Answers in the Pages

It started with all the fifth-grade parents, and then all the parents at the elementary school, and then most of the parents in the whole town. We had a local paper, the Sandpiper Gazette, that only printed every three weeks, but just my luck, they printed the week before the school board meeting, and the book challenge was the big headline:

My friends really loved the phrase homosexual book, which made it sound like the book itself was gay and was going to start kissing the other gay books on the shelf.

Meanwhile the word in the headline that got to me the most was Mother. Because not only was the article front and center in the paper, but they’d interviewed my mom about what they called her “crusade.”

“I don’t think a teacher should determine what my child reads without my permission,” she was quoted as saying. “My child should be raised on my agenda, not any teacher’s. When my son grows up, he can read whatever he wants. But while he’s still a child, it is up to his parents to protect him from the things he’s not ready for.”

I was too scared to tell my mother how humiliating it was. Plus, she was too busy on the phone, talking to other parents and other angry residents of Sandpiper Township, strategizing for the board meeting.

Allison’s mom was also quoted in the article, saying, “This isn’t the nineteenth century. The presence of gay people in our world is not something that should be hidden from children—it’s something that should be celebrated. The whole point of education is to dispel ignorance and teach children about the world they live in. I don’t know what world the other parents think our children live in, but it’s not this world. If [the complaining parent] thinks that hiding books with gay content will prevent her son from knowing there are loving, wonderful gay people in our community and in our world, I have news for her: It’s too late. He knows.”

Allison’s mom was right. I thought of Mr. Howe when I read this. And Curtis. And Kira’s moms. If my mom really thought Rick and Oliver were the first gay people I’d ever known, she was so wrong. And Rick and Oliver weren’t even real!

I wondered how my mom would respond to what Allison’s mom was saying. But I guessed I had to wait until the school board meeting to find out.

The article said that Mr. Howe “declined to comment.” When I went to school the next day, it was easy to see how exhausted he was. He was usually so energetic, but now he looked like he needed a long nap. He kept apologizing to the class for being so out of it.

Meanwhile, Allison didn’t waste any time asking me if I’d gotten in touch with Bright. I could see other kids paying attention, and I could imagine them thinking that because I was my mother’s son, there was no way I was on their side. I couldn’t think of a way to tell them I hadn’t used that Contact button, that I’d been too scared of being found out by my parents to do the one thing I’d promised to do.

“I sent him an email last night,” I said. “He hasn’t written back yet.”

If I thought that would make it better, it only made it worse. At recess, everyone wanted me to check my email to see if Bright had responded. Allison even snuck me her phone after music class so I could use it to log in. I had to keep being surprised when I saw that there wasn’t any reply.

If anyone in our class was on the anti-Adventurers side, they weren’t saying it. Instead, all the kids were abuzz with ways to help Mr. Howe and the book at the board meeting we weren’t supposed to go to without our parents. Most kids said their parents were okay with them reading the book—it was just that the ones who weren’t, like my mom, were pretty loud about it. And it only took one parent to make a book challenge, not a majority.

“Maybe I’ll kiss a boy at the meeting to show them we all know what gay means,” Curtis suggested.

“Any boy in particular?” Patience asked. A couple of kids started to ooooooh, and Curtis blushed.

“Dude,” he said, “you don’t want your first kiss to be at a school board meeting.”

“But it does make a point,” Kira said. Then she added, “I’m sure I can ask my moms to kiss instead. It’s kind of gross how often they do it in front of my friends. Not because they’re lesbian. But because, like, who wants their parents to do that all the time?”

The conversation made me feel a little better as we headed back into class, because even if the adults were arguing across the front page of the local paper and across dozens of group chats, at least we kids knew what the right side was.

The a-little-better feeling collapsed, though, when I saw Mr. Howe again. The copies of The Adventurers were still stacked on the front table of the room, and I felt like they were Kryptonite to Mr. Howe, sapping him of all his superpowers.

When the final bell rang, kids raced out of class at the usual pace. I stayed behind. At first, I pretended to be looking for something in my desk. Then I pretended to be looking for something in my coat. Finally, Mr. Howe and I were the only ones left in the room.

He was at his desk, working on something. I wasn’t even sure he knew I was there. I didn’t want to disturb him, but at the same time I felt I couldn’t leave the room without talking to him.

I couldn’t even look at him. I looked at the mug on his desk, the one with the big B on it.

He didn’t say, “For what?” He knew for what. I looked up and saw he was even sadder now, facing me.

“Donovan,” he said, “none of this is your fault. None of it. Do you understand?”

“But if I’d been reading the book, she wouldn’t have been able to get it. Or if I’d kept it in my bag, she probably wouldn’t have found it.”

These were the facts I had to live with. The facts I couldn’t tell anyone else.

“Donovan,” Mr. Howe said again. At that moment a big, burly guy came through the open door, carrying a bookcase. I couldn’t see the guy’s face—it was blocked by the bookcase—but his voice was a happy growl.

The big guy put the bookcase down in the empty corner to the right of the whiteboard, then laughed a big “WHEW!” through the room.

It’s possible I made it up in my mind, but I thought I saw something click into place when Bert heard my name. Like he was translating the word Donovan into the phrase the one whose mom started this whole mess.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Donovan,” Bert said. Then he gestured to the front table. “Are these the books?”

Bert fiddled with the bookcase, then started to move the copies of The Adventurers there. As he did, Mr. Howe explained to me that he was tired of having the books just piled there, “as if they’re evidence in a court case.” It turned out that Bert made furniture for a living, and had this extra bookcase in his workshop, for the copies of The Adventurers and other books that were now in stacks around the room.

“I always joke his parents should have named him Know—so his name would be Know Howe,” Mr. Howe said. He sat on the edge of his desk and gestured for me to sit on the desk in front of it.

“Look, Donovan,” he continued, “I want to make sure you understand this. You are never responsible for your parents’ actions. Never. Whatever they do, whatever they say, you cannot bear any of the blame for it.”

“But I left the book out, and that’s how she was able to read it,” I said.

“I welcome her reading it,” Mr. Howe said. “I never told you to hide it or any of the other books I’ve assigned in class. If she feels the way she does, this is a conversation we need to have. Do I wish it wasn’t such a public conversation? Of course. But it’s still an important conversation to have.”

He looked over to where Bert was making sure all the spines were lined up on the shelves before he put on another stack.

“Look,” Mr. Howe said, “I have to tell you, if this had come up in the nineties, when I was your age, I suspect my mom would have agreed with your mom. She wasn’t ready to understand that I was gay, and when you’re not ready to understand something, you become afraid of it. I figured things out pretty early, but it still took me years to tell my parents. And when I did, it took them even longer to adjust. It wasn’t because they were homophobic; they just thought they knew me well, and this proved that they didn’t know me quite as well as they’d thought. Eventually they understood—and I gave them some books to help them understand. Now, I’m not saying the same thing is happening here, in terms of who you are. But I think some of the parents who are most afraid of this book are actually afraid that the world you’re growing up in isn’t the world they grew up in. And rather than adjust, they think they can keep it the same. That never works, not in a free society.”

Mr. Howe gestured to Bert. “See my husband there? There was a time when teachers didn’t feel comfortable being out, letting the students know they were gay or had spouses or partners. And I’m sure in some parts of the country and other parts of the world, there’s still the need to keep quiet. There’s nothing wrong with keeping quiet if you feel you aren’t safe. But I wasn’t going to hide my life or my husband from you kids. How could I claim to be an educator while hiding such an essential truth from you? And you know what—while a couple of parents have been surprised over the years, or have had to open their minds a little more than they’d been planning to, most of the time, it’s no big deal. And that’s what Rick and Oliver’s love should be, too. Whether or not you think they’re gay, it’s no big deal. It’s not the point of the story. Being gay is not the point of my life or Bert’s life. It’s an important part of it, definitely. But it’s not the point.”

I thought I understood what he was saying, but I was also hung up on another question that was now stuck in my head. Something about the way Mr. Howe was talking to me made me feel I could say it out loud.

Mr. Howe thought about his answer for a second, then said, “I don’t know what she thinks, honestly. So all I can do is point out that whatever she thinks doesn’t define you anyplace other than her mind. It’s okay if you’re gay. It’s also okay if you’re not gay. And it’s okay if you haven’t figured it out, because most of us don’t figure it out when we’re in fifth grade.”

I didn’t want to tell him I was pretty sure I liked girls, because I knew he was right—I didn’t have to have it figured out.

Bert had now finished putting the books on the shelves. He kept moving them a little this way and a little that way, but I could tell it was only because he didn’t want to interrupt our conversation.

“Is there anything else you want to talk about?” Mr. Howe asked. I sensed that he’d give me all the time I needed. But the truth was, there was another important thing I needed to do before the school closed for the day.

“Great to meet you, too,” I said. Even though Mr. Howe kept a photo of Bert on his desk, I thought that maybe I was the first student to meet him. This would be big news at recess.

As soon as I was out of class, I headed quickly to the library. It was open an hour after school ended, so I knew it would be okay. But I also didn’t know how long I would need to do what I had to do.

Ms. Guy was there at the front and smiled when I came in. Most of the computers were being used, but I found one near the back that was open. Before I could think too much about it, I went to Bright’s website and double-checked the email address I’d memorized last night. Then I loaded up my email. This time, instead of checking for an email I knew wouldn’t be there, I wrote a new one.

Dear Mr. Bright,

My name is Donovan and I am a fifth-grade student at D. Craig Walker Elementary School. I am writing to you because our teacher assigned us your book The Adventurers. Some parents, including my mother, made a book challenge against the book and there is going to be a school board meeting about it next week. I was hoping you could tell me whether Rick and Oliver in your book end up being boyfriends or if they are just friends because that’s something we’re trying to figure out. If you could write me back soon I would appreciate it because the meeting is next week.

Thank you,

Donovan Johnson

PS—I really loved the book. All of us did. My copy was taken away but I got a library copy. It was so good.

It almost took me a half hour just to type this one paragraph. It seemed weird to ask Are Rick and Oliver gay? And I also worried he would think I was like my mother and thought that was a bad thing. Even after I hit Send, I worried I hadn’t said it right.

Amazingly, it only took a few seconds to get a response. Or at least it seemed amazing until I read the message.

Thank you for sending me a message. I am deep into writing my new book right now and am trying to avoid having email suck up all my words. It may take me a few weeks to respond to you—but I promise I will respond when I can.

Keep reading!

G. R. Bright

I wanted to shake the computer … but didn’t, because it was a library computer. So instead I stared at the screen, wondering what to do. Should I call his publisher and tell them it was an emergency? Or maybe see if our local bookstore could track him down using bookstore intelligence? Or was Bright off in a cabin somewhere, writing his new book, having no phone or internet, and therefore having no idea how much we needed him now?

Ms. Guy made an announcement that the library would be closing in five minutes. I sighed and went to shut my email. Right when my cursor was above the red dot to close the window, a new email appeared.

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