: a few screenplays that I plan to go over with Mrs. Mashburn, audition materials for NYU, musical scores.
The tune I’m humming is interrupted by someone with a deep voice and an accent.
“What the hell?”
I look over and see Manny Aviles. I don’t know him, but I know he’s some sort of gangster around here. Most people are scared of him. But I’m not most people.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Am I in your way?” I kick my bag to the other side and scoot over a little bit.
“Yeah,” he says. “That’s my locker.”
I check my card. “Really? I guess we’re sharing then. Sucks, doesn’t it? We are so overpopulated.”
“What do you mean ‘sharing’?”
What is he, an idiot? “Didn’t you hear the announcements?” I keep my cool and a smile on my face. “They said some people would have to share this year. So I guess we’re two of the lucky ones. I’m Gabe.” I hold out my hand, but he doesn’t shake it. I’m not too surprised, but I don’t let it bother me. just continue putting my things away.
“Well, I’m very organized, so you don’t have to worry about the locker being a mess. I have a lot of theater stuff, so I hope that’s okay.” I look him up and down. He is several inches shorter than me. “I was thinking that I could take the top and you could take the bottom. Since I’m taller than you, that will work out great.”
He doesn’t say anything so I just keep going. “Do you have any questions or anything?”
“Nah, you good.” He puts his book bag at the bottom of the locker. “Don’t touch my shit.”
“I won’t,” I say. I’m a little shocked that he said that. As if I would want to touch anything of his.
“Alright.” He flinches a little before he turns away, I guess to try to scare me.
I figure I should tell him upfront that he doesn’t scare me. That might make this whole locker-sharing process a little easier.
“I’m not afraid of you,” I say. I don’t mumble it; I say it loud enough for him to hear as he is walking away.
He turns around quickly. “What did you say?” I know he wants me to think that he’s going to pounce on me, but I know he won’t. I’ve seen his records. One wrong move and he’s in juvie. He won’t waste his last chance on me, not on the first day of school.
“Just so you know, I’m not afraid of you,” I repeat. “So don‘t waste your time with the macho, bully stuff. It won’t work on me.” I stand up tall, letting him know I’m not going to back down.
He’s quiet for a few seconds, then finally shrugs. “Alright.”
I wasn’t expecting it to go that smoothly, but I simply nod and smile. “Okay.”
There are a lot of bullies around here. They used to be able to get to me. But I learned that if you stand up for yourself and stay true to who you are, eventually they will leave you alone. Most of them, anyways. Puerto Rican gangsters are a piece of cake. Jocks are another story.
My first class is Pre-Calculus. I’m not the best at math, but I do okay. My teacher, Mr. Estes, seems pretty cool. He hands out homework and says if we don’t do it, it’s no skin off his back. I think I’m going to like him just fine.
We get a break between first and second period. I go into the lobby, past the mob of preps, and meet up with my friends for a few minutes.
“Is it fourth period yet?” Jessica asks and puts her arms around me. We all have theater together for our last class of the day.
“I wish,” I say.
We compare the rest of our schedules and I’m pretty sure I have the easiest one. Besides Pre-calculus, I’ve got French Three, Office Assistant (also known as a bird course), and Theater Four. This semester will be a piece of cake, which will give me plenty of time to work on my audition material for college (as if I haven’t been getting ready since I was in the eighth grade).
When the first bell rings, I kiss Jessica and Alana on their cheeks and head to French class. Madame Casler is a cute old lady with glasses and an ugly violet sweater. She’s a great teacher and she reviews the importance of ‘making our mouths into a cheerio’ when we pronounce certain words.
A few people laugh at her, but I take everything in. French is a beautiful language, and I know this will be a class that I’ll pass with no problem.
For third period, I am an office assistant again. It’s an easy class for people who have gotten almost all of their credits. I basically get to sit outside of one of the guidance counselor’s offices and file papers and waste time. I’m working for Ms. McConnell again, the sophomore counselor.
“Hey Miss McConnell,” I knock on her door to let her know I’m here. “I’m back.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She smiles. She has cut her blonde hair into a cute, polished bob. “I’m so glad you’re here, Gabe. My second period assistant had no idea what she was doing.”
We both laugh. “Well I’m here. What have you got for me?”
“Not too much today.” She gets up from her desk. “I’m just trying to get everything situated, you know.” She hands me a stack of papers. “Could you just put these in alphabetical order? That will probably take most of the period.”
“Sure thing,” I assure her. I have a small desk right outside of her office. I sit down and start to arrange the papers in alphabetical order.
A few minutes later, someone comes up to the desk. It’s Evelyn Rhodes. She’s beautiful, but she wears way too much makeup. She was here a lot last year, and I know she’s got some problems. So I look past the makeup and smile at her.
“Hey what’s up?”
“I just wanted to see Irene--” She stops herself. “Miss McConnell.”
“No problem, girl.” I put the papers down and go into Ms. McConnell’s office. “Evelyn Rhodes is out here. Are you busy?”
“Tell her to come in!” Ms. McConnell puts her pen down and smiles.
I turn to Evelyn. “Go ahead.”
“Thanks.” She half-smiles and walks past me. I close the door behind me, but it’s hard not to hear through these thin walls.
I know a lot about Evelyn, probably more than she thinks I know. I know about her syphilis, all the guys, her problems with Lena Havens (the biggest bitch in school). I know about her mom struggling to make ends meet. I know about her uncle. She’s a sad girl with a lot of problems. I’m sure I could help her, if she didn’t think I was just some weird theater geek.
She leaves in a hurry, but waves at me on her way out. I alphabetize the rest of the papers, which takes just about the entire time. When I’m done, I pull out my iPod and lean back in the seat.
The bell rings me out of my Sound of Music trance, and I walk slowly to the cafeteria. Everyone has their place in the cafeteria, no one oversteps the perfectly outlined boundaries. I wait for my friends at our table, next to the nerds. We sit at the left outside round table in the center of the cafeteria. A few of them had lunch earlier, but luckily I have Cameron, Jessica, and Alana. Clint, Rachel, Devin, and Mara are here too.
Most of them bring their lunch from home. They empty sacks of hummus, celery sticks, peanut butter and banana sandwiches. I get in line for a turkey sandwich, then buy a salad with Alana.
“What are your plans for tonight?” Jessica asks once we are all sitting down and situated.
“I’ve got work.” I cover my salad in Italian dressing and take a big bite.
“Sucks,” Alana mumbles.
“But you guys are more than welcome to come and keep me company for a few hours.” I smile at them and wink.
“I could go for some ice cream,” Cameron says. “I need to work on my monologue, though.”
“Do it at the shop,” I insist. “I’m going to be feeding ice cream to toddlers for six hours. Please.”
“Alright, we’ll swing by.” Alana rubs my back. “I don’t know why you’re working anyway. You’re parents have plenty of money.”
“Because musical theater is not a real major and Broadway is not a real career,” I say, imitating my father. “We’ve been over this, Alana. My parents won’t give me a dime if they know I’m going for theater.”
“Which is why he’s saving his money, he’s going to get an amazing scholarship, and he’s going to tell his parents to kiss his ass on graduation day.” Jessica kisses my cheek. “Isn’t that right, Gabe?”
“I don’t know about that last part.” I laugh. “But yes, I’m going to do it. I’m going to be a star.”
“Nobody here is stopping you,” says Cameron. “I’m gonna be right there with you.”
“Broadway or bust,” Alana recites our motto.
“And we’ll keep trying until the day we die.” Jessica puts her arm around me. I love these people. Always smiling, always singing. They are always putting me in a good mood and pulling me out of the bad that stirs inside me, struggling to keep me down.
When the bell rings, we walk together to theater class. We’ve all been waiting for this moment for most of the summer. Mrs. Mashburn is just as excited as we are. It’s nice to be in a class with only people who want to be there. People who are just like you. People who don’t judge you. People who love you.
“Okay, let’s go!” She closes the door when the bell rings. “We have so much to discuss, so let’s get started. First things first, I understand the rumor about Rent has already gotten around.”
The class cheers. She waves her hands to settle us down.
“Somehow, yours truly was charming enough to convince Mister Hall that Rent was perfectly suitable for a mature high school audience.”
“Thank you, God.” Cameron throws his hands up.
“But.” Mrs. Mashburn halts our excitement. “We will have to make a few adjustments. That means no cussing, and nothing too sexually explicit.”
“What does that mean?” Alana jumps out of her seat.
“That means we’ll have to hold back a little on a few of the scenes. For instance, the scenes with Maureen and Joanne.”
“Of course,” Jessica rolls her eyes. “God forbid they have two girls kiss each other for five seconds on a stage. It’s called acting, people.”
“Relax,” Mrs. Mashburn calms her. “We’re still going to be able to put on the production, and we will do a very good job of it. Just be glad I convinced him to let us do it.”
“Fair enough,” Jessica mumbles.
“Now.” Mrs. Mashburn changes the subject. “We’ll talk more about that later. Right now, we need to decide what we are going to do for the fall play. Any suggestions?”
“I wrote something over the summer,” Clint says. “It’s nothing amazing, but I thought it would be fun for our crew.”
“We’ve read it,” I tell her. “We want to do it.”
He hands Mrs. Mashburn a copy of a screenplay. She puts on her glasses and flips through the pages.
“This seems very interesting. Let me look over it and I’ll get back to you guys in a few days.” She sets the screenplay on her desk. “We’ve also had a few budget cuts this year, as I’m sure you all know.”
“Let me guess,” Mara sighs. “We have no money?”
“We have a little bit,” Mrs. Mashburn assures her. “But we’ll have to do some fundraisers, especially if we want to be able to pull of Rent in the spring.”
“We should do a car wash,” Jessica suggests.
“What about a talent show?” asks Cameron.
We spend the rest of the class period discussing potential fundraisers and just talking. Mrs. Mashburn’s classes are always the best, so relaxed and fun. The time flies by and when the bell rings, we all stick around and keep discussing things. I am excited for this year’s productions.
I walk out to the parking lot with Cameron, Alana, and Jessica. Cameron drives himself and Alana to school every day. Jessica usually takes me home since my beefcake brother has to stay after school for football practice. But today I get to take the truck since I’m going to work.
A motorcycle zooms past us and Jessica’s hair flies in my face. It was Evelyn Rhodes on the back of Riley Sutton’s bike. That kid has problems.
“We’ll ride over to Scoops,” Cameron says.
We all get in our cars and drive the few miles to Scoops ice cream shop, where I’ve been working since I turned fifteen. After two years of scooping cones, you start to get sick of it. But it’s better than being stuck at home, and the kids are cute. The shop is owned by a family that I go to church with, so I make sure to stay on my best behavior.
When we get there, the guys order sundaes and cones. I eat a handful of gummie bears and we sit outside. When it’s time for me to get changed and clocked in, they decide to leave.
“I’ll text you guys later,” I tell them. We all hug and I go inside and put my Scoops t-shirt and apron on.
“What’s up, Joel?” I ask the guy behind the counter. He’s sixteen, the owner’s son. I’ve known him since we were kids.
“Nothing much, man.” Joel refills the chocolate ice cream tub and smiles at me.
“How was your first day of junior year?”
He hangs out with the preps, so I don’t see him around school very much. He’s on the soccer team, and he looks good. Hence, certified prep. At the shop though, we can be friends and talk to each other. The six-year-olds and the elderly couples aren’t going to judge us here.
“It was alright. I’m ready for soccer to start up.” He dumps the empty chocolate container in the back and comes back out. “What about you? Senior year, huh?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’ll see how this goes.”
“Have you picked out your college yet?”
“I’m still exploring my options,” I explain. “I’m definitely going somewhere with a good musical theater program.
The conversation stops for a second. We both lean against the counter, praying that a customer will walk in and break up the silence.
“I saw Cats once,” he says all of a sudden.
I can’t help but laugh. He doesn’t get it, but he laughs too. I throw an M&M at his head and start wiping off tables.
We get several customers within the next couple of hours. It is always busy after school. Grandparents come in with their grand kids, who order the flavors with the most sugar and pile their bowls high with candy and syrups. I would hate to be their parents when they get dropped off at home, hyper with sticky fingers.
Once the rush is over, I clean up the gooey messes left everywhere. It is quiet for a while. I hear the bell ring and in walks Janey Boyd, a girl I know, but I wouldn’t call a friend.
“Hey Janey,” I say with a smile.
She’s got a kid next to her, squeezing her hand tightly. He looks maybe six or seven. Then I realize it’s Crash’s little brother, and instantly my heart warms up.
“Hey,” she says softly.
She’s dyed her hair again. Last year it was black. Now it’s dark blonde with a bunch of random brown streaks. Her bangs are black and red. Her black jeans are tight and ripped at the knees. The black vest over her striped long-sleeved shirt is a little too big. Everyone’s got their own personal style; no judging here. One of the few lessons I actually learned at Catholic Mass.
“Ice cream!” The little boy jumps and down.
“Yes, Davie.” Janey smiles at the kid. “We’re going to get some ice cream.”
Joel is in the back getting more cups, so I get behind the counter and wash my hands.
“What can I get for you, buddy?”
“I want chocolate!” He points to the tub of chocolate. Funny, I would have pegged him for a cookies and cream kind of guy.
“Do you want anything on top of it?” I scoop up the smooth ice cream into a paper bowl. “Gummie bears? Nuts? Cherries?”
“Cherries,” he squeals.
I put extra cherries on top of the big scoop of ice cream and put it in his greedy little hands.
“Anything for you?” I ask Janey.
“No thank you,” she mumbles and pulls out her wallet. “How much is it?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I shake my head. “It’s on the house.”
“Thank you,” she smiles plainly.
She and Davie sit in the corner of the shop. He eats and talks quickly, she sits there and listens. I think maybe she is half listening. She stares out the window and I can see that she, like me, is a dreamer. I wonder what she is dreaming about.
They leave about thirty minutes later. We are dead for a solid hour, maybe more. Joel is working on his homework in the corner. I put in my iPod and dance while I sweep. My dance is interrupted by the bell on the door and a boom of male laughter.
In walks James and his best friend, Anderson Stone. And the entire football team. Maybe not the entire football team, but at least the starting lineup.
“What are you doing here?” I pull the buds out of my ear and put the broom in the corner.
“We just came to get a little treat after practice,” James insists. “Don’t freak out.”
“I thought you were going out to dinner. Shouldn’t you do that at a restaurant?”
“We decided to have our dessert first,” Anderson says and gets too close to my face.
He’s hot, but he’s also the world’s biggest asshole, even bigger than my brother. He enjoys making fun of me, turns it into a sport for him and his sweaty friends to compete in. I recognize Nick, Tommie, and Ethan. They’ve been to our house plenty of times, devouring my mom’s lasagna and playing football in the back yard.
Joel hops up from the table and gets behind the counter. “What can I get for you guys?” I can tell he’s trying to be a mediater.
Anderson continues to stand in my face. “I want pretty boy here to make mine.”
“I’m sweeping,” I say and grab the broom again. “Joel can scoop a cone just as good as I can.”
“I don’t care.” Anderson shrugs. “I want you to make mine. I’ll wait.” He sits down at a table and crosses his legs. “Go on.”
I start to sweep the floor, my face hot. The other guys laugh, even James. A few of them order and Joel makes their cones quickly.
“Look at you in your apron. You look like a perfect housewife.” He pauses for a few seconds. “I want you to dance. Like you were before we came in.”
I just stare at him.
“We saw you out there.” He points to the parking lot. “Now dance for me.”
“In your wildest dreams,” I saw without hesitation.
“Oh, you been dreaming about dudes, Anderson?” Tommie sits down next to him and takes a bite of cookie dough ice cream. “Why didn’t you tell me, man?”
“Shut up, Tommie.” Anderson throws a spoon at Tommie’s head. “I have a girlfriend. You got a girlfriend, pretty boy?” He looks back at me.
“No,” I mumble.
“Why not?” Anderson persists.
I keep quiet, sweeping quickly and avoiding eye contact.
“I’m talking to you, queer,” he yells. “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”
That’s it. I throw the broom down and stare him right in the face. A few of the guys jump at the sound of the broom smacking the floor.
“I guess because they’re all sluts. You would know about that, right, Anderson? Why don’t you tell me about Evelyn Rhodes?”
He gets up and is across the room and in my face in less than a whole heartbeat.
“What did you say to me?”
“Anderson.” Ethan steps in and pulls him away. “Calm down, man. Get off of him.”
Anderson walks away with much hesitation, pushing Ethan away from him. I know that I struck a nerve, and I realize that could’ve ended a lot worse than what it did.
I smile at him as he sits down. “What kind of ice cream would you like?”
“Fuck you, faggot.”
My heart starts to pound harder and harder. I feel my face getting hot. Goosebumps pop up all over my arms. I open my mouth to speak, but my mouth is too dry. The words stick to my tongue like Velcro.
Everything is silent. Joel looks at me, willing me to say something. The guys stare down at the table and eat their ice cream.
“Let’s get out of here,” James says a few seconds later. He stands up, looks at me, and shakes his head slowly.
The rest of the guys follow him outside. Anderson looks at me, but his eyes dart away quickly. They pile in their cars; James gets in Anderson’s truck. Then one by one, they pull out of the lot. When there is no sight of their cars anymore, I sit down in the middle of the shop.
And I cry.
When I get home that night, James still isn’t there. My parents are in the living room. My mom is knitting and my dad is reading his bible. I don’t speak to either of them. I go straight to my room and lock the door. I throw my clothes off and go into my bathroom and turn the hot water on all the way. I sit down in the shower and cry some more. I’d made Joel promise he wouldn’t tell anyone about what had happened at the shop. He said he was sorry, that he knew those things weren’t true, and that he would pray for them. And he would pray for me.
I consider praying, too. But then I figure, what is the point? Why would God want to talk to someone like me? Someone who, according to him, is just a sinner? That book of rules has dictated my entire life for as long as I’ve been in existence. It’s not okay to be me at home. It’s barely okay for me to be me at school. And when I am, I run the risk of being bullied and tortured all day because of it.
Maybe I’m not normal. Maybe I am different. Who decides what normal is? Instead of praying, I wish. I wish that my parents would accept me. I wish they would stop shoving religion down my throat and let me decide what I believe. I wish they would stop pretending I don’t exist. I wish people at school wouldn’t judge me for my clothes, or for the way I talk, or for doing what I love. I wish something would happen that gave me a reason to have faith, a reason to believe. I wish my brother would stick up for me. I wish it could be okay for all of us to just be who we are. I wish for a lot of things.
Does it count if you have more than three?
:( I cried. I just want to hug him.
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