The sun rose early Friday morning, probably no earlier than usual, but it certainly felt that way. The thin curtain of my guestroom paired with the vast, open plains outside allowed the early morning rays unimpeded access to my eyelids. I’d gotten more sleep than I had the night before, which was only a couple hours, and there was no chance I’d get any more.
Normally I slept so soundly even the hounds of hell couldn’t stir me before ten a.m., but once I awoke, I stayed that way. I spent a solid half hour attempting to trick myself into believing I wasn’t actually awake, then another trying to find something interesting to read in the copy of Midwest Living Beth had left on the bedside table for me. I pulled out my iPhone and checked my mail, only to find nothing worth responding to. I even read some news headlines before flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling.
Immediately my mind returned to Jody and the time we’d spent together the night before, which was exactly what I’d tried to avoid. I didn’t want to think of her eyes and how the magnitude of their blueness defied comparison. I didn’t want to marvel at her passionate approach to teaching or wonder what it would feel like to have her passion directed at me. I certainly didn’t want to obsess over the fear that I’d missed a chance to kiss her or worry I’d probably never get another one. What did I mean, probably? I definitely wouldn’t. In ten hours I’d be on my way back to New York, and happily so. Jody was special, both as a teacher and as a woman, but eight million people lived in New York City. Odds were that plenty of special women lived there too.
I looked at the clock again. How was it possible for it to still only be seven o’clock? The sun had been up for four hours. This might be the start of a never-ending day.
After showering, dressing, and spending about three times as long as usual taming my frizzy mane of dark hair into something resembling a unified attempt at wavy, I finally went downstairs.
My hosts sat at the dining room table, chatting quietly over coffee, so lost in each other they didn’t hear me approach. They were stunning together. Rory cut an imposing figure, lean and fit with her firm jaw and intense gaze, while Beth exuded femininity, with soft curves and a graceful manner. They anchored one another, offering balance both in their aesthetic and their personalities. I’d never been one to buy into “the other half” mentality of relationships, but these two offered compelling evidence of the theory’s validity.
“Morning,” I said, hoping my exhaustion didn’t show.
“Good morning,” Rory said cheerfully. “You’re up early.”
“How’d you sleep?” Beth asked.
“Fine. I think I’m just still on New York time.”
“Yeah, jet lag hurts, and you won’t be here long enough to adjust to this time zone.”
“It’s not a problem.” Or least I hoped it wouldn’t be.
“I couldn’t decide what to make for breakfast, so I waited for your input. Eggs and bacon? Pancakes and sausage? French toast with all the trimmings?”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble for me,” I said, my stomach roiling at the thought of putting food into it this early. “I usually just drink coffee.”
Beth frowned slightly. “Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all.”
“Really, but go ahead and make whatever you want for yourselves.”
“I can just grab something on campus,” Beth said.
“I ate some fruit and yogurt before my run this morning,” Rory added.
“You’ve already gone for a run?” I liked her a little less.
“I know. The thought would’ve horrified me two years ago, but with Beth’s cooking I had to do something or I’d weigh four hundred pounds.”
“She’s too hard on herself.” Beth raked a hand through Rory’s hair and tousled the chestnut mop on her way to the kitchen. “She’s in perfect shape. She’s still got the muscles of a seventeen-year-old.”
I believed it. Rory had always been athletic, and while she’d gained a little weight since high school, it appeared to be mostly muscle. I doubted anything she ate could make her less appealing. I, on the other hand, ate healthier with each passing year, took yoga classes, and always chose the stairs over the elevator but could do little to stop the accumulating pounds or the gravitational pull directing them all to my midsection. Six months shy of my thirtieth birthday, I was far from sagging into the cement, but I worked harder than ever to keep both my belt and my bra from suffering under the added strain of my slowly expanding body. Of course, sitting in a chair writing all day didn’t help, but who had the time or energy to jog every morning? Aside, obviously, from Rory.
“So how’s your brother?” I asked Rory, hoping she’d run with the topic.
“He’s getting married in June,” she said with a grin.
“Really?” Davey had been a year behind me in high school and always seemed like a nice-enough guy, though a lot quieter than Rory.
“Yup, to Nikki Belliard. She graduated with you, right?”
“Wow, yeah. We were in a lot of classes together senior year. She was always nice to me.” Actually Nikki was probably the closest thing I had to a friend during that time. “We rode the bench together in basketball.”
“That’s surprising. She’s a pretty good softball player.”
“She’s plenty athletic, but she didn’t have the competitive drive to mix it up in the paint.”
“Makes sense. She’s an elementary teacher now,” Rory said. “What about you? What’s your excuse for warming the pine? Lack of skills or motivation?”
“Both,” I said emphatically. “I’ve never cared for sports much.”
“Why’d you play?”
“Seemed like the thing to do at the time.” I shrugged. “I did a lot of things because it seemed easier than saying no. I went along to get along.”
“Did you date guys?”
“No. Thankfully I didn’t get asked much.” That fact probably should have bothered me more, but even in high school, I only felt relief. “Most guys wanted a girl who was into them, and I never gave off those signals.”
“Did you know you were gay the whole time?”
“I had more of a gradual realization, but it started early in high school. I wasn’t traumatized, because at least I’d found a name for the difference growing between my classmates and me. Besides, what’s one more thing to get through in the grand scheme of things?”
Rory grinned. “You don’t get ruffled easily, do you?”
“No, I guess I don’t. I mean, I knew people would be jerks about me being gay, but people are jerks for a lot of reasons. I’d dreamed of New York since I was about ten. I had a plan, and I worked toward it. That was enough for me.”
“I wonder how life would be different if we all thought that way.”
“‘We all’ who?”
“All the gay people in every small-town school across the country.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I never saw myself as part of the masses.”
“We never do at that age, but just look at the numbers. The Kinsey report says we’re ten percent of the population basically across the board. So, in a town the size of Darlington, we should have about five hundred gay or lesbian residents.”
I waved off the figure. “I doubt the majority of gay people stay here, so the statistic would hardly hold up.”
“I agree. Among the adults it’s likely much lower, but high-school kids don’t have any choice in where they live. Their location is as much of a luck of the draw as their sexual orientation.”
I pondered this idea in grand introverted fashion, quietly mulling over the concept while Rory plowed on. “How many students did you have in your graduating class?”
“Maybe ninety.”
“Say one hundred, since neither of us is a math person.”
I nodded.
“Out of one hundred students, that should mean ten people were gay, and you’ve got four classes’ worth of students, so you should have forty gay or lesbian students at Darlington High School at any given moment. Right?”
“I suppose, in a purely hypothetical sense.”
“Fine. Say half of them are outliers—maybe they don’t know they’re gay yet or maybe farmers produce a below-average number of gay offspring, even though there’s no evidence of that.” Rory began to pace, reminding me of a lion. Her movements, while scattered, seemed to build in purpose as she pursued her argument. I half expected her to pounce on the table. “Even on the conservative end, that still means twenty gay and lesbian students there at all times.”
“I suppose that’s not an unreasonable assumption.”
“So why isn’t anyone else reaching that conclusion?” she asked, opening her hands palms up like a magician who’d performed some feat of magic. “Why is no one saying these kids are here and we have to do more for them?”
I remembered Jody’s face hardened with resolve last night as she spoke about her determination to be there for those students, but I also remembered the toll that kind of dedication took on every part of her life. I did care about those kids. I ached for them even, but I was also relieved to no longer be one of them.
*
Classes were in session when Rory and I arrived at the school, so we had the hallway to ourselves. She strolled along confidently, ever the returning star, while I shuffled in her wake. Maybe some things would never change. I wasn’t afraid of high school itself or anything it represented. I wasn’t a student anymore, and while I said a silent prayer of thanks for that, I had bigger issues to worry about.
In half an hour I’d be on a platform in front of more than four hundred people. Large assemblies were not my idea of a good time even under the best circumstances, but the idea of such an event being called in my honor made my empty stomach tighten. Compound my nerves with a serious lack of sleep or food, and I could barely bring myself to put one foot in front of the other.
“Hey, did you know Drew Phillips is the principal now?” Rory asked.
“The basketball coach? Really?” His name didn’t bring back pleasant memories. No wonder Rory and Jody were worried about the gay kids in school. “Who thought promoting him was a good idea?”
“The good ole boys always gotta have one of their own in power to uphold the status quo.”
“I suppose. Darlington has never trusted outsiders.”
“I’m not an outsider. You’re not an outsider. Lots of people from around here aren’t dicks. Or for that matter don’t even have dicks. When was the last time this place had a woman in charge?”
“Not when I went here. Probably not in my lifetime.”
“Not in anyone’s lifetime. This place is a harem. One man at the top, a bunch of women underneath.”
Poor Jody. She didn’t stand a chance of changing the power structure, but she’d keep trying for her kids.
Rory stopped in front of a large trophy case and pointed to a gold softball engraved with the words CONFERENCE CHAMPIONS. “Hey, we helped win this trophy.”
“You helped win that trophy,” I said without a hint of regret. “I carried bats off the field.”
“Every team member is important, even the bat girl. And let’s be honest, bat girl sounds pretty sexy.”
I laughed harder than the joke warranted. Maybe I just needed something to break my tension, or perhaps I was getting a little loopy.
She moved down another couple of cases, inspecting each item as she went. I just focused on breathing normally. I didn’t have frequent panic attacks, but only because I held them in check by sheer force of will. They simply drew more attention than I wanted. I kept telling myself this event was almost over. One hour onstage and I’d be free. I’d already packed my suitcase and stowed it in the car. Maybe I could ask Rory to take me to St. Louis early. I could fly standby or sit in the airport like all the other anonymous travelers. Just one hour of being front and center, and then I could fade back into the crowd.
“Here’s your class picture.”
I tried to focus on the eight-by-ten photograph of all my classmates on the first day of senior year. The faces were a blur in my memory now, but Rory began to point out people immediately, as if playing some small-town version of Where’s Waldo?
“There’s Nikki,” she said, pointing to the first row. “And there’s you.”
“My hair stuck out enough to signal incoming aircraft.”
Rory laughed.
“I should have cut it all off, but that wasn’t the style then. Not that blimp hair was stylish either.”
“Shorter hair would’ve made you look butcher.”
I shrugged. Of course that had factored into my decision.
Rory squinted and leaned closer. “Which five do you think are gay?”
Not this again. “Well, me.”
She gave me a little shove. “Okay, there’s one.”
“What about him?” She pointed to a blond young man in the top row.
“I doubt it. He died in Afghanistan a year after graduation.”
“Damn,” she muttered. “Who would’ve thought that war would go on for so long? Did your class lose any others?”
“Not to the war, but Kelsey Patel committed suicide two months before graduation.”
“What?” She stepped back and stared at me, her hunter-green eyes wide and wounded, before she turned back to the picture. “Which one?”
I scanned the faces until I found the tan-skinned girl with the big brown eyes. “There.”
Rory studied her solemnly. “Why don’t I remember her?”
“Her parents ran one of the gas stations and liquor stores for a while. They moved here my sophomore year, I think. You’d already left for Chicago when she died.”
“What was she like?”
“I honestly don’t remember much.” I searched my memory for anything other than hearing she’d overdosed on pills one night. The family kept the funeral private, and the teachers seemed eager to brush the incident under the rug. Still, shouldn’t I remember more than her death? “We had only a few classes together. She was the only Indian-American I’d ever met. The only vegetarian too. She struck me as odd but probably ahead of her time, and certainly ahead of Darlington.”
“Was she gay?”
“I don’t know. People called her a lezzie and a dyke, but she was smart and I think kind of politically minded. She probably would’ve come out if she were gay. Kids only made fun of her because they didn’t know what to do with her.”
“People don’t understand that antigay bullying is a vicious social tool used to keep a wide range of outsiders in check.” The fire ignited in Rory’s eyes. She was commanding, even informally. She’d be a true force onstage. “The stigma burns everyone it touches and keeps even the straightest of kids from expressing a hint of difference.”
“I wonder why more people can’t see that.”
“I try to draw those connections. So many of us do.” The frustration hung thick in her voice. “But we keep failing these kids.”
My chest constricted in the face of her pain. “You don’t fail them, Rory. You do what you can, and you’re good at it.”
“We’re not good enough, not as a society, not even as individuals.”
A twinge of defensiveness pricked my skin. “The work you do probably saves more lives than you know. These kids are blessed to have you back here and to have teachers like Jody to advocate for them, but we can’t all be those people. We aren’t all warriors or symbols of triumph. I can’t imagine choosing the life you have.”
“I guess that’s where we really differ. I’ve never seen the work I do as a choice. It’s not personality or ability. I get tired of being a big gay symbol sometimes too. All the travel, all the speaking to reluctant audiences and arguing with small-minded bigots. I don’t fight for me anymore.” Her voice caught slightly as she pointed to Kelsey’s picture. “I do it for kids like her.”
I stared at Kelsey, then at Rory. She was right about one thing. These kids deserved someone like her, and someone like Jody—people with clear visions and a holy purpose to drive them. What they didn’t need was someone who got sick at the thought of being in the same gym with them or someone who counted down the hours until she could leave town. They didn’t need someone who holed up in a loft and wrote books in an attempt to avoid even basic social interactions, someone who didn’t have the courage or composure to give a simple acceptance speech, much less an impassioned oration on their behalf. Yes, they needed symbols and advocates and leaders, but I was none of those things.
*
Jody found us waiting in the balcony area of the bleachers while students began to flow in below us. She moved confidently and chatted easily, appearing as calm and graceful as ever, and I once again found it hard to believe she’d ever doubted her place in a school. She’d be the hero in some kid’s story someday. She probably already had been.
“Hi, you two,” she said, her eyes bright. “Ready to get this show on the road?”
“You know it,” Rory said with a little bounce. “And I just saw my boss come in too. You want me to flag her down for us?”
“Please, and ask her if she can stay around for some photos with the scholarship recipients after the assembly.”
“Sure.” Rory patted me on the back as she strode off, leaving Jody and me alone again.
“How you feeling?” she asked, her expression turning serious.
“I’ll be okay.”
“Really?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m pretty nervous.”
“Do you get nervous before all your public experiences?”
“I try not to do too many of them, and when I do it’s generally with book clubs or panels at conferences. This is my high school.”
“What difference does that make?”
“I spent four years here trying not to be noticed, and now I’ll be center stage. It feels like a bit of a farce to me.”
“Stevie.” She touched my hand quickly, gently, but enough to establish a more solid connection between us. “You belong here. You earned your way onto that stage whether you asked for it or not. Your success has meaning beyond what you can imagine. All you have to do is accept that.”
I closed my eyes and focused on her voice, her words, her touch. Some of the tension in my shoulders eased. She provided such a calming presence, an anchor and a warm blanket all rolled into one. I marveled at her ability to soothe me even in these emotionally chaotic circumstances. For a fleeting moment I wondered what it would be like to see more of her, to know her outside of Darlington.
“What are you thinking about Stevie?”
“I wish we had a chance to spend more time together away from the school, and the media circus, and the pressure to be anything for anyone else.”
Her smile grew so big it crinkled the edges of her eyes. “Few things would make me happier than for you to visit again.”
My chest constricted. I hadn’t meant here. I couldn’t come back to Darlington. I wouldn’t. Less than twenty-four hours in town had exhausted me. I couldn’t eat or sleep, and the weight of responsibility to some unseen gay children was enough to crush me. I wished no ill will on any of them, but I had to get out.
“Hey, there you are,” Edmond called. “It’s picture time.”
I exhaled forcefully, subconsciously searching for an exit, but Jody gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Come on, it won’t be so bad.”
I tried to believe her, but my nerves frayed a little more with each flashbulb that went off in my face. First another picture with Edmond and Rory, then just Edmond, then just Rory. When a student photographer jumped into the game, along with a reporter from the local paper, the white light caused spots in my vision. I plastered on a fake smile and tried to turn my head in the appropriate direction every time someone shouted, “Stevie,” or worse, “Miss Geller.” Hands reached in to rearrange us, adding Jody and the dean of the college, whom I’d yet to be introduced to. Then someone said, “Let’s get Mr. Phillips in some of these.”
A man squeezed next to me as close as possible without letting our bodies touch in any way.
“Hey, Drew,” Rory said under her breath. “How’s it hanging?”
“Rory, I want you out of my school as soon as the assembly is over.” He delivered the line through gritted teeth.
Rory snickered. “I love how much it pains you that I’m a distinguished alum.”
“Look this way,” someone called, and we all turned.
“Did you even say hello to your guest, Drew?” Rory kept needling him. “You know the one we called this assembly for? The one getting a big award?”
“Ms. Geller.” He sneered in my direction.
What a jerk. I never did anything to him. Or did my mere existence annoy him? Another flash went off, and my airway constricted a bit more. This whole ordeal was hard enough without getting pulled into their pissing contest. I didn’t need his tension piled on top of my own. I didn’t need any of this pressure.
I began surreptitiously searching for somewhere to hide. If I could just find a corner to myself, I could take a couple of deep breaths and pull myself together, but students filled the bleachers and milled around in the doorway. Some of them were even bustling around near the stage. Dear God, how many kids went to this school? It seemed like so many more than four hundred. And then there were the teachers. Some I’d had, some I didn’t know. Would I be expected to talk to them? Would they remember me? Would I remember anything they’d taught me? My hands began to shake. I took a few steps back, then a few steps more. Rory and Edmond were laughing about something between them, and Jody chatted casually with a student. Drew remained steadfast in his attempt to ignore me. I took a few more steps back without eliciting any notice from anyone.
This was my chance. Two steps from the door, I turned slowly, angling my body toward the exit when an arm on my shoulder almost caused me to jump out of my skin.
“Don’t even think about it,” Edmond said through an overly enthusiastic smile.
“I can’t do this.” I pleaded, completely unconcerned with the irrationality of the request. “You have to get me out of this.”
“Too late. You’re on.”
*
Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Jody and Rory stood together at the podium taking turns speaking about me. They talked about me as a person, as a student, as a writer, or at least I thought that’s what they were talking about, but I could barely hear anything. I strained to make out their words, but I couldn’t concentrate over the dull roar in my ears. The white noise of my brain sounded like the ocean. Not a real ocean, mind you, but the fake ocean you hear when you put a large seashell up to your ear. Occasionally I heard them say my name, the sound like sirens calling me, a distant echo carrying their song over the waves.
I blinked, I shook my head, I even stuck my finger in my ear to try to clear it. I must have looked absurd, but I didn’t care. As much as I didn’t want to make a scene, I worried I was having a stroke. That didn’t make any sense, but none of this made sense. Could this be an allergic reaction? An acute panic attack?
I turned from Rory to Jody—so strong, so proud, so kind, and standing so close—but the edges of their features grew soft and faded as my vision narrowed. I summoned every faculty I had at my disposal, grasping at any sensory cues. I no longer thought of my survival in terms of hours, but minutes. How long had they been talking? It felt like an eternity before they turned to me, smiling expectantly.
A thought pushed weakly on the quicksand filling my brain. They wanted me to come to the podium. My panic had given way to numbness, but it had the same effect. Could I possibly die of stage fright? That would make headlines for Edmond, but hopefully not the kind of publicity he wanted. At least if I keeled over I wouldn’t have to deal with him pressuring me anymore.
No. I wouldn’t give in or give up. As nerve-racking as this assembly was to endure, it would be exponentially worse to collapse in front of four hundred students and Jody. I didn’t care if I was dying. I would not be a spectacle for my hometown. I would not draw any more attention to myself. Two small steps to the podium, two handshakes, and two steps back to my seat. Up and down. I could do this.
Bracing my hands on my knees, I tried to push myself to a standing position, but it was no use—not the impulse, not the mechanics. Everything failed me. I managed to propel myself upright, but my knees wouldn’t lock.
I wobbled, awash with embarrassment, but even my self-consciousness was short-lived. The gymnasium spun like a demonic carnival ride, causing all the colors to blur together. The podium shifted and pitched forward, reminding me of a subway train coming to an unexpected stop. My body was shutting down.
I locked eyes with Jody, wordlessly begging for help, pleading for her to understand. Then I crumpled. Going down in slow motion did nothing to alleviate the feeling of helplessness but gave me time to see horror register on the faces around me. Jody’s lips parted in shock. Rory reached out to catch me, so chivalrous. Such a Rory thing to do. I would’ve rolled my eyes if I’d had any control of my muscles, but I didn’t. I didn’t have control of anything. Somehow it felt like I hadn’t had control of anything for a very long time.
A splitting pain crashed though the back of my head, and suddenly the colors were clear—brilliantly, excruciatingly clear. Blinding white followed by an angry red. Then mercifully everything went black.